Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  A fourth Stamm Salnar pointed in the direction of the Staré camp. “Yes, Wise Eye.”

  “Good.” Rigi took a deep breath and set to work. This was most emphatically not how she’d planned to spend the day! She plunged the knife into the hide, starting the first cut. Although thick, her blade cut the tight skin without as much difficulty as she’d anticipated. Rigi worked her way down to the pouch, trimmed the pouch away and set it aside, then finished the initial cut.

  She’d started the second cut when six third-Stamm Staré and as many humans came trotting up with a cart and proper butchering tools. “Mrs. Bernardi-Prananda! What are you doing?” one of the men demanded.

  “I’m keeping the meat from going bad, Sergeant—?”

  “Manching, ma’am. Please allow us to take over.” He seemed embarrassed. She glanced down, but didn’t see much blood on her work-apron yet. “Major Chang’s orders, ma’am.”

  In that case… “Very well, Sergeant Manching.” She cleaned her and her husband’s knives and returned to the shelter-tent. There she found fresh tea and Makana and Andat, heads together, ears a little back, whispering. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, Mistress,” Makana assured her. “Do you need us?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  //Relief/puzzlement/consternation.// “Very good, Mistress, if you do not need anything we have a task to see to.”

  Rigi suspected it was related to the carcass on the other side of her sleeping-quarters wall. “Very well. Please return the hamper on your way.”

  “As you wish, Mistress.” Andat ear-bowed as he collected the fresh-box and followed Makana out the door. Rigi sharpened Tomás’s main knife and the smaller one she’d started to use, just in case the thick hide had worn the blades. A sharp blade is a safe blade, she recited to herself. Her mother insisted on sharp knives in the kitchen, and Kor had repeated the warning at least daily when she was hunting with him. Task done, she tidied up, lowered the covers that kept the morning light out of the work area, and set up her portable art stand so she could do a more detailed depiction of the gate components and the trench. And a sketch of the stream with her observations about the temperature.

  Two pots of tea and one bout of mild frustration with matching the exact colors of the dirt layers later, Rig stood and stretched, used the sanitation facility, then sat down again. She’d begun sketching in the red plant that Slowth didn’t like when she heard a woman’s voice. “Ugh! How barbaric.”

  “If it is not used, it will rot,” Mrs. Stellare-Lowen replied. She sounded calm, unlike the other lady. “To let it go to waste would be an insult to the Scout and Huntress.” And to the Subala-minor who had killed it, Rigi added to herself. She wrinkled her nose as she added some veins to the leaf. “We are fortunate that so many animals on Shikhari are edible for humans or Staré or both.”

  “Still, to cut it into chunks right here. Most uncivilized.” A sniff. “Will they be done soon?”

  Rigi heard a Staré answer in painfully broken Common, “Pieces move not slow, Mistress.” The male had to be low fifth Stamm, possibly sixth, Rigi guessed. She added a light touch of white to the leaf, to lighten it in the sun. Yes. Now for the stream itself. Rigi wiped her fingers and reached for the proper pastel stick.

  Tap tap tap.

  Oh bother, thought Rigi as she set the colors aside. She opened the door and curtsied to Mrs. Stellare-Lowen and Mrs. De LaMere. The younger woman had married the lieutenant before he joined the service, and some people still didn’t like the complication she presented to the social rankings. “Good morning. Please, come in. I apologize for not having tea ready. My staff are out on errands.”

  They wiped their feet and walked in. Rigi moved chairs around and started the water heating again. “This is lovely,” Mrs. De LaMere cooed at the landscape on the work-stand. “Whose work is this?”

  “It is a draft sketch, one of mine. It is of the stream and ruins a kilometer from the south gate.” Rigi opened the sides of the rotating tea-canister and set it out, along with cups, spoons, sweetener, and the little jug of cowlee cream that Makana had smuggled in from the human canteen. As the others selected their teas, Rigi moved the water boiler into position and removed the cover from the spigot.

  After they’d had the tea and discussed a little gossip and commiserated over the appalling tam soup, Mrs. Stellare-Lowen set her cup down and leaned forward. “Auriga, if you will permit me the familiarity?”

  “Yes, ma’am, please.”

  “Auriga, I am concerned about you and about Lydia,” she waved gracefully toward Mrs. De LaMere. “It is said that,” she took a deep breath, frowning. “That you have found favor in the eyes of Major LeFeu.”

  “Pardon my bluntness, ma’am, but favor is not the word I would prefer to use. I seem to have attracted his unwanted attention despite repeated reminders that I am a married woman.”

  “You too? I thought it was just me he was—” Rigi lunged forward and caught the teacup as Lydia dropped it. She buried her face in her hands.

  “No, you are not alone. He has not been able to touch me, aside from his over familiarity at the last dance, because I am never alone, and the Staré males in my husband’s employ have made it clear that they will attack him if he lays a hand on me against my will.” Rigi put the cup aside. Lydia had begun weeping, and Rigi’s stomach turned sour. She put her arms around the other woman, holding her awkwardly and rocking her a little. She looked to Mrs. Stellare-Lowen, who nodded, face grave, lips in a thin line as anger blazed in her eyes.

  “You are fortunate in your companions. Lydia was—” The pause stretched into near eternity. “Not so blessed.”

  Righteous fury blazed in Rigi’s heart. She wanted to take her hand-shooter and confront LeFeu in front of the entire camp, to force him to tell the truth, to disgrace him like the fiend he was. But she couldn’t. Worse, because he’d called her out, had named her as a loose woman in public, confronting him would look very bad indeed. Dreadfully bad for Tomás’s career. Instead she held the distraught lady and prayed quietly. Mrs. Stellare-Lowen made more tea and together they helped Lydia sit up and drink a little more.

  “If he were Staré, I could end this,” Rigi said, sounding to her ears like her mother. “The testimony of a mated female is equal to that of any male, Stamm notwithstanding. Two accusations, plus proof, are enough to call for a full hearing. And Korkuhkalya, Capt. Prananda, and I are considered the Elders of the Staré here. But LeFeu is not a Staré.”

  Mrs. De LaMere shivered. “No, he is not. And he will destroy my husband’s career if I go to Major Chang. And who would believe me?” She sniffed. Rigi found a clean handkerchief and gave it to her.

  “Far more people than you might think. Especially after the major’s outburst two days ago. If I’d not managed to dodge his grabbing at my arm, Makana or my m-dog might very well have ended LeFeu’s career in a rather bloody manner.”

  “Makana?”

  “My guard. The Staré elders of Sogdia assigned him to my household as a guard, although he also acts as household manager when Tomás is away.” Should she tell them what the Staré thought of LeFeu? No, that might reach the wrong ears, and lead to more trouble than it would cure.

  “My husband saw and heard that, Auriga.” Mrs. Stellare-Lowen sounded apologetic, and rested one cool, gentle hand on Rigi’s shoulder.

  Rigi nodded. “When Tomás returns, he will be forced to confront the major. But I stand by my words. Capt. Prananda’s honor is more important to him, and to me, than is his career. I will not betray my husband. I have that luxury,” Rigi assured Lydia, who seemed about to faint, guilt-haunted. “You did what you could, didn’t you?”

  “He, I tried. He was too strong. I’m sorry. I can’t tell Morgan. It would tear him up. He’s already upset by the news of the scouts’ problems, and the animal that got in. I don’t dare say anything. I tried to fight, I did, but—” The rest of her words dissolved into sobs and she bent double again.

&nb
sp; “Can you help me get her to the cot?” Rigi mouthed to Mrs. Stellare-Lowen. The woman frowned but nodded. Rigi stood and went to her medical kit, finding what she wanted. “Lydia, will you let me examine you? I am a medic, and I can tell if you’ve been hurt. And I’m a woman.”

  “Ye—Ye—Yes.”

  Rigi mixed a little powder into some of the tea. “Sip, please. it will help you relax, nothing more. You will not fall asleep, you will remember everything, but for a few minutes you will not be as afraid.” The soft blonde woman swallowed the drink in one gulp, then allowed the others to guide her to the cot. Mrs. Stellare-Lowen held her hand as Rigi locked the door and put out the “do not disturb” sign, then began gently examining her patient. She narrated everything that she did, not surprising the other woman, not touching anything without permission. When she finished, she washed her hands and helped Lydia sit up. “There is bruising, and some tearing.” Lydia flushed so red it made Rigi’s face hurt to see it, then drained to white. “I see no permanent damage. Do you want to see Dr.—?”

  “No! No, he and LeFeu are friends.”

  Rigi closed her eyes and prayed for wisdom. “I’d recommend taking a bath, since you are not in a position to make a, a rape report. And stay away from Lefeu. In fact,” Rigi had a sudden idea. “Do you have any Staré assisting you?”

  “Staré? One, a female who serves as general maid.”

  “Tell her. Do not be surprised if a male asks to work temporarily for you and the Lieutenant. He will stay with you when Lt. De LaMere is away.”

  Mrs. Stellare-Lowen gave Rigi a look of suspicion and confusion. “How can you do that?”

  “Because I am owed service and have never collected the debt. I will now, and will make protecting you from unwanted advances the payment.” Rigi had a clean conscience on all counts. The thumping network would spread the word, and probably more than one male would be around if needed.

  “Thank you, Auriga. I thought you might have a solution to the—difficulty—at least for now.”

  “The Creator and Creatrix give us talents so that we may use them, and gifts that we might share them,” Rigi said. “To do otherwise is to refuse the gift and insult the giver.” She stopped as the familiar, albeit very loud, sound of a leg being disarticulated with a schlorrrrrp thump came through the shelter-tent walls “Roast leg-of-monster, anyone?”

  The women stared at her, then began to chuckle, then laugh. Lydia’s laughter turned hysterical, then shifted into a last spate of tears, but sounded healthier, at least to Rigi’s ears. Lydia and Mrs. Stellare-Lowen left by a different route, carefully avoiding the half-butchered beast. Rigi started trying to finish the pastel drawing, then gave it up. Instead she changed into outdoor clothes, called Martinus to her, and after she visited the women’s bathing tent, they went to the small shooting range that had been set aside for civilians to check sights and weapons. Rigi practiced with her hand shooter, going through one and a half gas canisters but feeling much better about her ability to draw from concealment.

  “That’s a rather small shooter for the local wildlife, ma’am,” the sergeant on duty observed, frowning under his quite magnificent dark brown and red mustache.

  “It is my secondary weapon, sir, should I need to finish off a wounded animal, or be surprised in camp by something smaller than the horn-head that came calling this morning.”

  “Hmpf.” He signed her out of the range and she felt his eyes on her back as she and Martinus walked toward the wombow pens to confirm that Slowth was no worse for the previous day’s sprint.

  To her surprise she found Kor, Tomás, and Andat standing with a dark-brown wombow, gesturing at it and frowning as Makana stood a half meter away from the others, upwind of the wombow. “I have no use for a wombow stud,” Tomás complained.

  “Mr. Jonko is most insistent, sir,” Makana replied. “You know wombows. The previous owner did not.” He saw Rigi and pointed with his ears, then bowed. “Mistress Rigi, this is Frisker,” he pointed to the wombow with one forefoot. Frisker looked quite content not to be frisky, although his tail seemed to be exceedingly busy. Was he planning mischief?

  “My dear, it seems we have acquired a wombow stud. Or rather, have been presented with a male wombow and informed that it is our duty to care for him.” Tomás sounded distinctly unhappy.

  For her part, Rigi wondered what on Shikhari they were going to do with a second wombow. And what Tomás was doing back, and why did he seem on edge? However, first things first. “Does he sing?”

  The males blinked at her. Kor covered his ears with his forefeet. “If he insists on greeting the dawn with bellows of song, he will become wombow roast.”

  “So shall it be,” Tomás intoned, mimicking one of the Guardians from the NovMerv temple. Rigi couldn’t stop the giggle.

  Her giggle died as Capt. Lowen approached the group. “Ah, Capt. Prananda. I am terribly afraid I must have a word with you about some events that transpired during your absence.”

  The predator appeared in her husband’s eyes. “Events, sir?”

  Lowen nodded, expression a blend of grimness and sorrow, and possibly disgust. “Yes. Major Le—”

  Bwaaaaaaaarghf.

  Human and Staré alike stared, aghast, and leaned away from at the burping wombow. He looked rather more comfortable than before his eruption, his tail no longer flicking back and forth. At last Kor’s ears straightened up from their startle flop. He said, “That may be the best summary of the past days that I have heard thus far.”

  “I quite agree, sir,” Tomás sighed, rubbing his short brown hair. “Quite agree.”

  Bwaaaargf came a quieter encore.

  “Wooeef?”

  “Wooeef.” Rigi agreed. Leave it to a wombow and her m-dog to summarize the day so well. “Gentlemen, and wombow, since you have business to discuss, I shall leave you in peace. Capt. Prananda, Capt. Lowen, Kor,” she hand bowed to each in turn. Makana half-hopped so that he stood behind her.

  “My lady,” Tomás nodded, dismissing her.

  Capt. Lowen inclined his upper body in a little bow. “Most certainly, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, sirs.”

  Rigi checked into the wombow enclosure, verified that Slowth had suffered no ill effects from his adventures, and made her way back to the shelter-tent. As she and Makana walked, she wished that she and Tomás could harness the two wombows, load wagons, and go south, back to the southern landmass, away from the army and Major LeFeu and his foulness. Rigi recited prayers for calm, for discernment, and for a generous heart. Proper ladies did not entertain fond thoughts of terror-birds chasing army officers. Or of very large horn-headed mammals sitting on army officers.

  Perhaps she was not meant to be a proper military wife, Rigi sighed to herself for the thousandth time at least.

  12

  Fighting Words

  Tomás and Kor were not at the shelter-tent, and Rigi’s heart seemed to stop. Had they gone to confront Maj. LeFeu? Andat bowed as he opened the door for her, Martinus, and Makana. “Capt. Prananda and first-Stamm sir apologize for their absence. They have matters yet to attend to before the evening meal. The meat-cutters have finished and a vehicle will come before dark for the remaining carcass.”

  “Thank you, Andat.” Rigi tidied Martinus’s feet, then resumed sketching while a little freshness remained in her memory. What would they do with a stud wombow? They certainly could not keep it at the house. The lease forbade it, and the fences were not strong enough should Frisker feel, well, that sort of frisky. And just what had that man done that Mr. Jonko deemed him incapable of properly caring for a wombow? Had Frisker had all of his injections and drenches? She did not care for having to administer the end-of-shed drench, but it did seem to help wombows recover from the shed faster. Rigi blended a little more green and filled in the rest of the grassy area. Yes. A touch more grass on the other side, and a few strokes of brown to suggest the edge of the copse of now-bare trees, and it seemed finished. She initialed the piece, spr
ayed it with color-lock, and set it aside to dry before adding it to the large bundle of drawings.

  She should have measured the beast outside her door, Rigi realized, and scolded herself for not thinking properly. Now she’d have to work from disarticulated bones and what scraps of hide she could obtain. Dr. Xian would fuss for her lack of forethought. Rigi wrinkled her nose and started work on a draft drawing of the head. The mottled brown-grey seemed standard for large mammals in the area, the mountain beast notwithstanding, and she wondered why. Had they all descended from a common ancestor? Was there a predator that could not see those colors well? If so, just how large of a predator was it? Too large for Rigi’s comfort. She started with a picture of the Subala-minor standing on top of the beast to provide a sense of scale, then concentrated on the head. It had been a little longer than Martinus, which made it…

  “Ahem.”

  “Yeep!” Rigi landed back in her seat with a thud, almost knocking over the work-stand as she jumped out of her skin with surprise.

  //Humor/satisfaction.// Kor stood with his forefeet crossed, one ear cocked to the side. Tomás grinned down at her, pleased with himself. “Did I startle you, dear?” Of Andat and Makana Rigi saw no trace. She panted, trying to calm down and get her voice and breath back.

  “Just a trifle, Captain. Ahem. I’m glad that you have returned and are in good health.” Should she throw herself on him to hug and kiss him, or strangle him for scaring her? She decided on a compromise as she stood. Rigi embraced her husband, then tapped him on the side of the head with two fingers, like a Staré female did with slightly-naughty hoplings. “I do hope your day was less eventful than mine has been.”