'I'm sorry to interrupt you, ma'am, but I thought you'd want to know — we just got Inspector Gundhalinu back.'
Jerusha's spoon clattered on the petals of her flower-form dish. 'He's dead.'
'No, ma'am, I saw him myself. Some native woman brought him in. We've got a medic checking him over now, down in the hospital—'
'Where is he?' Jerusha threw the question at the nearest technician as she entered the examining room from the hall of the hospital whig. She had left TessraBarde to make an explanation to the First Secretary, hoping but not really caring if her apologies had been sufficient. 'Inspector Gundhalinu—'
'In there, Commander.' The woman pointed with her chin, hands full of equipment.
Jerusha went on through the second doorway without stopping, still only half believing that the room would not be empty. 'Gundhalinu!' It was not empty, and his name burst out of her with more feeling than she had intended.
He turned to look at her from where he sat, feet hanging over the edge of the examining table, stripped to the waist while a blue-clad med tech ran a diagnosticator down his chest. She counted each and every rib standing out like staves along his side. She saw his face, felt disbelief as it registered: gaunt, unshaven, gap toothed. She saw him grope for a shirt that wasn't there as she came to a stop before him. He waved the medic away, moved his hands in the air, and finally folded them across his chest like an embarrassed little boy. 'Commander—'
Yes, by all the gods; it is you, BZ... She controlled the urge to ruin his dignity and her own completely by embracing him like a mother. 'If you aren't a sight for sore eyes, Gundhalinu,' grinning until she thought she couldn't stand it.
'Gods! Excuse me, Commander; I didn't mean to see you looking like this ... that is, I meant, presentably —'
'BZ, all I give a damn about is whether that body's the real thing. If it is, then this celebration upstairs isn't pointless after all.'
His face fumbled with a smile. 'As real as they come.' He slouched forward, putting up a hand to catch an ugly cough.
'Are you all right? What's wrong with him, medic?' Jerusha turned to the technician, realized for the first time that there was a fourth person in the room, sitting quietly hi the corner.
The medic shrugged. 'Exhaustion. Walking pneumo—'
'Nothing a couple of antibiotic lozenges can't take care of,' Gundhalinu said abruptly, cutting him off. 'And a hot meal for my friend and me.' He glanced at the silent fourth party with a quick smile, focused official disapproval on the medic like a gun.
'I'll see what I can do, Inspector.' The technician left the room, his face utterly expressionless. Jerusha wondered whether he was hiding irritation or simply laughter.
'If I'd known, I would have brought you my leftovers. The first half of my state dinner would have fed the starving masses of a planet.' Curiosity pulled her around even as she spoke, looking past sinks and shelves filled with medical obscurities, to study their silent observer. A fair-skinned girl draped in a white parka, with a yellowing bruise on her face; a native? Jerusha frowned. The girl looked back at her, not with the cowed timidity she had expected, but with a measuring stare. And there was something familiar
Gundhalinu followed her gaze, said almost too quickly, 'Commander, this is the Summer woman who saved my life, who got me back hi time for the final departure. Moon, come and meet Commander PalaThion; if there's anyone on this planet who can help you reach your cousin, she can.' He looked back. 'I was taken prisoner by bandits, ma'am, and so was she. But she—'
Jerusha let his words roll over her unheeded. Moon ... Summer Moon Dawntreader Summer! The kidnapped innocent, Ngenet's murdered guest, the Queen's lost clone ... the Queen's clone. Yes, she knew that face now, now that she saw it clearly at last. A cold tremor fell through her: What is she doing here? How can she be here, how can she be the one who brought him back? Not her-The girl came to stand beside Gundhalinu; his hand closed over hers protectively. Doesn't he know she's proscribed; doesn't he remember her? 'Commander PalaThion?' Moon smiled with subtle anxiety.
'What are you doing—'
'Commander, I take responsibility for bringing her—' Gundhalinu broke off as a crowd of voices filled the outer room. Jeusha saw his face light up, and then flash panic, as he realized what language they spoke. 'Sainted —! Commander... Moon,' jerking the parka off her back, 'I need your coat.'
Moon let him take it, even helped him struggle into the sleeves as though she somehow understood his embarrassment. He slid to his feet alongside the table, sealing the jacket up the front as the First Secretary and the Speaker entered, trailing an exquisite wake of half a dozen banquet guests and their companions. Jerusha saluted them, saw Gundhalinu salute in a rictus of pride.
'Commander.' First Secretary Sirus acknowledged them with a nod. 'When we learned that the lost officer was one of our own people, we decided that we ought to come and congratulate him ourselves on his safe return.' He looked at Gundhalinu, and at Moon; back at Gundhalinu again, as though he couldn't believe a Kharemoughi had ever looked like that.
'Inspector BZ Gundhalinu, sadhu.' Gundhalinu saluted again as though he had to prove it. Jerusha was suddenly glad that she had spent the last month of sleepless nights listlessly learning spoken Sandhi for this occasion. She still could not sort out the convolutions of the rank forms. 'Technician of the second rank.
Sadhanu, bhai, I — I thank you all for coming. This is the greatest honor, the highest moment of my life.'
'Gundhalinu-esMrad.' Sirus's expression eased at the compliment, and at the reassurance that they were, at least, in the presence of a highborn. 'You bring your class and family prestige, at such a young age already an inspector to be.'
'Thank you, sadhu.' Gundhalinu's freckles reddened. He tried to hold back a fit of thick coughing, failed; they waited with polite sympathy.
'He has my best officer been. I've him sorely missed.' Jerusha took pleasure in Gundhalinu's swift glance filled with surprise, at the tribute, at hearing it in Sandhi. Moon stood silent between them, with a private smile on her face. Jerusha noticed for the first time the tunic the girl was wearing; its colors heightened the alien ness of her pale skin and light-silvered hair. It was the traditional costume of the Winter nomads; she had seen one once displayed as a rarity in the window of an antique shop in the Maze. Who are you, girl?
But she heard only Secretary Sirus introducing himself, holding up a palm for the Kharemoughi equivalent of a handshake. Moon went unexpectedly rigid at the sound of his name. Gundhalinu stepped forward, raising his own hand. A second of discomfort passed like an electric spark between them before their palms met: She saw that Gundhalinu's hand would not open fully; the fingers were drawn up like claws. She saw the pink-white scars ridging his inner wrist next. Oh, gods, BZSirus went on with the introductions. Gundhalinu kept a straight face as the perfumed Speaker refused to touch his hand. Does he think it's catching? Jerusha frowned. She knew a slashed wrist when she saw one, knew the Kharemoughis, being what they were, would recognize it, too.
'You — must terrible hardships have suffered, lost in the wilderness after your patrol craft crashed, Inspector Gundhalinu.' Sirus's words were a springboard for an explanation.
'I — I wasn't in the wilderness lost, Secretary Sirus,' Gundhalinu said woodenly. 'I was by bandits prisoner made. They treated me-badly.' He looked down under the weight of their combined gaze, pressed his wrists together. 'If not for this woman here, I would never back have gotten. She saved my life.' He reached out, caught Moon's elbow and drew her forward. 'This is Moon Dawntreader Summer.' His expression as he glanced at her told her the honor she was being paid. She smiled at him, looked back at Sums with sudden intentness.
'A native?' the Speaker said, loud with drink. 'An ignorant barbarian girl has a Kharemoughi inspector rescued? It doesn't me amuse, Gundhalinu-eshkrad, not at all.'
'No humor was intended.' Gundhalinu raised his head, his own voice suddenly soft and cold. Jerusha looked a warning at him, but he didn't see it. 'She's no ignorant savage. She's the wisest, the noblest human being in this room. She is a sibyl.' He pulled aside the collar of her tunic carefully; she lifted her chin with pride to expose a half-healed knife wound and a trefoil tattoo. Jerusha grimaced. By the Boatman, now you've done it!
Caught off guard, instinctive reaction filled their watching faces; but the Speaker was too deeply in his cups
