“I thought he was nicer than that.”
Morgot considered this, wrinkling her forehead. “No. Charming on occasion, yes. Sometimes witty and sometimes sexy, but I don’t think anyone could call Michael ‘nice.’ Well, at any rate, Sylvia sent word that Chernon should go to his aunt’s house during carnival. Sylvia has a sister, Erica, who lives over in Weaver’s Street. Chernon has been going there for carnival ever since. Since Vinsas has no obsession about Erica, he now lets Chernon alone. I took the trouble to find that out from Michael, though he was snippy about it.” She stirred the mixed grains in the other pot. “This seems to be done. As soon as I’ve cut some bread, I think we can call the family.”
“Poor Chernon.”
“Why did he speak to you?” Morgot wanted to know.
“I don’t know.” Stavia was honestly puzzled by the whole thing. “I really don’t know.”
“Perhaps he misses his mother,” Morgot said, her mouth shaking a little, the way it sometimes did when she was thinking about the boys, down there in the garrison.
“Are you going to have any more babies?” Stavia asked, assessing her mother’s mood to be one which allowed exchange of confidences.
Morgot shook her head in time with her slicing knife. “I don’t think so, love. Five of you is enough. Three boys. It’s been seven, eight years since we gave Byram to his warrior father. I’d forgotten how much it hurts.”
Myra came into the kitchen, walking in a new slithery way she’d been practicing a lot lately. “Don’t have any more boys. Have a girl. A baby sister for me.”
“Now that’s an idea.” Morgot laughed. “If one could just be sure it would be a girl!”
Maybe Morgot would try for another girl, but not this coming carnival, Stavia could tell. Morgot might decide sometime to have another baby—she was only thirty-five—but it wouldn’t be soon.
And even the next carnival was a long time away. There would be weeks of studies first. Stavia was doing drama in her Arts division, where the current project was to learn about Iphigenia at Ilium, the traditional play that the Council put on every year before summer carnival. All the drama students had to learn how to make costumes and do makeup and build sets, in addition to learning the part of at least one character in the play. Since the play wasn’t very long, Stavia had decided it was really easier just to memorize the whole thing. Then in Sciences division she’d be studying physiology, which she was good at, and in Crafts division there’d be some kind of practical gardening project which would be fun. There was always a new section of the Women’s Country Ordinances to memorize or an old one to review. And in addition to all that, because she had turned ten, women’s studies would start this year: management, administration, sexual skills. Plus special electives in any outstanding talent areas. Stavia mentioned this in puzzlement, wondering what she would choose.
“So far as I can see, Stavvy, you have no talent area.” Myra picked into the dish of stewed dried fruit to pull out a chunk of apple between two fingers. Morgot slapped her fingers away.
“She’s very good in biological sciences,” Morgot corrected, spooning the hot grain into a bowl. “Her potential as a physician is high.”
“Oh, doctoring,” poohed Myra. “Dull.”
“We can’t all be great choreographers,” said Morgot, mentioning Myra’s current ambition. “Or even weavers.”
Myra flushed angrily. The director at the weaving shop had threatened to drop Myra from the junior staff for lack of application. All Myra wanted to do was dance, and she had no patience for anything else. She started to say something, then thought better of it.
Morgot observed this reaction and went on calmly, “Stavia will do very well with the talents she has. Myra, will you tell Joshua that supper’s ready, please?”
“He knows when we eat,” Myra said sarcastically.
“Myra!” Morgot turned on her, a face full of furious embarrassment. “That was unbearably rude!”
Myra had the grace to flush again, and the sense to keep quiet. When she had left the room, Stavia asked, in wonderment, “Why would she say something like that?”
“Your sister’s getting rather focused on a particular young warrior. Joshua tells me they’ve been exchanging notes from the wall walk. I expect they’ll have an assignation next carnival.”
“Why does that make her be rude about Joshua?”
“The young warrior is probably rude about Joshua—or rather about all the men who have returned. You know the warriors’ attitude toward servitors.”
“I know they’ve got this sort of sneeriness, but I didn’t know it was communicable.” Score one off Myra, she thought.
Morgot’s mouth quirked a little. “Well, seemingly it is. Though the course of the disease is usually brief. Perhaps Myra will get over it.” She put the tallow lamp in the center of the table, adjusting the wick to minimize the smoke. The soft colors of the glazed tiles gleamed in the lamplight, bringing highlights from the glaze of the soft clay plates and cups, the oiled wood of the
