by Trish Mercer
Chapter 6 ~ “We’re trying to make a good impression!”
Leaving the house two days later happened in starts and stops. Mahrree had hoped for an early snow to cancel their plans, but the late Harvest day was sunny and the cold was tolerable. Before they left, Mahrree had to kiss her babies.
Then kiss them again.
Then check their cloths which she had just changed.
Then remind Shem, for the fourth time, all about feeding them if they should return late.
Then she was about to do something else that no one would ever know about, because that’s when Perrin finally picked her up and hefted her over his shoulder like a bag of grain. He carried her to the open wagon he borrowed from the fort while Jaytsy happily waved and called “Bye-bye” to “Ma” and “Dog!” from the door. Shem held Peto, who didn’t even notice her leaving. He was too busy poking Shem’s face to make him say, “Ow!” in silly ways.
Perrin plopped his wife on the front bench of the wagon. “Stay!” he commanded in the same voice he used on the dog, and she sat there obediently, albeit grumpily. He never took his eyes off of her, as if she might bolt if he did, and he climbed in next to her and slapped the reins on the horses. Soon they were off toward the south end of the village to see what all the new house excitement was about. Mahrree was sure she could hear her babies crying in the distance, but Perrin refused to turn around.
“This will be good for you, I promise.”
“How?” Mahrree asked miserably.
“I’m not sure yet, either,” he said, fighting the urge to glance behind him.
Mahrree noticed. Her husband was always slightly paranoid; it was part of his job. Maybe he was concerned about Guarders visiting his home when he wasn’t there.
“The private—I mean, Shem—didn’t wear his sword,” she massaged her hands. “And he won’t know where yours is hidden.”
Perrin patted the long knife secured in his waistband under his leather jacket. “I’m sure he has his knife somewhere on him. And I showed him where the long knife is in the secret drawer of the eating table.” He began to smile. “Then Zenos put on that overly-grave expression of his and said, ‘Sir, I don’t believe in letting children play with knives.’”
Mahrree couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’ll be all right with them, won’t he?”
Perrin shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Said he has more experience with children than I do. That might be true, depending on how much he watched his nieces. I suppose our two most important possessions are safe. He’s becoming quite skilled with the sword. Nearly bested me the other day in practice. I’ll have to sharpen up a bit.”
Mahrree sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust Shem, but I feel like I’ve abandoned our babies.”
“Maybe we can remember what it was like when we were courting,” Perrin suggested.
“Courting? We never courted properly!” Mahrree reminded him. “We debated until you got tired of losing to me, then you showed up on my doorstep when you got tired of missing me. Now we’re both just tired.”
Perrin smiled and wrapped his arm around her. “Now this is something I haven’t been able to do for awhile without someone small becoming jealous.”
It took her some time, but eventually Mahrree agreed that it was pleasant to look up and around her for once, instead of always down and into someone’s changing cloths. As the horses trotted through the village, she and Perrin realized how much they’d been missing. Poe wasn’t the only young man in fancy clothes. Scattered here and there were others wearing ‘outfits’ in vibrant colors and extravagant textures. Mahrree had seen some people dressed up at the market in the late mornings, but now in the afternoon there seemed to be even more examples of impractical clothing.
Then again, she was never one to pay attention to what people wore. It didn’t seem worth noting, unless someone wasn’t wearing anything at all.
When they passed a man in a bright purple suit coat and trousers, Mahrree nudged Perrin. “Do you think you’re a purple man?”
Perrin glanced down at his rough cotton brown trousers and his comfortably worn jacket. “Do I look like a purple man? I didn’t even know that was a color you could wear. Maybe they think that’s ‘progress,’ but I certainly don’t. No, I don’t want to worry about mussing up my ‘outfits.’ And I like knowing that my clothing came from something clean. Did you hear that silk is worm vomit?”
Mahrree curled her lip and gave him a withering sidelong glance. “First, that purple suit wasn’t silk. It looked more like worsted wool. And second, I doubt silk is worm vomit! How do these stories get started, anyway?”
He grinned. “That’s how I explained silk cocoons to Poe. He confided to me that he was worried about where his shirt was really from. His friends kept telling him it was bug droppings. He was rather pleased to hear it came from the other end.”
Perrin glanced down at her plain woolen gray skirt.
“So, tell me,” he started slowly, “are you at all interested in silk? I couldn’t help but notice you admiring Mrs. Hili’s dress. That really was something, I suppose.”
Mahrree thought about that. “Yes, it was something, but not something I think I could see myself in. The cloth feels like thin water, and if I don’t feel comfortable feeding a baby or gathering eggs in it, I don’t think I’d enjoy it.”
They traveled past the more expensive shops where they never bothered to go before. Mahrree saw more odd colors in clothing—even orange—and she wondered how many carrots and pumpkins were sacrificed for the dye. Maybe that’s why they weren’t having the catapults. The eggplants were needed for purple suits.
Of course her mother would correct that notion and tell her something ridiculous, such as the purple dye came from boiling seashells or something.
Finally Mahrree said aloud, “I wonder how much the silk costs?”
“About a week’s salary for some of the fancier dresses,” Perrin said casually.
“That’s madness!” she decided. She turned sharply to her husband. “And how would you know that, Mr. I-think-silk-is-bug-droppings?”
“Worm vomit. I said ‘worm vomit.’”
“Still, how did you know?”
“I was just checking, in case you . . . I don’t know, felt like you needed something,” he hedged. “We’re not rich, but the army pays enough, and we do have some stashed away in the cellar, and we’re not exactly poor people, and . . .” Perrin didn’t know where to end his rambling.
Mahrree was suddenly very aware of the green pea smudges on her faded tan tunic, and pulled her cloak around her tighter to hide them. “Perrin, do you think I need a dress like that?”
“I don’t really know what you need,” he admitted uncomfortably, “but I want you to have something nice. You could choose something today, if you wish.”
She noticed a damp spot on her skirt. She stopped trying to identify damp spots when Jaytsy was only a week old. “Do you want me to look like Mrs. Hili? I mean, I know I don’t look exactly like I used to. I think I know what ‘frumpy’ means now, but I can change that. If you wish,” she added lamely.
Perrin shook his head and chuckled. “Do you know what this conversation reminds me of? How awkward we were when we ran into each other the first time in the market and we flattened your bread between us. Remember? But Mahrree, I learned to tell you exactly what I think. And so here it is: No, wife. I definitely don’t want you to look like Mrs. Hili.”
She turned and kissed his shoulder.
“She’s far too heavy,” he added. “I could never pick her up without straining something vital.”
Mahrree laughed. “You’re terrible, Perrin!”
He grinned. “Maybe dresses for you would be cheaper, since you’d require only half the cloth.”
“Now, stop! You’re just being rude.”
His mouth dropped open. “And she wasn’t rude to us? Did you hear how she was talking to us the other night about the children? Or w
ere you really taking a nap there on the front porch?”
Mahrree shrugged wearily. She really didn’t want to revisit that conversation.
Perrin continued. “Now, my wife, do you want to see me in purple? Or orange? Or—” he offered a fake shudder, “—pink? Because for you, my wife, I would wear it,” his voice was full of sarcastic solemnity. “I will wear pink worm vomit for you.”
Mahrree was laughing so hard she couldn’t answer.
“Right over there,” he suggested as the horses trotted past a new shop with striped suits displayed in thin, clear windows. “On the way home, just for you. We’ll stop and you can outfit me however you wish.”
Mahrree finally recovered enough to protest. “If you wear pink bug droppings or worm vomit or whatever it is, I’ll find me another man in uniform! Please, please, don’t do it. What would be next, men in skirts? Women in trousers? No, keep your leather and your cotton. All traditional and safe sources of clothing. I’m really not that progressive.”
The rest of the way to the new houses they shamelessly laughed at ‘outfits’ they passed. They nearly fell off the carriage when a man emerged from a shop with a hat almost as tall as his head. They were still giggling uncontrollably like children—or two adults who hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in well over a year—when they pulled up to the new houses.
Nothing here was humorous as they took in the peculiar scene before them. A small tidy shed with the word “Office” painted neatly above the door sat near the entrance of a wide road which led to several homes under construction.
While the house shapes varied slightly one from the other, the overall effect was to suggest that a giant artist had been making very precise—yet wholly unimaginative—blocks of gray. And because Mrs. Giant didn’t like them, he decided to drop his enormously dull sculptures on the world at exactly the same distance apart.
The gardens around the houses weren’t yet planted, so the entire landscape was covered in sandy-gray colored soil, edged in more gray symmetrical blocks. Altogether it gave one the impression that all of the colors had run out when the Creator came to this part of Edge.
A painting on a large sign showed what the future of the community could be: lush flower beds, different kinds of roofs, and even some houses painted in different colors. But no amount of embellishment could cover the sameness of the designs.
“Just like Idumea,” Perrin muttered in disappointment. “I promise you, I do not want that.”
“I agree,” Mahrree whispered. “Let’s drive on.”
But before they could, the door of the small shed flew open and a woman in a black and white bustled out.
Mahrree and Perrin tried their hardest not to, but still they burst out into laughter, not at her shimmering dress which, in a blur, would also be gray, but at the enormous hat with a huge feather standing on the top of it which must have been plucked from the ugliest bird in the world.
Desperately trying to regain control of herself as the woman huffed angrily to their wagon, Mahrree covered her mouth and pinched Perrin hard, causing him to slip a bit off his seat. Almost immediately Perrin plastered a completely somber expression on his face. It was one of those times Mahrree was envious of his training.
The woman marched up to the wagon. “What’s the meaning of all this noise?” Her feather bobbled alarmingly. “I’ll have you know we are expecting someone very important, and you must move this, this excuse of a wagon immediately!”
Perrin was the very model of composure. “Absolutely ma’am. I’m very sorry to have disturbed you. We were only wishing to drive past your lovely homes here.”
Mahrree kept her hand over her mouth. The woman’s feather waved unpredictably even though she had stopped moving, and Mahrree felt spasms of laughter convulsing in her chest.
Perrin nodded to the hat. “Incidentally, ma’am, a bird of some rather large and aggressive species seems to have impaled your hat. You may want to look into it.”
Mahrree would never admit to snorting in her entire life. But today not only did her husband and the black and white woman hear her, so did half a dozen workers dutifully stacking gray blocks on top of more gray blocks at a nearby house. Several actually stopped working and turned in wonder at the loud noise that originated from Mahrree’s nose.
Perrin took his convulsing wife’s head and pushed it firmly down to her knees where she gratefully took the suffocation in her skirt.
“You’ll please excuse my wife. She hasn’t been well lately. That’s why I’ve taken her out to get some fresh air. Obviously she needs some more.”
Mahrree was aware that her skirt was developing a new damp patch from the tears of her suppressed laughter. She took a few deep breaths and promptly sat up. If Perrin could do it, so could she. “I am very sorry. Will you please forgive me?” she asked with her best straight face.
The woman softened a smidge. “Yes, of course,” she said hurriedly. “Now please move your wagon. We’ve heard that the captain of Edge and his wife may be coming by, and we’re trying to make a good impression!”
That was more than Mahrree could handle. She voluntarily put her head back down to her knees and began convulsing again.
Perrin’s voice was full of sympathy and regret. “I am, so very, very sorry for this. Of course we will move immediately.”
Suddenly the door of the shed burst open again, and another woman, massive and jiggling, came flying out.
Mrs. Hili.
Perrin growled quietly and readied to slap the horses into a gallop.
“Captain Shin! Miss Mahrree!” Mrs. Hili panted as she neared. “I believe there’s been some misunderstanding.”
The black and white woman turned gray. “Captain?” she whimpered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said coldly back.
“But you’re not in uniform!”
“On my days off I prefer old leather,” he said tonelessly.
“Of course,” the woman nodded. “A man like you must be old leather.”
Perrin looked at his wife, wondering what that meant. She could offer no explanation.
Mrs. Hili rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Shattoe, why don’t you go back to the office. I can help the Shins.”
Mrs. Shattoe nodded and seemed happy to get away from the captain as quickly as her tight skirt would allow her to wiggle back to the shed.
“How about a little tour?” Mrs. Hili said with batting eyelashes and the overly-eager tone of someone sure they were about to wheedle gold out of one who claimed they didn’t have any.
Perrin and Mahrree were ready. “We’re not interested in a tour,” Mahrree told her. “Only out for a drive today.”
“But surely you want to stretch your legs?” Mrs. Hili went on in a practiced voice, as if their excuse was one of many she was prepared for. “Let the horses take a rest on such a hot—,” she shifted scripts, “I mean, cool day?”
“The horses are quite warm,” Perrin pointed out with the beginnings of a sneer, “so stopping them now would not be a favor to them.”
“They can enjoy our stables, Captain! You see, here at Edge of Idumea Estates, we have—”
Sensing the prologue to a much longer speech than Mahrree wanted to endure, she cut off Mrs. Hili with, “How’s Qualipoe doing today? I’m afraid I might miss his visit later this afternoon if we don’t get back on time.”
That comment threw Mrs. Hili completely off her script. It took a moment for her brain to reengage. “What? Qualipoe? He visits you?”
Mahrree suspected, and feared, that his mother had no idea what he did each day. “I really enjoy his company. I’m wondering what he’ll do when it gets colder, though. I’d love for him to see me every afternoon, until you’re home again.”
Mrs. Hili was surprised. “Why, I didn’t know he was a frequent visitor.”
“Only every day this past week, when he’s on the way to the fort.”
Mrs. Hili’s eyebrows shot upwards. “The fort? He goes to the fort?�
�� She turned to Perrin for confirmation.
Perrin smiled smugly. “He and his friends watch the soldiers drilling.”
When Mrs. Hili seemed confused as to why the soldiers were involved in woodworking, Perrin clarified. “Practicing. Bow and arrows. Wrestling. Sword play.”
Mrs. Hili’s eyes grew big.
“Don’t worry,” Perrin assured her. “No one gets hurt, if they do it correctly.”
“Where does he sit?”
“On the fences.”
Mrs. Hili nodded. “So he stays clean. Good boy.”
Mahrree chuckled. “I thought you were worried that he was watching the soldiers. I realize they may not be the best influence—” She stopped as both Mrs. Hili and Perrin glared at her.
Mrs. Hili put her hands on her wide hips. “Who is it, you told me yesterday at the market, that is watching your children today?”
Mahrree knew she was blushing. “A soldier. Look, what I said didn’t come out right.” She tossed Perrin an apologetic glance.
He showed no emotion.
“What I really meant was,” she started hesitantly, and then knew what to say. “In Raining Season the fort won’t be a safe, or rather a clean, environment. Mud and everything.” She glanced quickly at her husband who didn’t seem completely satisfied. “Could Qualipoe stay with me in the afternoons?”
“That’s an interesting offer, Mrs. Shin,” Mrs. Hili said slowly.
Inspiration hit Mahrree like a round rock fleeing the square block invasion before her. “I could tutor Qualipoe to get him ready for the Administrators’ testing.”
That hit its target.
“Now that’s an idea,” Mrs. Hili mused. “You know,” her mind started racing, “you could even have more children over. You could charge a fee!”
She had raced too far, and her face reflected it. Now she was suggesting paying for something that was free just seconds ago.
“Oh there’d be no charge for Qualipoe,” Mahrree promised.
Mrs. Hili’s entire body slid into relief and continued to wobble a bit as she spoke. “I could tell others about your tutoring, to help cover your costs.”
Mahrree shook her head. “I don’t see any costs with being a helpful neighbor, Mrs. Hili. I think I would feel awkward taking pay—”
“Oh, you simply don’t get it!” Mrs. Hili cried. “This is wonderful opportunity for you to work at home!”
“But I’m already working; I have two children. I just want to help. Isn’t that all right?”
Mrs. Hili studied her for a moment. “It’s wonderful that you want to help. Really it is,” she said as if trying to explain to a three-year-old why mud pies were inherently inedible. “But there’s nothing wrong with earning a little more on the side, is there?”
“But if we don’t need more—”
“Everybody needs more, Mrs. Shin!”
Mahrree was about to argue that when a new sofa visited her mind. It dropped seemingly out of nowhere and had big cushions made of thick cloth. Her entire family was sitting on it, waving to her. It was even broad enough to accommodate a bear—or her husband who seemed nearly the same size—and the dog. She tried to shake Barker out of her mind and off of the sofa, but the Perrin on the sofa looked amused by the effort.
“You may have a point, Mrs. Hili,” Mahrree said dreamily, until she heard a loud throat-clearing noise from her husband.
She looked at him and he held up his hand in questioning.
“I’m sorry, I guess I’m not used to being out in the fresh air,” she chuckled uneasily. “Mrs. Hili, tell Poe he can come by my house anytime, and he can bring his friends, too.”
Perrin tightened his grip on the reins. “We best be moving on to keep the horses warm. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hili.” And he slapped the horses into a trot.
They drove along the needlessly winding roads that twisted absurdly. Some even ended abruptly in odd circles, as if making the roads different would help the residents forget their houses were all identical squares.
“So,” Perrin said unexpectedly, “what was all that back there?”
“All what?”
“About needing more?” His voice was losing its insulted edge. “I mean, are you . . . dissatisfied? Don’t I provide enough?”
She clutched his arm and hugged it. “More than enough, Perrin. I don’t know what came over me. I guess just the thought of, I don’t know, maybe doing something more to help you? Our family?”
“We’re fine, Mahrree. We have enough slips of gold and silver hidden the cellar to see us through for several seasons or . . . to buy a fraction of one of these gray blocks,” he said slowly.
For a few minutes they drove wordlessly past the new houses, both lost in thought. A few homes large enough to house two dozen people already had occupants. In front of one, standing in their gray dirt, was a couple who were trying to position straggly little trees in interesting ways. It would be years before they could hope for any shade from them, but even so they were optimistically angling the thick sticks to make the most of the anemic shadows they cast on the house.
Mahrree found herself wrestling with an odd mixture of feelings as she observed a group of builders constructing a tall, perfectly smooth wall going up to heights she had never seen before in a house. Inexplicably she imagined moving her family into one of those monstrosities, and even considered how to place their books and Perrin’s maps along the walls in such a deliberately artful arrangement that her mother would have been proud. She even mentally tore one of Perrin’s ancient maps to fit better in a narrower space between two windows.
Something in her brain snapped.
Why would she do that? She tried to shake the guilt out of her head for even considering tearing Perrin’s map and consigning their best friends—their books—to serve as mute works of art on tall shelves.
To find herself so immediately gripped with envy and desire surprised her. These houses weren’t worth it. Worth nothing, she decided. Her home was made by the villagers and now also her husband. Each board reminded her of someone who helped sand or nail it. Each lopsided glop of mortar on the stones seemed to have a story associated with why it was that way. Every irregularity of the rock reminded her of the diverse personalities who helped place it.
But these ordinary houses? They had no character at all, and they probably cost ten bags of silver rather than only one. It seemed unfortunate to place such a high value on uniformity.
Another house they passed was being painted by two workers under observation of a husband and wife around the age of the Shins. Of all the colors the Creator made to lighten and brighten the world, the owners had chosen a shade of gray slightly darker than the blocks.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, leaning against the house waiting to be installed were shutters that were not nearly wide enough to actually shield the windows in case of a severe storm or heat. And the color of them was an even darker shade of gray.
What about bright yellow, Mahrree thought. Perhaps even a deep red, or a pale blue. But gray? What kind of mentality—
“That’s absurd!” Perrin muttered suddenly. “Gray paint? Who actually spent slips of silver on that?”
Mahrree laughed as his disparaging tone. “Thank you!” she sighed. “I needed that.”
“Why? What were you thinking?”
“About . . . moving here,” she confessed. “Only for a moment.”
Perrin leaned away from her and looked her up and down as if she was a complete stranger. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suddenly pictured myself here and started thinking how much we could do with a place like this.”
“Such as use four times as much wood to heat the house?”
“Well, no, I hadn’t considered that. But it’s so strange, I didn’t even know this place existed days ago, but then within minutes I suddenly find myself wanting it. I mean, why would I be so quick to fall in love?”
Perrin gave
her a sidelong glance. “Clarify, please.”
Mahrree nudged him. “I meant, fall in love with these houses! Not you. It took me several weeks to decide to love you.”
He smiled slightly. “I thought you loved me the first time you saw me. I remember very well that look on your face when I first stepped on the platform.”
“What I felt was attraction. It took me a few weeks to decide if I wanted to love you.”
Perrin smiled broader. “So, being attracted to one of these gray blocks imported from the dubious home of creativity known as Idumea—does this mean you’re no longer satisfied with what the Creator has chosen to bless us with?”
“Well, when you put it that way now I feel doubly guilty,” she confessed. “We have exactly what we need, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do,” he said, his voice a little unsure. “For now.”
Mahrree turned to him. “What do mean, for now?”
His shoulder twitched and he sat taller, searching the gray landscape.
“What are looking for?”
“Administrators,” he mumbled. “This place feels so bleak that for a moment I wondered if we drove too far south and were in Idumea.”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Well, when you were talking about Poe with Mrs. Hili, it got me wondering . . . you miss teaching, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “Not so much, but I do miss knowing what’s going on. I feel like a dull knife. I used to be sharper. I’m completely out of touch. Having children like Poe around, I can at least gauge what’s happening in the school. Maybe I should take Poe and some other children in for the afternoons. It seems so strange,” she added vaguely.
Perrin waited for her to finish. When she didn’t—too lost in her own thoughts where he couldn’t interrupt her and force her to draw different conclusions—he said, “What’s strange?”
“All the changes, and so quickly. Maybe it’s been happening gradually and we simply didn’t notice because it was all around us, sneaking up slowly. But since we’ve been away for some time in our own little world with the children, it’s as if I can see things differently now. And I don’t like it, Perrin.”
He sighed in agreement. “I know what I’ve seen in Idumea and it just didn’t feel right. Just my gut feeling. Not a very logical argument, I know. And now it seems it’s coming here. I guess there’s no stopping ‘progress’.”
“There’s nothing wrong with following a gut feeling, Perrin. Sometimes that’s the best guide,” she decided. “True, feelings aren’t logical, but if they’re from the Creator, you best follow them. He knows a bit more than we do.”
Perrin was silent as the horses plodded out of the development and along the dirt road between the wide open fields outside of Edge. “Well, I hope my feelings are from the Creator. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish.”
“Do you regret following your feelings to Edge?”
“No,” Perrin answered instantly. “Never.”
“Then you followed the right feelings, everything turned out well, so you were inspired by the Creator.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” he whispered mysteriously. “Mahrree,” he continued, his voice unexpectedly heavy, “speaking of children and school . . . have you considered Jaytsy going to Full School? That will be the only option when she’s six, I’m sure of it.”
Mahrree pulled away from his arm and stiffened. She purposely didn’t think about it, just as she didn’t contemplate her own death, because there was nothing do about it but observe its approach and weep.
“I think neither of us has a lot of faith in the Administrators’ school,” he said quietly. “But then again, who knows, maybe they might surprise us with—”
“—engraved invitations to move to Terryp’s ruins in the west?”
Perrin sighed. “Yes, something remarkably well done like that. Mahrree, we have some time to see what happens. But if not . . .” He couldn’t find the words.
“What are you trying to say, exactly?”
“I’m not entirely sure myself, but . . .” He exhaled and looked around again. “This morning I told you our most precious possessions were safe with Zenos. But they aren’t—”
“Our babies AREN’T safe?” Mahrree squealed, twisting absurdly to look behind her as if she could see her children sobbing from miles away.
“Mahrree, Mahrree,” he chuckled, “I mean, they aren’t our possessions.”
She breathed deeply and patted her chest to catch her breath.
“Sorry,” he kissed her on the cheek. “Zenos is fine with them, I’m sure of it. But it’s been pressing into my mind ever since I called them our possessions. Mahrree, we’re taught in Command School about the duties of soldiers and citizens. One thing we had to recite was that sending children to school was the citizens’ responsibility to the government.”
Mahrree blinked at the odd phrase. “Our duty to the government? To hand over our children to their care?”
“That was one of Querul the Second’s statements, and the Administrators never abolished it. After all, citizens earn money which is then taxed and given to the government. In a way, the government—and it doesn’t matter whose—sees themselves as owning the people. They don’t serve us,” he whispered harshly, “but instead, we work for them. Without our taxes, they’re nothing. They’re especially interested in the children, because if they’re successful, then so will be the government. Or perhaps I should say ‘wealthy,’ instead of ‘successful,’” he grumbled in annoyance. “It all comes down to riches and power. You know that. None of this is publicly stated, of course. But Mahrree, that combination of words—children and duty and government—always sounded wrong.”
His wife nodded so vigorously in agreement that, had she been wearing the ludicrous bird hat, it would have launched into flight.
“No government owns our children,” Perrin growled under his breath. “We don’t even own our children! They belong to the Creator. Parents are guides, not possessors. And as their father, I’m responsible to the Creator for leading our family. I answer to no one else.”
She grabbed his arm and kissed his shoulder. “How did I end up with such a man like you?”
Perrin smiled and groaned at the same time. “A man whose talk could be considered dangerous to community’s welfare should the Administrator of Loyalty hear him?”
They both instinctively looked around again the gray landscape for a flash of red. All that looked back at them were black and white cows, none that appeared to be spies in disguise.
“What does that administrator look like, anyway?” Mahrree fretted.
“Ever seen a weasel?”
“Yes.”
“One that’s been in a fight with a dog, in a rainstorm, then rolled in the mud and hasn’t eaten for three days so it’s a bit on the testy side? That’s Gadiman.”
“In other words, someone fun to have over for dinner.”
“Indeed,” he sighed. “I guess what I’m getting at, Mahrree, is maybe in five years if the schools aren’t what we feel is best, we could look at doing something else.”
“Like what?” Mahrree asked, her interest piqued.
“I’m not sure.”
“Like what we did before the Great War?” Mahrree was all energy now as her history lessons unfolded. “Of course! No one sent their children to school! All the parents took turns and spent a part of each day teaching their children and their neighbors’ children at their homes, then worked with them in their shops and fields. We merely modified that after the end of the war, but . . . why did we do that?”
She squinted in the distance as if reading a far away text, and the answer came rushing to her.
“That’s right! The first king! Querul wanted to make sure everyone learned the same things, so he instituted teachers in the villages to help work with the parents. Ohhh,” she said, the beginnings of an idea formulating. “Ohhh, yes. Yes, it could be done! Perrin! The schools are a holdover from the period of
the kings. We could do what was done before, since the beginning. We could approach the Administrators and, and, and . . . petition to not follow an old edict of the kings, but teach our children ourselves! Oh Perrin, you’re smart!”
“Mahrree,” he started cautiously, “you make an excellent point, but I’m not sure the Administrators would see school as an ‘antiquated holdover’.”
“But couldn’t we ask? What would be the harm in asking?”
Perrin thought for a moment. “I can see the harm in asking about other things, but teaching? We’d be easing the burden on their school system, as long as our children are successful and still later pay taxes.”
“I’ll even write the petition,” Mahrree said, full of energy. “Let’s keep your name out of it. I’ll sign it alone, as a teacher asking for this option if a child is frequently ill or immature or slow or something. If we could get permission for one child, then we could maybe later get it for our own. Let me do this, please!”
Perrin thought again. “I really can’t think of a reason why we shouldn’t try,” he responded.
But somewhere in the back of his head a tiny part of his mind flinched as he remembered the words, Most dangerous woman in the world.
---
Late that afternoon Mahrree wrote a carefully worded and logical letter. Several wheels had been turning in her mind for the past few moons, and they came all together in the message she didn’t show to her husband before she sealed it. Once the children were down for a nap, she brought it herself to the messengers’ office north of the markets and walked home feeling rather satisfied.
But before any of that, she interrogated Shem about what her babies did every minute while she was gone. She couldn’t decide if she was happy or disappointed that the three of them had a wonderful time. Peto even began to cry when Perrin took him from Shem, and Jaytsy kissed Shem on the cheek as he got up from the floor to leave.
Shem noticed Mahrree’s disillusionment and Perrin’s suspicious glare.
“This is what my uncle taught me to do,” he explained. “Win over the children so that they always have another adult they can turn to when their parents get too difficult to handle. Don’t worry, they still love you more. I’m merely a new plaything. So,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye as he took his jacket from the chair. “Did you two have fun? See anything interesting? Plot against the Administrators? Learn anything new?”
Perrin and Mahrree looked at him blankly, neither quite sure how to answer him.
“All right,” Shem said slowly as he put on his jacket. “So how about I come back in two weeks and let you two out again so you can change the world?”
The Shins exchanged a meaningful look.
Shem grinned. “What in the world did the two of you do in just three hours?”
“Thank you, Private,” Captain Shin said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
---
Late that night Barker the ‘puppy’—who was so large and heavy that he already out-paced every other full-grown dog in Edge and gave smaller ponies an inferiority complex—snored inside his dog house that was the size of a small shed.
Until he smelled the bacon.
His eyes perked open, his nose sniffed the air, and he lumbered out of the dog house toward the scent that came from the back fence by the alley.
A man in a black jacket lurking in the shadows tossed Barker one slice, then a second. As the dog gulped them down the man came up to the fence. Gingerly he reached over to pet the massive dog’s head.
“Well done,” he whispered. “Well done.”
---
The Administrators in Idumea receive hundreds of letters each week. All are sent to the Division of Letter Readers who skim the contents and prepare one of several different pre-drafted responses. The Junior Letter Skimmers practice their best handwriting as they create stacks of prepared answers, waiting for the Senior Letter Skimmers to fill in the blanks and send the form letters back to the hopeful citizens.
Form letter number one contains the phrase, “We will look into your issue and respond as we see fit.” This was the most popular letter in the department and had the effect of making the recipient feel listened to, understood, and maybe even important.
But its real value lay in the fact that the wording allowed the Administrators to never have to send any more correspondence if they didn’t “see fit.”
And they didn’t “see” most of the time.
Another version reported that, “We appreciate your concern and assure you that the Administrators are doing all that they can,” which also vaguely negated the call for additional action while making the recipients feel the need to proudly hang the letter on their cooling cabinets.
Then there were the, “We do not become involved in local issues such as chicken thievery or loud neighbors. Consult your local magistrate and/or fort” letters, and the occasional, “We are certain the birth of your child [insert name here] was a joyous occasion for you” forms.
But some letters catch the skimmers’ eyes and are sent on ahead to the Main Skimmer, who then sends them on to the head of the Letter Readers. Some lucky letters leave this division to go to the specific departments, such as Office of Family, or Commerce, or Farming.
And every once in a great while a few of those letters move on, after visiting the full hierarchy of their intended department, to the Administrators themselves and the desk of Mr. Gadiman, Administrator of Loyalty.
This particular day a letter from the little village of Edge sat in front of Gadiman. His mouth twitched as he read and reread the words.
It was borderline.
The writer could have been sincere in her desire to help children that, as she phrased it, “would benefit from an alternative form of education.”
Yet something in the very idea of questioning the Administrators’ educational policies had alarmed the Department of Instruction.
Perhaps it was the insinuation that the current school system was a remembrance of the era of kings that the Administrators were trying so hard to eliminate.
Or maybe it was the suggestion that current educational procedures may be unsuitable to meeting the needs of some children.
Or maybe it was because an annoying woman was pointing out the faults of the Administrators.
Nothing in the letter specifically, however, suggested undermining the government—the Administrator of Loyalty’s primary concern.
But he could never understand people’s need to be different, only to be difficult. It was like herding hogs, the diverging ways some people insisted on going. They were all destined for the same fate at the butcher’s, so Gadiman couldn’t understand why they fought it so much.
He tapped the feathered end of his quill on the letter as he pondered it. The writer was merely a small teacher in a small village.
Still, small things had the disturbing tendency to grow larger. Especially when such things had such connections.
Administrator Gadiman made some notations on additional pieces of paper. One note recommended that the first form letter be sent with a signature from some junior assistant in the Department of Instruction.
The second note indicated that the writer was the wife of the commanding officer in Edge.
Captain Shin’s file sat in front of him. Next to his name was a blue dot of paint indicating perfect compliance and noteworthy performances. Gadiman leafed through the pages of the file and found nothing alarming. He didn’t expect to, considering whose son he was.
Gadiman set the file aside and picked up a new, empty one. In large bold letters he printed a name along the top. He placed the original letter and his notations in the file, then put a drop of yellow paint next to the name.
Mahrree Peto Shin was now officially Watched.
Gadiman was going to have to get another crate. His office was filling with files full of yellow and red dots. Or he needed a bigger office.
---
Two
men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.
“Question,” asked Mal. “What kind of a woman writes a letter to the Department of Instruction?”
Brisack held a piece of parchment. “Mrs. Shin?” he said, looking at the writing again and shaking his head.
Mal nodded. “Yes. And look, she signed it alone. I hadn’t considered her as more than an appendage to her husband, but she’s demonstrating independent thought.”
“I realize you may not know this, but many women are not always completely under the control of their husbands and frequently do things without them,” Brisack said with a smirking hint of approval. “Besides, would our Captain Shin marry anyone who didn’t?”
“I suppose not,” Mal said with a slight glare. “You know, it sounds as if your appreciation of our captain, and now his wife, is increasing. Objectivity, my good doctor?”
Brisack waved that off. “Oh, come now, didn’t you ever feel a bit of personal interest in your research subjects?”
Mal sighed. “Only occasionally, for a moment. But once that personal connection is recognized, it can be dealt with and destroyed. I’m warning you—don’t get too attached to Shin. Or his wife. All research subjects will eventually be terminated. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Brisack said reluctantly while Mal scowled. “But I can’t help but wonder, might you be intrigued by Mrs. Shin?”
The older man shrugged grudgingly. “While I hadn’t considered observing her, she just might be worth our attention. Now, read the entire letter.” An odd, somewhat sickly smile appeared on his face. It was as if Nicko Mal wasn’t used to demonstrating genuine happiness and it nauseated him.
Seeing him truly happy about something naturally put Brisack on edge. The good doctor held the letter closer to read it in the dim light. “This is really quite bold, suggesting that the Administrators are extending the practices of the kings. But it’s subtly worded, so I’m surprised Gadiman noticed it. Only an intelligent woman could craft such a sentence,” his voice warmed without his noticing. “No wonder the administrator over education couldn’t recognize it.” He chuckled softly. “Something concerned him about the letter, but he couldn’t discern exactly what.”
Mal nodded. “Initially I wondered, is she truly intelligent or did she accidentally write the wrong words?”
“Sounds like another question for us to test,” Brisack grinned. “I wonder if her husband knows what kind of thinking she’s committing. Look at this line, suggesting that parents be allowed to supervise their children’s education and not hold the government liable,” he chuckled and shook his head. “No, it’s not accidental. She’s far too clever, and too often.” His tone grew so appreciative it perilously approached adoration. “Indeed, she’s a little too perceptive. No wonder her letter made it all the way to the top.”
Mal sat back in his chair, watching his companion’s growing ardor with amusement. “Keep reading. I don’t think you’ve reached the end just yet.” His smile took on an uncomfortably pleasant, yet also intestine-knotting, quality.
Brisack squinted to read the neat, careful handwriting. A moment later his breathing stopped. His eyes quit moving across the page. His chest inflated and his lips pressed tightly together.
Mal’s smile turned positively diarrheal, spreading all over his face.
Breaking their rule, Brisack grabbed a candle and lit it in order to make sure he actually read the words correctly.
He did.
“Why, that little . . . sow!” the good doctor swore in aggravation.
Mal’s eyebrows went up, never before hearing his companion use that vulgar term for women, and his smile grew to epidemic proportions. “I see you found it.”
“How dare she?!” Brisack spluttered. “Did Gadiman notice this?”
“He didn’t mention it,” Mal said easily, almost cheerfully. “He was more concerned about what the Administrator of Education pointed out to him. I suppose that since that section was also so subtly worded, he didn’t notice it. But apparently you did.”
Brisack flattened the letter on his lap and read the sentences out loud that caused his face to contort and his language to burn. “‘I therefore request that I be allowed to conduct such a trial, the results of which I would happily share with the Administrators and Chairman. It is only through conjecture, then trial, that we can see if such an alternative to education would be beneficial for this small segment of our citizenry. After all, it is through conjecture that we have accepted that the rest of the world is poisoned and uninhabitable, and it is through conjecture that it is assumed women are unable to safely bear more than two children.’ Conjecture?! Assumed?!” Brisack exploded.
Mal wiped a bit of Brisack’s spittle off his face.
“I proved conclusively that women can’t bear more than two children! How dare she question my research methods?”
“Keep reading,” was all that Mal said, his smile settling in for a long pandemic.
Brisack’s eyes bulged and he turned back to the letter. It took only a moment for the next explosion to occur.
Mal had pulled out his handkerchief in preparation.
“‘If you allow me to conduct this test of teaching very small groups of children in the home, I will do so using only volunteering parents and children. The results should be measurable, which should please the Administrators who have in the past year accepted other research conducted without the use of any volunteers—’ She’s alluding to my research, isn’t she? Why, that little—”
Mal stopped him with a raised hand. “Not that I don’t appreciate you making a diversionary case for keeping our population down—it’s not as if suddenly the women of the world had an outbreak of baby hunger and each wanted to have an unconscionable amount of children—but I’m curious, Doctor: who did you evaluate in this study of yours?”
Brisack guffawed, scoffed, and smacked his lips.
Mal was grateful he still had the handkerchief available.
Brisack finally blurted, “Why, why I couldn’t study anyone in particular, now could I? Not without permanently maiming the mind of some poor woman, or destroying her body! Who’d volunteer for that? Instead I employed a method of exponential application.”
“Ah, the more syllables it has, the more legitimate your made-up conjecture is?”
“No, it’s valid,” said Brisack defensively. “I looked at the effect one child has on a mother, then, based on the few women I could find with two children,” his voice sped up, “extrapolated the effects of continued childbearing by applying a logic sequence that I created—” his tongue was now running a race with his lips, “—to gauge the changes and distortions to mind and body that one could reasonably and exponentially expect to occur with subsequent birthing!” He paused only to take a breath before exclaiming, “It was all quite carefully constructed!”
Mal’s smile continued to infect his entire body. “I have no doubt, my good doctor. But she makes an interesting point—you have no real proof. I find it fascinating that a woman in the throes of the insanity caused by birthing two children in such a short amount of time is so insightful. Isn’t she?” Mal actually fluttered his eyelashes.
“How dare she?!” was all Brisack could froth.
“Yes, yes,” Mal said with malicious merriness, thoroughly enjoying his companion’s fury. “I can’t help but think, before child birthing we never heard from the woman. And now, after two children, we get this most carefully crafted letter with alarming insights and subtle intimations that men with lesser minds couldn’t recognize.” He tapped his lips as if in deep thought. “Almost . . . almost as if giving birth has made her more intelligent,” Mal said slowly. “As if that letter on your lap has invalidated your study because everything you just claimed about the effects of birthing on women, she’s just proven to be completely false.”
It was the light that was bothering him, Brisack concluded later. The vast library that used to be a throne room was al
ways dim or dark when they met. But that night the faint glow of the candle cast an odd hue on every feature, causing shadows to occur where they never were before, making nothing look the way it should look, or the way the doctor assumed they should appear.
Instead, the tiny light that hurt his eyes twisted everything into strange shapes, yet at the same time they were also distantly familiar, and that threatened everything.
He blew out the candle.
The world became black enough for him to think again without annoying distractions, allowing him to see things precisely the way he needed them to be seen.
“In every study there’s an anomaly,” he declared, once again in complete control of his faculties, “which won’t conform to the norms and defies the accepted truth. Anomalies must be tossed out to clarify the study and develop the irrefutable results.”
“She’s also challenging the most recent findings of the expedition sent west by the Administrator of Science,” Mal reminded him. “Although Hitchin wouldn’t care. Like a good scientist he looks at the carefully selected evidence, makes up his mind about what it all means, then listens to no one else than his own intelligence.” He almost chuckled.
Brisack regarded the letter again. “No one thinks about that land beyond the western desert anymore. Maybe only a handful of people. Who was it that mapped it years ago? Someone named Terryp?”
“I believe so. All his maps were destroyed. I made a thorough search when I took over four years ago. Nothing’s hidden in any cabinets anywhere.”
Brisack stared at the carefully penned letter. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t something still remaining,” he whispered more to himself. “What did Hitchin’s men do out there for two seasons anyway?”
“I actually read that report,” Mal said, examining his fingernails. “Had to. Needed to make sure the argument for containment was made correctly. The ‘research team’ camped at the edge of the forests outside of Sands, watching the desert for a full season. If they had seen any animals come out, then they would have gone in.”
Brisack stared blankly, no longer seeing Mrs. Shin’s writing. “So Hitchin concluded that the western land was still poisoned because—”
“He used sound scientific methods as you did, Doctor,” Mal smiled coldly. “He extrapolated that there was nothing coming from the other side of the desert, so there was nothing alive on the other side to come through. The land to the west is still dead, and therefore so would be anyone who was foolish enough to go there. I believe he said he may have employed some kind of logic sequence. Maybe the same one as yours?”
“She saw right through his so-called research,” Brisack whispered. “That’s why she listed it here. She can see . . . somehow she knows . . .”
“You were right earlier—she’s an anomaly. So is he,” Mal said steadily. “So when do we eliminate ‘the anomalies’ that plague both of our research?”
Brisack felt his composure slipping out of his grasp again. One part of him was enraged by Mrs. Shin’s doubts about his studies, and it demanded revenge for her arrogance. It was ready to shout, Today!
Yet another part, the side he was more familiar with and that listened to reason and stepped back frequently to watch the world that swirled around him pleading to be put into some kind of order, quietly nagged him. Then you’d never know. There’s simply too much potential here to eliminate just yet. There must be a way to force their conformity.
“It could be done,” Mal continued in a soothing tone. “Even though you went to such lengths last year to get a message to her husband to ensure she remained alive. It’s not too late to reverse your ways. I’m curious, Doctor—any regrets about saving her now?
“I did it for the babies,” Brisack said, not particularly sure if that was an honest answer. Not completely sure of anything just yet.
“And not for her?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor reluctantly confessed. “Babies need mothers, after all. Otherwise, they’re a burden on society.”
“But mothers like this one?”
“Husbands need wives,” Brisack tried again, hoping the statement would feel true. “Well, some men think they need wives.”
Mal shook his head slowly. “So you did it for him, did you?”
Brisack sighed. “He does seem to love her, from what I’ve heard.”
“She’s a potentially dangerous woman, Brisack,” Mal pointed out.
“She hasn’t done anything wrong. Yet,” the doctor pointed back.
“A letter will be wanted in Edge in response to this,” Mal gestured to the parchment still on Brisack’s lap. “We can send a few other things in response as well.”
“It’s too early to eliminate,” Brisack whispered, although he wasn’t sure why. The words just came out of his mouth, bypassing his brain which was still too confused to formulate a speculation as to why. “We can still see what it would take to break this horse and his mare. Perhaps they’re not anomalies, but extremes of what we’re proving. They still may be within our research, simply on the edges. We have to prove that. They are just like everyone else.”
Mal grinned, and had the candle still been lit, it would have been snuffed out by the darkness of his smile. “I couldn’t agree more. All of this has thrown a most stimulating twist to all of our assumptions. She’ll receive an answer, form letter number one, as recommended by Gadiman. She’ll be thrilled with it until her husband points out that everyone receives the same letter. Then we’ll see what she does next.”
“Agreed,” Brisack nodded, the letter tight in his hands. He was grateful that someone else provided an answer, laid before him a path that he could take, since he couldn’t find any path for himself.
Any route is better than none when you can no longer find your way. Everyone knows that.
“But we can’t allow her to think she knows anything, that she’s as intelligent as she believes she is,” Brisack pointed out. “She must be put in her place.”
“I propose that we begin new research, a test of Mrs. Shin,” Mal said. “Let’s see how curious, intelligent, and nosy this creature truly is. I suspect she may be a cat. Most females are. This letter may have just been some feminine whim which will die away just as quickly. But if she writes again,” Mal’s voice developed a sharper edge, “and passes our test, then we may have to develop some news ways of proving her.”
“What kind of test do you have in mind?”
“She’s opposed to Full School, and rumor has it that others are unhappy as well. But we can drown several cats in one well here, so to speak. The Department of Instruction is already drafting a document expounding upon the finer points of Full School,” Mal’s sickly smile returned. “It will demonstrate to any questioning citizens how little they really understand. Should anyone respond to it—and how—we’ll have a clearer picture of who we need to further humble.
“But I doubt anything will come from it,” Mal said, almost disappointedly. “People are stupid. And they’re too stupid to know they’re stupid, until someone points their stupidity out to them. This document will do that. Earlier this evening I read through the first drafts. It’s fantastic.”
Brisack’s shoulders relaxed that no decisions were his that night. “How long until it’s ready?”
“A few weeks, at least. Probably more.” Mal gestured to the letter. “We’ll wait on the form letter, too. Let her stew for a time.”
Brisack nodded. “There’s something else. I nearly forgot the reason we’re here—I haven’t heard anything from our new man in Edge. There should have been some kind of contact in the past four moons.”
Mal nodded slowly. “Not sure what happened to the new recruit I selected. I’m still waiting on the north about that. Communication has become spotty up there. But it seems we still have an inside man, someone our observers in Edge likely put in, not knowing we had someone else chosen. Word filtered up recently through the relays that this man will not make contact unless absolutely necessary. He s
ees his task as keeping Shin ‘in the game.’ To do so, he’s chosen to keep a low profile.”
“Hmm. If he’s too quiet, we won’t get much information, will we? Do we want to encourage this?” said Brisack.
“I realize it’s not exactly what you wanted,” Mal said, “but we have other sources until we find out what happened to the other new recruit. Let this ‘quiet man’ keep his low profile until we’re ready to demand something more.”
Brisack nodded and stared deep into the shadows of the room, willing them to stay in their places.
Chapter 7 ~ “Someone like her, but not her.”