The Ordinary (11 page)

Jedda followed Opit's guide on what should have been a leisurely walk, doing her best to keep up with the rest when her impulse was to linger over every detail of her surroundings. The party headed through the chapel garden, Jedda studying the stone chapel again, and the gardens between the chapel and the main house. The guide led them into a side entrance decorated with more of the marvelous stonework, leaves and vines intertwined with calm faces emerging as if from the veil of a forest. Jedda had only time to get an impression before the small party—Opit, Brun, and Jedda—was sweeping up a broad flight of stairs and through a succession of smaller and smaller corridors. Jedda noted the expressions of wonder on Opit's and Brun's faces as well, as the group passed paintings, tapestries, wooden furniture of marvelous design, and finally, hurried as they were, Jedda said, “You seem to be enjoying the sights as much as I am. You haven't been here long?”

Opit smiled and Brun shook her head. “No, we came down from Montajhena with Malin. We've never been here before.”

They were speaking Erejhen, and the guide, a sharp-eyed, stocky man of mature years, added, “It's a new place for many of us, hardly ever used, except as part of the College. And I fear I've taken a wrong turn somewhere.” Looking around, making a decision, he gestured to them to follow, a crisp movement of the hand that carried with it a brusque arrogance.

“No reason to fret, Kethen, I'm sure we'll find the place sooner or later,” Opit said.

“As long as we're there before Malin.” This time when Kethen turned, Jedda saw a scar that crossed his brow and cheek, a deep gash on a dark-eyed face. He said something else, looking at Jedda, something about wanting to be a good host to his guests, with a phrase in it that she failed to catch as it flew past.

“I'm sure all will be well,” she said, the blandest of phrases she could think of, her pronunciation precise, to a degree that startled Kethen, who lifted his scarred eyebrow to a point and smiled.

Kethen found the place on the second attempt, at the end of a wide corridor, carpeted, open at the end to breezes from the bay. The group slid into place neatly, many other faces turning to note their presence. Opit leaned to Jedda's ear and whispered, in Alenke, “Kethen is one of Malin's chief people. One of two rivals, in fact. His bringing us here was a sign of respect. Now,” and he gestured, very small, toward a slim woman, “with everyone here, that young woman, Karsa, will fetch Malin. She's the other of the two rivals. She stays closest to Malin and has a peculiar title, Minister of the Ordinary, or something like that. While Malin doesn't call herself a queen, you may assure yourself she is treated like one.”

After only a moment, Karsa gestured to one of the soldiers present, who opened a panel that had seemed a part of the wall; Karsa slid through it, and a few moments later, with some straightening of clothing and patting of hair, Malin herself with her retinue, including Karsa, swept into the room.

She passed very close to Jedda, a scent of that same flower as Jedda remembered from this morning. Malin stood by the windows for a moment, then turned very deliberately to Jedda, to all of the Hormling, of course, but her attention went first to Jedda, who found herself shy, a wash of feeling most unwelcome in the ornate meeting room overlooking the eastern bay. Jedda smoothed the front of her one-piece, the gesture self-conscious but small. Something in the moment made Opit glance at Jedda himself, and Jedda flushed more deeply and took her seat beside him with all the rest. Oh for the stat, she thought, that could make such a blush less likely.

Himmer and Vitter had been invited as well, Vitter with a portable flatscreen, the first piece of technology Jedda had seen in a while. Karsa spoke first, a raspy voice, oddly colored. “We wish to welcome you all, but particularly the newcomers, those whom we have compelled to remain behind as the Eseveren Gate closes.” She was speaking in Erejhen, and paused as Jedda translated for her friends.

“Pardon, but the word you used?” Jedda found herself watching not Karsa but Malin.

“Eseveren,” Malin answered. “You understand it?”

Jedda nodded, turning to Himmer and Vitter, switching to Alenke. “Spiral gate. Circular gate. The name of the Twil Gate in their speech. It's a form of adjective we don't have.”

“The speculative form,” Opit said, also in Alenke, “used a good deal in their humor, their poetry, and in the names of places. The ending you're hearing is specifically used to assign a quality to an object that is somewhat inappropriate to the object.”

The thought had made Jedda smile, in fact, a gate that was a circle at the same time that it wasn't, as if the name were quavering between the two possibilities, and she felt the thought opening a new layer of her understanding. When she looked up, Malin was watching, quietly, pleased at something. A prickle ran across Jedda's scalp. I've been there when this woman read minds before, in Montajhena, Jedda thought. Or at least when she appeared to.

After that, with her own attraction to Malin becoming stronger, she was completely flustered and missed Karsa's introductions of Himmer and Vitter. She was conscious of Malin watching. Karsa said something to Jedda, who had to ask her to repeat.

“She said that I'm happy to meet you all,” Malin said, and paused a moment. “Karsa, thank you, I'll speak now.”

Karsa bowed her head but held her ground. Thickset, short legged, and long in the torso, she had a less graceful body than was the norm.

Malin composed herself in the tall chair. A light fell on her like a gauze, a softness, and she watched Jedda calmly. “It's not customary for me to address a guest directly, not at first. For several reasons. But with you, I think, that's unnecessary.” Something in her gaze held Jedda, pricked her, like the touch of a pin, but warm and pleasant afterward. “Your friends are the friends of old allies of ours, whom we have never met until now, so therefore this is an occasion that pleases me very much.”

“Allies?” This word in Alenke, addressed to Vitter, and then Jedda blushed and gave him the whole statement.

“We have worked together for many years. My contacts with people in your ministry,” and her nod here was for Vitter, “go back at least to your father's day.”

Vitter laughed politely. “Perhaps not so long, madam. I'm quite old.”

“Your ages are difficult to guess,” Malin said, “but I am not guessing.”

Vitter sobered a bit. Himmer sat up straighter, a sharpening of his expression. Opit was watching both, a smile on his face, and watching Jedda, too. She hid her surprise, listening to Malin's lilting accent as she spoke the Alenke, not fluently, but easily enough that she could be well understood.

“We're very grateful for your hospitality,” Vitter said, with a polite hand gesture Jedda had seen used only occasionally; Himmer mimicked the gesture and bowed his head.

“I wish I were more pleased with the outcome of our efforts.” Malin had risen restlessly out of her seat and stood near the window gazing outward over the bay. “Your people were not prepared for the rescue, when I sent your ships across the gate again.”

“Our people were as prepared as we could allow them to be,” Vitter answered. “We couldn't risk that the Orminy learn of our involvement with you or of our conversations with you. And none of us had any idea that this would be the time.”

“I would have preferred the risk,” Malin spoke, dryly, into the rolling waves and clouded sky beyond the glass, “to the blood on my hands.”

For the first time Himmer spoke, and his tone was somber. “It's hard for me to believe. Do you have the numbers?”

“About thirty thousand drowned, within sight of your research platform, after I returned them through the gate. Your people are inflating the numbers in your news broadcasts.” She looked at Vitter scornfully. “Would you have believed it possible?”

“This won't hurt the public view of the incident, from our point of view,” Vitter said.

“You are from the Planetary Ministry?” Malin asked.

He nodded.

“Your view is pragmatic, of course. But I've never killed before,” she said, a flicking of that somberness that Jedda remembered from the morning. Turning to the sky again, “As you say, it was a most effective display.”

Himmer was simply watching Malin, as if trying to read her thoughts. He had a gravity that was surprising, given his florid features. “The question remaining, madam, is for you to answer. What is your will? Will you help us or not?”

For a moment Malin appeared to savor the moment, almost in satisfaction. But there was a bitterness in her eyes that slowly strengthened. “I have no will in this matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The decision isn't mine and never was mine,” she said. “As for the one who will decide, he has asked that I bring you to meet him.” She spoke these words very quietly and in the gentlest way, but their impact was immediate. Opit looked stunned. Karsa, who apparently understood Alenke, appeared shocked. She murmured something to Opit and he translated for the rest of the Erejhen, their astonishment visible, a wash of turbulence through the room.

Himmer said, “We're to meet Irion?”

Even those who understood no Alenke whatsoever caught the question, the name of Irion, and stopped.

“It's his request. As you can see from the reaction of my people here, it is extraordinary. But I'm to take you to his house.”

“In Arthen?” Vitter asked, gripping his bony knees with his bony hands, excited. “Are you taking us to Arthen?”

“You've heard of that place? We meant to keep it secret.”

“It's in your books,” Vitter said. “Your history.”

“Then you believe our books are history. You give us that much credit. Good.” But she was looking distant, hardly pleased at all. “But I'm afraid to disappoint you. Irion has many houses, and for this meeting he has decided to invite us to his southern home. To a place we call Cunevadrim.”

The name meant nothing to any of the Hormling, even Opit, but caused a noticeable agitation among the Erejhen; Karsa distressed, Kethen pleased, the others speaking excitedly from some emotion within that range. This went on until Malin moved from the window and the room fell silent. She spoke in Erejhen, the high mode of the language, some frequencies out of range of Jedda's hearing. The room quieted. Malin turned to Himmer and Vitter again. “This is news that surprises us as much as you. The whole country will feel it. My uncle hasn't left his northern territories in a very long time.” She bowed her head. “We'll be leaving Evess to meet him as soon as we can be prepared, and I expect the journey to take twenty days or so, maybe more if the weather is bad after we leave the putter roads. Karsa has assigned householders to help you with your packing, and I've made my purse available for whatever you may need. Cunevadrim sits in the mountains and is cold this time of year. Opit has traveled in our mountains, at least, and can help you with what to buy. We'll move to Evess in the morning, to make preparations. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've spared all the time I can for this and must be elsewhere.”

In a rush of air and cloth and scent she departed, her spirit clearly agitated. Why is she afraid? Jedda wondered. What has she to fear?

 

When Jedda returned to her room in the Chanii house, after navigating the labyrinth of stonework behind Opit, she found the householder, Arvith, packing her belongings into a sturdy trunk. In her room he looked taller, burlier than she remembered, thick muscle standing out along his back as he moved among her blouses, leggings, cardigans, scarves, underclothing, most of it bought here. He glanced at her entry but went on with his work. “So we are to take a journey,” he said.

“That's what we're told.”

When she moved to help him, he looked at her in a way that froze her in place. “I have been assigned to you, good woman. I'm your seneschal for the journey. You'll please allow me to attend to this.”

His accent was northern, though he was of the Anin people, the southern race. He had a careful way of moving, orderly and deliberate, hands moving from one task to the next. The trunk was a work of cabinetry such as she'd never seen before.

“Is there something the good woman needs?” Arvith asked.

“I'm just not used to having someone wait on me like this.”

“Having someone serve you, you mean.” He straightened and faced her, holding her wool tunic, an overgarment worn for warmth. His face was impossible to read, like one of the Erejhen. “I'm pleased to travel where my lady Malin wishes and to serve as she chooses.”

“You know where we're going?”

A change in his eyes. As if he had drawn back to a certain distance within himself. “Yes, I know it, from books. I've never been there.”

“Can you say the name for me, again?”

“Cunevadrim.” He shifted effortlessly into the Erejhen pronunciation. “A very old fortress, and palace, and tower. West, in a country called Turis.”

“Leave that,” she indicated the blouse he was folding. “I want to change into it, I'm having dinner with my friends.”

He lay the blouse on the bed. “Do you require any help?”

“No.” She had checked the bathroom, saw he had not packed her toiletries. “I want a bath but I can manage it.”

“I'll see no one disturbs you.”

“Would you answer a question for me? At the meeting, when Malin announced where we were going, the news upset people. Pleased a couple, but mostly upset them. Why?”

She expected an evasion, but he drew himself straight again. His homely face composed itself. “I can understand the upset. The place was the seat of our king's great enemy. From a war that happened a long time ago.”

“Your people here have very long memories.”

“That we do.”

“So people still associate the place with this war?”