Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  “Thank you, dear.” She closed the book, put the pencil away, and stood, then followed him along the wall, looking for a lower spot. She could not climb two meters of smooth, tightly-jointed dark blue-grey stone wall. “Blue-grey?” On a whim Rigi drew her knife and tapped the hilt against the stone. It rang, but with a different tone than the stones near the water outlet.

  “I need the Wise Eye,” Kor called. Tomás looked at Rigi, and then at the wall. She saw the glint of an idea in his eyes and realized with a little sigh that spousal dignity was about to disappear like a loose wombow when a cart appeared. She tucked the book into her satchel and latched it closed before handing it to Makana. Then she stretched up, taking as firm a grip on the gritty, sun-warm top of the wall as she could manage.

  “On three.” Tomás crouched behind her and set his hands around her waist. “One. Two,” she got ready to jump. “Three!” She jumped and he heaved, half-tossing her up onto the stones. She grabbed for the surface, scrambled, he shoved her rump, then she got one knee set and hauled the rest of herself onto the wall.

  Martinus landed beside her, scrabbled his claws on the rock, then sat. “Easy for you to do,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Miss Rigi here please.” Kor had found a path between the pale stone lines subdividing the section of the terrace, and Rigi started to follow. Two steps before she reached him, the ground under her boot fell away.

  “Aieeep—Oof!” She dropped into musty darkness, landing on her rump. She crouched forward, arms over head, in case more dirt piled in on her. “Hah-shew hah-shew!” she sneezed at the dust.

  “Miss Rigi, breathe you?”

  Rigi answered in Staré, “I breathe and am whole.” At least she thought she was, aside from her dignity and her sore rump. She’d managed not to lose the little light on her belt, and she found the switch by touch and turned it on. A shape greatly resembling the remains of a femur appeared in the faint beam. She turned the light off. If she did not look, they would go away, just like the beasts under her bed when she was a child. Except she needed to see in order to find a way out of the hole. Rigi moved her hand and tried the light again. This time the beam showed the fragile-looking remains of a skull, neck-bones, and what the analytical part of her mind suggested might be the beads of a necklace of some kind. She turned the light off once more. Please go away. If you are bones, there will be forms and records and documentation, and someone will be upset. Please, Creatrix, make them go away.

  Tomás’s head appeared beside the hole above her. “Rigi!”

  “I’m alive, bruised but intact. Nothing broken, no concussion.” At least she didn’t think she was concussed. Or was she? That might be better than having seen what she thought she’d seen.

  “Is there anything down there?”

  Two more heads, both Staré, appeared. She didn’t want to answer. Bones meant paperwork.

  “Um, dear? Remember that thing Dr. Xian and Dr. De Groet have been complaining about never finding?” She looked into the musty blackness around her before looking up at the males again. “I found some.”

  9

  Sticks, Stones, and Bones

  Makana returned to the run-about for the rope, once they proved that Tomás could not quite reach Rigi and still have enough of him on solid ground to pull safely. “You found physical remains?”

  “It appears so. Please don’t fall in on top of me trying to see them,” she warned as Kor and Tomás both leaned very far over the edge of the hole. That reminded her of something from a long-ago lecture, and she knelt, turned the light on once more and studied the underneath of the dirt. “You ought to back up some, sirs. You are on what seems to be planks of some kind, and if they are wood, they might be rotten.” That would explain why she’d fallen through, as well as why they’d never found much wood at other First World sites. But then why wood here? She tipped the beam back down onto the floor of the space, ignoring the might-be-bones in favor of finding a sliver to the former roof. A long piece seemed stuck into a clod of dirt and grass roots, and she picked it up. “Here’s a sample.” She handed the piece up to Kor, who took it with his claws so he wouldn’t touch her skin by accident.

  “Physical remains,” Tomás repeated. “Are they bones or more?”

  Rigi caught the idea before it became more than a vague memory from a very scary holo-vid and shoved it very far away. “Just bones, possibly. With what appear to be beads around the cervical vertebrae, that is, they are in the right position to have been worn or draped across the neck before the cord or thong decomposed.” If she sounded like a xenoarchaeological report, she would not think about that silly holo-vid or about the paperwork waiting when they got back to camp. Why did everyone still call it paperwork, she wondered, since everything was now on screens and purely electronic? Probably because of tradition, and because some departments kept bound, printed versions of documents to have on hand if the data-retrieval system had a problem. Whatever one called it, there would be a great deal of it, probably weighing as much as Martinus did. Rigi sneezed again. The soil should not be dusty dry, should it? She ran her fingers over the surface under her boots and found powder, then what felt like more fitted planks. The dust looked bright purple. Curious, she shone the light onto her boots. “Oops.”

  “Oops?” Kor demanded.

  “Ah, I seem to have landed in the middle of a festival design, sir.”

  Kor and Tomás looked at each other, then back at her. “Micah is going to be most unhappy indeed,” Tomás grinned.

  “Where’s Martinus?”

  “Your mechanical associate remains on the rocks like the sensible m-dog that he is,” Kor informed her. “As did I.”

  Rigi heard hopping and panting. She moved away from the remains, scuffing a little as she did in case something were behind her. She was not going to look. The end of the rope dropped and she tried to remember what to do. Oh, yes, thanks be she was in a dress and sturdy leggings. She wrapped the rope around her middle, then around one leg and got ready to lock the end in place with her other boot.

  “On three. One, two, three!” As someone pulled, Rigi jumped up, trapping the end of the rope against the top of one boot with the sole of the other. She cleared the edge of the hole and Tomás extended one hand. She grabbed it and he hauled her onto the stones. She unwound the rope and breathed. Tomás rested one hand on hers, then moved it a little.

  “Not a festival design, but— Ah. More I may not say,” Kor stated. Makana had also brought a large spotlight-type light and shone it into the hole. Rigi felt hurt for a moment, then mentally shrugged the feeling away. Staré tended to be task- and idea-focused. Since she was not injured, and had been removed from the hole, she was no longer the sole object of their interest.

  “Um, dear, could you tell what sex the individual was?” She glared at her husband. He ducked. “I’m sorry; didn’t think. Are you alright?”

  Rigi ran an inventory. Her rump was bruised, and she’d have bruises around her waist most likely, but her dress appeared to be intact, she didn’t feel the small draft that meant a hole in her leggings, and she had not hit her head. “I believe so. I will have some bruises but nothing more. We do know the depth of the compartments, or at least of one of them, now.”

  He sat on his heels as she sat cross-legged, his hand on her shoulder. “The material from the layer beneath the soil does not feel like any wood I’m familiar with. More like an extruded composite or polymer.”

  “Given the lack of trees, assuming a similar landscape now as then, using a synthetic would make sense. Especially if the people were concerned about durability and decay.” She thought a little more. “That would also explain why it was dry inside, or at least is now.” A radical thought struck her, and she watched the two Staré to make certain they were completely focused on looking into the hole. The difference in size and build was obvious—black, compact Kor and paler, taller Makana, first Stamm and upper third. She leaned very close to Tomás and murmured up to his ear, �
��Dear, why have Staré grown larger and not smaller since the end of the First World?”

  “Because we’ve introduced new foods and— Dust and dander, you’re right. I have no idea, and that is probably not a question to ask right now.”

  “No. I do not care to find myself dumped back into the hole, thank you.” She moved her skirt so she could kneel, then stand. Makana had left her satchel on the partition wall, and she retrieved it. “Would you like to see the water?”

  He nodded. “I don’t believe I need to poke my nose in there just yet.” He coiled the rope, stood, and followed her down the partition wall. Martinus joined them, and they found a lower bit of wall to scoot down, then walked on the flagstones to the water spigot. Tomás sniffed it but did not drink. He studied the little pipe, then looked at the complex up-slope. “Is there a second one?”

  “Makana and I did not find one, but we did not look much, either. He almost dragged me away by the tail or forefoot like a pouchling because of how late in the day it had grown.” She’d seen a few older pouchlings and even a hopling or two being hauled out of markets and parks, fussing and generating much scent. Ah, the unglamorous side of motherhood, Rigi sighed. Tantrums and diapers.

  “I wonder if the watercourse between here and the road serves the same function, diverting the water from the site, but higher up the slope.” They walked to the eastern edge of the paving stones and looked up the mountain. “After so many years, it could have become naturalized, losing all trace of being Staré made.”

  Rigi found her distance viewer in her bag and looked north, to the stream where it passed by the boulders, then tracing it up the slope. “You know, I think you may be right. Because there seems to be a little bit of terracing around the stream, especially there where it bends just above the second boulder.” She offered him the viewer.

  “Thank you.” He looked, also following the thread of water by the lusher grasses and wildflowers. “The terracing could be an erosional feature, the ground slumping in layers. Can’t remember what it’s called, but it happens in some soils. That bend does look a little too smooth, but what’s under the grass?” He returned the viewers. “I believe that we need to take some measurements, then return to camp and write down absolutely everything we’ve seen, both on your and Makana’s initial visit, and today. Then—”

  “Wooeef!”

  “Damn!” Rigi and Tomás dropped low as an enormous bird swooped down, grey talons spread, brown eye intent. Rigi thought she could count the barbs on the feathers as it whooshed a meter over their heads, then climbed once more. A feather fluttered down at the edge of the flagstones and she scurried over, grabbing it before the breeze could carry it off.

  “I can see why the white mammals spooked when it went over them,” Rigi squeaked, throat dry, hands shaking. “L-large bird.”

  “Very large bird,” he agreed, taking the feather. “But natural bird, not alien-made, thanks be.”

  “Thanks be indeed.” She let herself calm down before trying to say anything more. Tomás studied the feather, teasing the barbules apart, then smoothing them again. “Good dog, Martinus. Very good dog.” She patted his head.

  Her husband gave her a slightly mean and sneaky grin. “Can you imagine what a hat made with these feathers would look like?” He held his hands level with his ears, then spread them wider, until he stood with arms outstretched. Rigi giggled dreadfully, because she could see some of the ladies under just such enormous haberdashery, given the opportunity. “And it did not eat Kor or Makana, it appears.”

  All Rigi could see of the two Staré were their backs and tails. Had they even noticed the large bird? And what did it eat? Something that large could carry off a yearling wombow, or so Rigi guessed, and she wondered if the defensive shields over the camp and settlement were strong enough to deter an attack from the air. While she mused, Tomás found the carry-pack he’d left near the first carved stone and brought it to the water spout. He opened the top flap and removed a laser distance-gage. Rigi unfolded the marker and pole that went with it, and carried them to the far end of the paved area, Martinus walking at her side. She’d done this so often that she could almost survey a site in her sleep, almost. Once they had the width, Rigi picked her way down-slope, skirting the edge of the structure, while he trudged uphill. They measured the length. Then she began hiking up to meet him, stopping at each wall-junction and corner, and at the inset plaques as well. Her target had its own little altimeter in it, making data collection easier.

  They’d finished the outside measurements and had begun doing a sample sub-section before Kor and Makana emerged from whatever it was they had been doing. Rigi wanted to ask, but kept her questions to herself, trying to concentrate on holding the pole and target steady in the breeze. The wind felt cooler and seemed to be growing stronger. She glanced up, tipping her head back to see past the brim of her sunshade. Thin clouds covered the sky, and she suspected that they were a weather warning. The cool season was beginning up here, and cool came with storms. The Staré watched, not interrupting until the humans and m-dog finished their task. At last Tomás grunted, “Enough for the initial report, I believe.”

  Rigi heartily agreed. Her tea and two rusks had worn off some time ago, leaving her with a hunger headache and the first warnings of a snappish temper if she did not eat something. She also needed to find a place to take care of another increasingly urgent matter. She folded the target and stick, waiting until Tomás backed-up the data and then packed the surveying laser away. “I need a moment to myself.” She handed him the folded rod and target, beckoned for Martinus, and marched away from the site, toward the closest boulder. Martinus trotted ahead, found nothing behind the rock, and waited while she took care of matters. Once more she gave thanks for modern sanitation. If she had to use a field every time…ugh. She rinsed her hands in the warm stream of water on the other side of the boulder, then stopped mid shake as she dried them. Warm stream? In the mountains?

  “The water’s warm, not sun warm,” she told the males when she returned to where they stood inspecting the first plaque once more.

  “The water from the little spigot is cold, Mistress Rigi. Painfully cold,” Makana reported.

  Tomás and Kor looked at each other. “I wonder,” Tomás began. “If the stream really is a Staré-made diversion to help protect this site, is there a thermal headspring? That might produce water hot enough that even after it collects cold water from below, the stream would remain warm.”

  Rigi wrinkled her nose as she thought. “Don’t hot springs always emerge from below cold layers, or am I forgetting something?” Her stomach growled and she turned a little pink.

  “I do not recall, dear, but hunger always fogs my memory. If there are no objections, I recommend returning to camp and beginning our write-up.”

  Kor puffed a strong affirmative. “I am hungry, and rain comes.”

  That settled it. Rigi harbored no desire to explain to the other officers’ wives why she had returned, drenched to the skin and smelling like wet Staré, from an outing with her husband and a servant. And drying Martinus, then refreshing his lubrication and polishing his joints took time she preferred to use for other tasks. Apparently Tomás agreed, because he gestured for Martinus to lead the way back to the run-about. Kor and Makana hop-ran to the vehicle, leaving the humans to follow. Tomás slung the bag over his shoulder along with the coil of rope, while Rigi made certain that the waterproof flap on her art-bag remained firmly closed. He took her arm, helping her over the little stream and up the slope to the waiting vehicle. As they drew close enough to see the Staré, he murmured in Common, “Once again, Korkuhkalya squanders no time.” Kor was chewing vigorously, a strip of something held in one forefoot. “I do hope that is not star-rind. Please, Scout and Huntress, may it not be star-rind.”

  To her husband’s relief, they saw the brilliant green color. “Oh good. Candied lump-fruit pad.” He slowed his steps and she matched his pace, giving Kor and Makana time to finish their t
ide-me-over before the humans arrived. Rigi preferred not to watch Staré eat. Did they feel the same way about humans? Aside from Stamm rules, Rigi realized that she had no idea what sorts of behaviors served Staré as table manners. Well, no, she knew that they tried to clean their forefeet before touching food. She remembered helping the female in charge of a group of hoplings in the Indria-Plateau village rinse off their forefeet before eating. Cleaning under the claws followed the meal, that she also recalled, but nothing else. She shrugged a little. The Staré probably considered the humans quite odd for using multiple forks, eating-sticks, knives, and spoons at one meal. Rigi still had not sorted out what the little two-tined fork with the curved handle was for. It might be for raw shellfish, and since neoTraditionalists did not eat those raw, it would explain why she’d never seen one used.

  They returned to the military camp just in time. As Tomás helped her out of the run-about, Rigi saw the first grey rain-vails beginning to sweep over the top of the mountains. Makana unpacked the equipment, aside from Rigi’s art satchel, while Kor and Tomás departed to sign the vehicle back in. Makana started back to the tent while Rigi glanced inside the run-about one last time out of habit, confirming that nothing had rolled into a corner. After missing an egg that somehow got loose from the package and finding it by smell four very warm days later, she absolutely had to look, just in case. Nothing came to her attention aside from a bit of rock that someone had tracked in, and she leaned in to retrieve it.

  Before she could straighten up, she heard rapid footsteps and sensed someone stopping behind her, too close to be polite. Neither Kor nor Tomás moved that way. Adrenaline surged through her veins. As she turned her head to look, she caught sight of hands moving toward her.

  Thump. “Oof!” Her elbow connected with someone’s gut. Rigi ducked and spun, moving sideways away from both vehicle and attacker. “You,” a ragged gasp. “You nasty bitch!”