Seivarden’s accent and way of speaking would be familiar to most educated Radchaai, from old entertainments and the way Anaander Mianaai’s speech was widely emulated by prestigious—or hopefully prestigious—families. I hadn’t thought changes in pronunciation and vocabulary had been so extreme. But I’d lived through them, and Seivarden’s ear for language had never been the sharpest. “She’s offering tea.”
“Oh.” Seivarden looked briefly at her crossed arms. “No.”
I took the tea the adjunct poured from a flask on the table, thanked her, and took a seat. The office had been painted a pale green, the floor tiled with something that had probably been intended to look like wood and might have succeeded if the designer had ever seen anything but imitations of imitations. A niche in the wall behind the young adjunct held an icon of Amaat and a small bowl of bright-orange, ruffle-petaled flowers. And beside that, a tiny brass copy of the cliffside in the temple of Ikkt. You could buy them, I knew, from vendors in the plaza in front of the Fore-Temple water, during pilgrimage season.
I looked at the adjunct again. Who was she? Someone I knew? A relative of someone I’d met?
“You’re humming again,” Seivarden said in an undertone.
“Excuse me.” I took a sip of tea. “It’s a habit I have. I apologize.”
“No need,” said the adjunct, and took her own seat by the table. This was, fairly clearly, her own office and so she was direct assistant to the inspector supervisor—an unusual place for someone so young. “I haven’t heard that song since I was a child.”
Seivarden blinked, not understanding. If she had, she likely would have smiled. A Radchaai could live nearly two hundred years. This inspector adjunct, probably a legal adult for a decade, was still impossibly young.
“I used to know someone else who sang all the time,” the adjunct continued.
I knew her. Had probably bought songs from her. She would have been maybe four, maybe five, when I’d left Ors. Maybe slightly older, if she remembered me with any clarity.
The inspector supervisor behind that door would be someone who had spent time on Shis’urna—in Ors itself, most likely. What did I know about the lieutenant who had replaced Lieutenant Awn as administrator there? How likely was it she’d resigned her military assignment and taken one as a dock inspector? It wasn’t unheard of.
Whoever the inspector supervisor was, she had money and influence enough to bring this adjunct here from Ors. I wanted to ask the young woman the name of her patron, but that would be unthinkably rude. “I’m told,” I said, meaning to sound idly curious, and playing up my Gerentate accent just the smallest bit, “that the jewelry you Radchaai wear has some sort of significance.”
Seivarden cast me a puzzled look. The adjunct only smiled. “Some of it.” Her Orsian accent, now I had identified it, was clear, obvious. “This one for instance.” She slid one gloved finger under a gold-colored dangle pinned near her left shoulder. “It’s a memorial.”
“May I look closer?” I asked, and receiving permission moved my chair near, and bent to read the name engraved in Radchaai on the plain metal, one I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t likely a memorial for an Orsian—I couldn’t imagine anyone in the lower city adopting Radchaai funeral practices, or at least not anyone old enough to have died since I’d seen them last.
Near the memorial, on her collar, sat a small flower pin, each petal enameled with the symbol of an Emanation. A date engraved in the flower’s center. This assured young woman had been the tiny, frightened flower-bearer when Anaander Mianaai had acted as priest in Lieutenant Awn’s house twenty years ago.
No coincidences, not for Radchaai. I was quite sure now that when we were admitted to the inspector supervisor’s presence, I would meet Lieutenant Awn’s replacement in Ors. This inspector adjunct was, perhaps, a client of hers.
“They make them for funerals,” the adjunct was saying, still talking about memorial pins. “Family and close friends wear them.” And you could tell by the style and expense of the piece just where in Radchaai society the dead person stood, and by implication where the wearer stood. But the adjunct—her name, I knew, was Daos Ceit—didn’t mention that.
I wondered then what Seivarden would make—had made—of changes in fashion since Garsedd, the way such signals had changed—or not. People still wore inherited tokens and memorials, testimony to the social connections and values of their ancestors generations back. And mostly that was the same, except “generations back” was Garsedd. Some tokens that had been insignificant then were prized now, and some that had been priceless were now meaningless. And the color and gemstone significances in vogue for the last hundred or so years wouldn’t read at all, for Seivarden.
Inspector Adjunct Ceit had three close friends, all three of whom had incomes and positions similar to hers, to judge from the gifts they’d exchanged with her. Two lovers intimate enough to exchange tokens with but not sufficiently so to be considered very serious. No strands of jewels, no bracelets—though of course if she did any work actually inspecting cargo or ship systems such things might have been in her way—and no rings over her gloves.
And there, on the other shoulder, where now I could see it plainly and look straight at it without being excessively impolite, was the token I had been looking for. I had mistaken it for something less impressive, had, on first glance, taken the platinum for silver, and its dependent pearl for glass, the sign of a gift from a sibling—current fashions misleading me. This was nothing cheap, nothing casual. But it wasn’t a token of clientage, though the metal and the pearl suggested a particular house association. An association with a house old enough that Seivarden could have recognized it immediately. Possibly had.
Inspector Adjunct Ceit stood. “The inspector supervisor is available now,” she said. “I do apologize for your wait.” She opened the inner door and gestured us through.
In the innermost office, standing to meet us, twenty years older and a bit heavier than when I’d last seen her, was the giver of that pin—Lieutenant—no, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat Awer.
18
It was impossible that Lieutenant Skaaiat would recognize me. She bowed, oblivious to the fact that I knew her. It was strange to see her in dark blue, and so much more sober, more grave than when I’d known her in Ors.
An inspector supervisor in a station as busy as this likely never set foot on the ships her subordinates inspected, but Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat wore almost as little jewelry as her assistant. A long strand of green-and-blue jewels coiled from shoulder to opposite hip, and a red stone dangled from one ear, but otherwise a similar (though clearly more expensive) scattering of friends, lovers, dead relatives decorated her uniform jacket. One plain gold token hung on the cuff of her right sleeve, just next to the edge of the glove, the placement that of something she intended to be reminded of, as much for herself to see as anyone else. It looked cheap, machine-made. Not the sort of thing she would wear.
She bowed. “Citizen Seivarden. Honored Breq. Please sit. Will you have tea?” Still effortlessly elegant, even after twenty years.
“Your assistant already offered us tea, thank you, Inspector Supervisor,” I said. Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat looked momentarily at me and then at Seivarden, slightly surprised, I thought. She had been addressing Seivarden primarily, thinking of Seivarden as the principal person between the two of us. I sat. Seivarden hesitated a moment and then sat in the seat beside me, arms still crossed to hide her bare hands.
“I wanted to meet you myself, citizen,” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat said, when she’d taken her own seat. “Privilege of office. It isn’t every day you meet someone a thousand years old.”
Seivarden smiled, small and tight. “Indeed not,” she agreed.
“And I felt it would be improper for Security to arrest you on the dock. Though…” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat gestured, placatory, the pin on her cuff flashing once as she did. “You are in some legal difficulty, citizen.”
Seivarde
n relaxed, just slightly, shoulders lowering, jaw loosening. Barely detectable, unless you knew her. Skaaiat’s accent and mildly deferential tone were having an effect. “I am,” Seivarden acknowledged. “I intend to appeal.”
“There’s some question about the matter, then.” Stilted. Formal. A query that wasn’t a query. But no answer came. “I can take you to the palace offices myself and avoid any entanglement with Security.” Of course she could. She’d worked this out with Security’s chief already.
“I’d be grateful.” Seivarden sounded more like her old self than I’d heard her in the last year. “Would it be worth asking you to assist me contacting Geir’s lord?” Geir might conceivably have some responsibility for this last member of the house it had taken over. Hated Geir, which had absorbed its enemy—Vendaai, Seivarden’s house. Vendaai’s relations with Awer hadn’t been any better than with Geir, but I supposed the request was a measure of just how desperate and alone Seivarden was.
“Ah.” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat winced, just slightly. “Awer and Geir aren’t as close as they used to be, citizen. About two hundred years ago there was an exchange of heirs. The Geir cousin killed herself.” The verb Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat used implied that it hadn’t been an approved, Medical-mediated suicide but something illicit and messy. “And the Awer cousin went mad and ran off to join some cult somewhere.”
Seivarden made a breathy, amused noise. “Typical.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat raised an eyebrow, but only said, temperately, “It left some bad feeling on both sides. So my connections with Geir aren’t what they could be, and I might or might not be able to be helpful to you. And their responsibilities toward you might be… difficult to determine, though you might find that useful in an appeal.”
Seivarden gestured abortively, arms still tightly crossed, one elbow lifting slightly. “It doesn’t sound like it’s worth the trouble.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat gestured ambivalence. “You’ll be fed and sheltered here in any event, citizen.” She turned to me. “And you, honored. You’re here as a tourist?”
“Yes.” I smiled, looking, I hoped, very much like a tourist from the Gerentate.
“You’re a very long way from home.” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat smiled, politely, as though the observation were an idle one.
“I’ve been traveling a long time.” Of course she—and by implication others—were curious about me. I had arrived in company with Seivarden. Most of the people here wouldn’t know her name, but those who did would be attracted by the staggering unlikelihood of her having been found after a thousand years, and the connection to an event as notorious as Garsedd.
Still smiling pleasantly, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat asked, “Looking for something? Avoiding something? Just like to travel?”
I made a gesture of ambiguity. “I suppose I like to travel.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat’s eyes narrowed slightly at my tone of voice, muscles tensing just perceptibly around her mouth. She thought, it seemed, that I was hiding something, and she was interested now, and more curious than before.
For an instant I wondered why I’d answered the way I had. And realized that Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat’s being here was incredibly dangerous to me—not because she might recognize me, but because I recognized her. Because she was alive and Lieutenant Awn was not. Because everyone of her standing had failed Lieutenant Awn (I had failed Lieutenant Awn), and no doubt if then–Lieutenant Skaaiat had been put to the test, she would have failed as well. Lieutenant Awn herself had known this.
I was in danger of my emotions affecting my behavior. They already had, they always did. But I had never been confronted with Skaaiat Awer until now.
“My response is ambiguous, I know,” I said, making that placatory gesture Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat had already used. “I’ve never questioned my desire to travel. When I was a baby, my grandmother said she could tell from the way I took my first steps that I was born to go places. She kept on saying it. I suppose I’ve just always believed it.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat gestured acknowledgment. “It would be a shame to disappoint your grandmother, in any event. Your Radchaai is very good.”
“My grandmother always said I’d better study languages.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat laughed. Almost as I remembered her from Ors, but still that trace of gravity. “Forgive me, honored, but do you have gloves?”
“I meant to buy some before we boarded, but I decided to wait and buy the right sort. I hoped I’d be forgiven my bare hands on arrival since I’m an uncivilized foreigner.”
“An argument could be made for either approach,” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat said, still smiling. A shade more relaxed than moments before. “Though.” A serious turn. “You speak very well, but I don’t know how much you understand other things.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which things?”
“I don’t wish to be indelicate, honored. But Citizen Seivarden doesn’t appear to have any money in her possession.” Beside me, Seivarden grew tense again, tightened her jaw, swallowed something she had been about to say. “Parents,” continued Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat, “buy clothes for their children. The temple gives gloves to attendants—flower-bearers and water-bearers and such. That’s all right, because everyone owes loyalty to God. And I know from your entrance application that you’ve employed Citizen Seivarden as your servant, but…”
“Ah.” I understood her. “If I buy gloves for Citizen Seivarden—which she clearly needs—it will look as though I’ve offered her clientage.”
“Just so,” agreed Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat. “Which would be fine if that’s what you intended. But I don’t think things work that way in the Gerentate. And honestly…” She hesitated, clearly on delicate ground again.
“And honestly,” I finished for her, “she’s got a difficult legal situation that might not be helped by her association with a foreigner.” My normal habit was expressionlessness. I could keep my anger out of my voice easily. I could speak to Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat as though she were not in any way connected with Lieutenant Awn, as though Lieutenant Awn had had no anxieties or hopes or fears about future patronage from her. “Even a rich one.”
“I’m not sure I’d say it quite that way,” began Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat.
“I’ll just give her some money now,” I said. “That should take care of it.”
“No.” Seivarden’s tone was sharp. Angry. “I don’t need money. Every citizen is due basic necessities, and clothes are a basic necessity. I’ll have what I need.” At Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat’s surprised, inquiring look Seivarden said further, “Breq has good reasons for not having given me money.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat had to know what that likely meant. “Citizen, I don’t mean to lecture,” she said. “But if that’s the case, why not just let Security send you to Medical? I understand you’re reluctant to do that.” Reeducation wasn’t the sort of thing that was easy to mention politely. “But really, it might make things better for you. It often does.”
A year ago I’d have expected Seivarden to lose her temper at this suggestion. But something had changed for her in that time. She only said, slightly irritably, “No.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat looked at me. I raised one eyebrow and a shoulder, as if to say, That’s how she is.
“Breq has been very patient with me,” said Seivarden, astonishing me utterly. “And very generous.” She looked at me. “I don’t need money.”
“Whatever you like,” I said.
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat had watched the whole exchange intently, frowning just slightly. Curious, I thought, not only about who and what I was, but what I was to Seivarden. “Well,” she said now, “let me take you to the palace. Honored Breq Ghaiad, I’ll have your things delivered to your lodgings.” She rose.
I stood as well, and Seivarden beside me. We followed Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat to the outer office—empty,
Daos Ceit (Inspector Adjunct Ceit, I would have to remember) likely gone for the day, given the hour. Instead of taking us through the front of the offices, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat led us through a back corridor, through a door that opened at no perceptible cue from her—Station, that would be, the AI that ran this place, was this place, paying close attention to the inspector supervisor of its docks.
“Are you all right, Breq?” asked Seivarden, looking at me with puzzlement and concern.
“Fine,” I lied. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.” I was sure my expression hadn’t changed, but Seivarden had noticed something.
Through the door was more corridor, and a bank of lifts, one of which opened for us, then closed and moved with no signal. Station knew where Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat wanted to go. Which turned out to be the main concourse.
The lift doors slid open onto a broad and dazzling view—an avenue paved in black stone veined with white, seven hundred meters long and twenty-five wide, the roof sixty meters above. Directly ahead stood the temple. The steps were not really steps, but an area marked out on the paving with red and green and blue stones; actions on the steps of the temple potentially had legal significance. The entrance was itself forty meters high and eight wide, framed with representations of hundreds of gods, many human-shaped, some not, a riot of colors. Just inside the entrance lay a basin for worshippers to wash their hands in, and beyond that containers of cut flowers, a swath of yellow and orange and red, and baskets of incense, for purchase as offerings. Away down either side of the concourse, shops, offices, balconies with flowered vines snaking down. Benches, and plants, and even at an hour when most Radchaai would be at supper hundreds of citizens walked or stood talking, uniformed (white for the Translators Office, light brown for Station Security, dark brown for military, green for Horticulture, light blue for Administration) or not, all glittering with jewelry, all thoroughly Civilized. I saw an ancillary follow its captain into a crowded tea shop, and wondered which ship it was. What ships were here. But I couldn’t ask, it wasn’t the sort of thing Breq from the Gerentate would care about.