“If not, Mistress, it is closely related.” He crouched beside the head, tipping his own head to better study the beak and jaws. “Except I believe it has some sort of fang, mistress. And bad breath.”
A poisoned beak bird with halitosis. Halitosis Rex? Rigi started to giggle, covering her mouth with one shaking hand. Proper ladies did not giggle, especially not after something attempted to eat them. As Slowth calmed down and returned to grazing, she too approached the remains. The scorched feather smell told her that Makana’s shot had been good, as had Martinus's, not that she expected anything less. Martinus had shattered the thing’s lower leg just below the knee. Rigi bent over and sniffed the feathers, not touching anything. It smelled a little like rotting meat, and dust, and something astringent. Probably one of the plants it had rubbed against or stepped on, she guessed, and straightened up, then continued walking around it. It had to be at least three meters long, stretched out full length, and probably a little over two meters from the base of the feet to the top of the head when it stood, not counting the dull yellow and drab green crest feathers.
“I believe, Makana, that we need to return to camp and inform the guard of this.” She secured the tie-down on her hand-shooter and pulled out a small note pad, sketching quickly while the memory and carcass were still fresh.
He walked over to where she stood sketching, then rose onto the tips of his two-toed hind feet, looked around, and settled down again. “I concur. Alas, Mistress, I did not think to bring a meat-wrap bag for just such opportunities. The,” his ears twitched and he enunciated carefully in Common, “drumsticks,” then switched back to Staré, “fat legs look quite meaty.”
Rigi considered the cart, the bird, the temperature, and the commotion that would result from bringing the thing back to camp. “I fear Slowth might balk at the load, and we do not have a feather remover large enough to do the task mechanically. It would take every seventh Stamm the rest of the day to pluck it, I fear.”
“Nor is there enough breading on the continent to do justice to the ‘drumsticks’ and breast, alas.” He heaved a theatrical sigh, one forefoot to his forehead. Rigi fought to keep a straight face. “And something will smell the death and come looking, Mistress,” he reminded her.
“An excellent point, and I prefer not to encounter such an eater-of-the-dead today if possible.” She finished her work as he led Slowth and the cart back to the road. The moment Makana took the guide lines, Slowth surged into a trot, eager to get away from the large, deceased predator. Rigi held on as Makana let Slowth canter. He slowed after half a kilometer or so, but trotted all the way to the gate.
“Good afternoon, Corporal,” Rigi called to the man on duty. “We were attacked by a large predator bird, looks like a terror bird.” She showed him the sketch when he came closer. “Just over a kilometer down the secondary road around the long slope, in the meadow inside the road’s curve.”
“Stay here, ma’am.” He called someone on the comm, and in less than a minute a sergeant bustled up.
“What’s this about a terror bird? Who’s been seeing—Oh, Mrs. Bernardi-Prananda,” he tipped his cover to her. “You report the bird?”
“Yes, Sergeant. Here is what it looked like alive.” He stared at the picture, turning a bit red, then a touch pale. “A kilometer past where the road turns to follow the long hill onto the plain.”
“You’re certain its dead, ma’am?”
“Quite certain, sergeant. Martinus, show the sergeant.” He sat up in the cart and gaped at the man, giving the NCO a good look at the bits of tissue and dried blood on his fangs. “Martinus broke one leg and Makana shot it with a full-strength, large-wildlife bolt.” No point in mentioning Martinus's other contribution.
“We’ll go take a look. Thank you ma’am, for the report. Are you in need of an escort?”
Rigi thought about it. “No, Sergeant, but thank you for your kind offer.” He stepped back and the corporal opened the gate field allowing them to enter. Rigi and Martinus disembarked from the cart at the tent, while Makana drove on to put Slowth back in his pen in the enclosure. Rigi checked Martinus’s feet out of habit, brushing a little dirt out of his claws and pads before she sank into the camp chair and shook. Once that passed, she cleaned Martinus’s teeth, then sent him to charge while she cleaned herself and had a large cup of soothing tea.
Later that evening, as she studied the data from the soil tester prior to sending it to the University, Makana announced, “Captain Lowen to see you, mistress.”
Rigi stood and met the gentleman just outside the door flaps. “Good evening sir.”
He bowed a little. “Good evening ma’am. Your pardon if I am direct?”
“No pardon needed, Captain.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You and your guard did a great service today. We found the terror-bird’s nest in a thicket just beyond the other side of the road, where it could watch the picnic meadow.” He swallowed. “A group of ladies had planned to have an informal dinner there tomorrow.”
Rigi felt herself going cold as she started to imagine the carnage and panic. “That would have been most unfortunate, Captain,” she managed without squeaking much.
“Most unfortunate. I do not know how the men missed that on their sweeps, but we are going to go back through that area looking for other nests and burrows.”
She nodded. “An excellent plan, sir. I’m certain nothing will escape notice this time.”
“It most certainly will not. Thank you again, ma’am.” He bowed and hurried off into the twilight. Rigi returned to her seat and Makana entered the tent.
She held up the piece of tile. His ears went vertical and at her nod he came closer, peering at it. She set it on the table and he picked it up by the corners of the baggie, tilting it and watching the light play on the surface. He set the tile down and backed away a proper distance. “It is of the First World.”
“It is. There is a long, curving something beneath the ground, where the plants and soil are different. I am not saying anything until Kor and Capt. Prananda return and see for themselves, although I will notify the University.”
Makana bowed low //awe/honor.// “It shall be as you say, Wise One. The Wise Eye reveals the truth once more.” With that he left for the evening. Rigi wondered how long until the entire Staré community knew what she’d found. Five minutes, she guessed, given that at the moment they were scattered between two settlements and that the scouts were probably a hundred kilometers or so away. Five minutes at most.
Rigi passed the Day of Rest in the company of Mrs. Stellare-Lowen. Although their branches were not identical, they were close enough that most of the prayers and hymns matched, and of course they shared the same Book of Guidance and Tradition. Capt. Lowen spent the day in the Staré encampment, seeing to things. It was not true rest, but Rigi knew that Tomás shared the same difficulties, and she said no words of criticism. And he was fasting, which Rigi always thought was the hardest part of the Days of Rest. As the day drew to a close, Rigi and her hostess began comparing notes.
“My great-grandmother was a deStella on her mother’s side,” Mrs. Stellare-Lowen explained. “But when we, the extended family, moved to Home for a generation, we shifted to the Maker and Protectress branch, in part because of difficulties.”
Rigi counted back the years, assuming forty years per generation. That put their return to Home just as the last round of active persecutions of all religious people were beginning. Rigi winced inside. “Indeed. I have heard stories from my mother’s family on Eta Tolima about those days, and how the ripples lasted until quite recently in the colonies.” As recently as two years ago, when Governor Leopoldi was finally forced to acknowledge that Miss Auriga Bernardi might be a neoTrad but she also ranked among the Staré Elders. If he failed to treat her with at least a modicum of respect he would find a disaster on his hands. After the Night of Falling Birds he’d unbent enough to acknowledge the existence of people of faith, even though he continued to treat them with con
tempt. Contempt Rigi could live with, since she had endured it intermittently all her life. Rigi added, “Mother is a deStella of Eta Tolima, and Kay Trent is, if I recall correctly, deStella of the left hand branches. Capt. Prananda and I are fourth cousins by marriage through Ebenezer and Kay Trent.”
“Ah, so that is the connection,” Mrs. Stellare-Lowen sat back in her chair and nodded. Rigi liked how she wore her thick brown hair braided and made into a coronet. Alas, her own was far too curly to try the look. “I thought you both looked as if you had a bit of deStella in the lines. We tend to be sturdy souls, in both senses of the words.” She smiled.
Rigi had to smile back. She’d wanted to grow up to be graceful, slender, and willowy. She was strong and sturdy, with a “solid foundation” that precluded wearing delicate sandals and tiny embroidered slippers. “Yes, ma’am. I am a hand dancer, but not a full dancer at the Temple.”
“You are far ahead of me, then dear. I was built to serve through works and prayers,” she sighed a little. “Although it is nice, being able to reach high shelves unassisted.”
Which reminded Rigi, she needed to dust those top cabinets when they got back to the house in NovMerv. A soft chime sounded, and they stood. Rigi took a deep breath and began singing, “So ends the day of rest, all thanks be to those who gave it, to the Creator of all things, the Creatrix of all.”
“As the sun rests, we resume our labors, refreshed and renewed for the tasks ahead. All thanks be to those who prescribe rest, to the Scout and Huntress, makers of all,” Mrs. Stellare-Lowen replied.
Together they sang, “So let us go forth with praise, ready for the work we are called to do, mindful of all created things, slow to anger and quick to give thanks. All praise to the makers of all!” They bowed, honoring the Creator and Creatrix in each other.
Rigi returned to her shelter-tent and found a tray of good-smelling food waiting, along with Makana. He bowed. “From the first Stamm canteen, Mistress. The human canteen served tam-stuffed poultry breast with tam patties. An exchange was proposed and agreed upon.” She sat down and he lifted the cover off the tray, revealing meat and vegetables in a sauce, cass-tater in a darker sauce, and orange cream.
“Makana, you are a true gift. Thank you very much.” She gave thanks and devoured the serving. The spices tasted stronger than she would have used, but Staré preferred their meat dishes heavily spiced and cooked to the point of disintegration. As she finished, she realized that the tray and little dishes were hers. Ah, so that’s how he’d avoided causing Stamm contamination! And Staré could cook for humans without any concern about breaking Stamm, so that was not a problem. She did wonder how he’d traded off the tam patties despite the Stamm-contamination rules, but machines made those, not human cooks, so perhaps they were neutral and did not affect Stamm.
“Slowth is rested as well, Mistress. The xenovet inquired about the scar on his shoulder and leg, but found no other ailments or problems.” Makana’s ears twitched. “Slowth attempted to eat the xenovet’s ears. He was reprimanded. He has also gained a reputation as a mighty vocalist among the humans and Staré of the dawn watch.”
Rigi blushed. Oh dear. She’d hoped he would stop that when they stopped keeping him in a shed. “Tomorrow he will get to use some of that energy, Makana. I would like to look at the other side of the long hill. Weather permitting, the following day I want to go toward the mountains.”
Makana twitched his nose and ears. “Very good, mistress. The cart is sound and there is now a box for additional shooter-charge packs.”
“Thank you, Makana.”
The next day they followed the curving thing under the ground until it disappeared beneath the long hill again. Rigi had not felt well that morning, but perked up in the fresh air and decided to credit her queasiness to eating heavier spices than she was accustomed to. With Makana and Martinus’s help she located more pieces of tile, mostly blue but some dark green as well. Rigi wondered to herself if they’d found the exterior wall of something, so damaged that it had crumbled and only the foundations remained. And if so, why had they not found anything on the hill proper, yet? And why did it pass beneath the hill? Or had it stopped there, or perhaps climbed up onto the slope but made of different materials that had not survived the passing centuries? She made a note of her speculations but otherwise kept them to herself. They also saw two more of the not-a-kitfeng and Rigi decided that she needed a better name for them. Humped-back grazers, while accurate, sounded too prosaic. Alas, none of the Staré in camp knew the beast so she had no native name to use.
Once they returned to camp, Rigi compiled her notes. A dreadful commotion startled her not long after sundown, and she grabbed a hand-shooter and rushed out to see what was going on. Major Chang’s wife shrieks cut through the twilight quiet. “It attacked me, it attacked me, kill it!” she screamed as another woman called, “How could it, it’s so small and cute?”
Rigi and Makana looked at each other and chorused, “Marmoline,” then went back to their tasks. She did look extra carefully in the corners before turning off the light, however.
The next morning she felt nauseated again. She had a little tea and a rusk before meeting Makana near the wombow enclosure. She was a few minutes early, and watched the wombow hitches coming in and out. “Ah, Mrs. Prananda,” a man intoned from behind her, his voice oily. The hair on Rigi’s neck stood up, the way it did when she was in hunter lizard brush, and she turned, one hand going to the butt of her shooter. Major LeFeu bowed to her. “It would be an honor for you to break bread with me at the evening meal tonight.”
“Alas, Major, I fear that is not possible. I am scheduled to make a report tonight, and Dr. Xian would be most unhappy should I fail to check in.”
“A report.” He did not sniff, but his eyes narrowed and one eyebrow rose as he pursed pale, cracked lips. “I see. How convenient. Good day, Mrs. Prananda.” He marched off, hands clenched into fists, and she wondered what sort of thing he thought she was, to agree to his attentions. She wanted a bath, or to run away. Or to have Martinus leak on his leg. Rigi scolded herself for uncharitable thoughts and hoped once again that she had misunderstood. She’d ask Tomás when he returned.
7
More Discoveries
Social duties precluded Rigi’s plans, at least for the next two days. “I understand you draw landscapes?” Mrs. Chang, the senior major’s wife said, catching Rigi as she was coming back from the wombow pen the next morning.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent! We need backdrops for a small theatrical production.” She leaned toward Rigi, one hand on Rigi’s arm, a most intent expression in her dark eyes. “Since you seem unable to assist with the production itself, I’m certain you will not mind designing the backdrops.”
Rigi weighed politely refusing with the damage it might do to her standing with the ladies—already shaky or so rumor had it—and the resulting damage to Tomás’s career. With a silent sigh and invocation of patience, she said, “Certainly, ma’am. What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, nothing fancy. A mountain scene and a forest. Two separate backdrops, of course, three meters across and two high. Material is available in the suttler’s office. I’ll let them know to expect you.”
“Material, ma’am? Not a holo-projection?” Her heart sank. This was going to be real work.
Mrs. Chang blinked at her and frowned. “Of course. There are no holo-projectors of sufficient size and quality to produce a proper back-drop here. You can paint, I trust?”
Rigi bristled, but only inside. “Yes, ma’am. I merely wanted clarification.” She should charge them the same rate as she charged for scientific illustrations. Yes, the wiser part of her warned, and in so doing she would end her husband's career.
“I see. The materials will be at the suttler’s.”
“Very good, thank you ma’am.”
A very confused Makana watched her later that afternoon. Several meters of purportedly-spare tent canvas spread across the floor
of the main room of the shelter-tent. Rigi was on her hands and knees filling in with paint what she’d already sketched in ink. As she free-handed leaves and tree trunks, she wondered if the ladies wanted a small mountain palace in the background, like the crown governor’s mountain resort on WemWorld. She hoped not. Although she was tempted to add in something inappropriate, like wombows in mountain-climbing gear scaling one of the peaks, or a Staré hanging upside down from one of the branches in the rear of the forest scene, her tongue sticking out in a rude gesture, forefeet crossed with impatience.
“Mistress Rigi, what is this for?”
How do you explain amateur theatricals to the Staré? “The ladies have decided to act out a story from a book-file, and want a background. The holo-projector is not large enough to show one of sufficient size and strength.”
“Do you not tell the story?” The Staré word for “tell” and the scent implied scent and memory images along with words, two things humans lacked.
Rigi sat back, rubbed under her nose with the paint-free hand, and shifted over to do another tree. “It is a human tradition to use clothes and actions to help tell the story.”
“Ah.”
Now Rigi’s hand positively itched to add an inverted Staré to one of the tree branches. Her better judgement overrode desire, alas. She really did need to get farther away from camp, lest she be asked to design costumes as well!
Slowth trudged up the gentle incline, muttering to himself about the great unfairness of his life and the horrible maltreatment he endured. Or so Rigi imagined he was saying. He could just as easily have been grumbling about the relative lack of grass and the pebbles between his toes. The road to the mountains had pebbles in it, not so many to make it hard going, but enough to bruise wombow feet if Makana were not careful about keeping a slow pace. The sloped ground seemed rockier than did the plain, more like the soil of places with rock near the surface, or where a glacier had passed. Rigi considered the rugged mountain-hills and the long slope of land, and decided they were on a moraine. It made sense.
Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four Page 10
