Melissa Scott - Shadow Man

“Look, it’s maybe none of my business, but you might want to think of moving Haliday now. If 3e’s well enough, of course.”

“Æ.” Warreven tipped his head to one side, felt the muscles tighten, but the pain was distant now, deadened by the sweetrum and the doutfire.

“You know your planet better than I do,” Tatian said, his voice abruptly formal. “I’m not presuming to tell you your business. But this doesn’t look good to me.” He gestured to the screen.

Warreven looked again, seeing the line of dockers and ranas mixed together, the crude barricade—and also the drums and dancers, a pair of flute players now leading the performance. “It’s still a rana, still within the law,” he began, and broke off, hearing the absurdity of his own words.

“So was yesterday,” Tatian muttered.

“I know.” Warreven stared at the screen, seeing not these dancers but Faireigh, hearing her voice soaring easily above the other voices. Go down, you snow-white roses , she had sung, and Tendlathe would never forget that, any more than he had forgotten Lammasin’s insult. Or Warreven’s own, the insult of his existence. Warreven suppressed a shiver, looked away from the screen. “What have they been saying, what’s the Most Important Man doing about this?”

“Staying clear,” Tatian answered. “Oh, they said about an hour ago that he’s meeting with the harbormasters and the head of the mosstaas , supposed to be deciding if this is interfering with trade, but as best I can tell, he’s waiting for it to die down on its own.”

“That’s smart.”

“Not necessarily.” Tatian glared at the screen, and the image shifted to a pan along the length of the Gran’quai and the boats tied up there. “See there? It is interfering with commerce, and the pharmaceuticals aren’t going to put up with that for long.”

Warreven frowned, for a moment not seeing anything different, and then realized that the usual traffic of dockers’ drags and devils was completely absent. No one was off-loading; the ships’ crews were idle, or with the dockers at the barricades. “It’s only been one day,” he said. “Does that make enough of a difference?”

“Not one day,” Tatian said, grimly. “But if this isn’t settled—well, I already spoke to my people. They said the Big Six are starting to get a little nervous. They’re shipping a good million a day right now, and they can’t risk losing the harvest.”

Neither could the mesnie s, Warreven thought. They would be putting pressure on Temelathe to end this, too, especially the conservative mesnie s of the Equatoriale—and with the pharmaceuticals and Tendlathe also pushing to close down the protest, Temelathe would have a hard time balancing all those demands. And if there was more trouble—if Temelathe tried to send the mosstaas in again, tried to disperse a legitimate raria after they’d singularly failed to stop the ghost ranas and their violence…. The people at the Harbor wouldn’t stand for it two days in a row. They would fight, and then Temelathe would have no choice but to turn the mosstaas loose on them. And that would give Tendlathe the excuse he needed to act.

“What about Tendlathe?” he said aloud. “Where’s he supposed to be?”

“With his father, I guess.” Tatian looked at him, his expression very serious. “Look, did you mean what you said—God, was it only the day before yesterday? That Tendlathe was behind the ghost ranas, and Lammasin’s murder?”

Warreven laughed. “Despite what Hal thinks, I don’t say things like that lightly. Yes, I think he’s responsible—and I told him so to his face—which didn’t exactly endear me to him, I suppose. But we’ll never prove it.”

“So he’s responsible for this, too?” Tatian waved his free hand, the gesture taking in the bandaged eye, the second bandage hidden under Warreven’s tunic. “Beating up you and Haliday?”

“Probably,” Warreven answered. It hurt more than he’d expected, admitting that, acknowledging that the man he’d grown up with had almost certainly arranged the attack, was the person who’d planned not just the beating but the ritual humiliation. “He—Tendlathe thinks that we—the wrangwys , and you off-worlders, too—aren’t really human anymore.”

Tatian made a small, mirthless noise. “Funny. There’re people in the Nest—other off-worlders—who think the same about Harans.”

Warreven smiled in spite of himself. “God and the spirits, I’d like to see Ten’s face if you told him that.” This was hardly to the point, and he forced his mind back to Haliday. On the screen, the dancers were twisting themselves into a long spiral, a country dance that wound into a tight knot and then usually dissolved into laughter and cheerful chaos before it could unwind again. The dockers on the barricade were watching, but distantly, their attention on the roads that led down from the Embankment. “You may be right about moving Hal,” he said, and reached for the remote. “I’m assuming the port is defended?”

“Of course.” Tatian looked back at him steadily, defying him to be insulted. “Nobody spends this much money on a backward planet without making sure they can protect the investment.”

“Under the circumstances,” Warreven said, “I find that reassuring.” Under other circumstances, it would be less so, but he put that thought aside for later consideration. He touched the keypad, recalling the codes Malemayn had left.

“I’m relieved,” Tatian said. He paused. “What’s Tendlathe’s problem with herms anyway? I—well, I was at the baanket , remember. The presance really bothered him.”

Warreven shrugged, watching codes shift on the communications screen. “I don’t know,” he began, then shook his head, ignoring the faint thrust of pain. He owed Tatian more than that, after all the off-worlder had done for him. “That’s not strictly true. We’re built a lot alike, look alike—you’ve seen him—and everybody knew I was a herm, so he got teased a lot. And then the marriage didn’t help.” Because he did want me, at least a little, Warreven realized suddenly, but it wasn’t something he could say, sounded too conceited, too much like a cheap romance.

Tatian was nodding thoughtfully. “There was always a lot of gossip in the Nest about him. A lot of people think he’s a herm.”

“I’m glad he doesn’t know that—” Warreven broke off as the screen changed, displaying Malemayn’s image. “Mal, I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

“So am I,” Malemayn answered. “I was going to call you.”

“Is—” Warreven broke off, suddenly afraid, and Malemayn shook his head.

“No, Hal’s fine. But Dr. Jaans says things are strange in the city; she wants to move 3im tonight.”

“Trust Oddyny to have her finger on the pulse,” Tatian muttered.

Warreven said, “That’s what I was calling you about, actually. I—we’ve been watching the news channel, and I thought Hal might be better off at the port if anything goes wrong.”

Malemayn nodded. “That’s what Oddyny said. I wanted to tell you first, though, see what you thought.”

Warreven shivered. “I think too many people are saying it’s the right thing for us not to do it.”

“I’ve seen some of it,” Malemayn said. “Everybody’s watching it here, too. Have the mosstaas moved in at all?”

“I haven’t seen them,” Warreven answered, and glanced at Tatian.

“The last I heard, Temelathe was supposed to be holding them off.”

“Well, that would be the first good news in all of this,” Malemayn said sourly. “I’ll tell Oddyny we agree.”

Warreven nodded. “Thanks.”