Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) (38 page)

“But,” Rudy said, into the stunned silence that had overtaken the classroom. “That’s way away from my street, ma’am. Take me all day to walk there.”

“No walkin’ to it,” Rodale said scornfully. “Just take a taxi’s all.”

Rudy’s face colored. “Taxi’s spendy.”

“Not the school taxi,” Tansy said. “My ma don’t got nothing extra for taxi fare, neither, but the school gives a chit and the taxi brings me back and forth to home—ain’t that so, Delia?”

“That’s how it works now,” Delia answered slowly. “Might not be how it’ll work with this new school, though.”

“That’s exactly how it’ll work with the new school,” Ms. Taylor said from the front of the room. She lifted the pointer and again traced the route from the present school to the new one.

“The Bosses will subsidize transportation,” she said, “just like they do now, with the taxi chits. You’ll get your chits from your teacher at the beginning of each week. If you lose a chit, or sell it, or trade it, you’ll have to either pay for the taxi ride out of your own pocket cash, or miss school for the day you don’t have a chit.”

“But,” said Kaleb, “why do we have to go to school so
far away
?”

“That’s a good question, Kaleb,” said Ms. Taylor. She snapped off the pointer and slipped it away into her pocket. “The Consolidated School is something all the Bosses have been working on for a long time, now. You would’ve been attending that school already, except there were some problems with people stealing materials from the site, and breaking things.

“Now those problems are taken care of, the school’s ready, and all the students from all the street-level schools, like ours, are being shifted to the new one.”

“But
you’ll
still be our teacher, won’t you, Ms. Taylor?” Tansy demanded.

“I’ll be your Home Teacher, but you’ll have other teachers, too, for other subjects.” She grinned. “Subjects I never heard of, some of them. You’ll mix in with the students from the other schools, and form up classes. Then, after you get settled, there’ll be an open enrollment, so anybody who wants to go to school can. The students who’re already in place—and who know how things work—will be expected to help the new students find their feet.”

“But—
why
?” demanded Kaleb.

Ms. Taylor nodded. “Another good question, Kaleb, thank you.”

“Does everybody remember when we talked about how the Bosses came into the empty space in the power structure that was made when the Gilmour Agency pulled off Surebleak?”

Heads nodded throughout the classroom. Kezzi, noted Syl Vor, who had a very good view of the back of her head, did
not
nod.

“The Bosses come up and divvied the streets ’tween ’em, each one takin’ what they could hold,” said Anders. “That meant all the different streets and Bosses were workin’ against each other, instead of with each other. ’Til Boss Conrad.”

“Very good, Anders. The Council of Bosses has made it a mandate to close the gap between the streets, and bring Surebleak people to work together with each other, for the good of ourselves and our world. The Consolidated School is an important step in that direction.”

She paused, her head to one side, like she did when she was waiting for questions. None came, though, and after a moment, she nodded.

“We’ll talk about this some more during the day, and at lunch.
After
lunch, we’ll make a list of who gets taxi chits. Tomorrow, we’ll pack up all our things, answer any last-minute questions or concerns and get ready for the move. The day after that, we’ll meet for class at the new school.” She smiled. “I’m excited. I think you’ll be excited, too, when you see the new school—the new possibilities—and meet the other students like you, from lots of different turfs, who’ve been going to schools like this one.”

She took a breath, and let her smile dim somewhat.

“We’d usually do arithmetic about now, but today, we’re going to do history, instead.” She looked around the room deliberately, and Syl Vor thought her eyes rested just a little longer on Peter and on Luce.

“All right,” she said, her tone much sterner than usual. “Who wants to tell us about the insurance business?”

* * *

Memit had called upon him to work in the garden, and this he had done with honest joy, turning and trimming until his muscles ached, and blisters rose on his ungloved hand. The blisters earned him a scold from Memit, who smeared a salve on his palm and bound it with gauze.

“Fool. You’ve been unable to work this while; your muscles are weak and your flesh is tender.”

“How better to strengthen both than to work?” he asked, which earned him a box on the ear—gentler than it might have been—and a command to come and give his opinion of her newest project.

“Where did you get these?” he asked, kneeling among the thin green vines.

“I found a stasis packet,” she said, hunkering down beside him. “The label said
table grapes and ordinary
. I remembered that you had cared for such, so I brought them, thinking you might teach me. But you had gone to the men’s camp, so I heard, and our ways were separate for some while.”

The vines were a
gift
, he understood, taking care not to look too closely into her face and perhaps dismay her.

“Do you have the wrappings—or the label?” he murmured, reaching out and testing the new wood with naked fingertips.

Memit stood, unbuttoned the large side pocket on her utility pants and pulled out a closely folded piece of cardboard.

Rys unfolded it, pleased that she had kept all of the packaging.

“It would appear,” he said, scanning the printed matter, “that these vines have been engineered for quick growth in less-than-optimal conditions. I have been accustomed to vines that came slowly to fruit, and with a certain rigor in regard to the soil. However . . .” He looked up into Memit’s face with a smile. “However, I think that between us we ought to be able to find how best to please these. Is it your wish to make wine?”

Memit shrugged.

“First,” she said, “let us make grapes.”

* * *

Pat Rin shook his head as he handed her a teacup.

“I must say that I hadn’t expected such rapid results,” he said. “It’s to be hoped that the headman is a person of sense.”

“I gather from Silain that the headman’s duty is to the best good of the company at large,” Nova murmured.

“Yes, and I wish I knew whether that would serve us or hinder us.” He sighed and sipped his tea. “Well. I suppose all will be revealed, soon or late.”

“I am,” he commented, after a few moments of companionable silence, “interested in this
lost ship
.”

“Spoken like the son of a piloting House. Unfortunately, I know only that Kezzi asked Syl Vor if he might find a ship that was lost. This, you understand, having been brought up in the wake of a brisk review of ship silhouettes.”

“And he said?”

“Being also the son of a piloting House, he said that it was possible to find lost ships, but there were facts to gather, and an adult pilot to enlist on the project.”

“Whereupon he brought the matter to you.” Pat Rin nodded. “That is well.”

“We might,” Nova commented, “
give
them a ship, if it will remove them willingly from the warehouses.”

“We might, I suppose. Do you think there is a pilot among them?”

“I have no notion.”

“Nor do I. And thus we wait upon the headman.” He smiled at her. “In the meantime, Mr. McFarland has done his inspection, along with the contract team and a brace of Scout specialists. They pronounce the school ready for occupancy. The teachers are already on-site and preparing to meet their students.”

Nova sighed, and shook her hair back from her face.

“I hope,” she said, and stopped.

“That it works?” he finished for her. “As I do. And the devil’s in it, that we won’t begin to know, for years. Though we will make a beginning and show solidarity.”

Nova considered him.

“We will?”

“Indeed. It has been decided by the Council of Bosses that the school shall be seen to have the approval of all. The incoming students will be welcomed by a committee of Bosses.”

Nova frowned.

“Will they? And will Boss Conrad be among them?”

He raised his cup, but did not sip from it, rather looking at her over the rim.

“Do you know?” he said. “Natesa doesn’t approve, either.”

“And Mr. McFarland?”

“Mr. McFarland is of the opinion that I am a target wherever I go, and in the instance, he will at least have backup from the other ’hands attending their Bosses.”

“There is that.” Nova sighed. “Mr. Golden and I will be there, of course.”

Pat Rin raised an eyebrow.

“There’s no need—”

“There is every need,” she interrupted. “Syl Vor and his sister will be among the core students arriving, recall! Not only will Mr. Golden consider it a rare treat to be on hand, but I believe the entire household may wish to be present.”

Pat Rin grinned.

After a moment in which she stared with dark intent at nothing, Nova shook her head and drank off what was left of her tea.

* * *

The knife was a good one, well-kept, well-edged, and made for a hand smaller than his own. A subtle flick of the wrist brought the blade out, locked and ready for business; the barest pressure on a certain spot in the leather-wrapped handle put it safely away again.

In fact, Udari thought, eying the thing with unease, it was just a bit too apt, this knife, so smooth and so sweet that a man might forget he held a weapon.

And
this
knife—this sleek instrument, not so much contemptuous of life, as dismissive of it . . .
this
knife belonged to Rys?

True, he had seen his brother, small and broken as he had been, use his crutch as a weapon to win Rafin’s respect, but that had been done with . . . thoughtfulness and, as he had thought at the time, calculated intent.

And anyway, Udari thought, snapping the knife closed and holding it in his hand, who had said the knife belonged to Rys?

A
gadje
woman he had never seen before . . .

. . . and who had known him for the brother of the one called Rys.

Udari’s mouth thinned. He stood up from his hearth, slipped the knife away into a pocket, and went to find his brother.

* * *

“Does anybody have questions about the new school?” Ms. Taylor asked, looking around the table.

“How will we
mix in
with the other students?” Delia asked.

“I expect that you’ll mix in fine, and that there won’t be as much difference as you think between turfs—just like we’ve been finding out here,” Ms. Taylor said, and smiled. “For the mechanics of it . . . at first—and for as long as everyone feels it’s useful—we’ll meet together first thing, and last. That way we’ll be able to keep in touch with each other, and talk about things. From our first core class, you’ll go to another class that’s been assigned—say, spelling, or arithmetic, or history. After that class, you’ll go on to another. Classes will last about an hour, and everybody will have a list of classes, and where they are and a map. You know? After lunch, let’s do routes! I’ve got a map of the new school. We can learn where things are together—that’ll be fun, won’t it?”

As far as Syl Vor could read from his classmates’ faces, they weren’t necessarily convinced that it
would
be fun. He remembered Veeno telling him that people didn’t like change. That certainly seemed to be the case, here.

“Them other kids,” Rodale spoke up, from his seat next to Rudy. “They know about not bringing blades and shooters t’school, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do. The safety rules have been exactly the same for all the core schools,” Ms. Taylor said firmly. “No weapons allowed in school, and no fighting. There will be a self-defense class, required for everybody.” She shook her head. “After routes, we’ll look at the list of required classes, okay? If there’s a question about what something is, or how it’ll be taught, I’ll make a note and ask after it at the meeting tonight.”

“Meeting?” Rudy repeated. “Do you . . .
know
these other teachers?”

Ms. Taylor laughed. “Well, of course, I do! Not
all
of them, because some have just arrived, but most, I think. We’ve been working on this curriculum for a long time, and in spite of all these glum faces I’m seeing, I really think you’ll be pleased. I know you’ll do
me
proud. And I’ll be right there, remember! If you need to talk to me, you just come right on and do that!”

“But
where
?” Tansy demanded, fretfully.

“I’ll have my own classroom, just like I do here,” Ms. Taylor said. “We’ll find that on the map, first thing, all right?”

Tansy snuffled, and nodded.

Ms. Taylor looked around the table, and Syl Vor did, too. He had eaten all his lunch, and Kezzi had eaten hers. No one else had seemed to be hungry.

“Okay, here’s what. I’m going to go into the other room, and count to fifty. When I’m finished, I’ll expect to see everyone back in their seats.”

She got up, took her dishes over to the bin, and passed into the schoolroom.

“One!” she called out. “Two . . .”

“Like hide ’n’ seek, only backwards!” said Vanette, and picked up her spoon, attacking her soup with a will.

Anders frowned, then followed suit, and pretty soon everybody but Rudy was eating.

“Better not waste that,” Rodale said, nodding at Rudy’s plate. “Long time ’til supper.”

“Yeah . . .” Rudy picked up his spoon, and then put it down. “Not sure I’m gonna make the new school,” he said. “M’father din’t like me comin’—the boss at the machine shop had late hours he could gimme, so that made it okay. This extra travel—even with a taxi . . . I ain’t gonna be able to make m’hours.”

“Ask the boss for less hours,” Syl Vor suggested.

Rudy glared at him. “Less hours is less pay, stupid. You think I can take less pay?”

Syl Vor raised his hands, palm out.

“I’m sorry,” he said, which was proper, in Terran. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Guess you din’t, Boss’s brat. You don’t gotta think o’hours or money, or nothin’ ’cept pleasin’ your—”