“You think that strike twenty years ago escaped her attention?” I asked.
“It must have. Or she’d have done something.” Three shallow breaths, through her mouth. Struggling with her anger. “Excuse me.” She stood hastily, throwing a shower of hot water, and levered herself out of the pool, strode over to the cold, and immersed herself. Five brought her a towel, and she climbed out of the cold water and left the bath without another word to me.
I closed my eyes. On Athoek Station, Lieutenant Tisarwat slept, deep, between dreams, one arm thrown over her face. My attention shifted to Mercy of Kalr. Seivarden stood watch. She’d been saying something to one of her Amaats. “This business with the fleet captain running off downwell.” Odd. This wasn’t the sort of thing Seivarden was at all likely to discuss with one of her Amaats. “Is this really something necessary, or just some specific injustice that infuriates her?”
“Lieutenant Seivarden,” replied the Amaat, oddly stiff even given this crew’s love of imitating ancillaries. “You know I have to report such a question to the fleet captain.”
Slightly exasperated, Seivarden waved that answer away. “Yes, of course, Ship. Still.”
I saw suddenly what was happening. Seivarden was talking to Mercy of Kalr, not the Amaat. The Amaat was seeing Ship’s answers displayed in her vision and she was reading them off. As though she had been truly an ancillary, a part of the ship, one of dozens of mouths for Ship to speak through. Thankfully, none of the crew had ever attempted such a thing with me. I wouldn’t have approved in the least.
But it was clear, watching, that Seivarden found it comfortable. Comforting. She was worried, and Ship speaking like this was reassuring. Not for any solid, rational reason. Just because it was.
“Lieutenant,” said the Amaat. Ship, through the Amaat, “I can only tell you what the fleet captain has already said herself, in her briefings to you. If, however, you want my personal opinion, I think it’s something of both. And the fleet captain’s absence, and the removal of Citizen Raughd from Athoek Station, is allowing Lieutenant Tisarwat to make valuable political contacts among the younger of the station’s prominent citizens.”
Seivarden gave a skeptical hah. “Next you’ll be telling me our Tisarwat is a gifted politician!”
“I think she’ll surprise you, Lieutenant.”
Seivarden clearly didn’t believe Mercy of Kalr. “Even so, Ship. Our fleet captain generally keeps out of trouble, but when she doesn’t, it’s never the insignificant sort. And we’re hours and hours away from being able to help her. If you see something brewing and she’s too distracted to ask us to come in closer so we’re there if she needs us, are you going to tell me?”
“That would require knowing days in advance that something was, as you say, brewing, Lieutenant. I can’t imagine the fleet captain so distracted for so long.” Seivarden frowned. “But, Lieutenant, I am as concerned for the fleet captain’s safety as you are.” Which was as much of an answer as Ship could give, and Seivarden would have to be happy with that.
“Lieutenant Seivarden,” said Mercy of Kalr. “Message incoming from Hrad.”
Seivarden gestured go ahead. An unfamiliar voice sounded in her ears. “This is Fleet Captain Uemi, commanding Sword of Inil, dispatched from Omaugh Palace. I’m ordered to take control of the security of Hrad system.” One gate away, Hrad system was. More or less next door. “My compliments to Fleet Captain Breq. Fighting is still intense at Tstur Palace. Several outstations have been destroyed. Depending on the outcome, the Lord of the Radch may send you a troop carrier. She sends you her greetings, in any event, and trusts you’re doing well.”
“Do you know Fleet Captain Uemi, Ship?” There was no expectation of an immediate, this-moment reply—Hrad was hours away at lightspeed, through the connecting gate.
“Not well,” replied Mercy of Kalr.
“And Sword of Inil?”
“It’s a Sword.”
“Hah!” Seivarden, amused.
“Lieutenant, the fleet captain left instructions in case such a message should be delivered in her absence.”
“Did she.” Seivarden wasn’t sure whether she was surprised at that or not. “Well, let’s have it then.”
My instructions had been minor enough. Seivarden, replying, said, “This is Lieutenant Seivarden, commanding Mercy of Kalr in Fleet Captain Breq’s temporary absence. Most courteous greetings to Fleet Captain Uemi, and we are grateful for the news. Begging Fleet Captain Uemi’s indulgence, Fleet Captain Breq wonders if Sword of Inil took on any new crew at Omaugh Palace.” Though it might not be new crew I should worry about. It was entirely possible to make ancillaries out of older adults.
But no reply could reach me before supper. The question puzzled Seivarden, who didn’t know about Tisarwat, but Ship wouldn’t explain it to her.
Walking back to the house I met Raughd coming from the main building. “Good morning, Fleet Captain!” she said, with a sunny smile. “It’s so invigorating to be up at the break of day like this. I really ought to make a habit of it.” I had to admit, it was a creditably charming smile, even given the nearly undetectable strain behind it—even if she hadn’t just implied as much, I was sure this was not an hour when Raughd was accustomed to rising. But knowing as much as I did about her quite spoiled the effect for me. “Don’t tell me you’ve already been to the bath,” she added, with the merest touch of disappointment, calculatedly coy.
“Good morning, Citizen,” I replied without stopping. “And yes, I have.” And went into the house for breakfast.
13
After breakfast—fruit and bread that Fosyf’s servants had left lying on the sideboard the night before, by a polite fiction only leftovers from supper—Captain Hetnys and I were supposed to spend the day sitting quietly, praying at regular intervals, eating spare, simple meals. We sat, accordingly, on the sitting-room side of the house’s open ground floor. As the days went on we could properly spend more time farther from the house—sit, for instance, under the arbor outside. Convention allowed a certain amount of wider movement, for those who could not be still in their grief—I had taken advantage of that for my run that morning, and to use the bath. But most of the next few days would be spent in our rooms, or here in this sitting room, with only each other for company, or any neighbors who might stop by to console us.
Captain Hetnys did not wear her uniform—in these circumstances she was not required to. Her untucked shirt was a muted rose, over olive-green trousers. But what civilian clothes I had were either far too formal for this setting, or else they dated from my years outside the Radch, and if I wore either I would not seem to be properly in mourning. Instead I wore my brown and black uniform shirt and trousers. In strictest propriety I ought to have worn no jewelry, but I would not part with Lieutenant Awn’s memorial token, and pinned it on the inside of my shirt. We sat silent for a while, Kalr Five and Sword of Atagaris standing motionless behind us, in case we should need them. Captain Hetnys grew increasingly tense, though of course she showed little outward sign of it until Sirix came down the steps to join us. Then Captain Hetnys rose, abruptly, and paced around the perimeter of the room. She had said nothing to Sirix on the trip here, nothing last night. Intended to say nothing to her now, it seemed. But that was perfectly within the bounds of proper mourning, which allowed for some eccentric behavior at such a time.