Master of None (53 page)

Once the shelves had been replaced came the more tedious task of trying to organize the old books back into some semblance of order. Two of the taemorae had been called away to more pressing work, while the remaining two helped him collect what books were still intact, sorting them into various woven wicker boxes, guessing at categories by titles. Any damaged books or loose pages were placed into other boxes for him to try to sift through later.

“I don’t know what to do with these, Nathan Nga’esha,” one of them said, interrupting his fruitless interpretation of a scrap of an obscure Vanar document, wondering if he’d ever find what it had been ripped out of. His eyes ached.

He looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a sea of orphan paper. She held several crudely bound portfolios. “What are they?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not in Vanar.”

He gestured to a pile next to him. “Leave it there, then. I’ll get to them when I have time.”

He finished sorting what he could and gave up on trying to decipher the Vanar text of those he couldn’t, dumping them into a general box to file later, before he picked up the top portfolio with casual interest, opening it to find a carefully organized assortment of obsolete data chips with the oldest reader he’d ever seen in his life. He inserted the first chip and skimmed the first few pages. The hair on his arms prickled as he read, his breath shallow in wonder.

A couple hours later, the taemora had to repeat his name to get his attention. “What?” He blinked up at her, still dazed.

“We’re going now,” she said. “We’ll come back tomorrow morning with new doors and windows.”

“Oh, yes, of course. . . .” He held up the ancient portfolio. “Where did you find these?”

She shrugged. “In a pile of books under a smashed bookshelf, just like everything else.” The young woman hesitated, then asked kindly, “Are you all right? You seem unwell.”

“I’m fine, l’amae.”

She left, unconvinced, as he returned to words written hundreds of years before in an archaic Hengeli script, reading well into the night.

XLIV

“R
EADY
?”

Standing outside Pratha Yronae’s makeshift council hall, he felt as nervous as Namasi Sahmudrah looked. This hadn’t exactly been the career-enhancing case she’d hoped for, he knew, but it certainly would be one to establish her reputation for the historical records. Margasir adjusted his sati pin, stood back, and nodded his approval.

“As I’ll ever be,” Nathan said.

Namasi Sahmudrah smiled wryly. “Last chance. No second thoughts?”

“Plenty.”

She nodded. “Let’s do it, then.”

Over the past week, the young vaktay had become more than his speaker, she was as close to being a friend as he’d ever had with a Vanar woman. She had been the one to take his discoveries to the

Pratha Yronae. He’d been sent for many hours after, kneeling nervously as she examined Namasi’s evidence. But all the pratha h’máy had demanded of him was clarification of a couple of Hengeli phrases. Otherwise, she’d said nothing, to Nathan’s disquiet. She obviously did not like what she had read, but two days after, Namasi burst into his library without even knocking, to the consternation of his Dhikar bodyguards.

“She did it!” Namasi said excitedly. “She’s demanded the Assembly grant us an immediate hearing, and we’ve got it!”

The Assembly might have dragged their feet forever, but hadn’t dared to refuse a request by the Nga’esha pratha h’máy.

They had spent long hours in the privacy of his library breathing in the smell of new wood and fresh paint, books and papers still stacked in untidy piles as they debated this approach, argued heatedly over that, feverishly translating the archaic Hengeli with an electric urgency. Margasir had kept them supplied with food and tea, scuttling uneasily past Nathan’s Dhikar bodyguards. Now, moments away from leaving for the Assembly, Nathan realized he knew almost nothing about Namasi’s personal life, wondered what she did outside their time together, whether or not she had some kharvah at home waiting for her return. His curiosity got the better of him.

“Vaktay Namasi,” he said. She paused inquiringly. “Are you married?”

Even Margasir gave him an odd glance.

“Yes. Why?”

“What does he...or they... think of all this?”

“He doesn’t agree with you.” She smiled. “He fears you threaten his security, that you would like to take away all the benefits without enough in return to justify it.”

“He can save his breath. I’ve had exactly this argument myself with my eccentric práhsaedam,” Margasir groused, “to no avail.”

Nathan didn’t point out that a few days ago the sahakharae would never have dreamed of addressing a High Family Vanar woman with as much familiarity as he did now Namasi Sahmudrah. They both obviously understood the change in their rapport.

“Right,” he said. And took a breath before nodding at the Dhikar. But when the doors were pulled back to allow them in, his sister waited for him while pacing with barely contained impatience, not bothering with the observance of Family customs. A good many of his other female relatives had also assembled, the buzz of conversation dying away as he walked with diligent observance of the formalities, stopping exactly the proper distance from her and bowing with the precise amount of respect. She inspected his appearance critically. Pratha Yronae had involved herself in the discussions of their strategy, even down to his choice of attire. Nathan was Nga’esha, and he would do his best to behave in a manner befitting the Nga’esha.

“You’ll do,” was all she said. And that concluded the audience. He had thought it more appropriate to use the men’s public transportation to get to the Assembly of Families, but the pratha h’máy overruled that idea. The city of Sabtú might have fallen into an unnatural sense of subdued calm after the attack on the Nga’esha, but she still expected some opposition to be waiting for them at the Assembly. Private vehicles were rare, usually belonging to intercity freight handlers or those battered work floats common in the agricultural fields. Nathan hadn’t even known Yronae owned her own hover-float, and he wondered what it was used for. Whatever it was used for, by the musty smell of the interior, it wasn’t used very often.

He and Margasir climbed into the rear compartment, their backs to Namasi and Yronae in the front of the float. Fortunately, this part of the float was also enclosed, protecting him as much as the women from any dust or wind. A single Dhikar drove the small vehicle, and they sped off to leave the rest of the entourage following behind the best they could.

Nathan had expected to draw considerable attention, but the float wasn’t even able to come anywhere near the Assembly. The immense crowd swelling through the streets numbered in the thousands, the entire city seemed at a standstill. Margasir twisted in his seat to stare past the women in astonishment. Nathan fixed his gaze on his clenched hands between his knees, unwilling to even look out the windows at the mass of people staring in at him. The crowd was mostly women, not unexpectedly, and although the mood was hostile, there was little show of aggression, no waving of signs or fists or chanting of angry slogans the way any other world might have displayed. Which made it all the more ominous, Nathan thought.

“Let’s hope we manage to get close enough to the Assembly to make a run for it before they lynch us,” the sahakharae said, the humor strained.

“Thanks, Margasir. I can always count on you to look on the bright side.”

The float inched laboriously forward and stopped, inched forward and stopped. After nearly an hour at an impasse, he heard the hiss of the women’s compartment opening, then Yronae opened his end. “We’ll have to walk from here,” she said dryly.

He stepped down out of the float and turned. His stomach lurched. Vasant Subah stood in the way of the float, her arms crossed belligerently, legs braced, a full armada of Vanar Security Dhikar arranged in her wake.

“I didn’t expect anything like
this
,” he heard Namasi murmur.

“I did,” Yronae said shortly. She motioned at Nathan curtly, and without looking to see if he followed, began striding toward the security chief with imperial arrogance. Vasant Subah stepped forward to block her, the Dhikar behind her impassive but alert. Forced to a halt, Yronae glared at her opponent. “Get out of my way,” she said. She spoke softly, but the hush of the crowd made every word seem loud and unmistakable.

The Dhikar chief shrugged eloquently. “It is my right as a citizen to stand in a public place. Would you threaten me with violence if I choose to assert my rights?”

Namasi Sahmudrah stood beside the Nga’esha pratha h’máy, and all Nathan could see was her back, but it was enough to tell him the young woman was frightened, her spine rigid as she tried to mask her trembling.

“I have come to hear my brother speak at the Assembly of Families, as is
his
right. I do not threaten anyone with violence, and your insulting suggestion that I or any member of my Family would stoop to such measures is deeply resented. But should you deny me access to the courts, Qsayati, I don’t care whose protection you think you have, it will not be enough to prevent my taking vengeance on you. Personally.”

The Qsayati blinked, her only sign of uncertainty. “With all respect, jah’nari pratha, surely you must have more pressing business to attend to? I would humbly recommend that you take your so-called ‘brother’ home and teach him some manners. He may wear the Nga’esha blue, but he is still only an ignorant, barbaric yepoqioh, and no one here is interested in anything he has to say.”

She snapped her fingers, and the Dhikar behind her fanned out, a slight twitch of their fingers activating their implants, faces impassive. Namasi swayed, as if struggling with herself to keep from retreating, while Yronae remained unyielding. In the tense silence, Nathan’s shoulders sagged in defeat. At least he’d tried, the gesture had been made, he thought. Then someone slipped a hand into his, squeezing it tightly. Daegal dva Pakaran stood beside him, looking as terrified as he felt.

“I am,” she said in a near whisper. It carried like a trumpet.

Both Namasi and Yronae turned around to stare, Vasant Subah’s face clouding with bewildered anger. He was gazing down at Daegal in wonder when someone took his other hand. This time his jaw dropped. The Dhikar he knew only as Two-Knock confronted Vasant Subah with dignified defiance.

“I am,” she said.

Another woman, a total stranger this time, moved to stand with him. “I am.” Another, this time a distant cousin. And another. And another. “I am,” he heard a male voice say, as Yinanq dva Hadatha Nga’esha and his práhsaedam Jayati joined the small group confronting Qsayati Vasant Subah and her company of Dhikar police. Namasi and Yronae both twisted in amazement as the protective cluster around him grew, and Nathan knew this hadn’t been planned,
knew
this was a groundswell of spontaneous support. The number of people joining their voices and their hands in his defense was far from the majority of the crowd, but impressive enough that even the usually imperturbable Dhikar police wavered in wariness.

Yronae grinned humorlessly, then leaned in toward Vasant Subah, her nose nearly touching the other woman’s.
“Move,”
she hissed.

He couldn’t help himself from staring, fascinated by Vasant Subah’s entire face quivering with rage. She gestured brusquely at her Dhikar to fall back as his protective escort slowly pressed its way through the crowd with Nathan in its center like diligent workers surrounding a queen bee, until they reached steps leading up to the columned terrace of the Assembly of Families.

In the confusion, Daegal dva Pakaran lost her hold on Nathan, swallowed by the crowd while Two-Knock deftly but courteously plowed a path through the throng for Yronae, Namasi, and him. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but before he’d managed to catch his breath, he found himself on the main floor of the Assembly reserved solely for the use of the High Families. Several women waited silently along the semicircular marble wall—his arbitrators for this case.

Namasi Sahmudrah caught him by the elbow. “They’re all ancillary Family,” she said in a low voice, “but don’t let that fool you. You may not see them, but every pratha h’máy will be listening.” She glanced at the spectators swarming into the Assembly behind them, jostling for room. The men’s balcony above them was already packed with the curious of both sexes. Namasi’s fear had been replaced with brisk excitement. “We’ll take our place and confer, give the public time to settle.”

And to give him as big an audience as possible, he understood, as he watched journalists scrimmage for a viable broadcast alignment. He followed Yronae as she strode toward the arbitrators and settled onto the emblem of the Nga’esha inlaid into the floor, one leg under her, resting her arm on the other knee. As it was a member of her Family who had brought the litigation, she would have no vote with the arbitrators judging his case. He didn’t have to calculate the proper distance any longer as he stopped behind her right shoulder and started to kneel.

“No, in front of me,” the pratha h’máy said without even glancing at him. “You and your speaker both.”

Surprised, he hesitated, then took his place in front with Namasi Sahmudrah beside him. He hadn’t realized before now how accustomed he’d become to Vanar hierarchical arrangements, and the sudden exposure made him feel oddly vulnerable.

“Are we ready to begin?” the arbitrator from the Daharanan Family asked. What little disorder and whispering there was ceased abruptly.

“We are ready, jah’narha l’amaée,” Namasi Sahmudrah said. Then looked at him.

He unfolded his palm-sized reader to open his carefully prepared speech and took a steadying breath. “By tradition, Vaktay Namasi dva Ushahayam Sahmudrah should be presenting this case to you. I could not have hoped for a better advocate, no one has worked more tirelessly and conscientiously than she. According to law, however, I do have the right to speak for myself. My command of Vanar is not perfectly fluent, and I hope you will forgive the many grammatical errors I know I will make. But I have learned Vanar well enough by now to present my own case this one time.”