Burning Bright

Chauvelin sighed, touched controls at the base of the workscreen to produce a paper copy and transfer the original to storage. Is he? It’s taken me most of my life—nearly thirty years—to earn this rank, starting from nothing, as a conscript, less than nothing. Even the strictest hsaia codes acknowledge that it isn’t always possible to protect one’s proteges. Flashes of memory broke through his guard: Ransome newly paroled, all in grey still, the canalli brown of his skin faded to ivory; Ransome in his bed, the unexpected, wiry strength of his thin body; Ransome laughing at a party, a handful of birds, the centerpiece of a story egg, dancing in his palm; Ransome sitting on the garden wall, holding out a handful of carved stones. And Ransome with Lioe, too, the way he watched her. He picked up the printed sheet, rolled it carefully in the prescribed fashion, concentrating on the task so he wouldn’t have to think. If I use this, and I’m wrong—or even if I’m right and it’s inexpedient—I will lose the ambassadorship. And probably my other ranks, too; there will be need to make an example of me. I’m not ready, yet, to make that choice.

He tucked the cylinder of paper, the ends neatly folded over on themselves, into the pocket of his coat, and turned back to the window. It was raining harder now, hard enough that the rain formed a solid curtain, completely concealing the Old City in the distance below the cliffs, veiling the paths of the lower terrace. A few yard lights glowed through the rain, outlining the steps that led from one plateau to the next. He grimaced, thinking of Ransome’s sculptures, and looked away.

“Sia?” Je-Sou’tsian spoke from the doorway, excitement in her voice, and Chauvelin turned sharply.

“Well, Iameis?”

“Sia, I think we’ve found the Visiting Speaker, or at least traced where he went.”

“Good.” Chauvelin reached for the cylinder of paper, touched it like a talisman. “Where?”

“He was with Damian Chrestil,” je-Sou’tsian said. “He and his people, ji-Mao’ana and Magill, went to the C/B Cie. docks, and they left with him in a flyer. They headed southeast, our informant says, but I can’t contact the Speaker at the Chrestil-Brisch palazze.” She paused, and made a formal gesture of apology. “I regret we haven’t located him more exactly, but I thought you would wish to know.”

“So,” Chauvelin said softly, and nodded. “Yes, I want to know.” This changes everything. He is acting irresponsibly, and he’s dealing with, maybe making a deal with, ahouta— Damian Chrestil is still not a person, in the law’s view—and this can be construed as dishonoring his patron. That will give me just enough claim to the honorable position that Haas and my lord can afford to protect me. He slipped the rolled paper from his pocket, touched it to lips and forehead in the ritual gesture. “As you must know, I received a last transmission from maiHu’an before we lost contact with the satellite. In it, I was granted this commission, which I now execute.”

Je-Sou’tsian bowed her head, crossed her hands on her chest, spurs downward, claws turned inward to her own body in ritual submission. “I will bear witness, Sia.”

Chauvelin nodded. “In it, I am authorized to act as head of household, lesser father, under the authority of the Father-Emperor, father of all clans.” The ritual phrases came surprisingly easily to his tongue, for all that it had been years since he had last used them. “This commission supersedes all earlier claims of rank and privilege, and will do so until it is renounced or revoked.”

“I hear, my father,” je-Sou’tsian said, “and I witness. And I obey even to the price of my life.”

“So be it,” Chauvelin said, and laid the rolled paper ceremoniously on the table. “Now.” He paused, sorting out what needed to be done. “I want you to proclaim this to the household. Take a couple of our security people with you, just in case.”

“I don’t think the Visiting Speaker’s household will cause any trouble,” je-Sou’tsian said. “Not all of them are fond of him.”