Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) (12 page)

“I’ll take that,” said her henchman. “Details to be worked out as they come up. In the meantime, ma’am, I’d recommend the back left for Silver’s room—’s’got that little extra jig where he can set up a desk and work with his tutors.”

Nova considered that. The room in question had what she thought of as a quarter-room extra—the result of bad design, or an artifact of a previous owner’s attempt at renovation. Whichever, it would do very well for a classroom.

She nodded. “There does, however, remain one more thing to be done before Syl Vor moves out of the nursery and takes up employment as Mr. Golden’s agent in place.”

There was a small silence, even Anthora sitting with head cocked, as if she had no faintest idea of what Nova could be speaking.

“The
delm
,” Syl Vor said, then. “We need to ask Korval’s permission.”

“Just so.” Nova rose and looked to her sister. “Let me get my coat,” she said, “and we can drive . . . home . . . together.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Well, now, Riva. That’s a tale, so it is.” Silain held out her mug and Kezzi filled it with tea before filling her own.

“By the starry garters of the night . . . Riva.” Silain looked into the depths of her mug, like the tea was a window and beyond it she watched the story unfold.

In fact, Kezzi thought, talking out a thing that had been dreamed
did
feel like someone else was using your voice, your breath, while you sat near the fire, mug in hand, and listened with the rest of those gathered. The stories
she
had dreamed were small stories, and the retelling was enough to separate her from her everyday self. The
luthia
knew stories unimaginably old, though the oldest were rarely told. Kezzi thought that telling such a tale might well consume all of a
luthia
’s energy, so that at the end, she would be nothing but a powdery husk—like a moth that had prayed too close to the light.

“Riva,” murmured Silain. “Now,
there
was a woman of the Bedel. Her hair as black as the black places between the stars; her eyelids heavy with lashes so thick that all you would see of her eyes, had you been there to look, would be the reflection of your own face. She had a sweet voice, too, that was often raised in song, and had the carriage of a queen.”

Kezzi wondered what a
queen
was, but she did not ask the
luthia
. It wasn’t done, to interrupt a story once it had been begun. Even a familiar and often-heard story still had the power to teach.

“O! She was a beauty, our Riva. You may ask, How beautiful was she? And I would answer, ‘She was so beautiful that her sisters of the Bedel loved her as dearly as her brothers.’

“It was this love that made her brothers and sisters wish to protect her. And that is both the danger of love—and Riva’s doom.”

Silain leaned toward Kezzi, her voice dropping slightly. “You see, our Riva, as beautiful and as kind as the wandering is long; with her sweet voice raised up in song—our Riva . . .”

She raised her mug and looked wisely at Kezzi over the rim.

“Our Riva was not clever.”

Kezzi choked slightly on her tea. Not clever? But—

“It could be,” Silain said, after a moment, “that I state the case badly. What I mean to say is—Riva’s mind did not function as it ought. There was a fault in her memory, and another, in her understanding. It is said that the Bedel can fix anything, and that the
luthia
can fix the Bedel. But Riva—there was no fixing Riva.

“And yet—she was beautiful, she was kind, her nature was winsome; she tried so hard, and was so sad when she failed . . . It was one of her sisters who erred first. What harm could it do, she thought, to merely allow the wrong answer to pass? So, she did not correct Riva when she muddled a small cooking tale, and the food was still edible, and Riva’s smile more than made up for the odd taste.

“Others followed. Her sisters who were to teach her card lore. Her brothers who were to teach her knifeplay. They watched her closely and kept her near. Riva never went into the marketplace by herself; she did not take so much as a single fruit from a high-piled table. She did sing, and when she sang, she danced. So beautiful was she that even the
gadje
loved her, and threw money, which was well. Otherwise, she could not have kept a place in the
kompani
, and none could bear to turn her out.”

Silain paused and drank deeply of her tea.

“She ought to have been married to a wise man, and granted him many children, but the
kompani
stood at
chafurma
, and the numbers were fixed. Had matters fallen otherwise, she surely would have gone happy to a husband when the
kompani
was taken up again. As it was . . . well.

“She began to meet a man from the town—a
gadje
, yes, I will say it. They would sit under striped awnings and drink coffee together. The man gave her presents—jewelry and electronics. Coins and rare fabrics. All of these things Riva brought back to the
kompani
, for she knew her duty.

“One thing, she took away, at the man’s request.

“A deck of cards.”

Silain held out her mug and Kezzi hurried to refill it, spilling a few drops. Her own mug was barely touched; she poured a little tea into it, to warm what was there.

“A deck of cards,” Silain repeated. “He asked if she could read them—she said that she could, for that is what she believed. Sitting there under the striped awning, sipping coffee, he asked her to find from the cards the number of the horse that would win the afternoon race.

“Laughing, she fanned the deck, invited him to take one, which he did, and showed her the headman card. ‘Seven,’ she said. ‘The horse who will win wears the number seven.’

“The man went away and put money on that horse. It won, just as Riva said that it would.

“This happened once, twice, three times more, and the man saw his fortune glowing golden before him. He borrowed a large sum of money from another
gadje
, promising that it would be trebled by the end of the day. Then, he went to Riva and asked her for the winning number.

“She fanned the cards; he drew—the headman card.

“‘Twelve,’ said Riva. ‘The winning horse.’”

The
gadje
might have hesitated, having a memory that was not faulty. But, he reasoned, the other horses had won.

“He went to the races, and placed all that money on the nose of the horse who wore the number twelve.

“And that horse, believe me or do not—that horse lost more thoroughly than ever a horse has lost a race, before or since. This left the
gadje
in a very bad place, because he could not repay the money he had borrowed. He went back to the little table beneath the striped awning, and he snatched the cards from Riva’s belt, smearing them faceup among the coffee cups.

“‘This card!’ he cried. ‘What number?’

“‘Six,’ said Riva, who did not remember what she had said even that morning.

“‘You told me twelve!’ the
gadje
cried, ‘and before that, seven!’

“‘Did I?’ asked Riva, laughing. ‘Well, and so I might have.’

“That is when the
gadje
’s anger broke, and he slapped her. She cried out, for she had been used to soft treatment. He slapped her again, and she pulled her knife—her knife that she did not know how to use. The
gadje
saw that his life was in danger, and pummeled her—and no one else sitting under that awning moved to stop him. He took her knife away and cut her hair off, then he kicked her. He might have killed her then, but one of her brothers was passing that place and leapt the little fence and knocked the
gadje
down. Then he brought Riva back to the
kompani
.”

Silain sipped tea, and looked to Kezzi, her eyes bright with tears.

“Where she died, despite all the
luthia
knew how to do.”

* * *

“You’re looking well, Nova,” Aunt Miri said to Mother. “Surebleak agrees with you, just like it does all of us.”

That was a joke, Syl Vor thought, but his mother didn’t smile. Instead she inclined her head, as if acknowledging the truth of what had been said.

Aunt Miri looked to him. “Good-day, Syl Vor. Had you a pleasant excursion into town?”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt,” Syl Vor said politely.

“It pleases me to hear you say so. Do you find that Surebleak suits you, as well?”

Syl Vor blinked and looked searchingly at Aunt Miri’s eyes and face. Apparently, she did seriously want to know.

“I have scarcely seen anything of Surebleak,” he said slowly, so that he not be seeming to find fault. This was his aunt’s homeworld, after all. “What I have seen today makes me think that I would . . . like to see more.”

She grinned. “I think that might be what I’ve heard termed a careful boldness. Should you like to be a trader?”

Syl Vor blinked. What sort of a question—but wait. His tutors sometimes did the same—asked a question at odds with the lesson, to see how quickly he could change thoughts. So, then.

“I expect that I
will be
a trader,” he said, “unless Uncle Shan finds me buffleheaded.”

Aunt Miri laughed. “I will inch out onto a limb and predict that Uncle Shan will not find you buffleheaded.”

“Though he may,” Mother said sternly, “find a want of manner.”

“Nothing wrong with his manners,” Aunt Miri said in her Terran that sounded—yes! Like Mike Golden’s Terran! “The question, now—that might’ve been just a touch impertinent.” She nodded to Syl Vor. “Good answer.”

That pleased him, but it made his mother impatient.

“We are here,” she said, “to speak with Korval.”

Aunt Miri considered her.

“Right,” she said, still in Terran. “You are. Well, then, I guess I better toe the line. Just a sec while I get it set up.”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and seemed somehow to
grow taller
where she sat. When she opened her eyes, she seemed to be looking
down
at Mother. Syl Vor felt a flutter in his stomach, and swallowed hard.

Aunt Miri—except she wasn’t Aunt Miri now—now she was
Delm Korval
—held up her hand, where the Ring glittered on her thumb.

“Korval Sees,” she said, in the High Tongue in the mode of
delm
to clanmember—“Nova yos’Galan and Syl Vor yos’Galan. Who will speak first?”

“Korval,” Mother said, as clanmember to
delm
, “I will speak first, and also for my heir, who is a minor child, and untutored in the forms.”

“Korval will make allowance for one who yet learns. Speak, Nova yos’Galan.”

Mother rose and bowed, graceful and composed.

“Korval, I bring before the
delm’s
consideration a single solution which answers two problems.

“The first problem is one of Surebleak, and the Office of the Boss. In short, the subordinate Bosses and the people of the streets mistrust the municipal school, seeing it as a venue in which their children will be at high risk. This perception has been made more poignant by the recent incidents of sabotage against the school building, which has put construction back.” She paused.

The
delm
inclined her head, lamplight striking copper glints from her hair.

“And the second problem?”

“Briefly, Korval, the clan’s child Syl Vor yos’Galan finds himself ofttimes with idle hands. He has lately been accustomed to a stringent routine of study and exercise, and to the company of his elder cousins. To me, to his aunt my sister Anthora, and to several of my household he has expressed a desire to be
of use
.”

She paused again, but the
delm
said nothing.

“The proposed solution now placed before the
delm
is that Syl Vor yos’Galan remove to my household in the city, to be enrolled in the local school now, and the consolidated school when it is completed and ready to receive students.”

“Korval has heard Nova yos’Galan,” the
delm
said. “Stand forward, Syl Vor yos’Galan.”

Obediently, he stood, though he felt himself shivering with shock. To address the
delm
? His mother had said—

“A few questions only, Child Syl Vor,” the
delm
said. “You may without offense or error speak as a child of the House to an elder.”

“Yes, Aunt—Yes.” His voice was shivering, too, and that, Syl Vor thought, would never do. Padi would laugh to hear him; and Quin would ask, “are you are
quite
all right, Syl Vor?”

He took a careful breath, imagining the air deep and heavy, spreading out inside him, anchoring his feet to the floor, stiffening his soft knees, straightening his back. Another breath, and he met the
delm’s
cool grey eyes. He lifted his chin, for surely Korval must dislike meeching manners quite as much as Grandaunt Kareen did.

“Are you afraid, Child Syl Vor?” asked the
delm
.

“I am not afraid, ma’am,” he answered firmly, which was . . . mostly true.

“Excellent. You have nothing to fear from your
delm
. When you speak to the
delm
, you speak to Korval Entire—which is nothing more frightening than speaking with your kin. Or with yourself.”

Syl Vor bowed as one grateful for instruction, since the
delm
had paused and he could think of nothing to say.

“I wonder,” the
delm
said then, “this solution—is it of your crafting?”

“No, ma’am. Mike Golden suggested it—as a way that I might be of use. We were having cookies and . . .” He paused, conscious that he was perhaps chattering.

“Pardon me, ma’am. Do you know Mike Golden?”

“We met briefly,” the
delm
said, catching his gaze with hers. “What do you think of him?”

That was something of a stumper. Fortunately, one was allowed to take a moment to compose one’s thoughts upon receipt of such a question. His first inclination, to say that he very much liked Mike Golden, was of course ineligible. The
delm
wished to know what he
thought
, not what he felt.

“I think Mike Golden is . . . an honest man,” he said, chewing his lip and staring hard at the rug. “I think that he wants to help my mother, Boss Nova. I think that he wants the school to succeed. I think he wants
Surebleak
to succeed. I think he knows his solution is dangerous, a little. But not too dangerous to attempt.” He looked up and met the
delm’s
eyes.