Heart of Gold

by Sharon Shinn

  They ate in silence except when Nolan made a few brief comments about the quality of the food (“This is better than I thought it would be … What’s this? I like the spices”). Kit’s foot was beginning to ache with a serious throbbing, and the interior of her head felt as though it were expanding and contracting in time with the iron wheels below her. If she didn’t sleep soon, she would die. Either alternative sounded equally peaceful and attractive.

  An albino man had entered after them and was now carrying on a low-voiced transaction with the meat vendor. Nolan appeared to listen for a moment, though it was obvious he did not understand the goldtongue conversation. Indeed, as Kit watched him because she could not muster the effort to turn her eyes away, he shook his head in quiet admiration.

  “I sometimes think the albinos must be the smartest ones of all of us,” he observed.

  “Oh?” Kit said, surprised she had the energy to speak.

  “They learn one whitetongue when they’re brought up, and then they learn bluetongue when they come to the city, and then some of them learn the gulden language as well. Think of all the translating that must go on in their heads for them to be able to talk to a guldman.”

  Kit felt herself staring in slackjawed stupefaction. “What?” she managed to scrape up the indignation to reply. “Do you honestly believe—hasn’t it ever occurred to you that a man could just translate directly from whitetongue to goldtongue? That he wouldn’t have to know the indigo language as well?”

  He gaped at her—no, the thought had obviously never crossed his mind—and then he flushed so deeply that his cobalt skin turned purple. She wanted to rail at him (“You stupid, self-referential, unthinking fool!”), but she could not force herself to feel either enough anger or scorn. Instead, she put her hand over her face and leaned on her elbow, willing the world around her to simply dissolve.

  * * *

  * * *

  The night passed, as it always did on the train, in a choppy blur of motion, color, and disorientation. The train’s infrequent halts would jar Kit into a sudden moment of panic, as she woke from some fragmentary dream to wonder frantically where she was. The stations outside her window were a jumble of flashing lights, shadowed bodies and muffled cries of question and farewell. Ah. On the way to Gold Mountain. Then the train would ease forward again into its rhythmic, pacifying motion, and she would close her eyes and try to recapture her dreams.

  Whatever drugs Nolan had given her had instantly mitigated the pain in her foot, but they had caused her brain to go loose and hazy. For she could not concentrate at any of the stops they made, could not marshal her thoughts and plan her strategy. How was it possible she was guiding this man to Gold Mountain, taking him straight to Chay’s door, with no more information than he had given her? She must think what to say to the gulden leader. He would find her gullible and ridiculous; he would be incredulous to learn how quickly she had agreed to Nolan’s proposition. She must find words to explain her terror and her subsequent actions, but she could not concentrate. Her mind fogged over. She was asleep again.

  In the morning, she woke groggy and irritable, having slept poorly and feeling a dull pain start to chisel away at her ankle bone. Nolan, apparently, had visited the market stalls while she drowsed, for he had brought an assortment of breakfast foods back to their seats and was already munching on a pastry.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked when she was awake. “Does any of this appeal to you? I could go back for more.”

  “Give me a moment,” she said and struggled to her feet. In the women’s necessary room, she cleaned herself up as best she could and tried not to be too horrified at the dull, slaty color of her skin. She could stand to go a day without washing her hair, but only if she braided it tightly back from her face, and she had nothing to tie it with. A murmured request to a gulden woman who eyed her with frank curiosity netted her a gaily striped ribbon that in no way matched her mood, but it would have to do.

  “Thanks would I gladly give to someone who offers me such charity,” she said formally, and the woman smiled and ducked her head.

  When she returned to her seat she felt marginally more cheerful and quite hungry. She ate everything Nolan had bought her, but was less eager to swallow the pills he handed her to take with her meal.

  “I think I’ll skip the pain medication for now,” she said. “It makes me too drowsy.”

  “Fine, your choice, but take the vaccine anyway.”

  “I thought I took one yesterday.”

  “You have to have it every day for ten days.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous. I told you I’m immune.”

  “Take it anyway. Please. I don’t think it will do my cause any good to have you arriving at Chay Zanlan’s doorstep ill and fainting.”

  She took the tablet from his hand and gulped it down. “Don’t think you’ll do your cause any good to arrive with me telling tales of your threats of violence,” she said as soon as she had swallowed. “Don’t think I won’t tell him everything you said to me.”

  He nodded soberly. “Oh, no. I know you aren’t my ally. But it won’t matter what you have to say once I’ve told him—” And he stopped, looked down at his hands, and then out the window, and clearly had no intention of adding another word.

  They passed much of the morning in silence, though at least this day the view offered some distraction. They were approaching the low violet foothills that edged the valley with amethyst and provided a spiky, colorful, and ever-changing vista out the windows of the train. It was Kit’s favorite part of the journey out, though mostly because she knew what was ahead: a two-hour layover at one of the massive refueling stations that was actually the largest city in this part of Geldricht.

  At Krekt Station, you could buy an elegant meal, a change of clothes, fine jewelry or almost any other amenity. You could also, for a small fee, use the public showers and clean yourself from head to toe. It was a ritual Kit never failed to observe on the journey. Wash away Inrhio, present herself fresh-scrubbed to Geldricht.

  Of course, the fact that she couldn’t stand the grimy, clammy feel of going unwashed for more than a day had much to do with her appreciation of the public cleansing rooms.

  As they pulled into the station, Kit arranged their luggage on their chairs to give the impression that all four seats were taken. Nolan watched her in surprise.

  “You mean, we can just leave our things here? No one will steal them?”

  Kit shook her head. “Very low crime rate in Geldricht. First, of course, the clan system ensures that almost everyone is taken care of, so no one needs to steal. Second, there are incredibly brutal punishments for theft, depending on the monetary value of the item being stolen. And third—” She laughed softly. “You can’t get on the train without a ticket. Our things will be safe enough.”

  They climbed from the train and followed the crowd into the station. As always, Kit found it momentarily disconcerting to be on steady ground. Her body missed the constant, almost maternal swaying of the coach car. Her heels hit the pavement with an unexpected jar. The world seemed rocky and unforgiving.

  She pointed out the various points of interest to her fellow traveler. “Men’s showers—restaurants—clothiers, if you decide you didn’t bring enough shirts and trousers with you—sleeping benches. But we only have two hours. Don’t forget to watch the clock.”

  “Meet me back here as soon as you’ve washed up,” he said. “We’ll go together to get something to eat.”

  She was annoyed that he didn’t trust her and irritated with herself for caring. “I’ve come this far with you,” she said sharply. “I’m hardly likely to turn around now and run back for the city.”

  “Even so,” he said, so she shrugged and acquiesced. They parted at the door to the women’s necessary room.

  Five minutes later, Kit was naked under the communal shower, reveling in the feel of hot
water on her body and in her hair. If she had to pick one pleasure from the canon of human sensuality, it would be the act of getting herself completely, luxuriously clean. She would forgo food, she would forgo love, she would forgo the feel of silk against her bare skin all for the satisfying satin of shampoo rinsing away past her fingers. She kept her eyes closed and splashed water over her face again and again and again.

  But it was a public place, and she had forgotten how very much she stood out in this environment. When she opened her eyes, she found herself the focus of sideways glances from the five or six other women also standing under the gushing sprays of water. She was the only blueskin here, of course. There must be no more than a dozen indigo women a year who passed through Krekt Station, and most of them would die before stripping naked in front of their gulden counterparts in such a careless fashion. Kit was not so well-known outside Gold Mountain that sheltered clan women this far from the coast would instantly suspect her identity. And so they stared at her, and wondered, and looked away when she tried to meet their eyes.

  She didn’t belong here. She knew she didn’t belong in the city, either, at her grandmother’s table and in the ballrooms of the Higher Hundred. There was no place that she truly fit in.

  Even Chay would not be happy to see her. And Jex was a refuge so dangerous she could not allow herself to consider him. There was not a place on this entire continent that she could call home.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was in this bleak mood that she rejoined Nolan a few minutes later. He too had taken the opportunity to shower. His black hair formed wet curls at the collar of his fresh shirt, and he smelled like disinfectant. No doubt she did, too. The soap in the necessary rooms was effective but hardly elegant.

  “Well, I feel better,” he said, sounding more cheerful than he had since she’d met him. “How about you?”

  Clean but outcast; she couldn’t say that was an improvement. “Yes,” she replied anyway. “Are you hungry? Did you want to shop?”

  “I thought maybe we could stock up on snacks so we wouldn’t have to keep going back to the stalls,” he said. “And then—maybe a book or two? If we still have a whole day of travel left.”

  “Or more,” she said. “But I’m not sure you’ll be able to find anything to read.”

  He pointed. “There’s a newsstand over there. Surely they have magazines even if they don’t carry books—”

  She was giving him an ironic smile; she could feel it on her face. “Ah. I didn’t know you’d troubled to learn goldtongue while you were in the shower.”

  “No, I—” he began before he realized her point. He looked both angry and embarrassed. “I see. Nothing here in a language I can understand. Of course. Well, then, let’s just go look for food.”

  There were maybe twenty-five different food stalls set up in one section of the station, in addition to two restaurants where passengers could go in, be seated and order a full meal. Nearly half the vendors sold fish in some form or another—raw, dried, fried, baked, laid between slices of bread—whereas there weren’t many varieties of meat available. Of course, fish was not a common commodity in the land-locked city, and only a few of the in-country towns boasted river trout big enough to bother catching. Kit wondered if this sheltered blueskin boy would be brave enough to try food so foreign, but in fact he seemed drawn to the fishmongers’ wares.

  “So you like fish?” she asked him as he seemed to be considering the merits of fried and baked varieties.

  “Yes. I’ve had it a few times at the city restaurants, and Pakt’s wife served it twice. I found it very tasty.”

  “Do you know exactly what kind you ate?”

  So she guided him through a few selections, recommending dried strips for travel, and then they headed to the fruit-sellers’ stalls. It was a strange buying experience, Kit found, because naturally none of the vendors would sell to her directly, but she had to do all the translating for both parties. Nolan never made any pretense of speaking to anyone except her, but the vendors all stubbornly addressed themselves to the blueskin, despite the fact that he obviously didn’t understand a word they were saying.

  When they had bought enough to see them through the next couple of days, they sat at one of the broad, featureless tables set up near the stalls and had a quick meal. They had been done with their food for five or ten minutes when Kit’s attention was caught by a pathetic drama enacted before one of the fish stalls.

  A gulden woman perhaps a few years older than Kit was groveling on the floor before the stall, calling out in a piteous voice to the trio of men who were buying dried patties and laughing with the vendor. She was dressed in a ragged assortment of ill-fitting clothes, all of them filthy, and the hands she held up in supplication were covered with sores. She looked as though she might have crawled here all the way from Gold Mountain. Kit could think of any number of scenarios to account for her presence here, and they all turned her skin clammy-cold.

  This was the kind of woman who showed up every day in the Lost City—destitute, half-starved, brutalized. This one at least had no children clinging to her skirts, though perhaps she had hidden them in a corner somewhere, admonishing them to be silent, to draw no eyes, to run if they saw their father or their brothers coming …

  Kit looked away. She could give this woman the address of the charity bank, but it seemed unlikely she would ever make it that far. Most of the refugees who arrived at Del’s shelter had planned their escapes carefully for months. They had saved money, they had packed provisions. This one appeared to have left on a moment’s whim, the one minute her husband’s back was turned, and she might indeed have made this whole journey on her hands and knees.

  Nolan’s voice surprised her. She hadn’t thought he had even noticed the desperate traveler. “That woman—what’s wrong? She doesn’t have a—a kurakura—whatever?”

  “I’m guessing she’s run away from her husband’s or her father’s protection,” Kit said in an expressionless tone. “And she doesn’t have food or money.”

  “Where can she go?”

  “Not many places,” Kit said. “The city. The ghetto. She’ll find shelter there if she makes it that far.”

  “But if she doesn’t have any food or money—”

  “She might not make it,” Kit said quietly.

  He sat there silently another moment or two, watching the woman. Now she was begging before a tall, well-groomed businessman and his gaily dressed wife, both of whom looked past her as through an inoffensive ghost. “Will anybody help her?” he asked at last.

  “Maybe. You see it in the younger men more than the older ones. One of them might buy her a meal or give her a few coins. If she doesn’t get on a train before her husband arrives, though, she’s essentially dead.”

  “Dead? You mean, literally? She’ll be killed?”

  Kit shrugged. “Brought back to the manor and locked in a room. Most likely starved to death. That’s the typical punishment for disobedience. Sometimes, a husband takes pity on an errant wife or a father on a willful daughter. But it makes him look weak in the eyes of his neighbors.”

  Now Nolan looked at her, wrathful and amazed. “How can you talk like that?” he demanded.

  “I’m only telling you the truth.”

  He was on his feet, and he was actually furious. “As if it doesn’t matter,” he flung at her, and stalked away. She was left sitting there, staring after him.

  In a few quick steps, he had reached the side of the runaway. In his hands, he carried the bags of fruit and fish that they had just purchased, and now he bent over her, offering them to her with silent gestures of encouragement. The woman had reared back at his approach—alien, blueskin, danger!—but he dropped to a crouch beside her, possibly to look less intimidating. Kit continued to stare. This passed all her experience, all her wildest expectations. Now, he was reaching into his pocket, pull
ing out his wallet, thumbing out a few bills, though there would be precious few merchants who would accept money from a woman’s hands. The gulden woman fell on her face before him, sobbing wildly, choking out thanks that he could not translate. Nolan rose to his feet and came swiftly back to the table where Kit sat.

  “I think we’d better go,” he said stiffly. He would not look her directly in the face, and Kit realized, with profound shock, that he was still angry with her. “Our train will pull out in about fifteen minutes.”

  She came slowly to her feet, trying to think of words. “Don’t you want to get more food?” was all she could come up with.

  He turned away from her and started walking toward the track. “I guess we’ll just have to make do with what’s on the train,” he said. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

  And she followed him, dizzier than she’d been since she first had her concussion, and wondered if she might, after all, be hallucinating now.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They traveled perhaps two hours in total silence. Afternoon tilted imperceptibly toward dusk. The white daylight hazed into apricot, individual particles of gold hanging suspended in the air. Nolan had, all this time, gazed out the window, unseeing, unmoving. Now he turned to Kit and began the inquisition.

  “All right. Tell me about her.”

  “Apparently anything I tell you will just upset you.”

  “I want to know.”

  Kit shrugged. “Most likely she’s married. Most likely her husband is violent, and she reached the breaking point. She’s run away. Almost no one will take in a runaway wife. Sometimes, if her father is very powerful and loves her very much, he’ll take her back and allow her to live in obscurity in his home for the rest of her life. Every once in a while, a brother will do the same thing. Rarely, though. You see, any man who takes a woman’s side against another man is undermining the system that makes the whole society work. It often makes him an outcast in his own community. He becomes suspect. He loses honor.”