by Trish Mercer
Mal picked up on his accusatory tone. “I care,” he insisted, finally speaking up. “It’s just that . . . we already have plenty to study right now—”
“No, I think it’s just that you refuse to acknowledge that something’s happened to Gadiman!”
They’d been avoiding this point for several weeks. At least Nicko Mal had been avoiding it. Not that he had any affection for the weasel-like man, but the fact that Gadiman up and vanished, after his brilliant success, seemed to Mal a . . . well, a betrayal. Where was he, anyway? Starting his own group of Guarders somewhere? Planning his own little projects? With Beneff, of all idiotic people?
No . . . no he was too eager and skittish to organize something like that, even though he did put together the attack on the caravan, and then the murder of the Shins with shocking speed—
No . . . no, he couldn’t possibly pull off something like that again, and on his own. Gadiman depended too much on Nicko Mal, like an old school friend who didn’t realize they hadn’t been in school together for decades, and it was fine for him to go off on his own—
No . . . no, he’d never come to that kind of realization and suddenly leave Idumea and the Administrators.
He likely was only . . .
Well, Mal couldn’t imagine where.
“You think you know me so well,” Brisack broke into his thoughts. “But I also know you very well. And I know what you’re afraid to think: something happened to Gadiman, and he’s dead.”
“No . . . no, I don’t think that—”
“You’re afraid to think that,” Brisack said more forcefully as Mal slouched further in his chair, “because if it’s true, then it proves that none of us are untouchable. You like to claim that you’re in charge of the world, but it’s as if the world hasn’t noticed and it does whatever it pleases in spite of you. You claim the sky is blue, but almost on a daily basis it betrays you. Face it, Nicko—Gadiman’s gone, and we’ll likely never know why. Consider that maybe someone murdered him for us. He was certainly not without enemies. We can replace him with someone better. Genev seems to be a decent enough snitch and desperate to prove himself. Name him as an Administrator and let him supply us with some new subjects.”
Nicko stared off into the darkness for so long that Dr. Brisack was about to get out of his chair and check his companion’s pulse.
“Give it more time,” Mal eventually said. “Let’s see if anything turns up. Just . . . more time—”
“For what, Nicko? For what?”
Nicko didn’t know how to answer him, but the idea that the world had yet to recognize his superiority struck him with the sudden emptiness that others in the world much less worthy than himself likely experienced every day.
All he could do was get out of his chair, make his way through the dark library, stagger to his state room, and crawl into bed.
Chapter 4 ~ “This is the worst Raining Season ever.”
Days went by, as did weeks, and moons, and even a season and a half. By the middle of Raining Season, Edgers were like an old house dog: fattening, happy, and settling in comfortably for the snows. The village was rebuilt, cellars were filled, the taxation had been paid in full, and there was no evidence of the land tremor anywhere.
All of which struck Jaytsy as wholly unfair.
Because nothing was better at the Shins.
There had been signs of improvement, for three or four days at a time, when Perrin would sleep relatively soundly, smile on the second day, maybe even chuckle on the third, then go rampaging again on the fourth. By the beginning of Harvest Season, Jaytsy was giving up hope that the pattern would ever improve permanently, until the taxation came.
For a couple of weeks Colonel Shin became a constant presence in the village, riding a horse to every farm and ranch and large garden pretending to supervise the collection for Iris’s demands, and spending a great deal of time in the sunshine. He rarely left his horse of the day, however, allowing that distance between him and Edgers to keep them from interacting, while Shem was the soldier to cheerfully thank the villagers, slap them on the back, praise their efforts, and gently remind them of deadlines.
Still, when Shem decided to schedule the Strongest Soldier Race for the same weekend as the taxation—probably because he hadn’t seen Perrin such a good mood for so long—Jaytsy began to believe the nightmares were maybe finally over. Even though Perrin lost the race by several minutes—likely because he hadn’t been running for such a long time, except to chase down an unsuspecting villager—he was grinning when he plodded in to the village green.
And then the next week came the rains. Dark and cold and evil.
And all progress, Jaytsy bitterly recalled, that her father and family had made was washed away like a child’s mud mountain.
Now in the middle of Raining Season the world was perpetually gray, with bland snow and washed out skies and dirty farms.
Feeling as dreary as the world outside, Jaytsy stared at the pages in her book—one that she had read half a dozen times already, about girls who were too easily offended and cried out, ‘Oh, the impertinence!’ far too often. She brooded like her father, never before realizing how long Raining Season could last.
All around her was noise and even some laughter, but she didn’t notice. It was Game Day again, and Mr. Hegek had encouraged several families to join him and his wife and son in the training arena of the fort. Perrin used to head up these activities, and since the weather turned colder and the need arose again for families to gather inside, Mr. Hegek had been directing these weekly evenings of fun and frivolity with the soldiers.
Such meaningless words.
Colonel Shin stood in a corner, arms folded, stance ready, eyes casing everyone and everything.
As Jaytsy stared beyond the pages of her book, she sighed in misery. She felt as disconnected from the world as her father. She had nothing in common with the girls at school, and her mother was so preoccupied with her husband’s moodiness that Jaytsy didn’t see any reason to bother her. Besides, Jaytsy had nothing to say to her. Or to her brother. But he was usually gone at kickball practice. Even when there wasn’t a practice, he still went to “practice,” and she wasn’t about to give away his secret.
It was only on evenings like this that the whole family was together again, “together” being a relative term.
Jaytsy peeked over the edge of her book and noticed Peto wrestling another unwitting soldier while others laughed at their companion’s failure.
One happened to catch Jaytsy’s eye. She lowered the book and smiled experimentally at the private, but she knew what would happen. His eyes grew larger and he started to smile . . . until a sergeant leaned over and whispered something into his ear, and the private’s brown skin blanched.
Jaytsy sighed. What those whispered messages were, she wasn’t sure, but she had a suspicion. And it wasn’t completely her father’s fault.
It was Captain Thorne’s. He hadn’t just kept trying to find her during Planting and Weeding Season while she weeded; he kept tracking her down everywhere. In the marketplace, in the village, and most especially at the fort when she happened to bring her father a meal, or on evenings like this. A pair of eyes watched her closely, always where she least expected them, and suddenly there he’d be: Captain Lemuel Thorne.
It happened already that evening. Her father took up his post as other families came in, her mother sat down to talk with Mrs. Hegek, Peto went in search of gullible soldiers leaving the mess hall, and Jaytsy headed to the guest washing room.
He was standing outside the door when she came out.
“Miss Jaytsy,” Captain Thorne nodded to her, taking a step closer. He had the unnerving habit of standing just a little too near.
Jaytsy always felt slightly off balance when he was around. She had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she felt off because she actually was attracted to his clear blue eyes, his perfectly chiseled face, his muscular chest, his straw-colored hair . . .
Men should be rugged and only a little bit handsome. Her father was almost too handsome. So was Uncle Shem. But Thorne? Men should never be beautiful. She always found herself taking a step backward, trying to get away from his scent. It was just too pleasant. Men should smell of dirt and sweat and if there was anything pleasant, it should be slightly sweet, as if they just snuck some cake and bits of crumbs remained on their chins. Men should smell like her father: earthy-sweet.
That evening Thorne smelled as if he had rolled around in pine sap and violets. Likely something he brought with him from Idumea to splash on his face after he shaved each morning. It was all wrong.
“Captain,” she said formally and tried to make her way past him.
“Whoa, whoa,” he said with an unnatural chuckle as he caught her arm. “Quite a lively filly you are tonight. Game night again?”
“Yes. My father’s expecting me,” she said, hoping that might alarm him.
“He won’t miss you for a few minutes,” he said confidently. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with you lately. You look well.”
“Thank you. I really should go—”
He firmed his grip on her arm. “I’d like to come talk to you some time. Some evening after dinner? Perhaps take a walk?”
“In the cold and snow?”
“We wouldn’t have to go far. I could find someplace for us to warm up.”
It was his eyes, Jaytsy decided. They were clear and blue and beautiful and told lies left and right.
“I’m not interested,” and she made another lunge to leave.
Still he held on to her, taking yet another step closer. “You will be,” he said in a low voice he probably thought sounded seductive. It just made her break out in goose bumps—the bad kind. “You will be, very soon. I’m watching for that moment. It’ll be worth the wait, I’m sure.”
“I have a book waiting for me, Captain,” she informed him.
Half of his face smiled. “Studying for your End of Year exams already are you?”
She latched on to that. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”
“Why? You know those tests are really only for the men. They let the girls take them just to make them feel part of something important. But you, Miss Jaytsy, as the wife of an officer, need only worry about looking pretty and producing a son or two.”
Jaytsy clenched her teeth. She didn’t even know where to start stabbing with so many targets presented. She zeroed in on the most annoying one. “Captain, I’m not sure I will marry an officer. My tastes tend to—”
“There’s no one else you could marry, Miss Jaytsy. And no other female worthy of a man like me.”
He glanced quickly to either side—as did Jaytsy—and seeing no one around, he began to lean into her face.
She ducked abruptly and pulled out of his grip. As he was about to kiss the wall, she was already running down the hall to the training arena.
That’s where she ran smack into the back of her father.
“Jaytsy!” he bellowed in surprise as he spun around. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” she said in a nervous laugh. “Just . . . racing myself to get here. Didn’t realize you’d be standing in the doorway.” She backed away from his inquisitive glare. “I’ll just go . . . sit down now. Over there.” She retreated to her usual bench with her usual book, and looked up at the door.
Her father had walked away to talk to a soldier, and there stood Thorne again, his gaze intent on her. A moment later he sidled over to a group of soldiers.
Jaytsy glanced at her mother, hoping maybe she noticed, but she didn’t. Neither did her father. But Thorne had stepped over to a sergeant who came to watch Peto’s wrestling matches, whispered something into his ear, then left. The sergeant glanced at Jaytsy, then began to watch the soldiers in the room.
That’s why the soldier who smiled at her fifteen minutes later received a few words from the sergeant, then never looked her way again.
“This is the worst Raining Season ever,” she told the book. It was a bad time to be nearly sixteen years old with vague dreams of meeting a young man with gentle eyes. He wouldn’t even be able to get within ten paces of Jaytsy before a falcon or a mountain lion would attack him.
Struck with an idea, she slapped the book shut and edged over to her father.
His brooding eyes evaluated her. “Something wrong?”
“No, no, it’s just that I was, uh, the Briters. Do you mind if I go visit them? I had some ideas for . . . broccoli planting, and I wanted to get Mrs. Briter’s opinion. There’s something on the End of Year exams about farming, and I—” She wasn’t very good at lying, but fortunately her father hadn’t been very good at listening, either.
He shrugged. “I’ll have the sergeant walk you over there.”
Jaytsy knew better than to argue that she didn’t need a guard. Besides, it was rather dark and cold outside, and she didn’t want Captain Thorne suddenly deciding she needed warming up.
Five minutes later she nodded goodbye to the sergeant and knocked on the Briters’ kitchen door. A moment later it opened and Mrs. Briter exclaimed, “Jaytsy! Oh, it’s been weeks—come in!”
“Thank you,” she said as she stepped into the bright and warm kitchen. She sighed as the tension of the evening melted away like the snow on her boots.
Mr. Briter was already pulling out a chair for her. “Miss Jaytsy, why are you out on such a night like this? Won’t your parents be worried?”
“My father knows I’m here,” she told them as she unbuttoned her cloak. “I was at the fort for Game Night, but I told him I had an idea about broccoli plants and wanted to check it with you.”
Mrs. Briter placed a mug of hot broth before her as she sat. “Interesting. And what’s your question, dear?”
Jaytsy squirmed in her chair. “Uh, I really didn’t have a question about broccoli, except to wonder why people eat it.”
To her relief, both Briters laughed. She joined in a moment later, not used to the sound.
Sewzi Briter squeezed her hand. “Well, you come on over and chat about any vegetable you want, at any time. Ah, how I miss the garden on nights like this!”
“I know,” Jaytsy said wistfully. “I never realized how fun it is to dig through the dirt finding potatoes, and realizing that just as you thought you were done, there’s another one hiding from you. Or pulling the corn from the stalks and banging them against my knee to see how many bugs fall out. Or the taste of a green bean, straight off the vine! I can’t believe I spent almost sixteen years of my life never knowing the wonders of plants—” She stopped, suddenly realizing she’d been rambling, and blushed at the Briters.
But they just beamed back at her. “Oh, how I understand you, Miss Jaytsy,” Sewzi said. “You truly have brown fingers!”
Jaytsy refrained from examining her stubby nails as she had several moons ago the first time Mrs. Briter told her that. She was now a proficient enough gardener to know that “brown fingers” was a compliment.
Cambozola Briter elbowed his wife. “Now why didn’t we have a child like her?”
Sewzi playfully slapped her husband.
“I mean it,” Cambozola exclaimed. “But at least our son gets to be with his love all year long.”
“His love?” Jaytsy asked.
Cambozola leaned over. “Cattle. The boy’s obsessed with them. Oddest young man you’d ever meet.”
Jaytsy giggled and Sewzi swatted her husband again. “Don’t listen to him, Jaytsy. He thinks our Deckett is a little crazy just because he appreciates cattle.”
“Oh Sewzi, I appreciate cattle,” Cambozola said, his face becoming vibrant, and Jaytsy knew it would be another one of his overly energetic and lively discussions.
No wonder he made Perrin Shin nervous.
“But our Deckett? Sewzi, if he just appreciated cattle, that would be one thing. But what Deckett does . . .” and he made his eyes as big as the moons and fluttered his eyelashes.
Jaytsy covered her laugh with her hand and Sewzi smacked him yet again, this time a bit harder. “Cambo, now, stop! Jaytsy, our son is a very smart, thoughtful young man. This is just what they do,” she glared at her husband. “In Mountseen they study cattle to improve production. Or something. That’s what a university is for, Cambo.” To Jaytsy she whispered, “They never would have let Mr. Briter in. They have standards, you know.”
He scoffed over Jaytsy’s giggles. “I already know cows! But what those professors have those boys doing . . . Miss Jaytsy, they do talking and treats and music and massages—it’s only a matter of time before those cows agree to marry those boys.”
Jaytsy laughed, easily and lightly, as Sewzi scooched her chair away from her husband.
“Oh, honestly, Cambo. It’s nothing like that, Jaytsy. Deckett’s always had a very good sense for cattle, that’s all. Someday he’ll come visit us,” she promised, “and I’ll introduce you to him.” Her eyes lit up with too much planning.
Jaytsy blushed. “Yes, well, we’ll see,” she said, worried that Deckett may be as loud and engaging as Cambozola. She liked the man, but in small doses. To keep from saying anything else, she sipped the marvelous vegetable broth and felt a warm Weeding Day slide down to her belly.
Over her mug, Jaytsy noticed Mrs. Briter watching her closely. “Bad day?”
Jaytsy shrugged. “Avoiding a certain captain.”
“Ah,” Sewzi said. “The same one who frequently scoured our fields in Weeding Season looking for you? Rides a gray horse?”
“The same,” Jaytsy sighed. “Was I relieved when the tomatoes grew tall enough to hide me.”
Cambozola smiled mischievously. “So . . . not too interested in soldiers, then?”
“I don’t know who I’ll be interested in,” Jaytsy said honestly and sipped more broth as Sewzi smacked her husband once more.