The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (12 page)

Elemak looked at Issib and Meb, and knew that neither would resist him when that day came. But Nafai would cause trouble, bless his dear little heart. And Nafai knows it, thought Elemak. He knows that someday it will come down to him and me. For someday Father will try to pass his authority on to this miserable little toady of a boy, all because Nafai is so thick with the Oversoul. Well, Nafai, I’ve had a vision from the Oversoul, too—or at least Father thinks I have, which amounts to the same thing.

“Leave in the morning,” Father said. “Come back with the women who will share the inheritance the Oversoul has prepared for us in another land. Come back with the mothers of my grandchildren.”

“Mebbekew and I,” said Elemak. “No others.”

“Issib will stay home because his chair and his floats make him too conspicuous, and he increases your chances of being caught by our enemies there,” said Father. “And Zdorab will stay.”

Because you don’t quite trust him yet, thought
Elemak, no matter how much you claim that he’s our equal and a free man.

“But Nafai goes with you.”

“No,” said Elemak. “He’s even more dangerous to us than Issib. They’re bound to have figured out that he killed Gaballufix—the city computer got his name on the way out of town, and the guards saw him wearing Gaballufix’s clothing. And he had Zdorab with him, to clinch the connection between him and Gab’s death. Bringing Nafai is like asking to have him killed.”

“He goes with you,” said Father.

“Why, when he only increases our danger?” demanded Elemak.

“Yes,
make
him say it, Elya,” said Mebbekew. “Father doesn’t want to insult you, but
I
don’t mind. He wants Nafai there because, as someone recently pointed out, Nafai got the Index and none of the rest of us did. He wants Nafai there because he doesn’t trust us not to just find some woman to take us in and stay in Basilica and never come back to this paradise by the sea. He wants Nafai there because he thinks Nafai will make us be good.”

“Not at all,” said Issib. “Father wants him to learn strength and wisdom by associating with his older brothers.”

No one was ever sure whether Issib was being ironic or not. Nobody believed that this was Father’s true purpose, but nobody—least of all Father—cared to deny it openly, either.

In the silence, the words that still rang in Elemak’s ears were the last ones he himself had said: Bringing Nafai is like asking to have him killed.

“All right, Father,” said Elemak. “Nafai can come with me.”

* * *

Kokor could not understand why
she
should be in seclusion. For Sevet it made sense—she was recuperating from her unfortunate accident. Her voice wasn’t back yet; she was no doubt embarrassed to appear in public. But Kokor was in perfect health, and for her to have to hide out at Mother’s house made it look as if she were ashamed to come out in public. If she had deliberately injured Sevet, then perhaps such isolation might be necessary. But since it was simply an unfortunate accident, the result of a psychological disturbance due to Father’s death and the discovery of Sevet’s and Obring’s adultery, why, no one could blame Kokor. In fact, it would do her good to be seen in public. It would surely speed her recovery.

At least she should be able to go home to her own house, and not have to stay with Mother, as if she were a little girl or a mental incompetent who needed a guardian. Where was Obring? If he ever intended to make things up with her, he could begin by coming and getting her out of Mother’s unbearably staid environment. There was nothing interesting going on here. Just endless classes in subjects that hadn’t interested Kokor even when she was failing them years ago. Kokor was a woman of substance now. Father’s inheritance probably would enable her to buy a house and keep her own establishment. And here she was living with mother.

Not that she saw that much of Mother. Rasa was constantly in meetings with councilors and other influential women of the city, who were making virtual pilgrimages to see her and talk to her. Some of the meetings seemed to be somewhat tense; Rasa began to gather the idea that some people, at least, were blaming Rasa for everything. As if Mother would try to kill Father! But they
remembered that it was Rasa’s current husband, Wetchik, who had his inflammatory vision about Basilica in flames, and then her former husband, Gaballufix, who put tolchoks and then mercenary soldiers on the streets of the city. And now the word was that her youngest son, Nafai, was the killer of both Roptat and Gaballufix.

Well, even if all that was true, what did that have to do with Mother? Women can’t very well control their husbands—didn’t Kokor have proof of that herself? And as for Nafai killing Father—well, even if he did it,
Mother
wasn’t there, and she certainly didn’t
ask
the boy to do it. They might as well blame Mother for what happened to Sevet, when anyone could see it was Sevet’s own fault. Besides, wasn’t Father’s death his own fault, really? All those soldiers—you don’t bring soldiers into Basilica and expect not to have violence, do you? Men never understood these things. They could turn things loose, but they were always surprised when they couldn’t tame them again at will.

Like Obring, poor fool. Didn’t he know that it wasn’t a clever thing to come between sisters? He was really more to blame for Sevet’s injury than Kokor was.

And why doesn’t anybody have any sympathy for
my
injury? The deep psychological harm that has come to me because of seeing Obring and my own sister like that! No one cares that
I’m
suffering, too, and that maybe I need to go out at night as
therapy.

Kokor sat painting her face, practicing looks that might project well in her next play. For there would certainly be a next play
now,
once she got out of Mother’s house. Tumannu’s little attempt to blacklist her would certainly fail—there wasn’t a comedy house in Dolltown that would refuse an actress whose name was on the lips of everyone in Basilica. The house would sell out every
night just from curiosity seekers—and when they saw her perform and heard her sing, they’d be back again and again. Not that she would ever dream of deliberately hurting someone in order to advance her career; but since it had happened, why not make use of it? Tumannu herself would probably be in line to beg Kokor to take the lead in a comedy.

She had drawn a little pout on her mouth that looked quite fetching. She tried it out from several angles and liked the shape of it. It was too light, though. She’d have to redden it or no one would see it past the first row.

“If you make it any rounder it’ll look as though somebody made a hole under your nose with a drill.”

Kokor turned slowly to face the intruder who stood in her doorway. An obnoxious little thirteen-year-old girl. The younger sister of that nasty bastard girl Hushidh. Mother had taken them both in as infants, out of pure charity, and when Mother made Hushidh one of her nieces the girl obviously thought she should then be taken as seriously as if she were one of the nieces of high birth who would amount to something in Basilica. She and Sevet had had such fun cutting Hushidh down to size, back when they were still students here. And now the little sister, equally a bastard, just as ugly and just as uppity, dared to stand in the doorway of the bedroom of a
daughter
of the house, of a highborn woman of Basilica, and ridicule the appearance of one of the famous beauties of the city.

But it would be beneath Kokor to go to the effort of putting this child in her place as she so deserved. Enough to make her go away. “Girl, there is a door. It was closed. Please restore it to its previous condition, with yourself on the other side.”

The child didn’t move.

“Girl, if you were sent with a message, deliver it and vanish.”

“Are you speaking to me?” asked the child.

“Do you see another girl here?”

“I am a niece in this house,” said the child. “Only servants are addressed as ‘girl.’ I therefore assumed that since you are rumored to be a lady who would know correct forms of address, you must have been speaking to some invisible servant on the balcony.”

Kokor rose to her feet. “I’ve had enough of you. I had enough before you came in here.”

“What are you going to do?” asked the child. “Strike me in the throat? Or is that a sport you keep within your family?”

Kokor felt an unbearable rage rise within her. “Don’t tempt me!” she cried. Then she controlled herself, penned in the anger. This girl was not worth it. If she wanted correct address, she would have it. “What’s your business here, my dear young daughter-of-a-holy-whore?”

The girl did not seem abashed, not for a moment. “So you
do
know who I am,” she said. “My name is Luet. My friends call me Lutya. You may call me Young Mistress.”

“Why are you here and when will you leave?” demanded Kokor. “Have I come to my mother’s house to be tormented by bastard children with no manners?”

“Have no fear of that,” said Luet. “For as I hear it, you will not be in this house another hour.”

“What are you talking about? What have you heard?”

“I came here as an act of kindness, to let you know that Rashgallivak is here with six of his soldiers to take you under the protection of the Palwashantu.”

“Rashgallivak! That little pizdook! I showed him his
place when he last tried to pull this stunt, and I’ll do it again.”

“He wants to take Sevet, too. He says that you’re both in serious danger and you need protection.”

“Danger? In Mother’s house? I only need protection from obnoxious ugly little girls.”

“You are so gracious, Mistress Kokor,” said Luet. “I will never forget how you answered my thoughtfulness in bringing you this news.” She turned and left the room.

What did the girl expect? If she had come in with dignity instead of with an insult, Kokor would have treated her better. A child of such low background could hardly be expected to understand how to behave, however, so Kokor would try not to hold it against her.

Mother was being so bossy lately that she might even think that sending her and Sevet to Rashgallivak would be a good idea. Kokor would have to take steps herself to ensure that nothing of the kind occurred.

She wiped off the pout and replaced it with daypaint, then chose a particularly fragile-looking housedress and put it on with the tiniest hint of disarray, so that it would seem that she was simply on her way to the kitchen when she was surprised to discover that Rashgallivak was here to try to kidnap her.

The plan was spoiled, though, by the fact that when she stepped into the hall, there was Sevet, leaning on the arm of that wretched Hushidh girl, Luet’s older sister. How could Sevet—even with her injury—abase herself by leaning on a girl that she had once treated with such despite? Had she no shame? And yet her presence in the hall made it impossible for Kokor to ignore her. She would have to be solicitous. She would have to hover near her. Fortunately, since Sevet was already leaning on Hushidh, Kokor wouldn’t have to offer
that
service. It would completely spoil her freedom of action, to have Sevet leaning on her.

“How are you, poor Sevet?” asked Kokor. “I’ve wept myself hoarse over what happened. We’re so bad to each other sometimes, Sevet. Why do we do it?”

Sevet merely looked at the floor a meter ahead of her.

“Oh, I can understand why you’re not speaking to me. You’ll never forgive me for the accident. But I’ve forgiven
you
for what
you
did, and
that
was no accident,
that
was on purpose. Still, one can hardly expect you to feel forgiving yet, you’re in such pain, you poor thing. Why are you even up? I can handle this thing with Rashgallivak. I jammed his balls into his spleen the other night, and I’ll be glad to do it again.”

At that Sevet actually smiled a little. Just a trace of a smile. Or perhaps she only winced as she started jolting down the stairs.

Mother hadn’t even brought Rashgallivak into one of the sitting rooms. He was standing with his soldiers right at the door, which was still open. Mother turned and glanced at her daughters and Hushidh as they came down the hall from the stairs to the entryway.

“You can see that they are well,” Mother said to Rashgallivak. “They are safe and in good hands here. In fact, no men have come here at all, except you and these superfluous soldiers.”

“I’m not worried about what
has
happened,” said Rashgallivak. “I’m concerned about what
might
happen, and I will not leave here without Gaballufix’s daughters. They are under the protection of the Palwashantu.”

“You are welcome to keep your soldiers out in the street,” said Mother, “to prevent any tolchoks or marauders or assassins from entering our house, but you
will not take my daughters. A mother’s claim is superior to the claim of a clan of men.”

While Mother and Rash continued arguing, Kokor leaned toward Sevet and, forgetting that her sister could not speak, asked her, “Why does Rashgallivak want us in the first place?”

Because Sevet couldn’t answer, Hushidh did. “Aunt Rasa is at the center of resistance to Palwashantu rule in Basilica. He thinks if he has the two of you as hostages, she will behave.”

“Then he doesn’t know Mother,” said Kokor.

“Rashgallivak is a weak man,” whispered Hushidh. “And he’s stupid at politics. If he were as smart as your father, he would have known that he could not get possession of the two of you without violence, and that violence would be against his best interests. Therefore he would never have made the request. But if for some reason he
did
decide to take you, he would have acted far more boldly. The two of you would already be in the grasp of two soldiers each, with the other two holding your mother at bay.”

Hushidh was no fool, after all. That had never occurred to Kokor, that Hushidh might have some attribute worthy of respect. Her idea of Father was exactly true—yet Kokor herself would never have been able to express it so clearly.