the burying and mourning and so on. She was playing with Renneque Silbe, her best friend, making houses out of screens and pillows and cushions on the rug in front of the nursery fire, which roared and crackled away behind its fire guard of hanging chains. They were looking through the pillows and cushions to find one the right size for their house’s door. This was the third house they’d built; some of the boys kept coming over from where they were playing near the windows and kicking their houses down. The nurses were meant to be looking after them all but they were in their own room nearby drinking juice.
“You killed your mother,” Renneque said suddenly.
“What?” Djan Seriy said.
“I heard you did. Bet you did. Mamma said so. You killed her. Why was that? Did you? Did you really? Did it hurt?”
“I didn’t.”
“She says you did.”
“Well I didn’t.”
“I know you did; my mamma told me.”
“Didn’t. Didn’t kill her. Wouldn’t have.”
“My mamma says you did.”
“Stop it. I didn’t.”
“My mamma does not lie.”
“Didn’t kill her. She just died.”
“My mamma said it was you who killed her.”
“She just died.”
“People don’t just die. Somebody has to kill them.”
“Wasn’t me. She just died.”
“Like Duke Wudyen was killed by who gave him the black cough. That’s reason.”
“Just died.”
“No, you killed her.”
“Didn’t.”
“Did so! Come on now, Djan. Did you? Did you really?”
“Leave me alone. She just died.”
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? Are you crying?”
“Not crying.”
“You are! You’re crying!”
“Not.”
“Toho! Kebli! Look; Djan’s crying!”
Humli Ghasartravhara cleared his throat as he moved his next piece. He wasn’t really playing any longer, just shifting pieces about. They might have sent somebody better, Anaplian thought, then chided herself for making assumptions. “Will you be staying long?” the man asked. “On Sursamen? Or with the Morthanveld?”
“I don’t know.” She made a move. Quick, easy, knowing she had won.
“The ship you arrived on,” the man said. He left a space she was meant to fill, but Anaplian just raised her eyebrows. “It wasn’t very forthcoming, that’s all,” Humli said, when she refused to speak. “Just kind of dropped you. No passenger manifest or whatever they call it.”
Anaplian nodded. “They call it a passenger manifest,” she confirmed.
“The ship’s a bit concerned, that’s all,” Ghasartravhara said, with a bashful smile. He meant his ship, this ship; the
“Is it? The poor thing.”
“Obviously, we — it — would never normally be this, ah…”
“Intrusive? Paranoid?”
“Let’s say… concerned.”
“Let’s.”
“However, with the whole Morthanveld situation, you know…”
“I do?”
He gave a nervous laugh. “It’s like waiting for a birth, almost, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
Humli sat back, slumped a little and cleared his throat again. “You’re not really making this very easy for me, Ms Anaplian.”
“Was I supposed to? Why?”
He looked at her for a while, then shook his head. “Also,” he said, on a deep breath in, “I was, ah, asked by the ship Mind to ask you about an item in your luggage.”
“Were you now?”
“Unusual. Basically a knife missile.”
“I see.”
“You are aware it is there.”
“I am aware there is something there.”
Ghasartravhara smiled at her. “You’re not being spied on or anything. It’s just these things show up on the scans ships do of anything and everything coming aboard.”
“Are MSVs always so concerned with every intimate part of a traveller’s luggage?”
“Not normally. As I say—”
“The Morthanveld situation.”
“Well, yes.”
“Let me tell you the truth, Mr Ghasartravhara.”
The man sat back. “Okay,” he said, as though preparing himself for something unpleasant.
“I work for Special Circumstances.” She saw his eyes widen. “But I’m off duty. Maybe even off message, and possibly off for good. They’ve pulled my claws, Humli,” she told him, and flexed an eyebrow. She held up one hand, exposing her fingernails. “See those?” Humli nodded. “Ten days ago I had nails with embedded CREWs, any one of which could have drilled a hole in your head big enough to stick a fist through.” Mr. Ghasartravhara looked suitably impressed. Even nervous. She inspected her new nails. “Now… well, they’re just fingernails.” She shrugged. “There’s a lot of other stuff I’m missing, too. All the really useful, harmful, hi-gadgetry stuff. It’s been taken from me.” She shrugged. “I surrendered it. All because of what we’re calling the Morthanveld situation. And now I’m making a private visit to my home, after the recent death of both my father and my brother.”
The man looked relieved and embarrassed. He nodded slowly. “I really am sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
He cleared his throat again and said apologetically, “And the knife missile?”
“It stowed away. It was supposed to stay behind but the drone which controls it wants to protect me.” She was choosing her words very carefully.
“Aw,” Ghasartravhara said, looking and sounding mawkish.
“It is old and getting sentimental,” she told him sternly.
“Yeah, but still.”
“Still nothing. It will get us both into trouble if it’s not careful. All the same, I’d appreciate it if the fact of that device’s presence here didn’t get back to SC.”
“Can’t imagine that will be a problem,” Humli said, smiling.
Yes, she thought, grinning complicitly, everybody likes feeling they’ve got something over SC, don’t they? She nodded at the board. “Your move.”
“I think I’m beaten,” he admitted ruefully. He looked at her dubiously. “I didn’t know you were in SC when I agreed to play you.”
