Wrapt in Crystal

by Sharon Shinn

  “Tell him that I am sorry his mother died so tragically, but that others have also died and that I have been brought here to investigate all the deaths.”

  She spoke almost as he did, a simultaneous translation, and Felipe responded quickly and impatiently. So efficiently and unobtrusively did Jovieve interpret that they soon began to speak as if she wasn’t there.

  “The hombuenos investigated the deaths and they found nothing,” Felipe said. “What would an outsider expect to find after all these weeks?”

  “A link—something to tie the deaths together and explain them.”

  “The explanation—the explanation, Lieutenant, is that all five of these women were wandering in parts of town where they had no business—”

  “Six.”

  “They had no business—What did you say?”

  “Six. Six women have been killed.”

  “Well, then, six. If they had not been trudging around the barrios, the western slums—Ava save us!—where no sane woman would go night or day—”

  “I think we must concentrate on the facts of the murders and not wonder whether or not the women had a right to be where they were.”

  “My mother was sixty years old, Lieutenant. She had a home, children, an income, a comfortable life. She threw this away—she threw everything away—on some mad whim, to parade around in a white gown and call herself a servant of Ava. At her age! To make such a fool of herself! I love the goddess, but there are those better suited to serve. I grieve for the loss of my mother, but I feel she drew this tragedy upon herself. She had become so irresponsible that I was almost not even surprised when the news came.”

  “My brother has never forgiven our mother for joining the temple, Lieutenant,” said Carlota in a cool voice. “He is enraged at her for getting herself killed.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  “I miss my mother,” she said simply. “I had hoped she would find happiness with the goddess, and I am sad that she did not. I am shocked to think of how her life ended. I don’t know anything about those other women. I am sorry for them, too.”

  “And your other brother?”

  “Roberto? He feels much as Felipe does, though he is less angry and more sad. It is a terrible thing, Lieutenant, to lose your mother in such a way.”

  “I know,” he said.

  Felipe broke in again, but his comments were in much the same style. Drake could imagine him taking his mother by both shoulders and shaking her till she was breathless, but it was hard to picture him stalking her through the unsavory streets of the barrios.

  “Bastante,” he said, holding up a hand. Enough. “Thank you for your time.”

  Jovieve made lingering goodbyes and they departed, leaving behind one angry man and two sad women.

  “And did you discover what you wanted to discover?” Jovieve asked him as they climbed back into the sedan. He swung his body inside the narrow door with a looping motion; she seated herself with infinite grace.

  “You mean, did I disturb them and rake up bitter memories to any purpose at all?” he replied, starting the car. “Hard to say. I don’t think he killed his mother, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Then there was something learned.”

  “Bit by bit,” he said, edging the car back into the wide driveway. “Maybe soon the bits will begin to make sense.”

  They had driven for perhaps five minutes in silence when Jovieve spoke up again. “Are you hungry, Lieutenant? I am. There’s a place just up the road here—yes, that’s it—turn in here. We can get ourselves a meal and something to drink.”

  The restaurant she had indicated was quietly elegant on the outside and luxurious on the inside. Like the Sanburros’s house, it was air-conditioned, and it was the first restaurant Drake had been in on Semay that could boast such an amenity. Heavy brocade curtains kept out the harsh light; the rich leather chairs and sofas were unfaded by too much sun. The light was low, the plants were plentiful, and the aromas coming from the kitchen were wonderful.

  “Senya grande.” The headwaiter greeted Jovieve with some reverence. “Esta maravilloso para mirarse.”

  “Gratze,” she said. “Queremos un poco comida—tiene mesa?”

  “Si, si, venga conmigo,” he said. They had spoken too rapidly for Drake to understand, but he assumed somebody was going to feed him, and he and Jovieve followed the waiter to a table near the back. They sat down and settled themselves in, accepting water from the headwaiter and menus from another server. When the attendants were gone, Drake looked around. Palm fronds overhung their chairs, and a small candle created a pool of yellow light on the table between them.

  “You’re wondering at how well they know me here,” Jovieve said, laughing. “Yes, I admit it, it’s my favorite restaurant.”

  “I’m wondering if my per diem includes lunch at such an exclusive establishment.”

  She raised her dark eyebrows. “My treat, then.”

  He laughed. “I’m wondering what your per diem is that you can afford to come here often.”

  She kept her brows arched. She was not stupid, and she instantly recognized the challenge behind the observation. “You’re thinking that it is rather indulgent for a high priestess to spend her money in such a place.”

  “When I know, from my walk through the city yesterday, how many other uses there can be for money in Madrid.”

  She picked up her glass of water, which was flavored with a slice of lime. “You have a point,” she said, “but you’re also missing the point.”

  “No doubt.”

  “The poor and the hungry should be fed, but the less poor and the moderately comfortable deserve a right to eat as well. I know for a fact that the proprietor of this restaurant started in poverty and worked his way to this level, and how can you say he does not deserve his good fortune? Should people be turned from his door because he is not starving in a ditch? You have no idea how these other diners have spent their days—perhaps they have built homes for the elderly, or nursed sick children in a hospital, or taught, or painted, or written poetry. Shouldn’t they be allowed a place of elegance and sophistication and good food—a reward for their hard day and their good work? Just because they are not poor, should they be scorned?

  “And the proprietor, my friend Dallert. You have no way of knowing how he spends his money. Maybe he invests it all in jewels for his wife. Maybe he pays for his daughter’s university education. Maybe he donates it all to the Fideles. Can you judge? Why should I not give him my money, which will go to pay the salaries of his cooks and waiters, which they will spend on food and rent and clothing, which will cause the wheels of the economy to turn, which will generate taxes, a portion of which shall go to the poor? Think a little before you condemn me out of hand.”

  “I didn’t mean to condemn you,” he said quickly.

  “You did, so you may as well admit it,” she said, but she was smiling. She had spoken with passion, but she did not seem angry. “But I forgive you, because I know what your trouble is.”

  Before he could reply to that, the waiter arrived and asked for their orders. Drake, who had not studied his menu, made a choice completely at random; Jovieve obviously had known in advance what she wished to have.

  “What is my trouble?” Drake asked as soon as the waiter left.

  “You have spent a day with the Fideles, and your eyes are blinded by sanctity.”

  He considered that, toying with the silverware laid out before him. “I have to admit I was impressed by them,” he said at last.

  “Many people are.”

  “There’s such a—purity about their faith,” he said. He had not thought to try and articulate his reactions, certainly not to a Triumphante. “Such a cleanness and single-mindedness.”

  “And you are a man who likes his gods simple.”

  “No, not that so much,” he said. “I don’t know that I felt close to
any god in the Fidele temple. I felt—goodness there, and it seems to me, if there is a god, that god should be good.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding.

  “I think—if I had to choose a religion—I could choose to be a Fidele and rest secure knowing—knowing that whether or not there was a god, there was a purpose to my life, and it was a good purpose.”

  “You could give up everything—your habits, your pursuits, your pleasures, your lovers—and give yourself over to the service of the goddess and the ministration of the poor.”

  “It wouldn’t be easy, I know.”

  “But of course it would! Especially for a man like you! There is nothing easier in this life, Lieutenant, than total surrender to an idea that is larger than yourself. Why, you have done it already by dedicating yourself to the service of Interfed. I have met a few Moonchildren in my life, and they all had that one thing in common—that belief in the absolute rightness of Interfed and their own mandate to keep its peace. I do not quarrel with the premise—indeed, I am sure Interfed is a force for good and as such deserves its disciples—but I do think it is easier to be a fanatic than those who are not fanatics realize.”

  “Well, but that hardly—”

  “The Fideles operate on much the same principle,” she went on, disregarding his interruption. “You think they are pure and simple and good—and you’re right, they are all these things. But is it hard to be pure and simple and good? Is it hard to accept the doctrine, the code, laid out to the final letter of deportment? When you are told what to wear, what to eat, what to think, what to do on a daily basis—when there is no leeway at any juncture of any day for a person to make an individual decision—is that harder, I wonder, than to make those decisions every day, a hundred times a day, going by your own morality and your own judgment and balancing your desires against your sense of justice? I think the Fideles can be so pure because they have given up the struggle that makes the rest of us human beings, Lieutenant. Maybe they have resigned the struggle in favor of this great ‘goodness’ that you are impressed by. But that does not make them better people than those who are still struggling.”

  He had given up any attempt to defend himself, and just listened intently, his eyes never leaving her face. When he was sure she had finished, he smiled faintly. “I see I have touched a nerve,” he said.

  She laughed. “And, as you might guess, you are not the first. The Triumphantes are generally well-loved, you know, but we have been accused of worldliness before this, and our sisters, the Fideles, held up to us as models of religious decorum.”

  “You are worldly,” he said. “You can’t deny that.”

  “Our parish is the world,” she said, shrugging. “The people who come to us have families and wives and husbands and money troubles and guilt and anger and greed. How can we minister to them if we are familiar with none of these things? And should they not have a ministry because they are not poor? That is the question I would ask my Fidele sisters. Do only the poor deserve Ava’s mercy? I cannot think so.”

  The waiter brought their food, steaming platters of spicy meat and thinly sliced vegetables. Drake could not help but think of the rice and bread and cheese in the kitchens of the Fidele temple.

  “But it is not just mercy, it is bounty,” Drake observed when the waiter withdrew. “There is a certain—ostentation—about your worship of the goddess.”

  Jovieve took a dainty bite of her food and seemed to savor it before she swallowed. “Have you ever seen a truly beautiful child on the street?” she asked. “A little girl, say, with blond hair tied back with masses of pink ribbons. And perhaps she’s wearing a new pink dress, and white lace stockings, and gloves that her grandmother gave her, and she is just beaming with pleasure because she knows how beautiful she is. And don’t you find yourself smiling at that child, wanting to give her a coin or a gift or take her picture, just to remember what a sweet and lovely image she made when you were walking by? Have you ever?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What makes you think the goddess is less pleased than you by the sight of beauty? What makes you think she is disgusted by joy and repulsed by laughter, that she would prefer suffering and despair and haggard sorrow? Should we turn away from sweet things, Lieutenant? What kind of repayment is that for Ava’s generosity?”

  Drake was silent a moment, for her eloquence distracted him from some of his real objections. “Yes. Well. Right—I understand the celebratory nature of your faith,” he said, though he did not entirely. “But the opulence of your order confuses me.”

  “Opulence—”

  “You have a fleet of land and air vehicles which, by the standards of this planet, is fabulous. Your temple is decorated with real gold, you command every luxury of life. You are supported by city taxes, and you have, from the reports I’ve read, more political power than the governor. I guess it is hard for me to see these as necessary adjuncts to the worship of any god or goddess.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Wealth and power. They offend you because you don’t believe either of them can be pure—and you believe religion must be pure.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I think that’s it.”

  “You will take it as a given that some of our wealth is used for good works, I suppose?”

  “Oh yes. Schools and charities—I have seen evidence of that.”

  “Well, then. Other than that . . . Wealth buys power, my friend,” she said. “And the power of the Triumphantes keeps Semay running. And you can debate till the end of time whether or not Semay would be a better place if some other group were in control, but I tell you now that the planet has had no civil or interplanetary war since the Triumphantes came to power three hundred years ago. And I do not know many worlds that can make such a claim.”

  He was silent for such a long time that she began to eat her food in earnest, making no attempt to argue with him any longer. He could only toy with his own food, though it was very good. Her answers had the power to convince him, but he did not want to be swayed by fine words; it was hard for him to trust a priestess.

  “I am not religious myself,” he said at last, when he looked up to find her eyes upon him. “I am not one of those who thinks all holy men are good and all religions are worthwhile.”

  “It’s not necessary for you to tell me this,” she said dryly.

  “In fact—I have as often seen gods invoked in the name of war and violence as I have seen them used as instruments of peace.”

  “By people who misunderstand the will of their gods, perhaps. For I am one of those who believes that the gods, properly understood, are always forces for benevolence.”

  “All gods? Everywhere?”

  “I told you. I believe all gods are some manifestation of Ava, and I believe there is no evil or violence in her heart.”

  “Then how do you explain the wars fought in her name—in the name of any god? From the time of the Old Earth Crusades to the massacres on Dulaney last year, people have taken the name of their god and applied it to a cause, and gone out to kill. How can you justify that?”

  “People can always warp a god’s words and turn them to their own interpretation. But that does not mean that all religion is bad or all gods are false. Men can also plant flowers that yield a deadly harvest and use that poison to kill their friends—but that does not mean that all plants are evil, and that no man should sow any field with wheat or corn. Human beings were always the weak link in the chain between the divinity and the mortal soul.”

  “Then the gods have failed,” Drake said stubbornly. “They have not gotten their message across.”

  Jovieve smiled. “Ava is still trying,” she said gently. “For centuries upon uncounted centuries, men have wronged her, misunderstood her, altered her doctrines and turned their backs on her. And she has never given up, and she takes new guises, and she tries again. And after all that, you would still blame her and turn your heart away f
rom her goodness?”

  His heart, at those words, turned hard; he felt it clutch and tighten in his chest. “I told you,” he said. “I am not a believer.”

  “No,” she said, “but you want to believe.”

  “I have seen too much to permit that, I think.”

  “I have never understood,” she said, “why men who are so desperate for Ava’s love are the very ones who turn away from her and declare she is nowhere to be found.”

  His heart contracted even more tightly. He was almost angry, but he had brought this discussion on himself. “Because I—we—I do not want to be duped,” he said. “I do not want to make a fool of myself, believing in something that is not true, worshipping a projection of my own need. If I am going to believe in something, I want to know that it exists—and that it is the right god of all gods—and that I didn’t make it up.”

  “Thousands of millions of people believe in some kind of god, Lieutenant,” she said softly.

  “Thousands of millions of people do not believe,” he said. “Are they wrong? How can you know?”

  “I can’t know,” she said softly, “but I don’t think I could live my life if Ava was not in it.”

  “People do,” he said.

  She nodded slowly. “People do,” she repeated sadly, but her eyes were on Drake as she said it, and he knew that her sorrow was for him.

  * * *

  * * *

  When she learned that Drake had not yet hired a car for his stay on Semay, Jovieve insisted that he borrow one of the temple vehicles.

  “How can you refuse me?” she said when he protested. “You are doing all of us a favor with your investigation. I at least owe you transport. You have seen—you have commented upon—the number of cars we have available. You will hardly be depriving us.”

  So he accepted, and dropped her off at the front gate of the temple without returning to the garage. He had to admit that it was pleasant to have a car at his disposal again, particularly one so comfortable. It was late afternoon, and traffic was heavy, but Drake weaved in and out of the fast-moving vehicles and went toward the hombueno headquarters before returning to the hotel.