by Sharon Lee
“But—why?” demanded Kaleb.
Ms. Taylor nodded. “Another good question, Kaleb, thank you.”
“Does everybody remember when we talked about how the Bosses came into the empty space in the power structure that was made when the Gilmour Agency pulled off Surebleak?”
Heads nodded throughout the classroom. Kezzi, noted Syl Vor, who had a very good view of the back of her head, did not nod.
“The Bosses come up and divvied the Streets ’tween ’em, each one takin’ what they could hold,” said Anders. “That meant all the different Streets and Bosses were workin’ against each other, instead of with each other. ’Til Boss Conrad.”
“Very good, Anders. The Council of Bosses has made it a mandate to close the gap between the Streets, and bring Surebleak people to work together with each other, for the good of ourselves and our world. The Consolidated School is an important step in that direction.”
She paused, her head to one side, like she did when she was waiting for questions. None came, though, and after a moment, she nodded.
“We’ll talk about this some more during the day, and at lunch. After lunch, we’ll make a list of who gets taxi chits. Tomorrow, we’ll pack up all our things, answer any last minute questions or concerns and get ready for the move. The day after that, we’ll meet for class at the new school.” She smiled. “I’m excited. I think you’ll be excited, too, when you see the new school—the new possibilities—and meet the other students like you, from lots of different turfs, who’ve been going to schools like this one.”
She took a breath, and let her smile dim somewhat.
“We’d usually do arithmetic about now, but today, we’re going to do history, instead.” She looked around the room deliberately, and Syl Vor thought her eyes rested just a little longer on Peter and on Luce.
“All right,” she said, her tone much sterner than usual. “Who wants to tell us about the insurance business?”
* * *
Memit had called upon him to work in the garden, and this he had done with honest joy, turning and trimming until his muscles ached, and blisters rose on his ungloved hand. The blisters earned him a scold from Memit, who smeared a salve on his palm and bound it with gauze.
“Fool. You’ve been unable to work this while; your muscles are weak and your flesh is tender.”
“How better to strengthen both than to work?” he asked, which earned him a box on the ear—gentler than it might have been—and a command to come and give his opinion of her newest project.
“Where did you get these?” he asked, kneeling among the thin green vines.
“I found a stasis packet,” she said, hunkering down beside him. “The label said table grapes and ordinary. I remembered that you had cared for such, so I brought them, thinking you might teach me. But you had gone to the men’s camp, so I heard, and our ways were separate for some while.”
The vines were a gift, he understood, taking care not to look too closely into her face and perhaps dismay her.
“Do you have the wrappings—or the label?” he murmured, reaching out and testing the new wood with naked fingertips.
Memit stood, unbuttoned the large side-pocket on her utility pants and pulled out a closely-folded piece of cardboard.
Rys unfolded it, pleased that she had kept all of the packaging.
“It would appear,” he said, scanning the printed matter, “that these vines have been engineered for quick growth in less-than-optimal conditions. I have been accustomed to vines that came slowly to fruit, and with a certain rigor in regard to the soil. However…” He looked up into Memit’s face with a smile. “However, I think that between us we ought to be able to find how best to please these. Is it your wish to make wine?”
Memit shrugged.
“First,” she said, “let us make grapes.”
* * *
Pat Rin shook his head as he handed her a teacup.
“I must say that I hadn’t expected such rapid results,” he said. “It’s to be hoped that the headman is a person of sense.”
“I gather from Silain that the headman’s duty is to the best good of the company at large,” Nova murmured.
“Yes, and I wish I knew whether that would serve us or hinder us.” He sighed and sipped his tea. “Well. I suppose all will be revealed, soon or late.”
“I am,” he commented, after a few moments of companionable silence, “interested in this lost ship.”
“Spoken like the son of a piloting House. Unfortunately, I know only that Kezzi asked Syl Vor if he might find a ship that was lost. This, you understand, having been brought up in the wake a brisk review of ship silhouettes.”
“And he said?”
“Being also the son of a piloting House, he said that it was possible to find lost ships, but there were facts to gather, and an adult pilot to enlist on the project.”
“Whereupon he brought the matter to you.” Pat Rin nodded. “That is well.”
“We might,” Nova commented, “give them a ship, if it will remove them willingly from the warehouses.”
“We might, I suppose. Do you think there is a pilot among them?”
“I have no notion.”
“Nor do I. And thus we wait upon the headman.” He smiled at her. “In the meantime, Mr. McFarland has done his inspection, along with the contract team and a brace of Scout specialists. They pronounce the school ready for occupancy. The teachers are already on-site and preparing to meet their students.”
Nova sighed, and shook her hair back from her face.
“I hope,” she said, and stopped.
“That it works?” he finished for her. “As I do. And the devil’s in it, that we won’t begin to know, for years. Though we will make a beginning and show solidarity.”
Nova considered him.
“We will?”
“Indeed. It has been decided by the Council of Bosses that the school shall be seen to have the approval of all. The incoming students will be welcomed by a committee of Bosses.”
Nova frowned.
“Will they? And will Boss Conrad be among them?”
He raised his cup, but did not sip from it, rather looking at her over the rim.
“Do you know?” he said. “Natesa doesn’t approve, either.”
“And Mr. McFarland?”
“Mr. McFarland is of the opinion that I am a target wherever I go, and in the instance, he will at least have back-up from the other ’hands attending their Bosses.”
“There is that.” Nova sighed. “Mr. Golden and I will be there, of course.”
Pat Rin raised an eyebrow.
“There’s no need…”
“There is every need,” she interrupted. “Syl Vor and his sister will be among the core students arriving, recall! Not only will Mr. Golden consider it a rare treat to be on hand, but I believe the entire household may wish to be present.”
Pat Rin grinned.
After a moment in which she stared with dark intent at nothing, Nova shook her head and drank off what was left of her tea.
* * *
The knife was a good one, well-kept, well-edged, and made for a hand smaller than his own. A subtle flick of the wrist brought the blade out, locked and ready for business; the barest pressure on a certain spot in the leather-wrapped handle put it safely away again.
In fact, Udari thought, eying the thing with unease, it was a just a bit too apt, this knife, so smooth and so sweet that a man might forget he held a weapon.
And this knife—this sleek instrument, not so much contemptuous of life, as dismissive of it…This knife belonged to Rys?
True, he had seen his brother, small and broken as he had been, use his crutch as a weapon to win Rafin’s respect, but that had been done with…thoughtfulness, and, as he had thought at the time, calculated intent.
And anyway, Udari thought, snapping the knife closed and holding it close in his hand, who had said the knife belonged to Rys?
A gadje woman he had never
seen before…
…and who had known him for the brother of the one called Rys.
Udari’s mouth thinned. He stood up from his hearth, slipped the knife away into a pocket, and went to find his brother.
* * *
“Does anybody have questions about the new school?” Ms. Taylor asked, looking around the table.
“How will we mix in with the other students?” Delia asked.
“I expect that you’ll mix in fine, and that there won’t be as much difference as you think between turfs—just like we’ve been finding out here,” Ms. Taylor said, and smiled. “For the mechanics of it…At first—and for as long as everyone feels it’s useful—we’ll meet together first thing, and last. That way we’ll be able to keep in touch with each other, and talk about things. From our first core class, you’ll go to another class that’s been assigned—say, spelling, or arithmetic, or history. After that class, you’ll go on to another. Classes will last about an hour, and everybody will have a list of classes, and where they are and a map. You know? After lunch, let’s do routes! I’ve got a map of the new school. We can learn where things are together—that’ll be fun, won’t it?”
As far as Syl Vor could read from his classmates’ faces, they weren’t necessarily convinced that it would be fun. He remembered Veeno telling him that people didn’t like change. That certainly seemed to be the case, here.
“Them other kids,” Rodale spoke up, from his seat next to Rudy. “They know about not bringing blades and shooters t’school, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do. The safety rules have been exactly the same for all the core schools,” Ms. Taylor said firmly. “No weapons allowed in school, and no fighting. There will be a self-defense class, required for everybody.” She shook her head. “After routes, we’ll look at the list of required classes, OK? If there’s a question about what something is, or how it’ll be taught, I’ll make a note and ask after it at the meeting tonight.”
“Meeting?” Rudy repeated. “Do you…know these other teachers?”
Ms. Taylor laughed. “Well, of course, I do! Not all of them, because some have just arrived, but most, I think. We’ve been working on this curriculum for a long time, and in spite of all these glum faces I’m seeing, I really think you’ll be pleased. I know you’ll do me proud. And I’ll be right there, remember! If you need to talk to me, you just come right on and do that!”
“But where?” Tansy demanded, fretfully.
“I’ll have my own classroom, just like I do here,” Ms. Taylor said. “We’ll find that on the map, first thing, all right?”
Tansy snuffled, and nodded.
Ms. Taylor looked around the table, and Syl Vor did, too. He had eaten all his lunch, and Kezzi had eaten hers. No one else had seemed to be hungry.
“OK, here’s what. I’m going to go into the other room, and count to fifty. When I’m finished, I’ll expect to see everyone back in their seats.”
She got up, took her dishes over to the bin, and passed into the schoolroom.
“One!” she called out. “Two…”
“Like hide ’n seek, only backwards!” said Vanette, and picked up her spoon, attacking her soup with a will.
Anders frowned, then followed suit, and pretty soon everybody but Rudy was eating.
“Better not waste that,” Rodale said, nodding at Rudy’s plate. “Long time ’til supper.”
“Yeah…” Rudy picked up his spoon, and then put it down. “Not sure I’m gonna make the new school,” he said. “M’father din’t like me comin’—the boss at the machine shop had late hours he could gimme, so that made it OK. This extra travel—even with a taxi…I ain’t gonna be able to make m’hours.”
“Ask the boss for less hours,” Syl Vor suggested.
Rudy glared at him. “Less hours is less pay, stupid. You think I can take less pay?”
Syl Vor raised his hands, palm out.
“I’m sorry,” he said, which was proper, in Terran. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Guess you dint, Boss’ brat. You don’t gotta think o’hours or money, or nothin’ cept pleasin’ your—”
“He said,” Kezzi raised her voice to be heard over his, “that he was sorry.”
“That’s right, Rudy, leave it,” Vanette said. “Kid just dint think, is all.”
Rudy took a breath, closed his eyes, and opened them on a hard exhalation.
“Oh, all right,” he said. “Whatever.”
* * *
From the garden, Rys went to the men’s camp. Pulka’s hearth was unoccupied, but there was a pot of tea on the stones, so he poured himself a mug and stood, sipping and staring into the hearth-glow.
Physical labor had helped keep memory at bay, but now that he was quiet again—and alone—the moment returned. The moment of his betrayal, when Jasin’s brother had accomplished his greatest piece of mischief. The pilot who had purchased his contract had been called…lar’Adritch. He had insisted that Rys accompany him immediately, saying that they would send for his belongings.
He had turned to Jasin’s brother, and found that one grinning at him.
“First Mate Bell’s off-ship with station security,” he said. “I’ll let her know she needs to hire another crewman, when she gets back.”
He remembered that.
He remembered his anger, and his anguish.
He remembered that lar’Adrin had not, after all, sent for his kit.
…He feared—he very much feared—that he would be able to remember what had befallen him, in lar’Adrin’s care, if he pushed, only a very little bit…
“There you are, Brother! I have been searching the camp over for you!”
Relief flooded him. He turned to smile up into Udari’s face.
“And here I am found. How may I serve you, Brother?”
“It might be that I can serve you,” Udari said, an unaccustomed frown upon his brow. “I wonder, Brother—your lover. What does she look like?”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak, the question like a blade to his heart. He took a breath then, shakily; his heart caught its rhythm, and he sighed.
“Perhaps your height, with golden brown hair, cut very short. Three rings in the right ear—” He raised his hand to his own ear, touching the places—“copper, silver, gold. Blue-grey eyes…” Long, sensuous hands, and strong shapely legs; small breasts, and a firm waist…
But Udari was shaking his head.
“Why,” Rys murmured, “do you ask?”
“Well.” His brother sighed. “I went out and Above with the luthia today. A woman stopped me there, and asked if I was brother to the one called Rys.”
For the second time in a very few moments, he felt his heart stagger. Silain was to have met with…one of Korval today…
“Was it…” he began, but Udari was speaking again.
“She was your height, this woman, and your hue. Her eyes were blue, but more ice than fog, and her hair was yellow.”
He could call to mind no one to fit such a description. A woman—any woman, it might be.
Rys swallowed. “What did she want?”
“Why, she said she had found your knife, Brother, and asked that I take it to you.”
He brought his hand from his pocket and held it out, showing a leather-wrapped shape across his palm.
Without thinking, Rys took it up in his gloved hand. He dropped back a step and flicked his wrist…
Silently, the blade snapped out and locked.
Absently, he tried its balance, finding it good, and the handle well-suited to his grip. s thumb found the release, and the blade snapped home.
“It is your knife,” Udari said, sounding as if he had hoped otherwise.
“At least my hand seems to know it,” Rys answered, looking down at it. “Did she give a name, this woman? A reason—”
“Nothing else,” Udari interrupted. “You do not, then, know her?”
He shook his head.
“However, it is a good knife, and well-kep
t. There’s no reason not to keep it.”
It seemed for a moment that Udari would argue this point, but in the end he only shrugged, and turned the subject.
“What do you, Brother?”
“I had done some work in the garden, and it comes to me—” He raised his mug. “That I ought to find Jin a mug.”
Udari grinned. “Does it? Do you have the way of it, or will a brother’s teaching be of use?”
“I would expect that a brother’s teaching will be of very much use. Are you able to accompany me?”
“I am—and willing, too!”
“That is well, then. Let us go now, before my determination wanes. In fact, you might bear me company to another hearth, before we find the gate.”
“Lead,” Udari said, gaily, “and I will follow!”
* * *
Droi was sitting by the hearth, mending a tear in Vylet’s shawl. A shadow flickered, obscuring her light, and she looked up in annoyance—
Into the face of Rys Dragonwing.
“Sister,” he said, soft and mannerly as one might want; “do you need anything?”
Anger leapt to meet the question—anger that was more than half vey, and which she made no attempt to soften.
“From you?”
It was not well-done to speak to a brother so, but Droi did not apologize. Let him think she despised him. He should certainly not think that he owned her, or owed her, or any other such mad, gadje thing as might enter his head. That, she would not have.
Seemingly, the blade went home; she heard him draw a sharp breath, and was glad. She put her gaze on her mending, thinking next to hear his footsteps, departing. But—
“I am going to the City Above to find a mug for Jin,” Rys said, in his quiet, patient voice. “May I find something for you?”
Well, that…
That was only what a brother might ask a sister, after all. She could—and ought to—answer such a question more gently.
She took a breath of her own and forced herself to raise her head to meet his eyes.