His ears tipped to the left and he lifted one forefoot, spreading the two remaining fingers and thumb. He’d lost half the third finger to a juvenile russet marmoline that had been hiding inside the carcass of a Peatty’s draper. “So long as you and Tomás are here, Miss Rigi, it will not affect you. Should you depart, then perhaps it may become a matter for your concern, possibly intervention.” His eyes narrowed and his lower jaw worked back and forth, as if he were eating. “And it seems that someone with less forethought than a seventh Stamm pouchling is selling marmoline kits as hopling pets to humans.”
Rigi covered her eyes with one hand. “Oh shed fur and scales,” she swore in Staré. “No.” She lowered her hand. “Not in my house. And I will not get one for Paul, or for Cyril and Adele’s children either. Absolutely not.”
“But why not, dear?” She stood as Tomás came in. “They have such lovely soft fur, and they don’t get into any trouble at all during the day, and those soft, big eyes are so sweet…”
“N-o. You my dear husband, may get a marmoline kit and keep it in the barracks. I’m certain your supervisors would quite understand the ensuing chaos when it shreds everything within foot reach between midnight and the second hour, then tries to eat three of the salnars.”
“Hmm. Phrased that way, it sounds like the perfect addition to recruit training, to demonstrate the importance of checking the barracks for wildlife and potentially hazardous conditions.” He put his hands around her waist and pecked her on the forehead. “But not on any base or forward outpost where I am currently stationed.”
“If rumors hold true, Master Tomás, Miss Rigi,” Kor stated, crossing his forefeet, “marmolines in the tents may be the least of our nocturnal concerns.”
Her mother was sending Paul in a freight box, postage due? Uncle Eb and Lexi had gotten thrown out of the house and needed a place to stay? Rigi could not think of anything good.
“And that is rumor, strictly rumor,” her husband said. “My leave coming to an end is not rumor.” He looked at Kor. “If you will excuse us.” Rigi blushed a little and started to warm with anticipation. She didn’t fuss as he took her hand and led her toward the bedroom.
“I need to back-up my most recent work,” she cautioned.
“Do that. I’ll be waiting when you finish, my dark-eyed temptress.”
“Who is tempting whom?” She murmured, caressing his hand before letting go and sitting at the work station.
4
New Lands and Challenges
Tomás commed her one evening a week later, looking both excited and concerned. “Rigi, I have some news concerning our next posting.”
Our next posting? “Are we leaving Shikhari?” She hoped not, she truly did not want to leave the world that had become her home. And she’d paid all that rent money down!
“No, although we are changing continents. That is,” he ducked. “I want you to come with me on this assignment. Dear, I need you to come with me. It is on the eastern coast of Verdina, establishing a new human and Staré settlement near a former Staré site. That is, I feel quite confident that there was a First World Staré site near the proposed location.”
“How deep is the blast crater?” Rigi smiled a little at the grim joke. “Or is it near the no-longer-dormant volcano?”
“Only four meters. Apparently it had been a minor Staré settlement,” he smiled back, acknowledging the morbid humor. The smile faded. “We will not be among the permanent settlers, at least not at first, but Kor insists that at least one Wise Eye come to the site, and there are not enough Elders to spare anyone from the Council.”
“How long do I have to pack?”
“Ah, at least two months, and um, you need to know that no one younger than sixteen years may come with the first group, human or Staré.”
Well, she was older than sixteen years, so why was that a— “Oh.” She regained her wits. “All the more reason not to make it permanent, then, lest you have to eat my cooking on a regular basis.” She didn’t say anything more where Makana or Nahla could hear.
He looked relieved. “Thank you for understanding, dear. I will tell Lt. Col. Morgansi that you have not yet objected, and as I learn more, I will tell you.” He closed the comm before she could mention her possible news.
Although. She rested her hand on her stomach. It would be better to wait until she knew with absolute certainty that she was pregnant before saying anything. If she wasn’t, it certainly was not because of a lack of effort on the part of her husband! Rigi turned her thoughts to more sedate matters before her body reminded her that she had certainly not discouraged his attentions. She’d been late with her cycle more than once before her marriage, and this could simply be one of those delayed times. She hoped it wasn’t but on the other hand, if they were going to be moving to a glorified camp for several months, pregnancy now could be a major complication. “No thank you,” she murmured. “I am in no need of further complications of any sort.”
Speaking of which, if they were going to relocate, and possibly even if not, she needed to think of something to do with Nahla if the Elders really were impressing lower Stamm craftsmen into service. Rigi hoped that the rumor, and Kor’s hints, proved to be no more than an unkind rumor, but the Elders were not saints. She’d heard and seen enough of them to know that. Sending Nahla to stay with her parents would not work for several reasons. Neither would seeing if Cy and his wife needed a cook. Adele preferred to cook for herself.
Rigi and her mother had boggled at the news, politely of course. Why on Shikhari or any other inhabited world would a woman not have sufficient staff to take care of the cooking if she could afford them? The Company had insisted on a minimum of two full-time staff for each human family, and the Crown government encouraged humans hiring Staré. Rigi rubbed the bridge of her nose. No doubt it came from growing up on the western plantations, she decided yet again. Adele was a lovely and skilled young lady, but lacked certain social knowledge and had acquired some rather eccentric practices over the years, cooking for herself being one of them. Yet she did not know how to make and mend her own clothes, something Rigi found almost impossible to believe.
However, there was someone who could use Nahla’s skills, and who the Elders would be reluctant to challenge on such a minor matter. Rigi made a mental note to comm Aunt Kay the next time Makana and Nahla were out of the house.
Makana... Rigi rubbed her forehead. He did not care to be away from civilization. Would he come with them? Or was that up to the Elders Council? She decided to mention the news to him, then wait and hear from him what he preferred to do, or was ordered to do. Preferences seemed to have less and less power among the Staré since the Fur Drop plague had struck. Almost as little power as the desires of a junior captain's wife.
“You want—? To be certain that I understand, Rigi. If certain rumors prove to be true, you would like Ebenezer and I to hire Nahla as cook for a few months?” Aunt Kay sounded perplexed.
“Yes, ma’am. I suspect it won’t be necessary, but if the rumor is true, I won’t be able to bring her with us because of her age, and I don’t want her being forced to work for someone against her will if she does not care for them. I’ve paid into her account through the start of the dry season, so that would cover her wages. You wouldn’t have to pay anything at first, and Tomás and I will reimburse you if we do need to find a place for her.”
“Just a moment.” Aunt Kay muted the comm and got up, giving Rigi a view of Uncle Eb’s bookshelves and what seemed to be the head of a striped lion. Someone had hung scarves or pieces of cloth from the lion’s lower jaw, making it appear to be drooling in pastel colors. Rigi closed her eyes and shook her head just a little. She loved her aunt and uncle dearly, but they could be so odd at times. Although, as she looked at the mount and additions again, it didn’t appear as garishly unattractive as some of the pieces she’d seen in museums on Home and LimWorld. The less said about the post-visionary phase abstracts of the First Diaspora Era, the better.
Her aunt
returned. “I consulted with Lexi and Eb.” Aunt Kay frowned and drummed her fingers on the top of the work table. “And have been informed that they would be absolutely delighted for Nahla to join the household staff, not that we have any household staff.” The frown deepened and the wrinkles around her nose and mouth grew more pronounced. “If I did not know better, I would almost think that the males find fault in my cooking.” Rigi bit her tongue so hard that she drew blood as Uncle Eb appeared in the background, acting as if he were gagging on something noxious. He disappeared and Lexi poked his head into the field-of-view, making begging motions. “Or they have been infected with Kor’s habit of doing anything that will annoy the Staré powers-that-be.”
Rigi decided that the answer was “all of the above,” which might also explain why she had never eaten her aunt’s cooking that she knew of. “I would incline toward the latter, although that could be a gross misreading of things, ma’am,” Rigi said. “And it could be that the recent sermons on doing good works for those in need are influencing Uncle Eb.” Rigi was growing heartily tired of the theme, but kept such uncharitable thoughts well to herself.
“Possible. Well, should it become necessary for Nahla to find temporary accommodations, we have space and she can come here, so long as cooking for Staré and humans will not bother her too much.”
“She cooks for both here, ma’am, and I let her arrange the kitchen to her taste so as to accommodate Stamm restrictions without difficulty. I can send along the Stamm appropriate tableware if that would make things easier.”
Her aunt’s eyes seemed to bulge. “You have Stamm-specific dishes?”
“Yes, ma’am, since Kor eats here when he and Tomás are on leave. It seems more important to Nahla and Makana than to Kor.”
Understanding blossomed on her aunt’s features. “All is explained. Makana answers to the Elders does he not?”
“Ah, he used to, four years ago. He might still, but I have not asked him.”
Lexi’s head reappeared and he said, “Don’t. They have gotten stricter since the epidemic, and you might accidentally put Makana in a bad place by prying too closely should he have been ordered to remain quiet.” Lexi’s nose twitched and he bared part of his large yellow front teeth. “The less you have to do with the Sogdia Elders, the better, at least for the moment.”
Aunt Kay threw up her hands, forcing Lexi out of the picture. “I give in. Send Nahla. I’ll send Lexi.” She raised her volume, “in a packing crate, marked ‘this end up’ on both ends.”
Oh dear. “Yes, ma’am.”
Well that did take care of the possible complication with Nahla. And it meant that Rigi had better re-learn how to cook, lest she kill Tomás with her attempts. And where would Makana and Kor eat? Staré stamm rules allowed them to cook for humans without contamination, but not the reverse. “The Creator and Creatrix never give a challenge without providing the solution, so long as we are willing to look for that solution and be patient,” she said aloud, quoting one of the recent meditations from the ladies’ meeting.
The next day, Makana drove her to worship at the smaller temple in NovMerv. She’d helped him add the larger rain-shed to the cart, and had put a rain-drape on Stodge, who promptly tried to shake it off, then took a bite of one corner. The wombow spat the drape back out and bawled in complaint. Rigi agreed with Makana's strong //satisfaction.// “The lump-fruit soak worked, Mistress Rigi.”
“Yes, it did. I will tell Mrs. Sorenson-Bernardi.” Her sister-in-law had devised the mix for them to try. Rigi and Martinus climbed into the back of the cart and she closed the side curtain. Makana lowered his section as well, even though he already wore rain-gear, and shook the go-fast stick.
“Bwaaaagh!” Stodge lunged into a run. Makana let him go for a few blocks, then slowed the wombow to a trot. Plash plash thump plash thump he thudded through the puddles on the wombow path. Rigi closed her eyes and worked to settle her mind, bringing it into proper focus for worship.
Makana parked at the end of the wombow cart line. A dozen carts and a handful of flitters shared the parking area. Four sheds provided space out of the weather for the different Stamme of drivers. Rigi and Martinus climbed down and hurried into the temple’s annex, where she tidied his feet and left her rain cloak before entering the main worship area. She hand-bowed to the symbols of the Creator and Creatrix and took her seat on the women’s side. Martinus lay down at her feet, out of the way of people coming and going.
From opposite sides of the space, a man and woman sang together, “Oh come let us worship and bow down! Let us greatly rejoice in the ones who made us, let us sing praise to Creator and Creatrix, makers of all created beings.” With a rustle the gathered believers stood, bowing in unison as the Matron and Guardian walked forward, meeting in the center of the room. They bowed to each other in honor of the Creator and Creatrix present in all, then to the symbols of their faith, and then to the worshippers. Sweet chimes sounded.
Rigi left worship refreshed and calm. The Tradition ordained worship as a time of rest and encouragement, a time to regain strength for the challenge of living the faith. Rigi savored the time spent in the Temple, when she could relax and not worry about having to be anything she was not. If only more people understood the minimum about neoTraditionalists, Rigi thought for the thousandth time at least, then her life would be far less frustrating.
Slowth plodded through the rain, grumbling all the way. Makana did not seem inclined to hurry the wombow, and Rigi settled against the temporary cushions in the cart, petting Martinus’s head and letting her thoughts float free as they would. The patter of rain on the rain-shield lulled her into a near doze.
“No! Get back!” Makana’s bellow jerked her awake just in time to clutch the seat frame as the cart jerked to the side, jumped up, then crashed down. Makana yelled, a wombow—two wombows—shrieked, and the vehicle surged forward, almost throwing Rigi off the seat. “Wooeef!” Martinus protested. Rigi dropped to the bottom of the cart and held on to the cargo tie-down rings. It felt as if the cart were racing, then slowing, the bumps and bounces growing softer and farther apart. Slowth made crying sounds, the cart slowed even more, and stopped. Rigi waited several heart beats before getting to her knees. After another breath or two without motion, she dared to peek out of the cart. Makana had gotten down from the seat.
“Stay, guard,” Rigi ordered Martinus before climbing down herself. Shaking, she walked up to where Makana held Slowth’s head. “Creatrix be kind,” she breathed as she saw the blood pouring from Slowth’s shoulder and right foreleg. She ducked and hurried back to the cart, pulling the emergency medical pack out from under the rear cold-storage box. “Good, Makana, keep him still, please.” Rigi folded Slowth's rain-drape back out of the way, moving slowly and smoothly to keep from startling the wombow. Whatever had happened, the wound looked clean, and she sprayed on gloves, then opened a disinfectant pack and dabbed at the punctures. Slowth cried out again and made a blubbering sound. Rigi patted his shoulder above the wound. “There, there, it’s alright, good wombow,” she soothed. “Good boy.” The cut on his foreleg had bled clean, but the flap of skin would catch or fold, getting dirt and hair in the wound. She sprayed the open wound with anesthetic. Then she pulled a pre-treated gum pad out of its pouch, used it to clean the inside of the flap and make it a little sticky, and pushed the flap back in place over the muscle. She held it for twenty-eight seconds, lifted her hand away, and watched. Slowth raised and lowered that foot, but the flap remained closed. “Thank you,” she whispered to her deities. The rest of him appeared sound, and she turned at last to Makana. “What happened?”
“Hold him please.” Rigi took Makana’s place and he moved a meter away from Slowth, upper teeth bared. “The human called D’Angelo forced his wagon onto the track before I could move over. One of his big males bit at Slowth, and the end of the whiffletree stabbed him.” The bitter stench of //anger/fear/relief/disgust// filled the air and Rigi was surprised she couldn’t see the fog of em
otions coming from the furious male. “I let Slowth run to get away from the wagon and the other wombows. We are two kilometers from the house, Mistress Rigi.”
Two kilometers. They needed to get Slowth to the shed so she could call an animal medic. Could he walk that far, if she and Makana walked as well? That left only a hundred kilos in the cart. Rigi moved to the right, beside Slowth’s head. “Walk, boy.” She tugged a little on his headstall.
“Bwaa?” He tossed his head, round ears wagging, and took a careful step. He took another. The bleeding from his foreleg and shoulder grew no worse, and he didn’t seem to be limping too badly. Slowth kept walking and Rigi stayed beside him. Makana paced along on his other side—the uninjured side—watching for traffic coming into the track. Neither of them were dressed for a stroll through mud in the rain, but Rigi wouldn’t ask Slowth to walk on the synth-crete road without pave pads on his feet. That would be pure cruelty, so long as they had the softer track.
Rigi wanted nothing more than a hot bath and hot tea when they finally reached the house. Instead she helped Makana unhitch Slowth and walk him into the shed. She folded the rest of the rain-drape back, lifted it off the wombow, and then hung it where it would not flap in any breezes. “If you will finish, please, I will call a xenovet.”
“Yes, Mistress Rigi.” He bowed to her.
“Come Martinus. Good boy.”
Rigi left her rain-cloak and sodden boots and stockings in the shoe and coat room, toweled Martinus dry, and then hurried to her work station and commed the xenovet she usually used. The second Stamm male answered on the fourth chime. “Dr. Feng, I’m sorry to bother you, but Slowth the wombow was attacked by a larger male and stabbed in the shoulder with a wagon singletree. I treated him near the scene, but could you come and check on him, please?”
“Are you at home, Mrs. Prananda?” He spoke in Staré, but with the intonations of Common.
Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four Page 6