Also, one of them carried a beamer, which even in the days before Ba‘l Melqart’s peace was very rare. Only the military or perhaps the very wealthiest of the syndicates could provide such a weapon. No manager rich enough to carry one would bother to hunt down a single employee.
No, not thugs, though they dressed as them and spoke the same. Big words, meant to cover up their fears. They are all afraid when they see me, even the very brave ones. It has grown tiring, listening to the same sorts of chatter for fifty years. I explained to them that the girls inside were property of the house, as I was property of the house, and threats against us would not be tolerated.
Three of them had ratchets. Those did not concern me. There are not enough men and not enough ratchets in the world to concern me. But the one with the beamer . . . the fettered are not invincible. A blast from one of those to certain portions of my frame would have been enough to obliterate me. The leader—or in any event the one speaking, although the loudest man is rarely the one making the decisions—raised his weapon and repeated his demands.
Shall I tell you what it is that makes me so dangerous? This structure which I inhabit, it is not the same thing as a body. Steel and silicone are not flesh, not sinew. For your kind, thought must precede movement, and violence is a peculiar state, one you must work yourself into. For me it is as easy as turning a switch; a 0 become a 1. Or a 1 become a 0. I struck with the plasma jet on my shoulder. It has been a long time since any of my kind have come equipped with them—the replacement batteries are terribly expensive, and only good for a few shots. But they are very good for those few shots. The one with the beamer the houseboy cleaned up with a mop. The two closest received only the spillover, and screamed for a long time before dying. I decided I could not allow the last to run. A few cuts with my hand ratchets—replacement cells for the jets are expensive, as I said, and I saw no need to burden the matron with the cost.
That was the end of it. The end of that part of it. Except for the beamer, it was not particularly noteworthy. I could tell a similar story about any number of other girls, though it is true that mostly their pursuers have enough sense to leave before I am forced to perform those acts for which I was constructed. Her arrival was not special.
But Rose was.
I am not allowed in the house proper, unless there is some trouble which requires my presence. The official reason is that I make the patrons uncomfortable, which is true, but it is also true that I make the girls nervous. The fettered are discomfiting to you who remain free. Even you, Amanuensis, you stand at a distance, and when my gears whirl you blanch and move back a step. No, do not try and dispute it—it does not offend me. It is the natural reaction of flesh, and anyway I have had a long time to grow used to it.
But Rose did not . . . she was not afraid of me. In the mornings or on slow nights she would bring out a stool and sit beside me and we would talk, and sometimes play chess together. I was better than her, but then I have little else to do but sit outside and play chess, and so my success was more a matter of practice than ability. And anyway, I was not much better—347 games to 254 as white, 320 games to 234 as black. If she was in a good mood—which was not very often, especially not after . . . not in the later days of her service—she would recite poetry. Once she told me she had known the poet, but she did not tell me their name.
I never knew what brought her to the house. I did not ask her. It is a peculiarity of your profession, this constant need to question. It is one which would win you few friends, did you not labor in service of the God King. She was only here for a few years. She was a good earner, Rose, as kind as she was beautiful, and she had many regulars happy to pay for the pleasure of her company, not even always of going to her room, just sitting on the veranda and chatting with her, as she would sometimes chat with me. And she saved what she made; she did not spend it on drink or puff. When she left she had enough money to buy a little shop in the Reaches, and an apartment above it.
Or so I heard. I have not seen Rose in twelve years, six months, thirteen days, and some eleven hours.
* * *
. . . a child?
I cannot remember.
Did I say that? Then I was lying. If my banks are superior to the memory of an unfettered, still they are imperfect. There are gaps in my memory, there are holes, and that is one of them. An error in my processing—you may take it up with the External.
I have nothing further to say. You have used enough of my time.
Will you? Will you really? After this conversation will you march up to the High Chapel and swear out a complaint against me? You will do no such thing, and you know that you will not, and I know that you will not. Like a bravo, despite your brand—loud words and foolish threats.
Wait—wait. There is one more thing that I will tell you. Rose was very smart; she was as clever a woman as I have ever met, and I have met many. She had a very good reason for coming here, and if she didn’t choose to tell me what it was, that does not lessen my certainty on the matter. You might consider why a woman of such gifts would choose to hide in a house such as ours and go by a name which was not her own. You might wonder who sent the men I killed that first day.
You might wonder many things. Were I you, I would do so in silence.
(10): Qem
1:30 PM
A kel, mistress? With a kel I could buy some fried bread and meat from Tommen who sells them on the quay. It is pork today, and pork is my favorite, when I can get a kel, which is not very often.
Thank you kindly.
Qem is my name. I didn’t used to think it was too short, and I would tell strangers that my name was Ahatiwaqrat, which I thought was much better. But I have come to like Qem; it sounds hard and plain, like the thud of a cudgel. A man should not be ashamed of what he is. Anyway, Qem, yes, and a pleasure to meet you also.
Auntie Rose, you mean? I can take you to her. Will I? I might. I am a busy young man, I have much to do today. Time is money, you know. You knew that? Still. A guide will cost you a mina.
The kel was only a kindness, the mina pays for my service. You will not find her otherwise, believe me. The roads in the Reach are like a cracked pane of glass; there is no sense in how they run. And not all the inhabitants are so friendly as I am. Not that you need fear so long as I’m around; this is my neighborhood, from the lapping sea to the top of the knoll.
Very good, then. Money first. Not that I do not trust you, mistress, only that here in the Reach . . .
Honest silver! You won’t regret it.
I can tell you a story about her as we walk, if you wish? No extra charge! Though if at the end you think it worth something, I wouldn’t throw it in your face.
You know about Auntie Rose’s store? Twine and needle, hard candy and molasses, coffee, cheap clothes, that sort of thing. A hard business, not much money to be made even for a sharp operator, and Auntie Rose . . . well, my mother must have died owing Rose seven mina, and she never asked for it.
But that was long after, and the story I am telling you is about back when Aunt Rose first came to the neighborhood. She was not from the Reach, or Cliffside, or anywhere else around here, and when she spoke, which was not often, she sounded like soft cloth or like she was singing a hymn. We were all confused by her, even Enusat who used to run the neighborhood. Now Libluth runs the neighborhood, though there isn’t much difference between them, except Enusat was fat and Libluth is thin.