“You’re here,” said Kuni. It was hard to tell by his tone if it was a simple observation, an encouragement, or a lament. After a moment, he let the cowrie veil fall back in place. “All of you, sit at the base of the dais and observe.”
Jia frowned. Of course the silly performance by the children did not for a minute fool her into thinking they hadn’t been deliberately eavesdropping—Timu was always terrible at lying, a personality trait that had both benefits as well as drawbacks. But at least Théra’s explanation offered everyone a way to avoid losing face. She resolved to speak later to Soto and Dafiro Miro, Captain of the Palace Guards, about better security procedures within the palace.
Kuni turned back and was just about to pick up the conversation with Zomi when a loud clang came from somewhere far away. It sounded like hundreds of gongs were being struck. The Grand Audience Hall quieted, and now the assembled lords could hear the faint sounds of a crowd shouting in the distance.
“What’s happening?” asked Risana. Color drained from her face.
Kuni glanced at Dafiro Miro, who was standing to the side. The Captain of the Palace Guards nodded and beckoned to one of the guards, who left the Grand Audience Hall in a jog.
“Let’s continue with the examination,” said Kuni, whose voice revealed no anxiety. He turned back to the almost-forgotten pana méji standing before him. “Zomi Kidosu, you have the floor.”
Everyone’s attention was drawn back. Given the poor state of Zomi’s dress, no one expected a spectacular presentation. A few of the generals stifled yawns as they prepared themselves for a long speech.
“I have already begun my presentation,” said Zomi.
“You have?”
“The best of the best in Dara are rioting in the streets. That is my presentation.”
The Lords of Dara perked up their ears. Now this was getting interesting.
“The cashima who failed to place in the ranks of the firoa are assembling in Cruben Square in front of the palace to protest,” Zomi said. “Judging by the noise, they have drawn many onlookers, some of whom may take advantage of the situation to engage in a bit of looting under the theory that the law cannot punish a mob.”
“You started this riot?” asked Kuni, his tone severe.
“I may have been the spark that began the fire,” said Zomi. “But trust me, I was not responsible for the dangerous accumulation of fuel.”
Kuni glanced again at Dafiro Miro, who started to head for the exit to the Grand Audience Hall.
“Captain,” said the empress, “you may need to summon the city garrison. A riot in the streets must be swiftly put down.”
“No!” Kuni said.
Dafiro Miro halted and turned back to look at Kuni and Jia.
“They are just students,” said Kuni. “Whatever happens, do not harm them.”
Jia narrowed her eyes, but she said nothing.
Dafiro nodded, turned around, and left.
Kuni turned back to Zomi Kidosu. “Since you call yourself a spark, what, exactly, is their grievance?”
“They think the Grand Examination has not been fairly administered.”
“What?” Zato Ruthi sputtered.
“I’m simply repeating the whispered complaints among the examinees,” said Zomi. She looked at the other pana méji in the hall. “My colleagues can confirm.”
Ruthi looked to the seated examinees; they nodded reluctantly.
Still kneeling, Ruthi shuffled around to face the emperor and bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the ground. “Rénga, I and the other judges are willing to have all our records re-examined. I assure you there has been no favoritism.”
“Sit up,” said Kuni. “I’m not going to doubt your work because of a few hotheaded students who can’t bear the thought that they’re not as intelligent as they think.”
“But this is a serious charge, Rénga! I cannot have my good name sullied in this manner. I demand that you order a full audit of the process we used and a rejudging of the Grand Examination essays. You will find that we followed the most exacting procedures to ensure fairness—”
“There’s no need for that,” said Kuni.
But a red-faced Zato Ruthi went on, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth as his sentences piled into each other. “Prime Minister Cogo Yelu and I came up with the most scrupulous, careful process. We ordered the clerks who collected the essays to examine each one to be sure that the students followed the rules and left no identifying marks—any violators were immediately disqualified. Only the anonymous essays were brought to the judging panel.
“Each essay was assigned a random number in the judging queue so that the order in which the essays were read would bear no relationship to the stall assignments of the examinees, further preventing judges who were present at the examination hall from being able to guess the author. The seven judges on the panel and I read all the essays and independently assigned each one a score between one and ten. The final score was determined by tossing out the highest and the lowest scores for each essay and summing up the rest. I am utterly confident that there is no basis to sustain a charge of bias.”
“I know that,” said an impatient Kuni. “Master Ruthi, you’re fair to a fault. Even back when you faced Queen Gin on the battlefield, you would not attack her until she had rested her troops and arranged them into formation. Of course I give no credence to the charges of these sore losers.”
“That is fairness only in the method, not substance,” said Zomi.
Everyone stared at the young woman, stunned, but she gazed fearlessly at the emperor.
“You—you—” Ruthi was shaking so much that he had trouble getting the words out. “Wh-what are you saying? This has nothing to do with your essay!”
“My essay was merely a pastiche of your old ideas—the best way to please a judge is to regurgitate his own ideas back at him in new clothing—of course I won’t present that to the emperor.”
Ruthi’s eyes bulged, as did the eyes of practically everyone else in the hall. This young woman was either beyond bold or insane.
But she went on as though she hadn’t said anything surprising. “Master Ruthi, can you tell us how many of the cashima examinees who entered the Grand Examination were from Haan?”
Ruthi shouted at the palace guards, who scrambled to follow his orders. A few minutes later, a young palace guard brought Ruthi a thick ledger. The elderly scholar flipped through the pages until he found the list of examinees by region of origin and counted. “Seventy-three.”
“And how many were from Wolf’s Paw?”
“A hundred and sixty-one.”
“From Rui?”
“Ninety-six.”
Zomi nodded. “That’s about what you’d expect based on their respective populations. But out of the hundred cashima who achieved the rank of firoa, how many are from Haan?”
Ruthi flipped to another page in his ledger. “Fifty-one.”
“From Wolf’s Paw?”
“Ten.”
“From Rui?”
“There were no cashima from Rui who achieved the rank of firoa this year.”
Zomi nodded again. Then she looked at the nine other pana méji seated near her. “Can you tell me where you’re from?”
“Haan.”
“Géjira.”
“Haan.”
“Wolf’s Paw.”
“Haan.”