Maran put down her brush. “Osei, I think this is important, and I need you to say those things.”
Osei sighed. Maran had obviously said the right thing. “For you, I will say. Miss Altyn accused Miss Imeni of killing somebody, and then of killing somebody else. Miss Imeni accused Miss Altyn of being lazy and undisciplined. They would fight then.
“One day, Miss Imeni disappeared. She took their remaining supply of Red Snake with her. Miss Altyn could not make more and she began suffering. I feared for her. She tried making more in the back yard and almost burned the house down. I was resolved to do something. I found out about the Ammelites, and how they would take in drug addicts, so I gagged Miss Altyn, tossed her across my shoulder and waded to Shuffle Dog through the snow. I thank Tythia that the Ammelites accepted her. Afterwards, I stood for a year outside Miss Altyn’s empty house making sure that no one broke in. When Miss Altyn did come back, she was a different woman. The color had come back to her face. She regained some weight. She looked at me as if I were human. She was still a shadow of a person, still lackluster, as she is today, but she was alive. I had saved her life.”
“Is that why she values you so much?”
“Indeed, it is.”
Three or Four
In the morning, Maran watched Altyn climb a steel ladder that leaned against the Ironmonger main gate. The Astrean addressed the assembling crowd in a voice a thousand time louder than you would expect from such a small woman. “Attention. Please, attention. I have spoken to the Kurfurstin. I have good news for you. The Kurfurstin will compensate the wounded and the families of the dead. I have secured authorization to review your cases and determine your compensation. I will accept the aggrieved at my house on Groppekunta Street. In addition, as recompense to all, the Kurfurstin will open all food houses every day of this holiday except for the Day of Battle.
“In addition, the Ironmongers formally recognize the Court of Justice as administered by the Ammelites. The Court will begin hearing your cases soon. The Ammelites have not yet told me when.
“You are welcome to continue demonstrating. I know that you have additional demands. Please organize yourselves, then send a representative to me. I will assemble these demands and present them to the Kurfurstin. Meanwhile, please keep the peace. Be warned that any demonstrator that crosses the fence line will be shot, so let us not have anyone meeting the White Lady.
“I will have this announcement read on the hour. That is all.”
The crowd clapped as Altyn descended. They were still angry, but they no longer sounded viciously angry. Small bits of hope showed on their faces where before there was none. They had braved the guns of the Ironmongers and had come through unscathed.
After breakfast, Maran and Annalise made what lunch they could without a fire. The food remained simple as everyone fasted, and the fires remained out. As she worked, Maran thought about Altyn. What had happened with her? What had really happened on Groppekunta Street? Who had been killed? Aside from asking Altyn, who Maran was sure would not talk, she knew only one way to find out. Maran had to brave a talk with the Ammelites, then beyond all comprehension, convince Bertra to put on a show for her. How she would do that, she had no idea.
Was it even right to pry into Altyn’s life this way? Was this more important than her duties? Her people had a saying, “The Red Lady lurks at your feet.” If the Red Lady showed once, she would surely show again. By no means was this crisis resolved. Her only questions were how and where she would show, and that was always the problem with the Red Lady.
As Annalise had everything in hand, Maran decided to risk the time. She could always skip sleeping again to finish the chopping, but she needed those answers now.
Maran slipped out a tiny side-gate, far away from the demonstrators. From there, it was the long way around to reach Shuffle Dog. She did her best, but everywhere was unfamiliar on this side of the forge. Maran got lost a few times, but she usually figured that out within a few blocks. She could smell when she was close to the court when she sniffed the reeking graveyard. Once again, she could feel the corpses there, planted into the ground.
There were grave diggers who worked at the graveyard. They lined up on the ground near the yard, patiently waiting for corpses to arrive, even though nobody buried their dead on this holiday. They sat there, covered in dirt, smoking and swearing in the blazing spring heat. They did not appear to be Demmarians, like Annalise. They were from Cartref. They would be Cartrench? Cartrites? Cartrefians? Maran couldn’t figure that out.
“Good morning, fossor!” yelled a toothless old man. He smiled his blank smile, creasing his already craggy skin. Behind that soft face, his eyes looked hard, like he had seen the world collapse around him every year and saw no hope that it would ever rise again.
Maran met those eyes, and knew that he saw something in her. Maran had to look away. The other gravediggers around him, no softer than he, stared at her with blank stares. They expressed no love and no hate. They were just workers who cared nothing for the dead.
The old man winked. “Fossor, come stand with us. I got a shovel if you need one.”
Maran waved a refusal, then walked onward. She tried to stay sure of herself, but she found herself walking faster anyway.
Why did that man call her a fossor? What did he see? How did he see it? So far, only Justice had called her a fossor; a tomb maker, a funerian. Now a non-dwarf called her the same thing. Did non-dwarves even have fossors? Did they even understand the tradition?
Was Maran a fossor? If so, how? She had never dug a grave. She had never made a tomb. She had never had anything to do with funerals before those that had occurred a few days ago. Even so, those were funerals and they had nothing to do with preparing the corpses and graves.
Admittedly, Maran’s mother presided over funerals, but there was no special calling there. She also presided over planting and births. Graves were dug by the grieving family. They were buried by their neighbors. There was no place for a fossor anywhere in that. So why a fossor? What did that mean for Maran?
It meant another question to answer, in addition to so many others. Best to answer them one at a time. Today, she needed to ask questions about Altyn and to try and make sense of the answers. Her own concerns needed to wait.
Maran approached the Court, or Court to be, with some trepidation. Would Bertra see her? How bad would that be? Less scary than Tythia or the Iron Duke, that was sure. Working up her courage, Maran knocked on the door. The waiting always seemed too long. It was just like sitting next to your grandfather waiting for him to speak. You just had to be there, and be silent, and wait the wait. Yet, the court had an ostiary to answer the door. Perhaps she did not hear? Maran almost knocked again when the door opened. The ostiary betrayed a small smile.
“Hello, Meister Maran. May I help you?” she asked in her raspy voice, with overtones like a horn.
“May I see the Cantor?”
The tall ostiary looked at Maran a bit, thinking her quiet thoughts. After a bit, she reached a decision and waved her hand about. “Oh, you’re good people, no matter what she says. Come in already. Sit down and I’ll go talk to the Cantor. Don’t worry, she’s all bark.”
Maran slipped in, then sat down on the raw wooden benches worn smooth by many sitters. As the ostiary wandered away, Maran settled into waiting. She knew how to do that. Waiting was a good Loam skill, required by all her elders, even though she never did quite like it.
In here, in this religious place, waiting felt like contemplation time when she was little. There had been a great room where her people had gathered before the graphite altar of the White Lady. There they sat upon the mosaic floor and embraced the silence. The walls echoed the least sound, so that that any noise reverberated about the room, amplified a thousandfold. Maran had always felt fidgety, and grandmother had always boxed her right ear, motioning for silence. It had been hard for Maran. Given time to contemplate, she always thought of nothing. Desperate to avoid that nothingn
ess, Maran’s eyes had wandered in the silence. She had counted the cobalt blue diamond shapes in the mosaic leading up the arch. She had counted the graphite bricks in the White Lady’s altar. She had counted the other sounds that people made. Yet, the more that she had occupied herself, the slower that time had passed, all tolerated achingly for an elder to speak again.
The ostiary emerged, like an elder breaking the silence. She waved happily up the hall. With the waiting over, Maran stopped fidgeting, finally able to calm down. The ostiary motioned again, so Maran stood and followed her to Bertra’s room.
As Maran walked down that corridor, she found herself both relieved and anxious, like dropping a pile of wood from your arms. Now was the time to face Bertra, who had every reason to treat her badly and who had every reason to reject her request. Maran just hoped that Justice would help her through, because she could not do this on her own.
Bertra frowned on seeing Maran walk into her room. “What brings you here?” Bertra accused.
“I have a question, ma’am. I think it is important. I think it so important that I came here to speak with you, even though you don’t want to speak with me. Do you know anything about Miss Imeni?”
A cloud rolled across Bertra’s eyes. She waved her shaky hand. “That is not for me to discuss. What I know is confidential.”
A refusal did Maran no good. This woman was no Iron Duke, no matter where her heart might be. If she could argue with a god, she could handle this. Maran spoke with certainty. “Ma’am, I think that I need to know. Can you do that thing that you do? Can you put on a play? Can you let Justice show me?”
Bertra’s face twisted in disgust, showing Maran that she had asked the wrong question. “That thing is not entertainment nor is it for idle curiosity. That is the will of Justice. You do not deserve that, and you have no reason for that. You are denied.”
The more determined that Bertra grew in her refusal, the more Maran knew that she could succeed.
“Ma’am, I think that this is important. This is immensely important. Can I throw myself before Justice and let her decide? I’m sure that she’ll say ‘yes.’ Please, ma’am. Help me. Help Altyn. I’m doing this for her.”
Betra quietly sat there. Maran felt sure that another refusal would come from her, but she was wrong. “I will hear Justice sentence you first, for all your sins, and if Justice approves of you, then I will do as you ask. Let us complete your vetting and discover your crimes. Do you agree?”
“Yes, ma’am. I agree.”
“Then call the ostiary. We must go to the stage.”
The ostiary came in immediately, even before Maran called. “Good job,” she whispered to Maran.
Ever so gently, they walked the the short way to the court. Today, Bertra showed obvious signs of pain as she walked, her left leg working badly. In her pride, she did her best to never show the pain, but it showed clearly nonetheless.
How old was she? Assuming that she had been twenty when Fera Nea fell, she should be about eighty now, which was very old for a human.
The ostiary clapped her hands and sang out hoarsely, “Everyone to the stage. It’s time to finish the vetting.” Her voice sounded far less pretty than the unearthly pure tones of Altyn Tag, and Maran felt glad of that. Right now, she did not need purity. She needed truth. If not pure truth, she wanted any approximation of it.
Bertra settled into her chair. Maran sat on her bench again. The high backed chair remained empty.
Bertra spoke softly to the assembled women before her, “Choir, what says Justice?”
Nobody heard Bertra’s soft voice. The ostiary spoke up for Bertra. “Choir, what says Justice?” she echoed, bouncing slightly as she spoke.
The choir spoke in one powerful voice. Maran knew that voice. They spoke as Justice herself. “I know Maran the Fossor. She is the faithful servant of my ally, the White Lady. I know her as just. She has done as I have asked and restored my idol, and for that I am grateful. For her work at my request, I reward her with the aid of all my servants. When she asks, I ask. When she orders, I order. Look to the Sun.”
Maran looked toward Bertra, seeing the surprise expressed about the woman’s eyes. Inside, the Cantor faced a turmoil unresolvable.
Having no time to wait for that, Maran turned back and spoke to the choir. “Thank you, Justice. Please tell me about Altyn Tag and Imeni. I think that this is important right now.”
Three choir members immediately stepped forward with bouncing steps. They spoke in turn by stepping up and gesturing excitedly.
“Hello, my name is Petek Kaba, and I’m a student at Peahen Academy. I’m the funny one. Everyone loves me.”
Petek stepped back.
A second one stepped forward. “Hello, I’m Tavan Kak, and I’m a student at Peahen Academy. My dad’s rich, and he’ll buy me a position when school is done. I’m also a little scatterbrained, and never quite think my ideas through, and I do change my mind a lot, but when you need an idea fast, I’m the brainstormer!”
Tavan stepped back.
The third stepped forward. “Hello, I’m Altyn Tag. I’m the methodical one. My most sincere dream is to walk down there, on the surface of the land. It’s so intriguing!”
Now all three stepped up. They spoke in unison. “We are a triad. We are the North Winds. We eat together, sleep together, test together, and take punishment together. We are three in all things, and in all things three.”
Altyn stepped forward. “And just so that you know, we’re also ranked seventh with no hope of advancement. If we were ranked number one, we would could get appointments here in the city and never have to leave. Myself, I don’t want to be first. I want to go down there. I want to feel the earth on my feet. I want to sleep in the grass. I want to see all those towns and farms and ruins that we fly over. Imaging climbing a mountain or wading through a stream. Imagine walking from one town to the next. Imagine living in one place all the time instead of flying around this boring sky. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
A second group of players walked out. They spoke in unison. “We are the Tempests. We are ranked number one, and we intend to stay here. We are three in all things, and in all things three.”
One of them shoved the other.
With an ear-piercing shrill, one screamed out, “I’m sick and tired of you. I won’t stand it any more.” The girl reached for something, then made stabbing motions, following her triad sister to the ground. Kneeling astride, she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and would not stop.
When the girl did stop, she examined her hands carefully with great detachment, as if she examined her manicure. “It was self defense. I was well justified. What else was I to do? Her father wasn’t important, and I do feel rather perspirational.”
The remaining girl stomped up to her. “What were you thinking? There’s only two of us now. We’re weak.”
“Somebody else has to die soon. Don’t worry. We’ll pick someone else up. We’re the Tempests and we’re at the top. Watch, I’ll go ask her.”
The girl walked across the stage, and soon found herself surrounded by the remaining players. They pushed her around for a little bit, and she reacted by waving her hands about. With each push and each wave, the crowd pushed closer and bolder and colder. Eventually, the crowd grabbed her. The Tempest screamed a heart-rending scream.
The remaining Tempest stepped forward. “My name is Imeni Uul. I am in trouble. If I stick around much longer, it’s daggers for me as well. I’ve got to act fast. I need a triad with lots of potential. I need one that I can drive to the top.” Imeni looked dramatically towards North Winds, motioning with her arms for extra emphasis. “Do you think? Maybe? Well, they’re what I’ve got to work with.”
Petek grabbed her stomach and screamed an anguished scream. She almost fell.
Altyn and Taven grabbed onto Petek. “Pull through. You can pull through.”
Petek collapsed and died in her triad’s arms. The choir silently picked up the dead schoolgirl and took
her away.
Imeni walked over to the remaining duo nonchalantly. “I’ve seen what happens to duos. Do I need to remind you?” Imeni knelt down and put her arms around the surviving North Winds. “Let us marry our ambitions together. We will make such a fine triad. All we need to do is spring up a little. Push forward. Move ahead. Loosen our load. Fly higher. Swing from a star. We can take the top spot.”
Altyn and Tavan stood and walked away. Tavan immediately began looking among invisible things.
Altyn counted. “Sixth place.”
Imeni pointed. “We can do better than that. Tavan, get your stupid ass in gear.”
Tavan placed things onto an imaginary table.
“Fifth place.”
“Tavan, are you stupid? Do I have to hit you again? Work harder.”
Tavan mixed ingredients.
“Fourth place.”
“Tavan, you disgust me. What do you mean you don’t want to sleep with the superintendent? I don’t care what he does to you. I don’t care if it hurts. Get in there and make him happy.”
Tavan stirred ingredients as if over a flame.
“Third place.”
“Tavan, there’s a little ceremony going on. It’s a little bit, um, illegal? I hope you don’t mind the Red Lady. I think you’d be perfect for it.”
Tavan poured the ingredients into an imaginary cup.
“Second place.”
Taven held up her drink. “Time to visit the White Lady.” She drank, then collapsed.
Imeni ran up to Tavan, grabbing her face. “Tavan, you stupid bitch, cough up that elixir right now. You don’t get to visit the White Lady. I will not let you stop me. I will have that appointment. I’m not going down there. Do you hear me? I refuse to go down there!”
Imeni stuck something into Tavan’s mouth making Tavan retch her stomach out.
“First place.”
Imeni stood, glowing. “Yes! We’re at number one. We’ve got it.” Imeni danced around in victory. “I knew that we could do it. I’m going to get an appointment!” She danced upon the stage repeating the phrase like a small girl would.
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