by Sharon Lee
Pat Rin inclined his head. "She was by a three-day gone, with a gift for the house. We drank tea and she caught me up with her news."
"Ah?" Luken said. "And how do you find yourselves aligned, if an old man might ask it."
"We are—comfortable," Pat Rin said after a moment. "She—I do not know how such a thing might be, but—she remembers both sides of the . . .incident, and we have, thereby, an understanding."
There was a small silence. "Good," Luken said, simply, and pushed himself out of the chair. Pat Rin leapt forward to offer him an arm.
"Must you leave?" he asked, and Luken laughed.
"I daresay the two of us might now repair to the Port for a game or six, were I thirty years younger!" He said, patting Pat Rin's hand. "But you must have pity on an old man and allow me to seek my bed."
"Certainly," Pat Rin replied, walking with him toward the hallway. "I will summon a cab."
"Assuredly you will, sir!" Luken turned suddenly, face serious. "Lord Pat Rin will have servants to attend to these small matters for him."
"I daresay he might," Pat Rin retorted, with spirit, "for those who are merely guests. But if Lord Pat Rin should ever fail of attending the father of his heart personally, I shall know him for a worthless dog, no matter his accomplishments."
Luken paused, then extended a hand to cup Pat Rin's cheek. "Sweet lad." He let the hand fall away and smiled, softly. "Call for the cab, then, and be welcome."
Quickly, Pat Rin stepped back into his study and made the call. Turning back, he saw Luken framed in the doorway, his eyes dreaming once more upon the Tantara.
"Father?" he said, abruptly.
Luken looked up, face mild. "Child?"
Pat Rin cleared his throat. "I—do you mind?" he blurted. "The carpet—it is yours; the treasure of your Line. It should—"
Luken held up a hand. "Peace." He glanced down at the ivory-and-green design, smiling slightly as he once again met Pat Rin's eyes.
"I allow it to be a gem, and everything that is graceful. Even, I allow it to be a family heirloom. Who best to have the keeping of such a treasure, than my son?"
Pat Rin's eyes filled. "Father—"
"Nay, I'll brook no argument, willful creature! Hark! Is that the cab?"
It was. Luken fastened his cloak and together they went down the steps to the walk. Pat Rin opened the door and saw his father comfortably disposed. That done, he handed the driver a coin.
"Good-night, boy-dear," Luken said from the back. "Sweet dreams to you."
"Good-night, father," he returned, stepping back from the curb. "Sweet dreaming."
The cab pulled away, accelerating smoothly down the long, dark street.
The Updated But Partial
Liaden Universe(r) Time Line
Updated November 16, 2002
Standard Year
Event/Story
1118
"Balance of Trade"/Balance of Trade
1123
"Naratha's Shadow"
1177
"Sweet Waters"
1293
"Phoenix"
1313
Kareen yos'Phelium born
1320
Dutiful Passage enters service
1325
Er Thom yos'Galan born
1326
Daav yos'Phelium born
1327
Anne Davis born
1335
Aelliana Caylon born
1339
"Pilot of Korval"
1346
"Choice of Weapons"
1351
Pat Rin yos'Phelium born
1357
Shan yos'Galan born
1359
Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza born
Early 1360
Local Custom
Early 1361
Scout's Progress
1362
Val Con yos'Phelium born
1362
Nova yos'Galan born
1365
Miri Robertson born
1365
Aelliana Caylon dies
1366
Daav yos'Phelium leaves Liad
1366
Anthora yos'Galan born
1369
Ren Zel dea'Judan born
1373
"Veil of The Dancer"
1374
"Heirloom"
1375
"Matter of Dreams", "Moonphase"
1380
"To Cut An Edge"
1382
Anne Davis dies
1383
Er Thom yos'Galan dies
Early 1385
"A Day at the Races"
Early 1385
"Certain Symmetry"
Late 1385
Conflict of Honors
Early 1386
Conflict of Honors
1390
"Changeling"
1392
Agent of Change
1393
Carpe Diem
1393
Plan B/"Breath's Duty"
1393
I Dare
Editor's Note: Most Lee & Miller Lute and Moonhawk stories remain undated in this list. Also not included or dated are several yet unpublished Liaden Universe stories scheduled for the next year.
QUIET KNIVES
Adventures In
The Liaden Universe® Number Nine
First Published In 2003
By SRM, Publisher
Veil of The Dancer originally appeared in Absolute Magnitude #19, Summer/Fall 2002
Dedicated to
Lou and Beth
Veil of the Dancer
IN THE CITY OF Iravati on the world of Skardu, there lived a scholar who had three daughters, and they were the light and comfort of his elder years.
Greatly did the scholar rejoice in his two elder daughters—golden-haired Humaria; Shereen with her tresses of flame—both of these born of the wives his father had picked out for him when he was still a young man. Surely, they were beautiful and possessed of every womanly grace, the elder daughters of Scholar Reyman Bhar. Surely, he valued them, as a pious father should.
The third—ah, the third daughter. Small and dark and wise as a mouse was the daughter of his third, and last, wife. The girl was clever, and it had amused him to teach her to read, and to do sums, and to speak the various tongues of the unpious. Surely, these were not the natural studies of a daughter, even the daughter of so renowned a scholar as Reyman Bhar.
It began as duty; for a father must demonstrate to his daughters that, however much they are beloved, they are deficient in that acuity of thought by which the gods mark out males as the natural leaders of household, and world. But little Inas, bold mouse, did not fail to learn her letters, as her sisters had. Problems mathematic she relished as much as flame-haired Shereen did candied sventi leaves. Walks along the river way brought forth the proper names of birds and their kin; in the long neglected glade of Istat, with its ancient sundial and moon-marks she proved herself astute in the motions of the planets.
Higher languages rose as readily to her lips as the dialect of women; she read not only for knowledge, but for joy, treasuring especially the myths of her mother's now empty homeland.
Seeing the joy of learning in her, the teaching became experiment more than duty, as the scholar sought to discover the limits of his little one's mind.
On the eve of her fourteenth birthday, he had not yet found them.
* * *
WELL THOUGH THE SCHOLAR loved his daughters, yet it is a father's duty to see them profitably married. The man he had decided upon for his golden Humaria was one Safarez, eldest son of Merchant Gabir Majidi. It was a balanced match, as both the scholar and the merchant agreed. The Majidi son was a pious man of sober, studious nature, who bore his thirty years with dignity. Over the course of several interviews with the father and the son, Scholar Bhar had become certain that Safarez would value nineteen year old Humaria, gay and heedless as a flitterbee;
more, that he would protect her and discipline her and be not behind in those duties which are a husband's joy and especial burden.
So, the price was set, and met; the priests consulted regarding the proper day and hour; the marriage garden rented; and, finally, Humaria informed of the upcoming blessed alteration in her circumstances.
Naturally enough, she wept, for she was a good girl and valued her father as she ought. Naturally enough, Shereen ran to cuddle her and murmur sweet, soothing nonsense into her pretty ears. The scholar left them to it, and sought his study, where he found his youngest, dark Inas, bent over a book in the lamplight.
She turned when he entered, and knelt, as befit both a daughter and a student, and bowed 'til her forehead touched the carpet. Scholar Bhar paused, admiring the graceful arc of her slim body within the silken pool of her robes. His mouse was growing, he thought. Soon, he would be about choosing a husband for her.
But not yet. Now, it was Humaria, and, at the change of season he would situate Shereen, who would surely pine for her sister's companionship. He had a likely match in mind, there, and the husband's property not so far distant from the Majidi. Then, next year, perhaps—or, more comfortably, the year after that—he would look about for a suitable husband for his precious, precocious mouse.
"Arise, daughter," he said now, and marked how she did so, swaying to her feet in a single, boneless move, the robes rustling, then falling silent, sheathing her poised and silent slenderness.
"So," he said, and met her dark eyes through the veil. "A momentous change approaches your life, my child. Your sister Humaria is to wed."
Inas bowed, dainty hands folded demurely before her.
"What?" he chided gently. "Do you not share your sister's joy?"
There was a small pause, not unusual; his mouse weighed her words like a miser weighed his gold.
"Certainly, if my sister is joyous, then it would be unworthy of me to weep," she said in her soft, soothing voice. "If it is permitted that I know—who has come forward as her husband?"
Reyman Bhar nodded, well-pleased to find proper womanly feeling, as well as a scholar's thirst for knowledge.
"You are allowed to know that Safarez, eldest son of Majidi the Merchant, has claimed the right to husband Humaria."
Inas the subtle stood silent, then bowed once more, as if an afterthought, which was not, the scholar thought, like her. He moved to his desk, giving her time to consider, for, surely, even his clever mouse was female, if not yet full woman, and might perhaps know a moment's envy for a sister's good fortune.
"They are very grand, the Majidi," she said softly. "Humaria will be pleased."
"Eventually, she will be so," he allowed, seating himself and pulling a notetaker forward. "Today, she weeps for the home she will lose. Tomorrow, she will sing for the home she is to gain."
"Yes," said Inas, and the scholar smiled into his beard.
"Your sisters will require your assistance with the wedding preparations," he said, opening the notetaker and beginning a list. "I will be going to Lahore-Gadani tomorrow, to purchase what is needful. Tell me what I shall bring you."
Mouse silence.
"I? I am not to be wed, Father."
"True. However, it has not escaped one's attention that tomorrow is the anniversary of your natal day. It amuses me to bring you a gift from the city, in celebration. What shall you have?"
"Why, only yourself, returned to us timely and in good health," Inas said, which was proper, and womanly, and dutiful.
The scholar smiled more widely into his beard, and said nothing else.
* * *
HUMARIA WEPT WELL INTO the night, rocking inside the circle of Shereen's arms. At last, her sobs quieted somewhat, and Shereen looked to Inas, who sat on a pillow across the room, as she had all evening, playing Humaria's favorite songs, softly, upon the lap-harp.
Obedient to the message in her sister's eyes, Inas put the harp aside, arose and moved silently to the cooking alcove. Deftly, she put the kettle on the heat-ring, rinsed the pot with warm water and measured peace tea into an infuser.
The kettle boiled. While the tea steeped, she placed Humaria's own blue cup on a tray, with a few sweet biscuits and some leaves of candied sventi. At the last, she added a pink candle, sacred to Amineh, the little god of women, and breathed a prayer for heart's ease. Then, she lifted the tray and carried it to her sister's couch.
Humaria lay against Shereen's breast, veils and hair disordered. Inas knelt by the end table, placed the tray, and poured tea.
"Here, sweet love," Shereen cooed, easing Humaria away from her shoulder. "Our dear sister Inas offers tea in your own pretty cup. Drink, and be at peace."
Shivering, Humaria accepted the cup. She bent her face and breathed of the sweet, narcotic steam, then sipped, eyes closed.
Shereen sat up, and put her head scarf to rights, though she left the ubaie—the facial veils—unhooked and dangling along her right jaw.
"Our young Inas is fortunate, is she not, sister?" Humaria murmured, her soft voice blurry with the combined effects of weeping and the tea.
"How so?" asked Shereen, watching her closely, in case she should suddenly droop into sleep.
"Why," said Humaria, sipping tea. "Because she will remain here in our home with our father, and need never marry. Indeed, I would wonder if a husband could be found for a woman who reads as well as a man. "
Shereen blinked, and bent her head, fussing with the fall of the hijab across her breast. Inas watched her, abruptly chilly, though the night was warm and no breeze came though the windows that stood open onto the garden.
"Certainly," Shereen said, after too long a pause. "Certainly, our father might wish to keep his youngest with him as long as may be, since he shows no disposition to take another wife, and she knows the ways of his books and his studies."
"And certainly," Humaria said, her eyes open now, and staring at Inas, where she knelt, feeling much like a mouse, and not so bold, so bold at all.
"Certainly, on that blessed day when the gods call our father to sit with them as a saint in Heaven, my husband will inherit all his worldly stuffs, including this, our clever sister Inas, to dispose of as he will."
At her father's direction, Inas had read many things, including the Holy Books and domestic law. She knew, with a scholar's detachment, that women were the lesser vessel and men the god-chosen administrators of the universe the gods had created, toyed with and tired of.
She knew that, in point of law, women were disbarred from holding property. Indeed, in point of law, women were themselves property, much the same as an ox or other working cattle, subject to a man's masterful oversight. A man might dispose of subject women, as he might dispose of an extra brood cow, or of an old and toothless dog.
She knew these things.
And, yet, until this moment, she had not considered the impact of these facts upon her own life and self.
What, indeed, she thought, would Safarez the merchant's son do with one Inas, youngest daughter of his wife's father? Inas, who read as well as a man—a sinful blot so dire that she could not but be grateful that the Holy Books also stated that the souls of women were small, withered things, of no interest to the gods.
Humaria finished the last of her tea, and sat cradling the blue cup in her plump, pretty hands, her eyes misty.
"There now, sweet, rest," Shereen murmured, capturing the cup and passing it to Inas. She put arm around Humaria's shoulders, urging her to lie down on the couch.
Inas arose and carried the tray back to the cooking alcove. She washed and dried the teapot and cup, and put the crackers back in their tin. The sventi she left out.
She was wise in this, for not many minutes later, Shereen slipped into the alcove, veils dangling and flame-colored hair rippling free. She sighed, and reached for the leaves, eating two, one after the other, before giving Inas a swift glance out of the sides of her eyes, as if Shereen were the youngest, and caught by her elder in some unwomanly bit of
mischief.
"Our sister was distraught," she said softly. "She never meant to wound you."
"She did not wound me," Inas murmured. "She opened my eyes to the truth."
Shereen stared, sventi leaf halfway to her lips.
"You do not find the truth a fearsome thing, then, sister?" she asked, and it was Inas who looked away this time.
"The truth is merely a statement of what is," she said, repeating the most basic of her father's lessons, and wishing that her voice did not tremble so. "Once the truth is known, it can be accepted. Truth defines the order of the universe. By accepting truth, we accept the will of the gods."
Shereen ate her leaf in silence. "It must be a wonderful thing to be a scholar," she said then, "and have no reason to fear." She smiled, wearily.
"Give you sweet slumber, sister. The morrow will be upon us too soon."
She went away, robes rustling, leaving Inas alone with the truth.
* * *
THE TRUTH, BEING BRIGHT, held Inas from sleep, until at last she sat up within her chatrue, lit her fragrant lamp, and had the books of her own studies down from the shelf.
In the doubled brightness, she read until the astronomer on his distant column announced the sighting of the Trio of morning with his baleful song.
She read as a scholar would, from books to which her father, the elder scholar, had directed her, desiring her to put aside those he might wish to study.
The book she read in the lamplight was surely one which her father would find of interest. A volume of Kenazari mythology, it listed the gods and saints by their various praise names and detailed their honors.
Nawar caught her eye, "the one who guards." A warrior's name, surely. Yet, her mother had been named Nawar. A second aspect of the same god, Natesa—"blade dancer"—in the Kenazari heresy that held each person was a spirit reincarnated until perfected, alternatively took the form of male and female. The duty of the god in either aspect was to confound the gods of order and introduce random action into the universe, which was heresy, as well, for the priests taught that the purpose of the gods, enacted through mortal men, was to order and regulate the universe.
Inas leaned back against her pillows and considered what she knew of her father's third wife. Nawar had been one of the married women chosen as guardians of the three dozen maiden wives sent south from Kenazari as the peace tithe. Each maiden was to be wed to a wise man or scholar, and it had been the hope of the scholars who had negotiated it that these marriages would heal the rifts which had opened between those who had together tamed the wildlands.
