Faan giggled, ducked too quickly for them to catch her again, then the three of them went running down Verakay Lane.
› › ‹ ‹
“This is where I live,” Faan said and pointed to the Beehouse. “I’ve got to go in.”
Dossan’s eyes went round. “You’re her The snake girl.”
Ma’teesee darted forward, touched Faan’s face, then went running off; Dossan followed more slowly, looking back several times before she vanished around a bend.
Faan gazed down the lane for several minutes longer, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth, then she turned, walked slowly up the steps and rang the bell so Panote would let her in.
Ma’teesee and Dossan were waiting for her when she came out the next morning.
Ma’teesee rushed up the steps and caught hold of
Faan’s wrist. “Say you don’ mind, Faan. Say you’ll be friends. Fada, fada, say it, huh?”
Faan stared at her. “Why?”
“’Cause.”
Dossan giggled. “She told her mum what she did and her mum played pitta pat on her sitter.”
“Huh!” Ma’teesee said indignantly. “I was sorry anyway. Acting like Izmit and her lot.” She spat, grinned as a small black beetle scurried from under the sudden damp.
Faan wrinkled her nose. “Me, I got a scold.” She caught one of Maleesee’s curls and yanked. “That’s for yesterday.”
“Ow.”
They walked down the steps together, joined Dossan, and strolled toward the school.
“How come you got it?” Dossan said. “You din’ do nothing.”
“Reyna said I should pay no mind to idiots like Izmit.”
Ma’teesee nodded. “Diyo,” she said. “Potzhead snerk.”
Dossan touched Faan’s arm and smiled.
“He said I’m gonna meet more’n I like of people like that and I sh’d figure out how to take ’em now.” Faan sighed. “I said I wanted to go Wascram. Can’t. He won’t let me.”
“Sa sa, parents.” Maleesee skipped ahead of them, turned and danced backward. “Can you really call snakes?”
“I don’t think so.”
Dossan primmed her mouth. “You don’t have to tell D.,esee anything, Faan. M’ mum says she so nosy, it’ll get bit off one of these days.”
“I don’t mind. Anyway, it’s all stupid stuff, something I don’t even remember, it happened when I was just a baby.”
Ma’teesee looked disappointed, then she grinned.
“Izmit don’t know it. Got ‘n idea, Fa. I’d do ‘t m’self but they won’t let me in there. There’s this l’il snake lives in our basement, eats mice I. think, I’ll catch it, you put it in her desk. That’d straighten her hair for her.”
“Deeeyoooo0h…” Dossan breathed.
Faan swallowed. The idea terrified her, but she couldn’t back down. “You bring it, I’ll put it,” she said.
› › ‹ ‹
Izmit shrieked and went running from the room.
Faan contrived to look blandly innocent; she knew no one had seen her lift the lid on the desk and dump the snake inside.
That didn’t matter. The Head’s Monitor took her out of the class and Manasso Kunin gave her a dozen strokes of the switch.
School Head Manasso Kunin drummed his fingers on the sheets of paper sewn together into a lesson booklet, the writing on them defaced by thick strokes of black ink, crudely written obscenities. “I’m waiting,” he said. He had a scratchy voice, absurdly incongruent with his massive body.
Sweetly humble and the image of remorse, Izmit the Silversmith’s Daughter bowed low. “I am sorry, heshim Kufuat. I offer no excuse.”
Smarmy little… Faan ground her teeth, then struggled to control her face as the Head glared at her.
He turned back to Inuit, his scowl smoothing out as he gave her fifty lines to write. I will remember my duty is to charity for all and obedience to my elders.
Izmit bowed again, all sugary compliance; as she went out, she shot a swift side glance at Faan, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction and triumph.
“You,” the Head snapped at Faan, “what’s-yourname, get that insolent pout off your face.” He knew her name well enough; she’d been here almost every day this month for one reason or another. “This turbulence… this hairpulling and vulgar scratching… it has to stop.”
“Then stop them,” she burst out. Tbars stung her eyes. She knew it was futile to protest, but she couldn’t help it. “You saw what she did. Her friends, they pinch me and mess my stuff, they call me names. And nobody does anything.”
“Be still, fidhil!” He scowled at her, his dark face slick with perspiration. “They have provocation; they were born Fundarim.” He rolled up the pages and dropped them in the wastebasket beside the desk, talking as his hands moved. “You were thrust on them by that…” He scowled at her, his wide mouth twitching into an ugly knot as he reached for the limber switch she’d learned to know too well. He got up and came round the desk. “Hold out your hand.”
Faan squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away; trembling and miserable, she did as he commanded.
“You don’t belong there, Wascra.” His voice was harsh, filled with loathing. He slapped the switch across her palm. “You should stay with your own kind.” Slap. “You will not shout at your elders and your betters.” Slap. “You will show respect.” Slap. “Respect.” Slap. “Izmit only wrote the truth.” Slap. “That unnatural whore who adopted you.” Slap. “His own family threw him out.” Slap. “Do you know what he does?” Slap. He went on, explaining in lip-licking detail precisely how Reyna serviced his clients. Slap. Slap. Slap.
The pain was small in the beginning, but it grew and grew until she was sick to her stomach.
Pain changed to heat.
Translucent fire danced along her arms.
“No,” she cried, “no no NO! You’re a liar.” The pale flamelets yearned toward him. “Liar. Liar! LIAR!”
He shrank back, his mouth dropping open.
She gasped and went running from the room.
The fire faded as she fled through the halls and out into the yard, but she didn’t notice.
She plunged into Verakay Lane and ran along it, head down, breath sobbing between her teeth, half-blinded by tears of pain and anger. And terror.
Desperately, she willed friends and strangers alike not to notice her, not to stop her or question her-and they didn’t; they moved out of her way in an absentminded shuffle and went on with what they were doing.
The River drew her, that slow deep flow of thick brown water. She wriggled unnoticed through the trotting porters, ducked under the noses of plodding saisai and ran down a levee workpath into the quiet and shadow beneath the Mas-Koa gatt, a small wharf busy with up-country shipping, near the west end of the Gatt Road.
A Spring flood some decades back had hollowed out the levee below Mas-Koa and the Shindagatt had replaced the earth with an eclectic mix of mussel shells, broken bricks, clay jars and discarded paving stones, covered this mass with dirt, then scattered grass seed thickly over it. Near the end of the next rainy season an old rowboat lodged against the patch and stayed there when the water went down.
Faan dropped onto hands and knees, scooted up the matted grass, flung herself on a broken paving stone and sobbed until her throat burned and her head ached. A small warm body pressed against hers, wriggled up under her arms until a cold nose was pressed against her face. “Ohhh, my Liki,” she crooned hoarsely, “ohh, my Aili, people are so aw-ful.”
Feet thudded back and forth above her as the porters worked to empty the barge tied up at the gatt; hand-trucks rumbled by over her head; these noises mixed with the shouts and laughter of the sailors and the porters; it was a kind of sound quilt, vaguely comforting.
A voice like a mosquito hum cut through the quilt. “So, what’s all this?”
Startled she shifted around on the stone, sat up, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The mahsar flowed around her, curling up in her lap.