“Really, Raughd,” said her mother, but mildly. In fact, no one at the table seemed surprised or shocked at Raughd’s words. Fosyf turned to me. “Raughd and her friends like to go drinking in the Undergarden. I’ve told her repeatedly that it’s not safe.”
“Not safe?” I asked. “Really?”
“Pickpockets aren’t uncommon,” said Station Administrator Celar.
“Tourists!” said Raughd. “They want to be robbed. It’s why they go there to begin with. All the wailing and complaining to Security.” She waved a dismissive, blue-gloved hand. “It’s part of the fun. Otherwise they’d take better care.”
Quite suddenly, I wished I was back on Mercy of Kalr. Medic, on watch, was saying something brief and acerbic to one of the Kalrs with her. Lieutenant Ekalu inspected as her Etrepas worked. Seivarden, on the edge of her bed, said, “Ship, how’s Fleet Captain doing?”
“Frustrated,” replied Mercy of Kalr, in Seivarden’s ear. “Angry. Safe, but playing, as they say, with fire.”
Seivarden almost snorted. “Like normal, then.” Four Etrepas, in a corridor on another deck, began to sing a popular song, raggedly, out of tune.
In the ocher-walled dining room, the child, still clutching my trouser leg, began to cry. Citizen Fosyf and Citizen Raughd both evinced surprise—they had not, apparently, realized there was anyone under the table. I reached under, picked the child up, and set her on my lap. “You’ve had a long day, Citizen,” I said, soberly.
A servant rushed forward, anxious, and lifted the wailing child away with a whispered, “Apologies, Fleet Captain.”
“None needed, Citizen,” I said. The servant’s anxiety surprised me—it had been clear that even if Fosyf and Raughd hadn’t realized the child was there, everyone else had, and no one had objected. I’d have been quite surprised if anyone had. But then, while I had known adult Radchaai for some two thousand years, seen and heard all the messages they’d ever sent home or received, and while I’d interacted with children and infants in places the Radch had annexed, I had never been inside a Radchaai household, never spent much time at all with Radchaai children. I wasn’t actually a very good judge of what was normal or expected.
Supper ended with a round of arrack. I considered several polite ways to extricate myself, and Governor Giarod with me, but before I could choose one Lieutenant Tisarwat arrived—ostensibly to tell me our quarters were ready, but really, I suspected, hoping for leftovers. Which of course Fosyf immediately directed a servant to pack for her. Lieutenant Tisarwat thanked her prettily and bowed to the seated company. Raughd Denche looked her over, mouth quirked in a tiny smile—amused? Intrigued? Contemptuous? All three, perhaps. Straightening, Tisarwat caught Raughd’s look and was, it seemed, intrigued herself. Well, they were close in age, and much as I found I disliked Raughd, a connection there might benefit me. Might bring me information. I pretended to ignore it. So, I saw, did Piat, the station administrator’s daughter. I rose and said, pointedly, “Governor Giarod?”
“Quite,” the system governor said, with still impressive aplomb. “Fosyf, delicious supper as always, do thank that cook of yours again, she’s a marvel.” She bowed. “And what delightful company. But duty beckons.”
Governor Giarod’s office was across the concourse from Fosyf’s apartment. The same view of the concourse, but from the other side. Cream-colored silk hangings painted with a pattern of leaves draped the walls. Low tables and chairs scattered around, an icon of Amaat in the typical wall niche, a bowl before it but no smell of incense—of course, the governor hadn’t come in to work today.
I’d sent Tisarwat back to the Undergarden with her prize—enough food to fill even a seventeen-year-old comfortably and then some, and the governor’s compliments for Fosyf’s cook had been entirely deserved—and I had also dismissed Captain Hetnys, with orders that she report to me in the morning.
“Sit, please, Fleet Captain.” Governor Giarod gestured to some wide, cushioned chairs well back from the window. “What must you think of us? But from the beginning of this… crisis, I’ve tried to keep everything as calm and routine as possible. And of course religious observances are very important in times of stress. I can only thank you for your patience.”
I sat, and so did the governor. “I am,” I admitted, “approaching the limits of that patience. But then, you are as well, I suspect.” I had thought, all those days on the way here, of what I should say to Governor Giarod. Of how much I should reveal. Had decided, in the end, on the truth, as unvarnished as I could produce it. “So. This is the situation: two factions of Anaander Mianaai have been in conflict with each other for a thousand years. Behind the scenes, hidden even from herself.” Governor Giarod frowned. It didn’t make much sense, on the surface. “Twenty-eight days ago, at Omaugh Palace, it became open conflict. The Lord of the Radch herself blocked all communications coming from the palace, in an attempt to hide that conflict from the rest of herself. She failed, and now that information is on its way across Radch space, to all the other palaces.” It was probably reaching Irei Palace—the one farthest from Omaugh—just about now. “The conflict at Omaugh appears to be resolved.”
Governor Giarod’s obvious dismay had grown with every word I’d spoken. “In whose favor?”
“Anaander Mianaai’s, of course. How else? We are all of us in an impossible position. To support either faction is treason.”
“As is,” agreed the governor, “not supporting either faction.”
“Indeed.” I was relieved that the governor had enough wit to see that immediately. “In the meantime, factions in the military—also fostered by the Lord of the Radch, with an eye toward an advantage if this ever came to actual physical battle—have begun fighting. One in particular has begun attacking gates. Which is why, even though communications from Omaugh Palace are now functioning, you’re still isolated from them. Every route any message would take has had a gate somewhere along it destroyed.” Or at least the routes that wouldn’t take months.
“There were dozens of ships in the Hrad-Omaugh Gate! Eighteen of them are still unaccounted for! What could possibly…”
“I suspect they’re still trying to keep information back. Or at least make it difficult for any but military ships to travel between systems. And they don’t particularly care how many citizens die in the process.”
“I can’t… I can’t believe that.”
It was, nonetheless, true. “Station will have shown you my remit. I have command of all military resources in this system, and orders to ensure the safety of the citizens here. I also bring an order to forbid all travel through the gates for the foreseeable future.”
“Who gave this order?”
“The Lord of the Radch.”
“Which one of her?” I said nothing. The governor gestured resignation. “And this… argument she’s having with herself?”
“I can tell you what she has told me. I can tell you what I think it’s about. More than that…” I gestured ambiguity, uncertainty. Governor Giarod waited, silent and expectant. “The trigger, the precipitating event, was the destruction of the Garseddai.” The governor winced, barely perceptibly. No one liked talking about that, about the time Anaander Mianaai had, in a fury, ordered the destruction of all life in an entire solar system. Even though it was a thousand years in the past, by now, and easier to forget about than it once had been. “When you do something like that, how do you react?”