Kuurikwiljor, he saw with approval, looked toward the wounded herself before she answered. With the usual Tawantiinsuujan efficiency, teams of uniformed medics were already on the scene. They slapped on bandages, set broken bones, and loaded the worst hurt onto stretchers for more extensive treatment elsewhere. They did not seem to need any unskilled help.
Park also saw Kuurikwiljor eye him appraisingly. He did not mind that; he was sensible enough to think well of good sense in others. Whatever Kuurikwiljor saw must have satisfied her, for she said, “Thank you. I am staying at my brother’s house, in the district of Puumatjupan.”
That district, Park knew, was in the southern part of the city. With Kuurikwiljor following, he started in that direction. “On to the house of your brother,” he declared. He thought he sounded rather grand, but Kuurikwiljor giggled.
He mentally reviewed what he’d just said. “Oh, hell,” he muttered in English. Then he switched back to Ketjwa, more careful Ketjwa this time: “I mean the house of your waukej, not your toora.” He’d tripped himself up by echoing Kuurikwiljor; waukej was the word men used for brother, while toora was reserved for women.
“That’s better,” Kuurikwiljor said. “You don’t speak badly. From what I’ve heard, most foreigners would never have noticed their mistake, Ib Scogljund.”
In his turn, he tried to get her to say the “l” in his name without pronouncing it as if it were “ly.” He had no luck; the simple “l” sound did not exist in Ketjwa. After teasing her a little, he gave up. “Never mind. It sounds charming as you say it.”
“But I should be right,” Kuurikwiljor said seriously. “Ib Scog-Scog-Scogljund. Oh, a pestilence!” They both laughed.
The fumbling with languages and names helped break the ice between them. They talked all the way down to Kuurikwiljor’s brother’s house. Park learned she was a childless widow. That sort of thing was only too common in this world, which knew less of medicine — and a lot less about immunization — than his own. Kuurikwiljor sounded suitably impressed about Park’s reasons for coming to Tawantiinsuuju.
“We need to find some way to live at peace with the Emir,” she said. “Either that, or wipe his country from the face of the earth. Sometimes I think Muslims are viler than the dog-eating Wankas. The way those terrible men took advantage of the accident to work even more harm on us-” She shook her head. “My mantle is all splashed with blood.”
Truly, Park thought, this world was more naпve than the one from which he’d come. As gently as he could, he said, “Kuurikwiljor, I don’t think that was an accident. I think they made that truck blow up. I think they were waiting for it to blow up, so they would have a confused and frightened crowd to shoot at.”
She stared at him. “What a dreadful thing to say!” But after walking a few steps in silence, she went on, “That does make sense, doesn’t it? They would hardly be waiting with guns just in case there was an explosion.”
“Hardly,” Park agreed. He let it go at that; telling her the Tawantiinsuujans were little kinder to Muslims would have accomplished nothing.
Her brother’s house was a large, impressive stone building next to one of the streams that defined the boundaries of Puumatjupan. Servants came rushing out when they saw Kuurikwiljor. They exclaimed over her bedraggled state and, once they found Park had helped her come home safe, praised him to the skies and pressed llama meat, cornmeal mush, and aka on him.
Before long, he found himself meeting Kuurikwiljor’s brother, a stocky, solemn man of about his own age named Pauljuu. “Most kind of you, foreign sir, and most generous,” Pauljuu said. “I know you sought none, but let me reward you for the service you have done my family.” He drew a heavy gold signet ring from his right thumb, tried to hand it to Park.
“Thank you, but I must say no,” Park told him. As Pauljuu’s face clouded over, Park went on quickly: “I am a judge. How will people say I judge fairly if I take presents from one side?”
“Ah.” Pauljuu nodded. “I have heard it said that all foreigners will do anything for gold. I am glad to see it is not so.”
“Any saying that claims all of some group will do a particular thing is not to be trusted,” Park observed.
“Spoken like a judge. If not gold, then, how may I express my thanks?” Pauljuu asked. “You should know my father Ruuminjavii is kuuraka — governor — of the province of Sausa, to the north. I need not stint.”
Park bowed. “As I say, I am a judge. I will not, I must not, take your gifts.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Still, if you would not mind me coming to see your sister-” he carefully used the right word, not wanting to embarrass himself “-again, that would be very kind.”
Pauljuu glanced toward Kuurikwiljor, who had been sitting quietly while the two men talked. (In some ways, Park thought, Tawantiinsuuju was positively Victorian. Too bad no one here had any idea what Victorian meant.) Kuurikwiljor nodded. “As it pleases her and pleases you, I have no objection,” Pauljuu said.
Park bowed again to him, then to Kuurikwiljor. “Thank you both,” he said. “Have you a wirecaller here?” In this world, the telephone had been invented in Northumbria; its Ketjwa name was a literal translation of what English speakers called it here.
“Of course. Ask for the house of Ruuminjavii’s son. The man who connects calls will make sure it goes through,” Pauljuu said.
“Good. I will call soon. May I also use the wirecaller now, to let my own people know I am all right? They will be wondering after me.”
“Of course,” Pauljuu said again. “Come this way.”
He stood up to take Park to wherever he kept the phone. Park rose too. As he followed Pauljuu out, Kuurikwiljor called after him, “Thank you for looking after me so.” Fortunately, Pauljuu’s house had high doors and tall ceilings. Otherwise, Park thought, he was so swelled up with pride that he might have bumped his head on them.
He let Pauljuu place the call for him. Before long, he heard Eric Dunedin’s reedy voice on the other end of the line. “Hallow-uh, Judge Scoglund!” Monkey-face exclaimed. “Are you hale? Where have you been? With the burg all bestirred by the goodwain blast, I was afeared after you!”
“I’m fine, Eric, and among friends.” Park repeated himself in Ketjwa for Pauljuu’s benefit, then returned to English: “I’ll be home soon. See you then. Take care of yourself. ’Bye.” He put the mouthpiece back into the big square box on the wall, said his goodbyes to Pauljuu, and started back to the small house he and Dunedin were sharing.
He whistled as he walked north through the streets of Kuuskoo. He hadn’t met a woman like Kuurikwiljor since — since he came to this world, he thought, and that was a goodly while now. She was pretty, had some brains, and seemed to think well of him. He liked the combination, liked it a lot.
Of course, he reminded himself as he walked a little farther, one reason she interested him so much was that he hadn’t had much to do with women since he’d come here. Celtic Christian bishops were depressingly celibate, and he’d stayed discreet even after he left the church. Judges didn’t have to avoid women, but they did need to keep away from scandal.
Yes, Park thought, if Kuurikwiljor were just one of the girls I was seeing, I might think she was pretty ordinary. But at the moment, she was the only girl he was seeing. That automatically made her special. Park grinned a wolfly grin. He’d enjoy whatever happened, and keep his wits about him while he did so.
Keeping his wits about him meant taking a wide detour around the plaza of Kuusipata. He hadn’t had a good look at the gunmen there. For all he knew, they could have been converted Skrellings. Even so, the locals, especially those near the square, were liable to be jumpy about anyone who looked foreign. Better safe, he thought.