Of course, we need no longer fear such things, in this happy age. As everyone knows.
We were all making for the back door when Amata stopped us. If it hadn’t been for Amata, none of us would have escaped, they’d have gotten us all in the bag, and then who knows but for the revolution? No Sanguinary March without Amata, and without that afternoon, the wretched heat and the blood in the streets, perhaps Kiri would never have . . .
But that is a pointless sort of speculation. They were at the back door also. I don’t know how she knew that, but she did. Nor do I know how she was aware of the hidden staircase that would lead us down to the aqueducts below the city.
Some of us, anyway. The door was hidden behind a heavy bookshelf. At least it seemed heavy to me; I can still remember straining my shoulder against it. By the time they found me I had put the thing back in its recess, and I was sitting on a chair, smoking a cigarette. I have no idea how I lit that cigarette, my hands were shaking so badly, but I managed it, as I managed with the bookshelf. They found the passageway after a few minutes of searching, but those few moments were enough.
Some have called me that. But what does it mean to be brave? A moment arrives, no time for thought or for consideration, terror thick as syrup in your veins, the rhythm of your heart going faster than Gaszi could ever drum, and you throw yourself left or you throw yourself right. It is an easy thing to be courageous when you do not know what is coming, and no one who has not been through it can really imagine. When the magistrate declared against me, when they set me down in the chair, when I saw the red tip, felt the heat, heard the sizzle—in that moment I would have killed everyone I had ever known to save myself, I would have betrayed Amata and Laqip and my own mother, I would have done anything they asked of me. Can we call that courage? Can we really?
The hands were not part of my punishment, not officially. A gift from the guards, powdered sugar atop the bun. Perhaps they had heard I was a musician. Perhaps they had not. I am inclined to think the latter. Cruelty is like the drums or the great harp; some of us have some peculiar talent, but even for mediocrities, practice makes perfect.
I wasn’t much use for the cause after that, except as a martyr, and we had plenty of those. I saw Amata once or twice more, but then came the Sanguinary March, where she met Kiri, and then went underground, and so on and so on. That part of the story is common knowledge—or at least I have nothing particular to add to it.
Here I am rambling, and after all that I complained of Nutesh doing the same! I suppose that old men are as one in such matters. Regardless—was there something specific you wished of me?
He had that much right, at least. Yes, the remembrances; they were popular when I was a youth, though I haven’t seen any for a long time. Another weak attempt at humor. In any event, you will have already gathered how little use I can be in tracking down the woman in your hologram.
Not at all. I am sorry I couldn’t be of more help. May His blessing rest firmly on your shoulders.
(5): Gemeti
7:10 PM
Manet? Manet! I knew it was you! I could tell from a block away, by how smoothly you slid through the crowd. Of course, it’s easier when half the men go statue-still when they see you. Which perfection is that again, remind me?
A joke, a joke! But you must sit. I’m meeting a friend for a hubble-bubble, but that’s not for ages, and I like you far more than I like him. I haven’t seen you forever, not since Pirhum’s birthday. Do tell him I said something naughty about him—not too naughty, Manet, I save that honor for you!
But you must! As if I could hope to finish the whole thing on my own. That’s a good girl, don’t stint. This is proper spring sour, broken out fresh. They only make six barrels, in honor of the Jubilee, and frankly I’m shocked they’ve lasted this long. Have a taste, you’ll be surprised as well. See? Was I wrong?
What are you doing in this corner of the city? You’ve come early if you think to see anything interesting. The Lower Heights don’t get going until well after nightfall, though I suspect it will be even later with most of the city outside the High Chapel, waiting for tonight’s pyrotechnics. No, I can see in your eyes it’s not that. If not personal, then it must be business? Are you off on some special mission for the God King? Investigating injustice, stirring up secrets? Or is he simply curious to know which public house in the Heights serves the best beer? Let’s see, coming east you’d have passed Mistress’s Gaze, the Summer Blossom—they have the most gorgeous servers, though the food barely passes muster—and then there’s that old jukejoint with the hideous décor, the something Perfection, what is it again, can you remind me?
Oh, I jest, Manet. What’s gotten you in such a foul mood? Is Pirhum not taking care of his end? Too busy at the hospital, I’m sure he says, but that’s hardly an excuse for failing to—
I see.
I’m so sorry, really. Please forgive me. I hadn’t heard. When did . . . but no, let’s not talk about it. It must have been recently or I’d have already heard. But let’s not mention it, please. Another glass of beer, so that I have something to fill my mouth with besides my foot. Yes, yes, you too, otherwise I’ll spend the rest of the evening sure that I’ve offended you terribly, and I know you wouldn’t want that.
Oh, fine, fine, I muddle along. Apart from the boy and the hubble-bubble, little enough. There is Wardum, but he’s nothing more than an occasional distraction. Good for a throw, but as soon as he starts talking I have to pretend I’ve fallen asleep. Men are all little children; either they can’t keep a civil tongue in their heads for the half hour required to prove themselves gentlemen, or they’re timid as squirrels. I swear, you got the last good one.
I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I might as well salt the wound proper. What happened?
Yes, we have to say those things, don’t we? But I have seen the way Pirhum looked at you; you don’t need to pretend the decision was mutual. Then again, there are different sorts of choices. Some people leap straight into cold water, and some wade in an inch at a time, shivering all the while. And there are some who need to be pushed.
It just struck me—this is your first Jubilee since leaving the White Isle! Oh, you lucky, lucky thing! I’m green with envy, positively emerald! To see the whole spectacle for the first time, the parades and the illuminations, the whole city promenading about in their finest. Let me top you off, there’s a good girl. Why not? Why not? If ever there was a night for joy, it’s tonight, and if ever there was a place, it’s here. But then, that’s true every night and everywhere, so far as I’m concerned. What’s the point of despair? Find yourself a man and forget about Pirhum—as much as you’re capable, I suppose. What a strange thing it must be to hold every past moment forever, perfect, as if you’ve just experienced it!
At least you shouldn’t have any trouble with the first part. Even a breed would scarce fail to find an escort during the Jubilee, and with the kink in your hair and the way you hold your eyes as if you might eat the person you’re staring at—yes, that look right there! Perhaps wrap up your brand first, though. I suspect men find it a bit intimidating to chat up a girl who can remember every word they say.
If you’re really desperate you could head to augur alley for a palm reading. We used to do it back in school, trade a few mina for the name of your next love or anything else you’d care to ask. It worked well enough the one time I went. She predicted I’d go to the winter formal with Ellu, though she omitted that he’d vomit cheap wine all over my white dress.