“Verna.” Faan drooped wearily; her voice was hoarse. “Will you come now? I’ll take you to the Bee-house.”
Two girls about the same, age as the first came from the shadows and joined them, whispering vigorously, breaking off as they saw Desantro watching them.
With the beast trotting before them, Faan and Penhari walked down the Gatt Road. Desantro followed a step behind, the other two girls beside her, nudging each other and whispering again. One reminded her of the Wharaka she’d seen when she was a child slipping out to play in the moonlit forest, shy dark sprites flitting from tree to tree or dancing in Whara circles in the night mists. The other was an imp with a spray of sunspots across her upturned nose.
The imp whispered furiously with her friend, then edged closer to Desantro. “Is that really the Falmaree?”
“Diyo.” Desantro smiled. “Straight from the Falmatarr.
‘‘Choo-ee.”
Desantro looked around as she walked, beginning to enjoy herself. The smells of damp earth and wet wood weren’t the same, of course, but they did remind her of Whenapoyr. Her mind’s eye saw soaring rough-barked trees as huge and old as the mountains themselves, the whitewater stream that danced down the slope beside the sheep cote, the mountain peaks visible from the porch: Kappawhay the Cloud Breaker, Rawhero the Sun Spear, Whentiaka the Land Guard.
The imp tugged at her arm again. “She going to stay with us?”
“I don’t know.” Desantro shook herself; she’d forgot for a moment where she was.
It was long after moonset; the night was quiet except for the sounds of their feet and occasional irregular drips as leaves shed their burdens into the pools below. The wynds were empty, the windows dark. She thought about falling behind and getting lost in this maze of twisting ways, but it would brand her a runaway and she didn’t think that was a good idea. Penhari promised to get her passage on a ship. She was filled with good intentions, that Mal. Good intentions. Haiti That and six mojus would buy a slug of mule.
› › ‹ ‹
Faan put her hand on the door and it opened. She led them into a roughly furnished sitting room lit by a single nightcandle. “If you’ll wait here,” she said, “I’ll fetch the Kassian Tai Wanarneh. Dossan, Ma’teesee, come on; you both have to work tomorrow.”
They went out.
The beast stayed behind, leaping onto a window ledge, sitting with its tail wrapped across its tucked-in forepaws.
Penhari settled herself on a couch and contemplated her mud covered sandals. “Falmaree, tsah!’ She yawned. “I look like that beggarwoman I saw in the Fringe.”
“Mmh.” Desantro moved to one of the windows. She couldn’t see much in the starlight, a tree and some bushes, maybe some grass.
“Sorry about the boat, Desa. Should have let you take it.”
Desantro caught her lip between her teeth, sighed. “Well, I suppose I’d ha drowned myself or run it into a mudbar.”
“Be patient a few days, Desa, I’ll…” Penhari stopped talking as, the door opened and a tall thin Mal walked in, followed by Faan and a young acolyte with an eye-patch.
Desantro slipped away from the window, ‘went to squat in a corner behind the couch where the Falmaree was sitting.
The Kassian Tai Wanameh tilted her head in a sketch of a reverence as if to say I recognize your status, but that’s all I’m going to do. She was a thin stick of a woman with deep laugh wrinkles about her eyes and a wide mouth that kept trying to smile. She was fifteen, maybe twenty years older than Penhari, though these MaIs were hard to judge; they didn’t age like the people she knew.
Penhari passed her hand over her rumpled gray hair. “Wanameh,” she said, “Family Wannamm?”
“Diyo. Pili’s Mal Prime is my brother. Was. When I acknowledged the Family.”
Penhari gave a shout of laughter, cleared her throat. “Acknowledged the Family. I like that. I’ll use it, if you permit.’
“Words are still free. Like the air we breathe, though these seem to be the only free things left in the Land.”
“All too true, Kassian Tat You’ve had rain here.”
“Abeyhamal claims this patch as her domain; she defies Chumavayal by breaking his drought.”
“I see.”
The Kassian made a brushing move. “What brings you here, Falmaree Penhari Banadah?”
Penhari was silent for several breaths, then spread her hands in a weary gesture. “I’m too exhausted for pride, Kassian. My brother acquired a taste for beating me. I thought I’d leave before it became lethal.”
“I see. You know about the General?”
“Oh diyo. His head’s gone soft and my son’s his match, but don’t underestimate them. They don’t need intelligence, they’ve got power.” She sighed again. “Power in the hands of fools. Think about that and shudder, Kassian Tai Wanameh.”
“What do you expect Crum us, Falmaree?”
“What you’d do, for the lowest. Sanctuary.”
The lowest don’t have your liabilities, Falmaree.”
“True, but this is also true: sooner or later you’ll have to face what I bring on you. Why not when you know it’s coming?”
The Kassian Tai thought that over, her thin brows sliding together, her mouth knotted. She nodded fi-
nay, relaxed her face. “Faan told me Abeyhamal greeted you.”
“So it seems.”
“Seems? Honeychild is the god’s Mouth, no seems about it.” The Kassian glanced around, motioned to her apprentice to bring up an armchair.
Faan settled on a hassock behind the Kassian’s chair; the beast jumped from the window and came to lie across her feet.
A corner of the Kassian’s mouth lifted in a quick half-smile. “I must say I’m glad to see you, Falmaree.” She tented her long bony hands. “I’ve neither training nor inclination for rule, but these idiots over here keep bothering me with their disputes. Sanctuary, eh? Well, fine. It’s yours. But you’ll need to work for your bread. And bread comes high these days. Just about everything we eat has to be brought in. Another thing.” Tai waved a hand at Desantro. “No slaves. Order of Abeyhamal. Your companion there, if she stays, she’s free.”
“Desantro stopped being a slave the moment we left the Falmatarr; the laws of the Land say otherwise, but that’s how I see it. Which reminds me. She needs passage out of here. Safe passage, as soon as possible.”
“That might prove difficult. We don’t get many ships here these days and those we do…” The Kassian shook her head. “Safe isn’t a word I’d use.”
Faan touched the Kassian’s shoulder. “I saw a ship at the Camuctarr gate when we went across the Bridge.”
The Kassian clicked her tongue. “Him? I wouldn’t trust him with a pet rat, let alone a friend. That’s Zmios the Phrasi and his Gidyebar. Connections with the slave trade. If… um… Desantro is willing to wait, Vroliko Ryo is due in with a load of corn. He’s safe enough.”
Penhari twisted around. “Desa?”
“I’ve had enough of slavers, heshal. wait.”
The Kassian shifted in the chair. “Vema. Falmaree, there’s a House near the Sok Grove. The people here wanted me to take it for a Beehouse, but my calling is to serve the poor and outcast, not the smugly respectable. We’ll get you settled there tomorrow, then you can start organizing the chaos in the Low City.” She moved her shoulders, grimaced. “There are too many people here and no rule but mob rule. I’ll back you with whatever influence I have. Be glad to get this place off my shoulders. Abeyhamal has already welcomed you through Faan, so there’s that, too.”
Penhari sat up. “Why me?” she said.
Diyo, there’s bait, Desantro told herself. Run the place. She looked past the Falmaree at the god’s girl. Faan was trying to keep her face blank, but she was too young and probably too pampered to be good at it. She was bored with all this, annoyed with something, maybe these Mals sitting here and playing with people’s lives.
“You’re the Falmaree.”
“Hah! You know how much that means.”
“Penhari, it gives the faction leaders cover for compromise. They can go to their people and say we did it because the Falmaree said to.”