Thanks to the professor’s six feet of height, the rucksack didn’t seem oversized or unwieldy on her, but it was bulky and heavy, with jars or something similar pushing bumps into the canvas. In addition, the longbow and quiver were attached to it.
“I can handle it, thank you.” Tikaya waved. “You have your own load.”
“Just food and water and first aid supplies. You’re right in that nobody here can fix a sprained ankle with his mind.” Amaranthe thought of mentioning Akstyr, but he was still sleeping at the factory and hadn’t come along. Amaranthe ought to be sleeping, too, but she’d woken from a nightmare during her attempt at an afternoon nap and had had no wish to return to her bed.
Basilard moved up to walk on Tikaya’s other side, so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck around to observe him. He signed, Hunting code. Yes. With additions. He raised his eyebrows. You understand?
“The original language, yes,” Tikaya said. “Additions, interesting. Because you can’t speak?”
Basilard touched the scar tissue at his throat and nodded.
“Ah, I’d be most curious to learn what you’ve done with the simple code. Has it been documented anywhere?”
Basilard shook his head. It’s all made up. Nothing real.
“That’s how all language starts,” Tikaya said. “Words are born out of necessity to communicate.”
But only a few of us speak it.
Tikaya couldn’t know anything except the original terms, but she seemed to read between the lines-or the signs, as it were-and picked up the gist of Basilard’s sentences now that she knew what she was looking for. “In the Pasas Unius Chain, there are only seven people left alive who speak the aboriginal tongue of D’skhmk Mk.”
Amaranthe blinked at the name or word or whatever it had been. Had there been any vowels? She didn’t think so.
“Even at the height of its power and population, four hundred years ago, the remote island tribe never had more than one hundred and fifty speakers. That does not make it any less of a language.”
Basilard didn’t look convinced, but was too polite to naysay her.
“You should make a lexicon,” Tikaya went on. “Draw the gestures and write down what they mean. Surely, you are not the only mute Mangdorian in the world. You could pave the way for others of your people with a speech impediment.”
At this, Basilard’s mouth dropped open. I… don’t know how to draw.
Amaranthe hadn’t seen Basilard truly daunted very often. “I’m sure Sespian would help you once everything is settled.”
“My daughter is skilled with a pen, too,” Tikaya said, “though it’d be difficult to convince her to draw something without fur, scales, or antennae. Still, creating a simple lexicon shouldn’t take long. And once you retire from-” Tikaya shrugged and waved at Basilard’s pistol, short sword, and knives, “-your current job, you could return to your country with the book and find others to teach.”
Basilard scratched his jaw. I have… another quest, but perhaps someday. It is an interesting idea. Thank you.
Tikaya nodded.
“Is your daughter the girl we met on the train?” Amaranthe could imagine the young woman in pigtails drawing fanciful images of winged flying lizards complete with human riders.
“Koanani is my daughter, yes, and you met Agarik, too, but I’m speaking of my eldest, Mahliki. She’s the reason we’ve detoured in this direction. Oh, are these the private docks?” Tikaya peered around, as if she’d just noticed that they’d turned onto Waterfront Street. “Or… no, those are for fishing and canneries, aren’t they?”
Amaranthe didn’t point out that they’d been walking north along the street for four blocks. “We have a ways to go. We’ll pass the yacht club-” she glowered to the north, where the familiar docks and buildings hunkered beneath the darkening gray sky, “-and reach the private berths shortly.”
“Why would your daughter be down by the docks?” Maldynado asked, thankfully not making a comment about the sorts of women one usually found loitering in such locales, at least in the warmer months.
“This is where she would have arrived.” Tikaya produced a scrap of paper. “Rias’s family owns a small berth here in the capital.”
Amaranthe stopped. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Soldiers are stopping all of the steamboats and ships coming up the river. They’re searching the public transports and turning away private ones.” She couldn’t fathom why the Starcrests would have sent their daughter on a steamboat or some other ship when the rest of the family had come in on the train. Or had she sailed in on some private yacht? That sounded like a perilous voyage this time of year. Surely, the winter storms were tearing across the Western Sea.
“That shouldn’t have been a problem.” Tikaya smiled.
That smile conveyed much. “She’s coming on a submarine?” Amaranthe asked.
“Indeed so. Rias wanted to stop on the coast to talk to an old comrade of his-he’s the one who sent the train and the troops with us-but we decided it might be wise to have the submarine here in the capital, should we need to escape or, knowing him, launch some subaquatic attack at the enemy.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Seventeen,” Tikaya said.
“And you sent her all this way by herself?” Amaranthe shuddered, remembering all the things that had gone wrong during her own underwater excursions. She wouldn’t want to face a kraken, octopus, or even a particularly nettlesome snarl of seaweed down there on her own.
“She’s quite able to pilot and maintain the craft,” Tikaya said, “but her cousin Lonaeo came along to share the duties. Or-” her voice lowered, and Amaranthe almost missed the rest, “-distract her in such a way that they never arrive.”
“Pardon?” Amaranthe’s first thoughts were of a sexual nature, but surely the Kyatt Islands weren’t that liberal, that cousins should openly, ah… Lonaeo, was that even a man’s name?
“He’s an entomologist and she’s a biologist,” Tikaya said. “They’ve been wandering off in the forest together to poke under rocks and in logs since they were children. Lonaeo is eight years older. He was supposed to be the babysitter, the mature one who kept her out of trouble, but she had this tendency to get him in trouble. Five years old and she somehow convinced him that they needed to capture a wasps’ nest for study, and she had this marvelous plan for removing it without anyone being stung. She didn’t get stung. Lonaeo still has scars. And that section of forest up in the mountains hasn’t completely regrown. It’s a wonder-well, I knew what I was getting into when I married a Turgonian. A terribly bright Turgonian at that.”
From behind them, Maldynado made a sound somewhere between a snort and a chortle. “Sounds like your long-lost sister, boss. You two should get along famously.”
“Er, maybe. Though I’ve never burned down a forest.”
“Surely only because of the dearth of them in the city,” Maldynado said. “You’ve blown up countless things though. Professor Komitopis, I know you’re a learned lady, but I suggest you not visit the Gazette for a tour of the capital’s oldest continuously publishing newspaper institution at this time.”
“I… shall keep your suggestion in mind.” Tikaya considered Amaranthe anew-wondering if she would be a bad influence on her daughter?
“Thank you, Lord Tour Guide Maldynado,” Amaranthe hissed, trying a version of Sicarius’s icy stop-talking-or-I’ll-hurt-you glare.
“No problem, boss.” Maldynado’s cheery wink didn’t show signs of concern.
She caught a smirk on Basilard’s face too. Grumbling under her breath, she resumed walking, picking up the pace as they strode past the yacht club. It was chilly and getting darker every moment. No need to dawdle.