Burning Bright

Chauvelin lifted an eyebrow, looked genuinely surprised for an instant. Then his eyes slid sideways, and he smiled slightly. “I forgot Roscha. Careless of me. But this is a hsai matter, you can leave it to me.”

“All right,” Lioe said, and to her surprise, Chauvelin bowed to her.

“Thank you,” he said, and turned away.

Lioe looked over her shoulder, and saw, as she’d expected, that Roscha had come up behind her, moving so silently that she hadn’t heard her approach.

“Well?” Roscha asked. “What did he say?”

“We’ll let it go,” Lioe said. “Ji-Imbaoa will be on the ship to Hsiamai, and he’ll be appropriately dealt with there.”

“Do you believe that?” Roscha asked.

“Yes,” Lioe answered, and managed a tight grin. “He’ll get exactly what he deserves.” Roscha still looked uncertain, and Lioe went on, “It’s what Ransome would’ve wanted, I’m sure of that.”

“If you say so.”

“Look, this brings down an entire government,” Lioe said. “You’ve got to admit that’s Ransome’s—Ambidexter’s—style.”

Roscha laughed softly. “That’s true. Sha-mai, wouldn’t it make a great Game session?”

It would, Lioe thought. It would make a brilliant one. And it’s one I want to write—maybe put it at the core of the new Game, make it one of the givens, part of the background for everything. That would be a nice memorial, something else he’d approve of. And then no one could play without knowing something about him, remembering his death. She nodded slowly. “Thanks, Roscha,” she said. “I’ll do just that.”

Day 6

Storm: The Hsai Ambassador’s House,

in the Ghetto, Landing Isle Above

Old City North

It was midafternoon by the time Chauvelin returned to his house, and his face stung from the combination of sun and salt spray. Je-Sou’tsian was waiting in the main hall—like all the household, she wore white ribbons, sprays of them bound around each arm—flanked by a pair of understewards. Chauvelin frowned, surprised to see so formal a delegation, and je-Sou’tsian bowed deeply.

“Your pardon, Sia, but there has been a transmission from maiHu’an. His grace has been pleased to grant you an award.” She used the more formal word, the one that meant “award-of-honor”: she would have seen the message when it came in, Chauvelin knew. She would have prepared the formal package. “It’s waiting in your office.”

“My lord honors me beyond my deserving,” Chauvelin answered, conventionally. “Thanks, Iameis—and thanks for that, too.” He reached out, gently touched the knots of white ribbon.

Je-Sou’tsian made the quick fluttering gesture, quickly controlled, that meant embarrassment and pleasure. “We—I didn’t want to presume. But we regret your loss.”

“Thank you,” Chauvelin said again, and went up the spiral stairs to his office.

The room was unchanged, the single pane of glass that had cracked during the storm replaced days before. Chauvelin settled himself at the desk, lifted the precisely folded message to his lips in perfunctory acknowledgment, and broke the temporary seal. The message—handwritten in n-jaocharacter and then copy-flashed; Haas’s handwriting, not the Duke’s—was clear enough, but he had to read it a second time before the meaning sank in. Then, quite slowly, he began to laugh. He had done well, in the Remembrancer-Duke’s opinion: this was the reward every chaoi-monworked for, dreamed of, but few ever achieved. There, set out in the formal, archaic language of court records, were the certificates of posthumous cooptation for his parents and their parents, the necessary two generations that would make him no longer chaoi-mon, but a full hsaia, indistinguishable in the eyes of the court and the law from any other hsai. He could not quite imagine his mother’s reaction, but suspected it would have been profane.

There was a second note folded up inside the official announcement, also in Haas’s hand, the neat familiar alphabet used for tradetalk. He opened that, skimmed the spiky printing.

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROMOTION, AND MY SYMPATHIES FOR THE LOSS OF YOUR PROTEGE. MY LORD IS VERY PLEASED WITH THE OUTCOME OF THIS BUSINESS, AND IS PLANNING TO TRAVEL TO HSIAMAI IN PERSON FOR THE TRIALS. A MORE PERSONAL TOKEN OF HIS PLEASURE WILL FOLLOW.