by Patty Jansen
She had no idea of the time of day except it had to be early because all the beds around her were occupied with sleeping people. A young local woman slept next to a Mirani ex-soldier, using his shoulder as pillow. Both were stark naked. She had to stop herself staring, but on the other side, Jocassa lay asleep on a mattress, also stark naked, curled up with his back to her so that she had a direct view of his backside. At school, the girls used to whisper and giggle about this, but did Nikala men really have such hairy backsides? Then a fleeting thought of panic. They could tell what she was the moment one of them woke up and saw her hairless body.
As quietly as she could, she climbed from the bed—it was made of woven wooden twigs and it creaked—and found her trousers. They were still damp from the drenching last night and the thick fabric was starting to smell musty. She shuddered with the disgusting feel of the fabric on her skin.
She walked to the window.
The courtyard pavement glistened with wetness. The sky was a mass of low grey clouds shedding sheets of rain which lashed the roof. Water overflowed from the gutter and clattered onto the paving two floors down.
The only time it ever rained in Miran were a few drops in spring sometimes. Almost all water—and there was a lot of it—fell as snow. Nothing like this. At least, it would not be so hot today.
A blast of droplet-laden air wafted in. There was no glass in the windows and the people sleeping closest to the window would get wet. She wondered whose bed she had taken and whether she was supposed to have slept closer to the window. Maybe they'd tried to move her while she was asleep. That was an embarrassing thought.
She turned to the door and picked her way through the narrow spaces between the beds, avoiding limbs that hung in the aisle.
In the courtyard, the tables and chairs where everyone had partied last night stood abandoned in the rain. A few empty bottles lay on the ground and in flower beds. The flowering tree in the pot drooped, all its branches laden with water, the flowers wet and floppy. There was no sign of people anywhere.
What exactly had happened to her last night?
Her head still echoed with the voices of Liseyo and Mother. They were scared. Something was happening in Miran. It freaked her out.
She wondered if this was the same thing as what the Endri called not being right in the head. Like the old guy Leitho in the hospital. He saw things and heard voices, but she'd never considered that he might hear people he knew. She tried to recall things he said, but felt ashamed that she had never listened to him or even attempted to take any of his hallucinations seriously.
She had always suspected that there was a link between drinking brew and hallucinations, but the link with light was new. Yet, now that she thought of it, she couldn't remember anyone with hallucinations ever having come into the hospital after dark.
Yet, the problem was not defined solely by addiction to menisha brew. Light affected some people who had been drinking, but not all. Why Pengali and keihu but not Mirani Nikala? Why Mirani Endri?
Were two of those affected Rehan and Iztho Andrahar?
She remembered Rehan's absentminded expression. The memory chilled her. Almost every Endri family had a member who wasn't right in the head. Could their disease have been avoided only if those people had not drunk so much brew?
But that didn't make sense either. One of the worst affected with hallucinations was Dithiandra Andrahar, Rehan's aunts and Jihan's sister, and she never left the house and would never have had the opportunity to drink. Endri women didn't drink, and especially women of that generation would obey their fathers unconditionally.
So what? The hallucinations happened in some people, but drinking menisha brew made them worse? What would happen if Dithiandra Andrahar drank?
And why would someone pay a bunch of thugs to go into guesthouses to find these people? Who sent the thugs? Someone in Barresh, Jocassa seemed to think. Had these people taken away Iztho?
An icy chill went over her back and she was glad no one here knew her real name and why she was here.
Mikandra walked across the upstairs gallery and went down the deserted stairwell. There was no one on the ground floor, not in the courtyard, not in the corridor and not in the archway that led to the street. When she walked through the entrance hall, there was a shimmer of movement in a room off the hall—this was probably the guesthouse's cranky owner and she had no desire to speak to him, especially not about any payment she might owe him.
Going out into the street presented a different problem: how to stay dry? Locals walked around wearing peculiar hats with long flapping sides that directed the water off the wearer.
Mikandra had no such gadgets, not even a cloak to keep her dry. But it wasn't far to the shops where she wanted to start asking for work so she went into the rain, skipping over puddles.
But she might as well not have tried. The very air seemed liquid. The trees dripped big and fat drops onto the street whenever there was a bit of breeze.
At a street stall, she bought the cheapest breakfast she could find—some sort of porridge goo that consisted of little balls stuck together with white gel. It tasted . . . funny, like everything in this place smelled funny either of farts from hot water wells or of the all-pervasive soapy smell of the megon oil. The porridge was probably a bit more watery than intended, because the rain became heavier while she was eating and the trunk of the tree at her back did not give much shelter.
A stall in the street sold rain hats. Mikandra counted out her money—Jocassa's friends' money—and decided against it. Surely it had to stop raining soon.
It was still too early to start asking merchants for jobs. Many of them were only arriving at their stalls or shops. She walked past the guard office in Market Street, but it, too, was still closed.
The only thing Mikandra hadn't lost in the robbery was written on her hand. She would rather die than ask the Andrahar brothers for money, but Rehan had given her the code so that she would use it, right? He wanted to keep up with what she was doing, and she could ask about what was going on in Miran.
The foyer of the Exchange was quiet at this time of the day. The builder's table still stood in the corner, and bags of sand and piles of wood lay in piles at the bottom of the stairs, but the workers had not yet arrived for the day.
With all the humidity, the upstairs corridor beyond the sliding doors felt positively frigid. That thought made her smile. Only yesterday, she would have died to be allowed into this room.
When Mikandra asked for the communication booths, the woman behind the counter pointed her to a large room with cubicles, each with a comfortable chair facing a wallscreen.
Mikandra sat down and, when the woman had left, punched the code. She wrote a short message which she hoped would sound business-like.
Iztho does not seem to be in Barresh. I have potentially identified the woman he wanted to marry and will make an attempt to talk to her. Well, that sounded a bit more positive than reality. She had yet to set eyes on the Chief Councillor's wife, but she knew who this woman was. I'm hearing disturbing rumours about things that are happening in Miran. I hope you are all well.
She scrubbed the last sentence out and re-wrote it three times, but she didn't like Please let me know if my family is all right because it sounded too desperate. She also didn't like What is going on in Miran? or any of the more formal wordings. These messages weren't always completely confidential and she didn't want to sound like she was interested in politics in case someone was keeping an eye on her.
After signing off, she went to the guard office in Market Street where, as Jocassa had predicted, the man at the counter could not have been less interested in the robbery. She mentioned Iztho' name, but they didn't seem to care or recognise the name. So—maybe the Pengali thug had been talking about someone else. After all, he had not mentioned Iztho's name.
While she answered stupid questions on exactly how many men there had been and what each of them looked like without using the word Pengali—b
ecause we don't make assumptions based on suspects' ethnicity—she grew more determined.
Solving her situation, getting herself to Kedras in time for the academy year, was her responsibility and hers alone. She would not ask the Andrahar brothers for money. She would not beg. This whole trouble was her own stupid fault, and she would work her way out of it.
If people wanted money, they found a job, and she had best get started on that.
The shops were right here.
The business closest to the guard station was a seller of baskets and rugs, who had set up a large blue tent to shelter his wares from the rain. He was middle-aged, rotund like so many local men and when she entered the tent where the rain thundered on the roof, he barked orders to a small child that toddled around and was surely too young to understand.
Mikandra felt nervous and silly facing him soaking wet. The water dripped from her hair into her neck. She swore she would buy better clothes as soon as she earned some money.
He asked, "Can I help the lady?" She could barely hear him over the noise.
"Yes, I was wondering if you have a job for me."
"I'm sorry, lady, but we don't sell any—wait, did you say job?"
Hope surged in her. "I did. I can help pack things and unpack things and deliver—" What did shop owners do?
He stared at her like she'd slapped him in the face.
Her hopes deflated again. "If you can't help me, maybe you'll know someone who is looking for workers. I am reliable and—"
"No, we can't use anyone. I'm sorry."
"Do you know anyone else who—"
"Sorry, no. We don't give jobs to foreign louts."
What the . . .?
She was so surprised she couldn't think of anything to say. Louts? If she looked like a customer, he called her a lady. If she asked for a job, she was a lout?
Seething, she walked to the next shop and found an owner who didn't speak Mirani. In the next shop, she was more formal and direct.
"A job?" The owner scratched his head.
"I can help you pack and unpack stock and—"
A voice came from behind her. "You dare ask us for a job?"
It was the owner of the fabric store where she had met Jocassa yesterday. He went on to rant at his colleague in keihu. The man's previously friendly-but-guarded look turned suspicious. What was this other idiot telling him? That she stole or was a spy?
Anyway, with that vindictive idiot around, it would be useless to keep trying in this block of shops. Maybe she would have better luck at the markets.
She slunk back out into the rain.
The cloth merchant yelled after her, "Get out, Mirani filth. Get out, before I send the guards after you."
Shaken, Mikandra made her way to the markets, where only a few stalls operated in the pissing rain. She asked all of them, but none seemed to have a need for workers who were Mirani and female.
Feeling dejected, Mikandra trudged back to the guesthouse, wondering if she could possibly ask to borrow more money so she could go back home. But what would that achieve except confirm to her father that she was good for nothing and needed to be married off? It would certainly not get her to Kedras to start her training. It would not convince Rehan that she was worth supporting.
But then again, what would either of those two men have done in the same situation? Swear at the merchant probably. Much as swearing badly was said to be the Trader's style, it wasn't hers. She didn't think Aunt Amandra swore either.
Courage Iztho had told her.
Well, that was great, but didn't solve many of her problems. For one, where was he and why had he left the family in such a mess? Who really had courage?
She went back to the guesthouse at midday, and found Jocassa in the courtyard. It had stopped raining and he sat at the table closest to the fountain counting money out in little piles.
He glanced up as she dropped at the table. "Bad day?"
She sighed and wiped sweat from her face. How could it be wet and cloudy and still so hot?
"I hate this place. I hate it."
"Ah, so youz are in that stage. Yup, we's all go through it." He chuckled and continued counting his money.
Mikandra felt annoyance that she owed him. She had been such an idiot. She was hot, she smelled and she couldn't stand this place. She should never have come here.
"I've been trying to get a job, but everywhere I've asked they say they don't like foreigners or they have some other excuse. Some of them are really rude. This is stupid. I've never seen as many foreigners as in this place. There's even Coldi working in the council building. So they don't like foreigners, and the streets are full of them?"
"I said I can give youz some money. Looks like youz be best off going back home."
His expression said, Give up, you're too soft for this place.
Oh, home seemed so attractive. But there was no home for her to go to.
"I can't." Emotion welled up in her. What had gone from a simple task had become a struggle to survive. But she remembered what Rehan Andrahar had said. If she wants to be one of us, she'll have to handle the heat. She balled her fists under the table. "I won't."
He let a silence lapse, in which he swiped all the money off the table into a bag. "Bein' stubborn is stupid. What for, anyway? Youz take what life brings. Y'know, I din' ask t' be born t' a poor mother who'd drink herself t' death. I wanted a nice family. But all th' nice girls got married while I was in th' army t' make money so that my mother could eat and pay th' healers, and th' drink, too, whenever I din' look her way. I tried t' get out of th' army many times. I tried merchanting, but th' boss was an old perv who jus' wanted a playboy. I tried t' get into the agricultural coops in Bendara, but bein' from th' city, I had no 'xperience. Youz would know all about that. I's still tryin' t' get out when they found my mother frozen in th' street."
"I'm sorry."
"Don' be. Life goes on."
"You seem to be doing fine now." She nodded at the bag of money.
"I's jus' making small change. Enough t' pay my way."
She wanted to ask what he did, but was half-afraid to hear the answer. With every word he said, he further broke down the picture she'd built of him as a frivolous happy-go-lucky lout. Yes, that was a face he put on, but underneath was a very damaged but cunning young man.
"Anyway, what I's goin' t' say is that youz can' have ideals if youz really want t' work."
"I don't have any ideals. They still won't give me a job. I'm broke. I need clothes. I need a bath, I need to pay for my bed—"
"What sort of jobs have youz tried?"
"Some shops. Warehouses. Merchants. Some of them were really rude."
Jocassa said, "They won't have youz. Yes, they will be rude. They's not impressed with the Mirani right now. There was a war here 'gainst our army. There was fighting in all th' streets. They won 'n' kicked us out. They hate us. They's take our money but they still hate us. Th' people on th' street are not goin' t' give youz jobs."
"What else can I do?"
"Youz going about it all wrong. Youz need t' look for better or smarter jobs."
"I can't see what else I can do."
"Don't you see? Whatever youz are and whatever yer family does in Bendara, it's nothing like any of us. They don' like us, but they'll have us men for luggin' heavy things. 'cause we're soldiers 'n' we're dumb."
"I can't lug things." And he wasn't dumb either.
"Precisely. You'll have to tell them what youz can do."
"But I can't do anything. Even my healing knowledge is useless. They would have none of the medicines." Neither was she skilled in sewing, cooking or childminding or anything of the sort. She was annoyed at feeling outsmarted by him. Here he was, saying that she was too dumb to get a job. How had she ever made it into the Trader Academy?
"Youz can read 'n' write Mirani. Add up sums. That's what youz can do. That's more than any of us can do."
Mikandra stared at him.
Heat crept up in her
cheeks. Who was the dumb one here?
He broke a piece off his roll and held it out to her. "Eat this. Youz look starved."
"Thanks."
"'n then youz should rest 'n' have a bath."
Chapter 20
Mikandra didn't know how she extracted herself from that conversation but it was certainly not with her pride intact. She felt thoroughly humiliated by a person who, a few days ago, she wouldn't have given any time. Even in the hospital, she never thought about the lives of the men she treated. She cared little about the reasons why they were in the hospital other than that it was their own fault. She never considered the reasons why they signed up for Nemedor Satarin's army other than that they were Nikala and that's what Nikala did. She had never questioned any of it. She had, self-righteously, assumed that they couldn't look after themselves because that was the task of the Endri. She'd been stupid, an arrogant rich kid who needed to be taught a big lesson.
Lesson taught.
Humility accepted.
Look, Rehan, I'm out of the sheltered world and into the heat.
Jocassa's last bit of advice was strange, though. Rest and have a bath? No way she could relax until she had secured a job and income. A bath could wait until later.
When Mikandra went out again, she knew exactly where to go: on her walks through the nearby city block she had spotted a shop that sold readers and other office equipment.
The place looked fairly new and, besides paper, pens and readers, had shelves bulging with other gadgetry.
The owner was a Damarcian woman, typically tall and graceful with black glossy hair done up in an elaborate bun. Hers was the first smile Mikandra saw that day. Mikandra asked her if she knew if anyone needed someone who could read Mirani. The owner didn't need anyone but she told Mikandra to go to a woman who worked on the ground floor of the Exchange in an office that was called "Data Archiving" and this woman told Mikandra to go around the back of the complex to the council buildings. "There is a narrow street the runs the length of the block. You will find the entrance to the council complex there."