"Thank you, sor," she said, and started to back out of the compartment. The sound of voices in the corridor made her pause. It was the trio from the platform, the blond's voice rising in indistinct complaint. The girl gave us a speaking glance, and shouted, "Coming, sors, coming."
As she ducked back into the corridor, Yan said, "Damn shame those shestu are on the train."
Corol, already rummaging in his box, grunted agreement, but said, "'Still, I bet I can guess the story, eh, Medium? Fira's part of Brandr Kinship, and none of the Halex kin are likely to be eager to let their girls marry into that Kinship."
I nodded, remembering the blond man's words. Live Halex are no concern of mine. . . . Yes, that had the sound of an unsuccessful suitor, but that was no excuse for what he'd done.
"I thought the Brandr/Halex feud was over," Orteja said, frowning.
Corol grinned, and said, through a mouthful of sausage pastry, "Officially."
Yan said, "Officially?"
"The feud was settled by the Ship's Council—that's the main governing body—about six years ago," I said patiently, "but that doesn't mean that everybody on both sides agreed with the decision."
Yan still looked puzzled, but at that moment the warning horn sounded and the train began to move out of the station. The Patroclans grabbed hastily at their lapboards, bracing themselves as the engine picked up speed. After a moment, Orteja began typing again, and Yan's attention was drawn by the figures. I settled back in my own padded chair, composing myself for the long ride north.
Even at the UHST train's top speed, it was a six-standard-hour ride from Per Tamarisk to the Halex Tower. The steady whine of the engine and the Patroclans' singlemindedness did much to discourage conversation. Of course, they did have to give a preliminary report to the Matriarch tonight, but I would have given a great deal for some distraction. Corol finished the contents of his snackbox, stowed the trash tidily under his feet, and promptly went to sleep. I tried to follow his example, I finished my food, but the encounter with the Fira youth had left me wakeful. I stared out the train's window, watching the foot-hills and then the scrubby forests of the Blackwine Valley flash past, and wished I had something to read. Overhead, Agamemnon showed its thin, new crescent, a gleaming, blue-green bow that spanned nearly eighteen degrees of sky. The clouds that had partially obscured the Noon eclipse—clock-morning eclipse, actually, lasting from seven hours to twelve, but Noon by Orestes' grand-day—had burned off, leaving the sky darkly clear. Agamemnon was very bright against that lapis background, only the lower limb of the crescent fading a little against the lighter blue of the horizon. Atreus, the system primary, was a little past the zenith, invisible overhead; true Sunset was a day and a half away.
After a while, I dozed off, to wake briefly when more cars were coupled to the engine during the quarter-hour stop at Millrace. The Blackwine River flowed fast here, frothing past the tracks to power the mills that gave the settlement its name, and I watched its hypnotic water until the train picked up speed again and the waves merged into an indeterminate blur. I fell asleep again almost at once, and did not stir until Corol shook me awake at the Tower station. Stumbling and sleepy, I gathered my belongings and followed the others off the train and through the little station to the waiting car.
By the time we reached the Tower, however, I had recovered a little. The Halex Tower was not just a tower, of course, though it had begun as one. After nearly fourteen hundred standard years of settlement, a cluster of buildings had grown up around the original stubby, five-story tower, and the pentagonal tower itself had been rebuilt several times. But as the car negotiated the turn through the carefully cultivated windbreak, there was an instant in which you could see the Tower as it had been when the first Halex built it. Stocky, square, unyielding, it turned a blind facade to the constant northerly wind, and the flanged archway that protected the entrance gave the whole building a look of frowning stupidity. The steep, conical roof, glittering with solar panels, looked enough like a gaudy fool's cap to confirm the impression. Then the car had passed between the banks of thickly intertwined sugar-trees, and the moment passed. There was a garden under that roof, where off-world delicacies were carefully nurtured, supplementing the greenhouses just inside the windbreak. The windowless front and the protected doorway were necessities on a world as cold as Orestes.
The driver turned into the main courtyard, passing between the hangars and the end of the mews, and pulsed sedately to a stop inside the flange of the arch. One of the Tower's human servants—the Matriarch considered mechanicals a waste of money when a Family member could do the job for less—was waiting to receive us. At his signal, a couple of the job-boys came to take our luggage, and he himself came forward, bowing.
"Herself's compliments, Medium, and she'll expect you and the off-world gentlemen at dinner."
I glanced quickly at the nearest clock, set deep in the keystone above the door. It showed nineteen-thirty hours, less than thirty minutes to the formal evening meal, and I suppressed a curse. The Patroclans were looking at each other in horror, and Orteja said, "Trey. . . ."
I shook my head quickly. "There's no refusing. You'll have time to dress if you hurry." I turned back to the waiting servant, who didn't bother to conceal a lopsided grin at the foolishness of all off-worlders. "Tell Herself we'll be there." My voice was grimmer than I'd intended, and Corol gave a grunt of laughter. I ignored him, and walked with dignity past the bowing doorman into the Tower's shallow lobby.
It and the main corridor were only dimly lit, a concession to the fact that it was clock-evening. Shadowy figures scurried from one pool of light to the next—mostly servants and employees, but also a few mainline Family members intent on finishing some last piece of business before the evening meal. I hurried past them myself, careful not to catch anyone's eye for fear of starting an unwanted and delaying conversation, and emerged into the lobby at the base of the main stairs. The treads spiraled slowly upward, clicking softly. I stepped onto the first platform, and let it carry me up. I could hear the Patroclans behind me, still talking, but did not look back. I liked them, but two weeks spent in close quarters with them was quite enough. I would be glad to have some time to myself again.
I had been given two rooms on the fourth floor, with the Kinship's other out-world employees. This was luxury in comparison with the housing given some of the Kin, who had single rooms on the windowless southern side of the Tower, though hardly lavish by off-world standards. Still, I had a window, and a separate bedroom rather than just a curtained stove-bed, so I could not complain. In fact, as I pushed open the door, I felt almost as though I were coming home.
One of the house servants—I did not have, and did not want, a body servant—had set out dinner clothes and a flask of Oresteian coffee, and for once I was grateful for the intrusion. I poured myself a cup of the sweet, oily liquid, and drank it while I changed into clean trousers and the woven jacket the house servant had considered appropriate. By then, the painted clock above the door showed only five minutes before the twentieth hour. The "Essentials"—flat metal card case, a handful of Oresteian coins, and the gilded formal gorget marked with a medium's black hand—were already laid out on the table beside the door. Hastily, I recovered my ID disk from the pocket of my other trousers—not that I needed it, here at the Tower, but I felt naked without it—and stuffed it, the card case, and the coins into my jacket's pockets. I clipped the gorget around my neck, adjusting its position by touch rather than pausing to glance in a mirror, and hurried back down the stairs toward the dining hall.
Despite my efforts, I was late, but not disgracefully so. There were Family members behind me as I took my place at the serving hatch. The woman on duty there gave me a conspiratorial wink, and said, "Better watch yourself, Medium. Herself's been in a mood today."
"Good or bad?" I asked, and was rewarded with a choked snort of laughter.
"Has Herself anything but bad ones?" A senior server, greying and aristocratic, gave
her a disapproving stare, and she sobered quickly. "Wet or dry, Medium?"
"Dry, please," I answered, and the chance for further conversation vanished. The server deftly collected the correct set of lacquered containers, built them into a neatly interlocked stack, and pushed it across the counter toward me. I thanked her, but received only the ghost of a grin before she turned to serve the next latecomer.
As a member of the immediate household, I was entitled to a place at the high table with the Matriarch herself. I had always felt that this was an unnecessary honor, and never more so than now, as I edged my way between the crowded tables of the lower hall. The dull roar of conversation did not falter, a minor grace, but I could feel the Matriarch's eyes on me as I made my way onto the dais. To my relief, though, she merely gave me a sardonic smile as I took my place between the Demi-heir and the Ingvarr cousin who managed the home farms. Eldrede Halex, of Halex in Halex, Matriarch of the Kinship, took a certain pleasure in her deserved reputation for a sharp tongue, but she was not one to attack without reason. Besides, the Patroclans had already begun a somewhat disjointed account of their survey, and the Matriarch never neglected business for pleasure.
The Demi-heir, Rohin, eldest child of the Matriarch's eldest child, elbowed me, offering the pitcher of rikiya. I took it and poured myself a cupful, then began opening the stacked containers that held my dinner. I had asked for a dry meal, with a minimum number of sauces and condiments. As usual, that meant four different types of pastry, one sweet and three salt, and a quick-fried hash of vegetables and smoked meats, each in its own special lacquered container. There was also a small, flat dish of boi-boi, the dark red game fish of the Grand Shallow—four paper-thin slices garnished with a blob of redich paste: luxury, indeed, for a non-holiday meal. I glanced quickly at Rohin's array of dishes. The Demi-heir, too, had been given a share of the fish, though I doubted if any of the people dining in the lower hall would taste boi-boi, except on calendar holidays.
"Pass the pitcher, Medium, if you please." That was Gazel Ingvarr, the home farm's manager. I handed her the heavy jug, glancing at her dishes as I did so. Sure enough, the flat boi-boi dish was there, empty except for a little of the paste.
"What's the occasion?" I asked, and pointed to my own plate.
Gazel finished filling her cup, and took a careful sip of the hot liquor before she answered. She was older than most of the Halex kindred employed in running the Mandate, and had risen high for someone not of the mainline Family. Maybe because of that, she had a maddening habit of wrapping every word in meaningless irony, but at least she was willing to answer my questions. She set her cup aside now and laughed softly, saying, "What, you didn't notice?"
I shook my head. "I've been away," I said, patiently. "Tell me." Gazel nodded discreetly toward the foot of the table. "Between Jesma and Fres Ansson. That's Coronis."
The name was familiar, but not as instantly recognizable as Gazel seemed to think. I frowned, and Gazel said, "Coronis who married Eyre Brandr."
That was all the clue I needed. I couldn't stop myself from raising an eyebrow, and Gazel laughed again. "I see you remember," she said.
I did. The story was a popular one, was even the subject of a holoplay down in Destiny. Eyre Brandr, grandnephew of the Brandr Patriarch, had met and fallen in love with Coronis Halex, close cousin to the Halex Matriarch, and she had fallen in love with him. The two Kindreds were nominally at feud, though there had been no active provocation for some years. When the young couple finally announced their intention to marry—either with their Families' blessings or without it, as para'anin—cooler heads among the Kindreds had seen it as a chance to end the feud, and had prevailed on the more conservative to allow the marriage. A few years later, as I'd told the Patroclans, the Ship's Council had ended the feud, though only after prolonged negotiations. Despite this grudged approval, however, the marriage had reportedly not been an easy one—which one would hardly expect, I thought, given that a large proportion of the relatives on both sides still disapproved of the relationship, and would be glad to see it end.
I knew I was staring, and tried to turn my attention back to my food, but I could not help sneaking an occasional glance toward the foot of the table. Coronis Halex did not look in any way remarkable—just another of the tall, light-boned, dark-haired people who filled the dining hall. Perhaps there was something in the set of her full mouth that hinted at strength as well as stubbornness, but little more. Her husband was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Eyre Brandr?" I asked.
Gazel gave a twisted smile. "In Madelgar, I imagine. He doesn't come to the Tower except on formal matters, any more than she goes to theirs."
"I don't envy either one of them," I said.
"Coronis?" Rohin leaned past me to reach the spice tray, and added another heaping spoonful of saur to his stew. "I don't know, she got what she wanted—though why she wanted Eyre Brandr I don't see!—and she's not dead or para'an. What's to feel sorry for?"
Gazel managed a significant laugh, and the Demi-heir flushed. Before he could say anything, however, the Matriarch's voice rang out through the buzz of conversation. "An excellent meal. Halena, would you do me the favor of fetching me another dish of chee?"
There was a stirring at the children's table to our left, and a girl of thirteen or so wormed free of the others. She bobbed a sort of curtsey, and started down the hall to the serving hatch, her blond braids bouncing with every defiant step. Clearly, she didn't take the request as a compliment, though I was sure the Matriarch had meant it so.
"'Coronis's daughter," Rohin said, unnecessarily.
The girl Halena returned quickly enough, the bright blue dish cradled in both hands. She set it in front of the Matriarch, serving from the left as she had been taught, and stood back, waiting.
"Thank you, Halena, that was well done." The Matriarch gave her a thin smile, and opened the dish, dismissing Halena. The girl did not move, and the Matriarch frowned slightly, glancing up at the child without speaking.
"If you please, ama." Halena had a carrying voice, and her behavior had already attracted the attention of most of the diners on the dais.
Her words rang loudly in the sudden quiet. She looked startled, but went on with determination. "May I ask a question?"
Coronis fixed her daughter with a reproving stare, but the girl ignored her. The Matriarch said, not encouragingly, "You may ask."
Halena took a deep breath. "Uncle Brandr has robots to wait on table. Why don't you?"
"Halena." Coronis did not need to raise her voice, still staring at her daughter.
"Be silent, girl," the Matriarch snapped. She turned slowly to subject the children's table to her icy stare. I leaned sideways in my own chair to see what had attracted her attention, and saw the half dozen boys and girls who were Halena's agemates sitting frozen, the picture of guilt. The Matriarch snorted softly, and turned her attention back to Halena.
"What Brandr does is no concern of mine," she said. "I do not choose to waste money that could be spent on the Kinship and the Mandate on frivolities." Her face softened slightly, and she flicked a glance toward Coronis, before looking at Halena again. "It's a fair question, miss, and I trust there's no one so foolish as to think I'd be offended by it." That was for the children's table. I saw Halena's agemates shift and whisper unhappily.
"Are you answered?" the Matriarch continued.
Halena nodded. "Yes, ama."
The Matriarch waited, and after an instant, Halena added, "Thank you."
The Matriarch smiled, and nodded dismissal. Halena backed gratefully away, and returned to her place at the children's table. Her agemates edged away from her a little, but Halena seemed to accept it stolidly enough.
"What was that all about, I wonder?" Gazel said softly, as conversation slowly resumed along the length of our table.
I shrugged, and Rohin made a face. "I bet one of the brats put her up to asking. If it was Rosser, I'll tan his hide myself—if Father doesn't beat
me to it."
"Which I expect he will," Gazel said, and reached again for the rikiya. Rohin flushed again, but his mouth was too full for him to answer. Rosser was the Demi-heir's younger sibling.
Before Rohin could say anything else, the Matriarch pushed back her chair. All conversation ceased as we scrambled to our feet, and the oldest of the group at the children's table made haste to fetch her silver-headed cane. The Matriarch eyed him without approval, sending the boy scurrying back to his place, then swept the main tables with an imperious glance.
"Magan, Rohin, Jesma, Coronis," she began, touching each of them with a look. "Ixora, Master Orteja, Master Yan, and yourself, Medium. It would please me if you'd take coffee with me in the solar this clock-evening." There were nods of agreement, but the Matriarch went on without heeding them. "Kindred, gentlefolk, good night."
The diners responded with a ragged chorus of "good nights" and good wishes. The Matriarch inclined her head in regal acknowledgement, and made her way down from the dais, leaning heavily on her cane. She was not a young woman, and, like many Oresteians, suffered from a form of arthritis. Her progress down the hall was slow, but not a person moved or spoke until she had left the room. Conversation resumed, more loudly now that Herself had left, and several parents left their places to reprimand their offspring at the children's table.
Under normal circumstances, we would have been free to sit for another hour or two, thinking coffee or hot wine, but the Matriarch's invitation was tantamount to a command. At my left, Rohin made a face, and drained his cup of rikiya.
The Kindly Ones Page 3
