'Is that where he's been at night?' Charles asked. 'I had wondered.'
'And you didn't ask?' Tess spoke the words and an instant later realized how sarcastic they sounded. 'I have to talk to you,' she said quickly, to cover her embarrassment and to get it over with. This was something best done quickly, before she lost her nerve. Somehow, seeing Anatoly and Diana escorted off into the night to their tent had made her determined to talk to Charles now, however much she wanted to put it off.
'Please sit,' said Charles. Cara and Tess sat down next to each other, in chairs. Ilya hesitated. 'I have pillows,' said Charles suddenly, 'and something I brought for you from Jeds.' He vanished into the tent, emerging with two large pillows and a velvet bag. He tossed the pillows onto the ground so that the two men could sit side by side and on the same level.
Ilya's lips twitched, and then he smiled. 'Well done,' he said, and sat down. Charles sat down beside him, opened the velvet bag, and drew out two objects: a book and a clock.
He gave Ilya the clock first. It had a simple design, a white unnumbered face framed with mahogany; a spring door in the back opened to reveal the mechanical workings.
'This is different,' Ilya said, 'than the clocks I saw in Jeds.'
'The lines and hands mark out the hours of the day.'
'Like a khaja wall marks out land,' said Ilya, glancing up at Tess. Then, turning back to Charles, 'Its simplicity lends it beauty.''
Charles offered him the book and, of course, he took it. Ilya never could resist a book. He ran his hands along the leather binding in a way that was almost amorous, and then turned it to the title page and then to the text. He gave a short bark of laughter. ' 'Being convinced that the human intellect makes its own difficulties-' ' He closed the book and handed it up to Tess. 'True enough words,' he said to Charles.
'The New Organon. Francis Bacon,' read Tess. 'Charles!' Both men looked up at her expectantly. She stroked one arm of her chair, tracing the patterns in its carved wood with her fingers. 'Charles,' she said again, and lapsed into silence. A book and a clock-the one by a philosopher who had helped develop the scientific method, the other, well, Ilya himself had compared a device that measures time in artificial increments to the walls that interrupt the natural flow of the land. These were the worst weapons Charles could have brought; and he knew it, and she knew it.
Cara rescued them from the uncomfortable silence. The doctor leaned down to rummage in a cloth bag crumpled at the base of her chair and drew out a mass of yarn, and began to knit.
Ilya's face lit with interest. 'That is like weaving. May I ask what it is you're doing?'
'It's called knitting. The women of your people don't knit? Who did the marvelous embroidery on your shirt?'
He tilted his head to one side, looking pleased and a little shy. 'I did.'
'You did?' Cara laughed. 'Well. That ought to teach me not to make unwarranted assumptions. What were you going to say, Tess? Would you like something to drink? Some Scotch, perhaps?'
'I don't think so-'
'Certainly.' Ilya cut across her refusal. 'We would be honored.' He shot her an admonishing glance. Sharing food and drink was one of the two fundamental courtesies that bound the jaran tribes together.
'Perhaps you'd like to come with me,' said Cara, to Ilya.
'No. I want Ilya to stay here.' His presence was both the spur and the anchor, forcing her to go forward, keeping her stable. She clutched the book in both hands. 'And you, too, Cara. It's no long speech. It's very little, really, it's very simple. I'm not going back.'
Charles rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. 'You're not going back where?'
'To Jeds, with you, when you go back. When you leave.' She burned with heat. She knew it, could feel the flush on her face, could feel her pulse pounding. 'It's only fair to tell you, so you don't keep thinking… that maybe I will. That I'm going back. I know that's what you came for. But I can't go. Not now.'
'Why is that?' Charles's voice was cool, neutral.
Ilya sat straight, his chin lifted in triumph, and he looked at Tess, not at his rival, as if, having won, he could now dismiss him.
Why did she have to defend herself like this? And why must she do it so damned badly? 'Because I love him,' she said in Anglais.
'Love is a compelling reason,' said Charles in Rhuian, and Ilya shifted his gaze to Charles. 'But alone it is not always sufficient. I think it isn't all that is keeping you here.'
'What do you mean by that?' demanded Ilya. Whatever ease had existed between the two men at the beginning of the conversation vanished, evaporating in the heat of Ilya's question.
'Ilya,' said Tess.
'I'm getting the Scotch,' said Cara, 'and I expect you two to behave yourselves until I get back.' She rose and strode off to her tent.
Charles raised his eyebrows. His gaze caught on Bakhtiian's, and a moment later the two men smiled stiffly at each other.
'Serves you right,' muttered Tess. Cara returned with the bottle of Scotch and four sturdy glass tumblers. Ilya held up the one she gave him and turned it, watching the light splinter and catch in the crystal.
'This is beautiful.' He lowered the glass so that Cara could pour a splash of the liquor into it. With the others, he lifted it and drank. Tess lowered her glass and watched him, saw his eyes round at the potency of the alcohol. He choked back a cough and took another sip, cautiously this time.
Cara chuckled. 'Now,' she said, 'you will come with me, Bakhtiian. I have a few things to show you, and some questions to ask about your army's medical logistics.'
Ilya looked at Tess, and she sighed and nodded. He rose and obediently followed Dr. Hierakis.
'It's an interesting culture,' said Charles, watching them go. 'And rather admirable, in its way.'
'Yes, well,' she replied sarcastically, 'Francis Bacon will soon put an end to that.'
'You don't approve?'
'He'll never use the clock. They just don't think that way.''
'Doubtless,' said Charles, sounding sardonic in his turn, 'in the Great Chain of Philosophic Being, their culture ranks far above our own.'
Stung, she tossed the book with purposeful disregard onto Ilya's pillow. It landed next to the clock. 'You know it's ridiculous to compare cultures in that fashion.''
He looked serious all at once, and Tess did not know what to make of his expression. 'Tess, I have faith in you that you would not have stayed with the jaran if they were savages.'
But his sympathy made her feel worse. She curled her hands around the tumbler and stared at the Scotch, swirling it around in the glass. 'They're killing a lot of people, Charles. Lots of people. Hordes of them.'
'As will I, if I lead another rebellion against the Chapalii Empire. That's my choice, isn't it?'
Tess set the glass down on the rug. She could hear Cara talking softly behind her, and Ilya's softer replies. 'Charles.' She wrapped her fingers together, unwound them, and let them fall to her lap. 'You made a choice to make a cause the center of your life. I can't live that way. Someday I'll come to the end of my life and when I look back, I know what measure I'll make of how well I lived. That measure is in the lives I lived beside.'
'But someone must live for the cause. Or else we remain slaves. Well-treated slaves, it is true, but slaves nevertheless.'
'You're right, of course. I never said I wouldn't do my part. But you've given up everything else for your work and I can't-I won't-do that. Otherwise my life is a desert-nothing.' She hesitated, not wanting to hurt him, to judge him, but he merely watched her, unfathomable. 'If anything of me lives on after I'm dead, it will be my linguistics work, and, I hope, children as well.'
'You've thought about this a great deal.'
She steepled her hands and rested her lips on her thumbs, then raised her head to look at him again. 'I've torn at myself. Half of me says that I must give myself entirely to your work, that it's my duty to you, my duty to humanity, that's most important. It's a litany that runs through my head. But what use would it be for me to sacrifice myself for that? I'm not a leader. I'm not like you. Or like Ilya, for that matter. I don't want to be a leader, I'm not cut out to be one. I can contribute in other ways. I will. But I won't give up my family to do so.' She said it with passion, and only a moment later realized how it must sound to him.
'As I've given up mine?' he asked, and she could not tell if he was hurt, angry, or amused.
