Necessity's Child-eARC

by Sharon Lee

  That was a puzzle, and Kezzi began to feel a little short-breathed, as if walls had sprung up too close beside her.

  “The Bedel…” she began again, and stopped, hearing again Silain telling her to do what tasks Syl Vor’s mother gave her as well as she could.

  “You’ll have to teach me to use it, then,” she said sulkily.

  Syl Vor nodded.

  “All right.”

  * * *

  “Ah, here he is, and much improved in spirit.” Rafin’s face was black with soot, his eyes as blue as lightning.

  “Where is Pulka?” asked Udari, glancing ’round. “He will want to see his dream with waking eyes.”

  “He was called to duty,” Rafin said, spitting into the forge. “The garda have come too near the old western gate and the headman has ordered it sealed.”

  Udari looked grave.

  “That’s the third gate closed within two hands.”

  “It is, and if you say that we’re on the edge of closing too many, your voice will join the voices of all our brothers—yes, and our sisters, too!”

  For no reason that he could summon to mind, Rys felt his mouth dry. He swallowed, and looked to Udari.

  “The…garda. What do they seek?”

  Udari shrugged.

  “What do they seek?” Rafin said. “Rat holes! Torv brings the news from Above—the new Boss doesn’t believe in ghosts. He looks at the buildings over our heads and he sees a place for gadje to live; a place to grow fruits and vegetables, protected from the cruel weather.”

  “They seek to be like the Bedel, then,” Rys said, since Udari continued in frowning silence.

  “No, that, they do not!” Rafin declared. “They seek to be dry, and warm, and fed.”

  “All people seek those things,” Udari said at last. “It’s plain, Brothers; if the gadje come here, then the Bedel must go…somewhere else.”

  “Best if the gadje don’t come here, I say—and others of our brothers with me. There are ways to be certain.”

  “If Boss Conrad doesn’t believe in ghosts, he’ll look for men,” Udari argued.

  Rafin sighed.

  “As for that, the garda did find something of note, according to Zand, who followed them.”

  “What was that?” asked Udari.

  “The remains of a camp, above the third floor, two buildings east.”

  “Above the third floor?” Rys asked, frowning.

  “A subattic, not easy to find, except Zand said that one of the garda had played in that building as a boy. There was a pipe from the rain-catcher on the rooftop, that was cut and a faucet installed. Wires had been cross-woven to power a small communication system. Some blankets, and a stove—a snug nest. There was no food or sign that the place had been habited recently. The garda took away what was there.”

  “Another brave one, who was not afraid of ghosts,” Udari commented drily.

  Rafin shrugged. “Or who was afraid of something else, more. But, come! We’re here for another purpose! The frame is roughed. Now, the fighting cock must come over to the bench and suffer himself to be enclosed, so that I can take fine measurements and consider the best locations for releases and springs. This, we may safely do while Pulka is at duty. It’s the finished piece that he’ll want to measure against his dream!”

  * * *

  “Boss and Mike gone out callin’,” the woman named Veeno told Syl Vor when they came into the house. “They’ll be back in time for supper. Boss said you and your sister was to play nice.”

  Silver nodded, and pulled off his jacket to hang away. The sleeve of his sweater was pulled up, exposing the heavy bracelet. He sighed and pushed the sleeve down.

  “Come on,” he said, after Kezzi had hung up her coat. “Let’s play a game!”

  - - - - -

  Syl Vor’s room at the top of the house was no larger than the hearth-room she shared with Droi and Vylet, and the side-place where a table and computer stood seemed oddly like a hearth. She had, Kezzi owned, expected it to be larger, and more full of…things.

  She had not expected it to be bright—or at least as bright as the late day sun could make it, glowing through glass windows framed by dark curtains. The kompani’s place Beneath was always in twilight, despite the use of dims, and the constant glow from the hearthstones.

  In the hearth-room was a bed, covered over with a blue blanket, and in the center of the bed was a furry orange-and-white circle.

  “Here she is!”

  Syl Vor leaned over the bed to stroke the curved back with the flat of his palm until, slowly, the cat uncurled into a long furry tube, eyes closed and ears twitching.

  “Come sleepy one, wake! Here is my sister Kezzi, who I told you about. She is come to meet you!”

  The cat opened green eyes, not very wide, and yawned, showing dainty pointed teeth.

  “There, that’s better,” Syl Vor said, and turned his head. “Kezzi, come and make yourself known to Eztina.”

  She came to his side, and stood looking down at the cat, who had rolled half on to her head, with her paws in the air and her white belly exposed, so much like Malda when he wanted a tummy-rub that Kezzi chuckled.

  “What you must do,” Syl Vor said, “is to extend your first finger toward her nose. Do not touch her nose, or bump it—that would be rude. Just hold your finger still and allow her to decide what she will do.”

  Carefully, Kezzi followed these instructions. The cat blinked green eyes and did nothing.

  “It may take a little while,” Syl Vor said. “Only be patient.”

  “She looks like she wants her belly rubbed.”

  “On no account! She tries to tempt you.”

  “Tempt me?”

  “If you touch her belly, she will instantly wrap herself around your hand and wrist and hold on with all her claws. Which I assure you does not sting a little!”

  “But—” Kezzi caught her breath on the question she was about to ask, for Eztina had rolled bonelessly to her feet, deftly avoiding Kezzi’s finger, stood gracefully on three feet while she stretched one back foot up behind her.

  “Ah,” Syl Vor said softly, just as a cool, slightly damp nose met Kezzi’s fingertip.

  “There, she is polite,” he murmured. “You may now lightly rub her behind the ears.”

  This Kezzi did, nowhere near so robust as if it were Malda’s ears she rubbed, for she had no wish to damage this fragile looking creature, who was, she thought, not at all like the cats who took employ with the Bedel, or their cousins in the City Above.

  Kezzi smiled as Eztina bumped her head vigorously against her fingers, then turned half-about and sat, lifting a back leg and beginning to groom.

  “The cats I know aren’t friendly,” she commented. “They have their duty-work and don’t want anything from us.”

  He nodded. “But Eztina is a house-cat—a pet—and I fear that Padi is right in saying that we spoil her.”

  “Padi—this is a sister?”

  “My cousin,” he said. “She’s gone with her father—my Uncle Shan—on the Dutiful Passage, to learn to be a trader. And that reminds me of the game!”

  He crossed the room, pulled open a drawer and took out a pouch.

  “Come!” He beckoned her to the table, pulled the tie loose and upended the pouch over the table top.

  Coins spilled out, ringing like bells, and a stub of pale chalk no longer than her smallest finger.

  And—no, Kezzi thought, they weren’t coins, at least not any coins that she knew.

  “Aequitas,” Syl Vor said. “Trade tokens. They’re used when the trade is for information, instead of things.” He glanced up at her, blue eyes wide.

  “Things are easy to get,” he said, seriously; “but information can save lives.”

  She blinked at him—so serious—then again at the tumble and shine of coins—of aequitas—littering the tabletop.

  “Choose a color,” Syl Vor said, pulling out a chair and coiling onto it, one leg bent under him, and the o
ther foot swinging above the floor. “Take all the coins of that color to your side of the table.”

  She chose red and quickly sorted them to her side. Syl Vor did the same with the blue coins, then picked up the chalk and drew a line across the middle of the table, dividing her side from his.

  “This is how it works,” he said. “You ask a question, and I answer. If you learn something from my answer, you pass one of your coins to my side of the table. Then, I ask you a question. If I learn something I pass you one of my coins. If the answer is very informative,” he said with a grin, “or surprising two coins may pass.”

  He swept the unused colors to one side, with the chalk-bit.

  “There are more rules, but the simple ones should do for today. I haven’t played since Padi left us, so I’m out of practice.”

  “And I,” Kezzi said, picking up a coin and weighing it in her hand, “have never played, or heard of this game.”

  “We play it because we’re a trade house,” Syl Vor said, and looked at her expectantly.

  She stared back at him, frowning.

  “Did you know that?” he asked, casting a significant glance down at her coins.

  Kezzi stared, and suddenly, like a lesson learned in dream, the rules of the game became vividly clear, and she grinned

  “I didn’t know that I’d asked the first question,” she said, and slid a red coin to his side of the table.

  He nodded. “Now, it’s my turn. What does gadje mean?”

  “Those Others,” she said. “People who are not Bedel.”

  A blue coin came across the table to her, and she felt a glow of accomplishment.

  Syl Vor folded his arms on the table and the bracelet again peeked from under the sleeve.

  “What is that?” she demanded.

  “What, this?” He lifted his arm; the bracelet gleamed in the light from the window. “It tells Mike Golden where it is.”

  She gave him a coin for it—and blinked as he unclasped and held it out to her.

  “Here.”

  Kezzi frowned down at the thing in her hand. It was dull bronze in color, but not quite as heavy as she had expected it to be. She pressed on the clasp, approving the solid snap as it closed.

  She turned it over, looking for maker’s mark or a pressure point that might open an inner pocket, but the inside was smooth and featureless. Finally, she glanced up to find Syl Vor watching her curiously. She felt her face heat and handed the cuff back to him.

  “It’s well-made, though fine for a boy,” she said austerely.

  He grinned.

  “At ho- On Liad, I would never have had such a thing,” he said, putting it aside, with the unused tokens. “Children don’t wear jewelry, except their Clan sign.” He touched the collar of his shirt.

  “What is Liad?”

  “The planet we lived on, before the delm brought us to Surebleak,” he answered promptly.

  All right, that was reasonable; many people had come to Surebleak from elsewhere, since the Boss Conrad had arisen. It was even said, she remembered, that Boss Conrad had come from elsewhere. She pushed a coin to him.

  “What is Bedel?” asked Syl Vor.

  “A kompani,” she answered, and pointed at his collar before he had taken his finger from his coin.

  “What purpose is the Clan sign?”

  “To let others know what Clan one belongs to,” he said.

  She glared at him and didn’t pass a coin.

  Syl Vor grinned.

  “My clan—now yours—is Korval. Our sign is the tree-and-dragon.”

  The coin had already left her finger, but she stared at him.

  “Dragon?” she repeated, remembering Rys’ fear, and what Silain had taught her to say to him, immediately he awoke.

  There are no dragons here.

  “Are you,” she asked carefully, “a dragon?”

  He laughed.

  “Well, I’m not a tree!”

  “But…there are the People of the Tree,” she protested. “Who took contract with the Boss Conrad, to build the road!”

  “Yes, some people here call us that—the People of the Tree. At ho- On Liad, we were called dragons. Other clans were called by their signs, too. It is…it is a Liaden cultural marker.”

  That last sounded as if it were dream-learned. Kezzi nodded and gave him another coin.

  “What is a kompani?”

  “A kompani is—Bedel on chafurma.”

  Syl Vor tipped his head, the blue token gleaming between his fingers.

  Kezzi sighed.

  “Chafurma is the gathering time.”

  Two coins came across to her side of the table, rolling lazily on their edges. She flattened them with her palm.

  “What’s a delm?”

  “The delm is the head of the clan, who makes decisions and settles disputes,” he said. “The delm is the face and the voice of the clan.” He wrinkled his nose. “That’s what the Code says.”

  “What—” she began, but he shook his head.

  “It’s my turn.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “Why were you…afraid to find that I’m a dragon?”

  “I was not afraid,” she said. “I was…surprised. A person I know doesn’t like dragons.”

  He frowned. “Which person?”

  Kezzi folded her hands on the table. Rys had been afraid. Information might save lives, but it was like some of the medicines in the luthia’s box, that could both cure and kill.

  “That isn’t mine to sell.”

  Syl Vor’s eyebrows rose, he bowed his head—and two coins came across the line to her.

  “Why did you make me your sister?”

  He sighed.

  “Because I didn’t want to make another enemy.”

  She blinked at him, pushed a coin, another, and—thinking of Rys—a third.

  Syl Vor stared at them for a long moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line, then looked up at her.

  “What is your dog’s name?”

  “Malda,” she answered, and gave him a sharp stare. “But that is not for the street. For the street, he is Rascal.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  She took a breath, already fingering a coin.

  “What,” she began—and stopped as a shadow came across the tabletop, and a slim finger slid one blue coin and one red coin into the center of the table.

  “Who,” Syl Vor’s mother said in her cool, calm voice, “would like to come downstairs for dinner?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The “rough” was a blackened cage of metal that Rafin bent ’round his leg with a pair of large pinchers. Recalling that the acquisition of his glove had not been without cost, Rys braced himself to endure, but his leg was scarcely touched. Caliphers were brought into play, certainly, and the aforesaid pinchers; a variety of hinges and fasteners were matched against the seam, and set down, some in this pile, others in that. His part was only to stand tall upon his crutch, and to repose himself to stillness.

  After this had been going on for some time, Udari, who had been standing to one side, as an observer, suddenly straightened and caught Rys’ eye.

  “I am wanted Above,” he said, “on business of the luthia. Brothers, I will return.”

  Bent over the brace, Rafin grunted. Rys smiled.

  “Go carefully, Brother,” he said.

  “Always,” replied Udari, and left them.

  * * *

  “Mother?”

  Kezzi could have wished her voice had sounded stronger, more certain. Droi wouldn’t have let the word quaver, or trend upward at the end.

  No matter, Syl Vor’s mother did not seem to notice, only pausing with her hand on the back of a chair and inclining her head gently.

  “Kezzi. How may I serve you, my child?”

  “My grandmother asked me to give her letter to you into your hand,” she said, repeating Silain’s very words.

  “Ah, very good. I will receive it with joy. Does she expect an ans
wer to travel with you this evening?”

  “She didn’t say so,” Kezzi answered, reaching under her sweater to the inner pocket where she had placed the letter that morning. “Ma’am.”

  The paper was rumpled from having been in her safe pocket all day. Kezzi ran it between her fingers, to try to straighten the worst wrinkles out, before offering it.

  “Thank you,” said Syl Vor’s mother gravely. “I will read it after we our meal. Please sit next to Syl Vor. You remember Mr. Golden, I know. It’s our custom to share a meal in the evening to catch up with each other, after being apart all day.”

  And here was another gadje thing that was very like a Bedel thing. Didn’t she stop at Silain’s hearth in the morning to share tea and talk over the night just past and the day to come? And in the evening, to share the day’s excitement, and plan the night’s dreaming?

  She slipped into the chair next to Syl Vor, staring at the array of utensils laid on each side of a yellow plate with a design that might have been flowers or birds, or both, painted around the edge.

  Bowls were passed up and down the table, from Syl Vor’s mother to Mike Golden to Syl Vor, and, last to her. This was fortunate, since Syl Vor made sure she knew what was in each bowl as he handed them to her—squash, chicken-with-sauce, and…

  “Mess greens,” said Syl Vor, not quite wrinkling his nose. “Beck says.”

  Kezzi hesitated, looking into the bowl at the tangle of wilted dark leaves. A sharp scent came out of the bowl, not particularly pleasing. Syl Vor, she noticed, had taken less from this bowl than the squash bowl.

  “That’s vinegar dressin’ on the leaves,” Mike Golden said, and gave her a smile when she looked at him. “We call it mess greens, ’cause it looks a mess, all wilted up that way. Tastes pretty good, to me. ’Course, I grew up with ’em.” He brought up a fork twisted with greens. “Silver don’t hold the same opinion.”

  “I would rather have a fresh salad, than everything all wilted,” Syl Vor said. “But these leaves are bitter until you cook them.”

  Kezzi put a small amount of the mess on her plate, and set the bowl aside.

  “Mike,” Syl Vor said, “now that there are two of us coming home from school, it won’t be necessary for Gavit to break his day for escort duty.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose, but only nodded.