“There was some of that, yes,” said Dafiro. “And then they started pointing out each other’s grammar mistakes, and then the mistakes in the corrections, and then the mistakes in the corrections to the corrections. One started to sarcastically remark on the accents with which Ano epigrams were recited; another pointed to the anachronistic style of the declaimed speeches. I let them go on in this vein for a bit until they’d gotten red in the face and properly thirsty with all that oration, and I showed them how to get to the best pubs in Pan. They’ll be there arguing and debating for the rest of the day. The cashima took their gongs with them, and the rest of the crowd either followed to enjoy more free theater or dispersed.”
“This is why Ra Oji once said, Dogido çalusma co jhuakin ma dümon wi cruluféü lothéta, noaü lothu ro ma gankén do crucruthidalo,” added Kuni. “If ten scholars were to start a rebellion, it would take them three years of argument just to agree on a name for their faction.”
Phyro laughed so hard that he started to cough. “It sounds like—ahem—you’d fit right in with them, Toto-tika.”
Timu stood awkwardly, his face flushed a furious shade of red, unable to come up with a retort.
Théra noticed the embarrassed expressions on the faces of the other pana méji at this bout of jeering at their fellow examinees. She stopped grinning and turned to Dafiro. “Thank you for your quick thinking, Captain Miro. I’m sure Father is grateful that you diverted the momentary rage of the learned scholars, the backbone of the Imperial bureaucracy, without any harm. They’re the true treasure of Dara.”
The princess bowed to Dafiro in jiri, and Dafiro bowed back deeply, his face now also serious. Timu and the pana méji relaxed.
Kuni looked on, pleased. “I will speak with the students once they pick a representative. The stakes of the exams are high, and it’s understandable they would react this way to disappointment, but I am satisfied that the integrity of the exams is unassailable, and I will persuade them to see reason.”
Zomi Kidosu, silent through the entire exchange between Miro and the children, now cut in. “You may have pacified the disappointed cashima today with a distraction, but the fundamental problem, the unfairness of the exams, remains.”
Everyone in the Grand Audience Hall was reminded that they were still in the middle of a Palace Examination. Dafiro retreated to the side of the hall, the children quieted and sat down, and Kuni sat up straight and once again gave Zomi his full attention.
“You spoke of the way prized essays tended to reflect the tastes of the academies of Ginpen in Haan,” said Kuni. “It is a fair criticism, perhaps. But it will take time for other regions of Dara to become as devoted to learning as Haan.”
Zomi shook her head. “Rénga, that is not all. Even if all the other provinces of Dara had academies as respected as those in Ginpen, the examinations are still not selecting for talent. Look at the cashima who were so easily manipulated by the captain’s tricks: They are narrow-minded fools who have memorized ten thousand Ano logograms and think they know all there is to know. Such poverty of spirit cannot lead to true beauty or grace or suppleness of thought.”
Kuni was momentarily stunned by her vehemence, but Risana broke in. “Zomi Kidosu, do you have a different view of what is worthy of being called beautiful and graceful and supple in thought?”
Zomi nodded. “Master Ruthi speaks of the power of examples drawn from life to persuade, but the lives of his students are different from the lives of most of the emperor’s subjects, as distinct as the life of the pampered rose in a hothouse is from the lives of the dandelion in the fields.
“This man paints a picture of a world in which his family again holds absolute sway over a kingdom. That man over there wishes for an ideal world in which all laws and taxes have been redesigned to allow his family to accumulate wealth. They dress up these visions with citations to dead philosophers, but all I see is ugliness and hypocrisy. Look at these men”—Zomi pointed at the other pana méji—“Not a single one of them has ever had to work for his next meal or had to beg a corvée administrator for a reprieve.”
Kuni Garu’s face, hidden behind the dangling cowrie veil, flinched.
“I doubt any of them can tell an ear of sorghum apart from an ear of wheat, or knows the weight of the fish in the boat after a day of trawling in Gaing Gulf. They have never sweated after an honest day’s labor or bled from blisters made by swinging the sickle or hauling in the net.
“Has anyone in the College of Advocates ever told you that your policy of increasing the taxes on the merchants would end up harming the small farmers you aimed to help?”
Kuni shook his head.
“When the taxes go up on the merchants, who, as the empress has noted, also tend to be large landowners, they pass on the tax to their tenants and increase their burden.”
“That is not supposed to—”
“I know that isn’t supposed to happen. But it does—it happened to my mother. You may have your edicts and policies, but in the villages, the wealthy do what they will and the poor must obey. The voices of the poor are not heard in these halls, and so you do not understand their plight.”
“I was not always the Emperor of Dara,” said Kuni Garu quietly. “I was once a boy who stood by the side of the road to watch Mapidéré’s procession and wandered the markets of Zudi, tempted but not able to afford anything. There were days when I did not know where my next meal would come from.”
“All the more reason that you should weigh the fish instead of trusting self-serving reports, imaginary models, or hopeful visions!”
Kuni was about to defend himself, but Zomi would not be interrupted.
“And look at them.” She swept her arm at the pana méji. “They are all men! You may have opened the civil service to women, but only a few dozen of the cashima who came to Pan for the Grand Examination are women, and out of those barely a handful made it into the ranks of the firoa.
“What do those in your College of Advocates know of the beauty prized by women that isn’t for the delectation of men? Or the plight of women who must raise children without any of the advantages given to men? Or the reasons some sell themselves to the indigo houses? Or the causes that make the choice of a marriage akin to bondage seem reasonable to so many?”
Risana could not help but nod vigorously as Zomi spoke. She remembered the life she had led with her mother, before she met Kuni Garu. She berated herself inside for having been so absorbed by the worries of life in the palace that she had not done more for all those others who lived just like she had. This young woman was an inspiration.
“Can your firoa react with anything but condescension toward a fisherman’s song composed from rough and simple words of his dialect?” Zomi went on. “Can they see the creativity and love imbued in a leaping carp a farmer’s daughter folds out of wrapping paper saved from parcels of roasted nuts? What appreciation can they—and you—have for examples drawn from the people’s lives? You’ve forgotten—”
“We cannot give up on heading out to the sea just because we know we cannot catch all the fish!” The emperor stopped himself, and, after a moment, continued in a calmer tone. “Before Mapidéré’s time, some states administered everything through hereditary nobles while others restricted civil service testing to families who owned land. Mapidéré was the one who opened up the examinations to all men, though in practice his judges could be bribed. I have expanded the examinations to all candidates without regard to sex or status and enforced fairness with standardized questions and grading criteria across the realm. Imperfect as my examinations are, are they still not better than anything that came before?”