Текст книги "At the Edge of Space (Brothers of Worlds; Hunter of Worlds)"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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“Honorable women would marry you. Sufaki have no fear of humans as Indras do. Perhaps even a daughter of some merchant would marry you. I am only chan,and before that I was nothing at all.”

“If I were to ask,” he said, “would you refuse?”

“No. I would not refuse.” Her small face took on a look of pained bewilderment. “Kurt-ifhan, surely you will think better of this in the morning.”

“I am going to talk to Hef,” he said. “Go inside, Mim. And give me back my cloak. It would not do for you to wear it inside.”

“My lord, think a day before you do this.”

“I will give it tomorrow,” he said, “for thinking it over. And you do the same. And if you have not come to me by tomorrow evening and asked me and said clearly that you do not want me, then I will talk to Hef.”

It was, he had time to think that night and the next morning, hardly reasonable. He wanted Mim. He had had no knowledge of her to say that he loved her, or that she loved him.

He wanted her. She had set her terms and there was no living under the same roof with Mim without wanting her.

He could apply reason to the matter, until he looked into her face at breakfast as she poured the tea, or as she passed him in the hall and looked at him with a dreadful anxiety.

Have you thought better of it?the look seemed to say. Was it, after all, only for the night?

Then the feeling was back with him, the surety that, should he lose Mim by saying nothing, he would have lost something irreplaceable.

In the end, he found himself that evening gathering his courage before the door of Hef, who served Elas, and standing awkwardly inside the door when the old man admitted him.

“Hef,” he said, “may I talk to you about Mim?”

“My lord?” asked the old man, bowing.

“What if I wanted to marry her? What should I do?”

The old nemet looked quite overcome then, and bowed several times, looking up at him with a distraught expression. “Lord Kurt, she is only chan.”

“Do I not speak to you? Are you the one who says yes or no?”

“Let my lord not be offended. I must ask Mim.”

“Mim agrees,” said Kurt. Then he thought that it was not his place to have asked Mim, and that he shamed her and embarrassed Hef; but Hef regarded him with patience and even a certain kindliness.

“But I must ask Mim,” said Hef. “That is the way of it. And then I must speak to Kta-ifhan, and to Nym and lady Ptas.”

“Does the whole house have to give consent?” Kurt let forth, without pausing to think.

“Yes, my lord. I shall speak to the family, and to Mim. It is proper that I speak to Mim.”

“I am honored,” Kurt murmured the polite phrase; and he went upstairs to his own quarters to gather his nerves.

He felt much relieved that it was over. Hef would consent. He was sure what Mim would answer her father, and that would satisfy Hef.

He was preparing for bed when Kta came up the stairs and asked admittance. The nemet had a troubled look and Kurt knew by sure instinct what had brought him. He would almost have begged Kta to go away, but he was under Kta’s roof and he did not have that right.

“You have talked with Hef,” Kurt said, to make it easier for him.

“Let me in, my friend.”

Kurt backed from the door, offering Kta a chair. It would have been proper to offer tea also. He would have had to summon Mim for that. He would not do it.

“Kurt,” said Kta, “please, sit down also. I must speak to you—I must beg your kindness to hear me.”

“You might find it more comfortable simply to tell me what is in your mind from the beginning,” Kurt said, taking the other chair. “Yes or no, are you going to interfere?”

“I am concerned for Mim. It is not as simple as you may hope. Will you hear me? If your anger forbids,—then we will go down and drink tea and wait for a better mind, but I am bound to say these things.”

“Mim told me—about most that I imagine you have come to say. And it makes no difference. I know about the Tamurlin and I know where she came from.”

Kta let his breath go, a long hiss of a sigh. “Well, that is something at least. You know that she is Indras?”

“None of that possibly concerns me. Nemet politics have nothing to do with me.”

“You choose ignorance. That is always a dangerous choice, Kurt. Being of the Indras race or being Sufaki is a matter of great difference among nemet, and you are among nemet.”

“The only difference I have ever noticed is being human among nemet,” he said, controlling his temper with a great effort. “I would bring disgrace on you. Is that what you care for, and not whether Mim would be happy?”

“Mim’s happiness is a matter of great concern to us,” Kta insisted. “And we know you would not mean to hurt her, but human ways—”

“Then you see no difference between me and the Tamurlin.”

“Please. Please. You do not imagine. They are not like you. That is not what I meant. The Tamurlin—they are foul and they are shameless. They wear hides and roar and mouth like beasts when they fight. They have no more modesty than beasts in their dealing with women. They mate as they please, without seeking privacy. They restrain themselves from nothing. A strong chief may have twenty or more women, while weaker men have none. They change mates by the outcome of combat. I speak of human women. Slaves like Mim belong to any and all who want them. And when I found her—”

“I do not want to hear this.”

“Kurt,—listen. Listen. I shall not offend you. But when we attacked the Tamurlin to stop their raids—we killed all we could reach. We were about to set torch to the place when I heard a sound like a child crying. I found Mim in the corner of a hut. She wore a scrap of hide, as filthy as the rest of them; for an instant I could not even tell she was nemet. She was thin, and carried terrible marks on her body. When I tried to carry her, she attacked me—not womanlike, but with a knife and her teeth and her knees, whatever she could bring to bear. So she was accustomed to fight for her place among them. I had to strike her senseless to bring her to the ship, and then she kept trying to jump into the sea until we were out of sight of land. Then she hid down in the rowing pits and would not come out except when the men were at the oars. When we fed her she would snatch and run, and she would not speak more than a few syllables at a time save of human language.”

“I cannot believe that,” said Kurt quietly. “How long ago was that?”

“Four years. Four years she has been in Elas. I brought her home and gave her to my lady mother and sister, and Hef’s wife Liu, who was living then. But she had not been among us many days before Aimu saw her standing before the hearthfire with hands lifted, as Sufaki do not do. Aimu was younger then and not so wise; she exclaimed aloud that Mim must be Indras.

“Mim ran. I caught her in the streets, to the wonder of all Nephane and our great disgrace. And I carried her by force back to Elas. Then, alone with us, she began to speak, with the accent of Indresul. This was the reason of her silence before. But we of Elas are Indras too, like all the Great Families on the hill, descended of colonists of Indresul who came to this shore a thousand years ago, and while we are now enemies of Indresul, we are one religion and Mim was only a child. So Elas has kept her secret, and people outside know her only as Hef’s adopted Sufaki daughter, a country child of mixed blood rescued from the Tamurlin. She does not speak as Sufaki, but people believe we taught her speech; she does not look Sufaki, but that is not unusual in the coastal villages, where seamen have– ei,well, she passes for Sufaki. The scandal of her running through the streets is long forgotten. She is an honor and an ornament to this house now. But to have her in public attention again—would be difficult. No man would marry Mim; forgive me, but it is truth and she knows it. Such a marriage would cause gossip favorable to neither of you.”

Instinct told him Kta was speaking earnest good sense. He put it by. “I would take care of her,” he insisted. “I would try, Kta.”

Kta glanced down in embarrassment, then lifted his eyes again. “She is nemet. Understand me. Sheis nemet. She has been hurt and greatly shamed. Human customs are—forgive me: I shall speak shamelessly. I do not know how humans behave with their mates. Djan-methi is—free—in this regard. We are not. I beg you think of Mim. We do not cast away our women. Marriage is unbreakable.”

“I had expected so.”

Kta sat back a little. “Kurt—there could be no children. I have never heard of it happening, and Tamurlin have mated with nemet women.”

“If there were,” said Kurt, though what Kta had said distressed him greatly, “I could love them. I would want them. But if not, then I would be happy with Mim.”

“But could others love them?” Kta wondered. “It would be difficult for them, Kurt.”

It hurt. Some things Kta said amused him and some no little irritated him, but this was simply a fact of Kta’s world, and it hurt bitterly. For an instant Kurt forgot that the nemet thing to do was to lower his eyes and so keep his hurt private. He looked full at the nemet, and it was Kta who flinched and had to look up again.

“Would they,” Kurt said, cruel to the embarrassed nemet, “would children like that be such monsters, Kta?”

“I,” said Kta hesitantly, “ Icould love a child of my friend.” And the inward shudder was too evident.

“Even,” Kurt finished, “if it looked too much like my friend?”

“I beg your forgiveness,” Kta said hoarsely. “I fear for you and for Mim.”

“Is that all?”

“I do not understand.”

“Do you want her?”

“My friend,” said Kta, “I do not love Mim, but Mim is dear to me, and I am responsible for her as my honored father is. He is too old to take Mim; but when I married, I should have been obliged to take Mim for a concubine, for she is chanand unmarried—and I would not have been sorry for that, for she is a most beloved friend, and I would have been glad to give her children to continue Hef’s name. When you ask her of Hef, you see,—that is a terrible thing. Hef is childless. Mim is his adopted daughter, but we had agreed her children would remain in Elas to carry on his name and give his soul life when he dies. Mim must bear sons, and you cannot give them to her. You are asking for Hef’s eternity and that of all his ancestors. Hef’s family has been good and faithful to Elas. What shall I do, my friend? How shall I resolve this?”

Kurt shook his head helplessly, unsure whether Kta thought there could be an answer, or whether this was not some slow and painful way of telling him no.

“I do not know,” Kurt said, “whether I can stay in Elas without marrying Mim. I want her very much, Kta. I do not think that will change tomorrow or for the rest of my life.”

“There is,” Kta offered cautiously, “an old custom—that if the lechan’s husband dies and the house of the chanis threatened with extinction, then the duty is with the lord of the house nearest her age. Sometimes this is done even with the lechan’s husband living, if there are no children after such a time.”

Kurt did not know whether his face went very pale or flushed, only that he could not for the moment move or look left or right, was trapped staring into the nemet’s pitying eyes. Then he recovered the grace to glance down. “I could even,” he echoed, “love a child of my friend.”

Kta flinched. “Perhaps,” said Kta, “it would be different with you and Mim. I see how much your heart goes toward her, and I will plead your case with Hef and give him my own pledge in this matter. And if Hef is won, then it will be easier to win my lord father and lady mother. Also I will talk to Mim about this custom we call iquun.”

“I will do that,” Kurt said.

“No,” said Kta gently. “It would be very difficult for her to hear such words from you. Believe me that I am right. I have known Mim long enough that I could speak with her of this. From her own betrothed it would be most painful. And perhaps we can give the matter a few years before we have concern for it. Our friend Hef is not terribly old. If his health fails or if years have passed without children, then will be the time to invoke iquun.I should in that case treat the honor of you and of Hef and of Mim with the greatest respect.”

“You are my friend,” said Kurt. “I know that you are Mim’s. If she is willing, let it be that way.”

“Then,” said Kta, “I will go and speak to Hef.”

The betrothal was a necessarily quiet affair, confirmed three days later at evening. Hef formally asked permission of lord Nym to give his daughter to the guest of Elas, and Kta formally relinquished his claim to the person of Mim before the necessary two witnesses, friends of the family; Han t’Osanef u Mur, father of Bel; and old Ulmar t’Ilev ul Imetan, with all their attendant kin.

“Mim-lechan,” said Nym, “is this marriage your wish?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And in the absence of your kinsmen, Kurt t’Morgan, I ask you to answer in your own name: do you accept this contract as binding, understanding that when you have sworn you must follow this ceremony with marriage or show cause before these families present? Do you accept under this knowledge, our friend Kurt t’Morgan?”

“I accept.”

“There is,” said Nym quietly, “the clause of iquunin this contract. The principals are of course Mim and Kurt, and thou, my son Kta, and Hef, to preserve the name of Hef. Three years are given in this agreement before iquunis invoked. Is this acceptable to all concerned?”

One by one they bowed their heads.

Two parchments lay on the table, and to them in turn first Nym and then t’Osanef and t’Ilev pressed their seals in wax.

Then lady Ptas pressed her forefinger in damp wax and so sealed both. Then she took one of the phusmeha,and with a bit of salt slipped it into the flames.

She uplifted her palms to the fire, intoning a prayer so old that Kurt could not understand all the words, but it asked blessing on the marriage.

“The betrothal is sealed,” said Nym. “Kurt Liam t’Morgan ul Edward, look upon Mim h’Elas e Hef, your bride.”

He did so, although he could not, must not touch her, not during all the long days of waiting for the ceremony. Mim’s face shone with happiness.

They were at opposite sides of the room. It was the custom. The nemet made a game of tormenting young men and women at betrothals, and knew well enough his frustration. The male guests, especially Bel and Kta, drew Kurt off in one direction, while Aimu and Ptas and the ladies likewise captured Mim, with much laughter as they hurried her off.

The bell at the front door rang, faintly jingling, untimely. Hef slipped out to answer it, duty and the normal courtesy of Elas taking precedence over convenience even at such a time as this.

The teasing ceased. The nemet laughed much among themselves, among friends, but there were visitors at the door, and the guests and the members of Elas both became sober.

Voices intruded—Hef,—Hef, who was the soul of courtesy, arguing; and the heavy tread of outsiders entering the hall, the hollow ring of a staff on polished stone, the voices of strangers raised in altercation.

There was silence in the rhmei.Mim, large-eyed, clung to Ptas’ arm. Nym went to meet the strangers in the hall, Kurt and Kta and the guests behind him.

They were the Methi’s men, grim-faced, in the odd-striped robes that some of the townsmen wore, hair plaited in a single braid down the back. They had the narrowness of eye that showed in some of the folk of Nephane, like Bel, like Bel’s father Han t’Osanef.

The Methi’s guards did not take that final step into the rhmei,where burned the hearthfire. Nym physically barred their way, and Nym, though silver-haired and a senior member of the Upei, the council of Nephane, was a big man and broad-shouldered. Whether through reverence for the place or fear of him, they came no further.

“This is Elas,” said Nym. “Consider again, gentlemen, where you are. I did not bid you here, and I did not hear the chanof Elas give you leave either.”

“The Methi’s orders,” said the eldest of the four. “We came to fetch the human. This betrothal is not permitted.”

“Then you are too late,” said Nym. “If the Methi wished to intervene, it was her right, but now the betrothal is sealed.”

That set them aback. “Still,” said their leader, “we must bring him back to the Afen.”

“Elas will permit him to go back,” said Nym, “if he chooses.”

“He will go with us,” said the man.

Han t’Osanef stepped up beside Nym and bent a terrible frown on the Methi’s guardsmen. “T’Senife, I ask you come tonight to the house of Osanef. I would ask it, t’Senife—and the rest of you young men. Bring your fathers. We will talk.”

The men had a different manner for t’Osanef: resentful, but paying respect.

“We have duties,” said the man called t’Senife, “which keep us at the Afen. We have no time for that. But we will say to our fathers that t’Osanef spoke with us at the house of Elas.”

“Then go back to the Afen,” said t’Osanef. “ Iask it. You offend Elas.”

“We have our duty,” said t’Senife, “and we must have the human.”

“I will go,” said Kurt, coming forward. He had the feeling that there was much more than himself at issue, he intruded fearfully into the hate that prickled in the air. Kta put out a hand, forbidding him.

“The guest of Elas,” said Nym in a terrible voice, “will walk from the door of Elas if he chooses, and the Methi herself has no power to cause this hall to be invaded. Wait at our doorstep.—And you, friend Kurt, do not go against your will. The law forbids.”

“We will wait outside,” said t’Senife, at t’Osanef’s hard look. But they did not bow as they left.

“My friend,” Han t’Osanef exclaimed to Nym, “I blush for these young men.”

“They are,” said Nym in a shaking voice, “ youngmen. Elas also will speak with their Fathers. Do not go, Kurt t’Morgan. You are not compelled to go.”

“I think,” said Kurt, “that eventually I would have no choice. I would do better to go speak with Djan-methi, if it is possible.” But it was in his mind that reason with her was not likely. He looked at Mim, who stood frightened and silent by the side of Ptas. He could not touch her. Even at such a time he knew they would not understand. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he said to her.

But to Kta, at the door of Elas before he went out to put himself into the hands of the Methi’s guards:

“Take care of Mim. And I do not want her or your father or any of Elas to come to the Afen. I do not want her involved and I am afraid for you all.”

“You do not have to go,” Kta insisted.

“Eventually,” Kurt repeated, “I would have to. You have taught me there is grace in recognizing necessity. Take care of her.” And with Kta, that he knew so well, he put out his hand instinctively to touch, and refrained.

It was Kta who gripped his hand, an uncertain, awkward gesture, not at all nemet. “You have friends and kinsmen now. Remember it.”

6

“There is no need of that,” Kurt cried, shaking off the guards’ hands as they persisted in hurrying him through the gates of the Afen. No matter how quickly he walked, they had to push him or lay hands on him, so that people in the streets stopped and stared, most unnemetlike, most embarrassing for Elas. It was to spite Nym that they did it, he was sure, and rather than make a public scene worse, he had taken the abuse until they entered the Afen court, beyond witnesses.

There was a long walk between the iron outer gate and the wooden main door of the Afen, for that space Kurt argued with them, then found them fanning out to prevent him from the very door toward which they were tending.

He knew the game. They wanted him to resist. He had done so. Now they had the excuse they wanted, and they began to close up on him.

He ran the only way still open, to the end of the courtyard, where it came up against the high peak of the lock on which the Afen sat, a facing wall of gray basalt. It was beyond the witness of anyone on the walk between the wall-gate and the door.

They herded him. He knew it and was willing to go as long as there was room to retreat, intending to pay double at least on one of them when they finally closed in on him. T’Senife, who had insulted Nym, that was the one he favored killing, a slit-eyed fellow with a look of inborn arrogance.

But to kill him would endanger Elas; he dared not, and knew how it must end. He risked other’s lives, even fighting them.

A small gate was set in the wall near the rock. He bolted for it, surprising them, desperately flinging back the iron bar.

A vast courtyard lay beyond it, a courtyard paved in polished marble, with a single building closing it off, high-columned, a white cube with three triangular pylons arching over its long steps.

He ran, saw the safety of the familiar wall-street to his left, leading to the main street of Nephane, back to the witness of passersby.

But for the sake of Elas he dared not take the matter into public. He knew Nym and Kta, knew they would involve themselves, to their hurt and without the power to help him.

He ran instead across the white court, his sandaled feet and those of his pursuers echoing loudly on the deserted stones. The wall-street was the only way in. The precinct was a cul-de-sac, backed by the temple, flanked on one side by a high wall and on the other by the living rock.

His pursuers put on a sudden burst of speed. He did likewise, thinking suddenly that they did not want him to reach this place, a religious place, a sanctuary.

He sprang for the polished steps, raced up them, slipping and stumbling in his haste and exhaustion.

Fire roared inside, an enormous bowl of flame leaping within, a heat that filled the room and flooded even the outer air, a phusmehaso large the blaze made the room glow gold, whose sound was like a furnace.

He stopped without any thought in his mind but terror, blasted by the heat on his face and drowned in the sound of it. It was a rhmei,and he knew its sanctity.

His pursuers had stopped, a scant few strides behind him on the steps. He looked back. T’ Senife beckoned him.

“Come down,” said t’Senife. “We were told to bring you to the Methi. If you will not come down, it will be the worse for you. Come down.”

Kurt believed him. It was a place of powers to which human touch was defilement,—no sanctuary, none for a human,—no kindly Ptas to open the rhmeito him and make him welcome.

He came down to them, and they took him by the arms and led him down and across the courtyard to the open gate of the Afen compound, barring it again behind them.

Then they forced him up against the wall and had their revenge, expertly, without leaving a visible mark on him.

It was not likely that he would complain, both for the personal shame of it and because he and his friends were always in their reach: especially Kta,—who would count it a matter of honor to avenge his friend, even on the Methi’s guard.

Kurt straightened himself as much as he could at the moment and t’Senife straightened his ctan,which had come awry, and took his arm again.

They brought him up a side entrance of the Afen, by stairs he had not used before. Then they passed into familiar halls near the center of the building.

Another of their kind met them, a stripe-robed and braided young man, handsome as Bel, but with sullen, hateful eyes. To him these men showed great deference. Shan t’Tefur, they called him.

They discussed the betrothal, and how they had been too late.

“Then the Methi should have that news,” concluded t’Tefur, and his narrow eyes shifted toward a room with a solid door. “It is empty. Hold him there until I have carried her that news.”

They did so. Kurt sat on a hard chair by the barred slit of a window and so avoided the looks that pierced his back, giving them no excuse to repeat their treatment of him.

At last t’Tefur came back to say that the Methi would see him.

She would see him alone. T’Tefur protested with a violently angry look, but Djan stared back at him in such a way that t’Tefur bowed finally and left the room.

Then she turned that same angry look on Kurt.

“Entering the temple precincts was a mistake,” she said. “If you had entered the temple itself I don’t know if I could have saved you.”

“I had that idea,” he said.

“Who told you that you had the freedom to make contracts in Nephane—marrying that nemet?”

“I wasn’t told I didn’t. Nor was Elas told, or they wouldn’t have allowed it. They are loyal to you. And they were not treated well, Djan.”

“Not the least among the problems you’ve created for me, this disrespect of Elas.” She walked over to the far side of the room, put back a panel that revealed a terrace walled with glass. It was night. They had a view of all the sea. She gazed out, leaving him watching her back, and she stayed that way for a long time. He thought he was the subject of her thoughts, he and Elas.

At last she turned and faced him. “Well,” she said, “for Elas’ inconvenience, I’m sorry. I shall send them word that you’re safe. You haven’t had dinner yet, have you?”

Appetite was the furthest thing from his mind. His stomach was both empty and racked with pain, and with an outright fear that her sudden shift in manner did nothing to ease. “You,” he said, “frightened the wits out of my fiancée, made me a spectacle in the streets of Nephane, and all I particularly care about is—”

“I think,” said Djan in a tone of finality, “that we had better save the talk. Iam going to have dinner. If you want to argue the point, Shan can find you some secure room where you can think matters over. But you will leave the Afen– ifyou leave the Afen—when I please to send you out.”

And she called a girl named Pai, who recieved her orders with a deep bow.

“She,” said Djan when the girl had gone, “is chanto the Afen. I inherited her, it seems. She is very loyal and very silent, both virtues. Her family served the last Methi, a hundred years ago. Before that, Pai’s family was still chanto methis, even before the human occupation and during it. There is nothing in Nephane that does not have roots, except the two of us. Forget your temper, my friend. I lost mine. I rarely do that. I am sorry.”

“Then we will have out whatever you want to say and I will go back to Elas.”

“I would think so,” she agreed quietly, ignoring his anger. “Come out here. Sit down. I am too tired to stand up to argue with you.”

He came, shrugging off his apprehensions. The terrace was dark. She left it so, and sat on the window ledge, watching the sea far below. It was indeed a spectacular view of Nephane, its lights winding down the crag below, the high dark rock a shadow against the moon. The moonlit surface of the sea was cut by the wake of a single ship heading out.

“If I were sensible,” said Djan as he joined her and sat down on the ledge facing her, “if I were at all sensible I’d have you taken out and dropped about halfway. Unfortunately I decided against it. I wonder still what you would do in my place.”

He had wondered that himself. “I would think of the same things that have occurred to you,” he said.

“And reach the same answer?”

“I think so,” he admitted. “I don’t blame you.”

She smiled, ironic amusement. “Then maybe we will have a brighter future than other humans who have held Nephane. —They built this section of the Afen, you know. That’s why there is no rhmei,no heart to the place. It’s unique in that respect—the fortress without a heart, the building without a soul. Did Kta tell you what became of them?”

“Nemet drove them out, I know that.”

“Humans ruled Nephane about twenty years. But they involved themselves with the nemet. The mistress of the base commander was of the great Indras family—of Irain. Humans were very cruel to the nemet, and they enjoyed humiliating the Great Families by that. But one night she let her brothers in and the whole of Nephane rose in rebellion against the humans on the night of a great celebration, when most of the humans were drunk on telise.So they lost their machines and fled south and became the Tamurlin in a generation or so—like animals. Only Pai’s ancestor On t’Erefe defended the humans in the Afen, being chanand obliged to defend his human lord. The human Methi and On died together, out there in the hall. The other humans who died were killed in the courtyard, and those who were caught were brought back there and killed.

“Myself, I have read the records that went before their fall. The supply ship failed them, never came back—probably after reporting to Aeolus; it was destroyed on its return trip, another war casualty, unnoticed. The years passed, and they had made the nemet here hate them. They had threatened them with the imminent return of the ship for twenty years and the threat was wearing thin. So they fell. But when we arrived, the nemet thought the threat had come true and that they were all to die. For all my crewmates cared, we might have destroyed Nephane to secure the base. I would not permit it. And when I had freed the nemet from the immediate threat of my companions, they made me Methi. Some say I am sent by Fate; they think the same of you. For an Indras, nothing ever happens without logical purpose. Their universe is entirely rational. I admire that in them. There is a great deal in these people that was worth the cost. And I think you agree with me. You’re evidently settled very comfortably into Elas.”

“They are my friends,” he said.

Djan leaned back, leaned on the sill and looked out over her shoulder. The ship was nearly to the breakwater. “This is a world of little haste and much deliberation. Can you imagine two ships like that headed for each other in battle? Our ships come in faster than the mind can think, from zero vision to alongside, attack and vanish. But those vessels with their sails and oars—by the time they came within range of each other—there would be abundant time for thought. There is a dreadful deliberateness about the nemet. They maneuver so slowly, but they do hold a course once they’ve taken it.”

“You’re not talking about ships.”

“Do you know what lies across the sea?”

His heart leaped; he thought of Mim, and his first terrible thought was that Djan knew. But he let nothing of that reach his face. “Indresul,” he said. “A city that is hostile to Nephane.”