Courtship Rite

31

HUMILITY WAS WRAPPED in the robes of the Miethi desert clan that inhabited the edge of the Swollen Tongue. Her face was veiled and her fingers clothed to the second joint. She poked in shops, wandering, sucking on flavored mountain ice. For a while she watched a street funeral. Women of the Tunni, red flowers in their hair and naked children underfoot, flirted with their black-robed men who manned a spit that roasted the skinned corpse of some deceased elder. A cart brought musicians and bowls of food.

Nothing was as refreshing to Humility as these brief sun-heights of freedom from the men she obeyed, these moments away from the hive discipline, from purpose and thought. It was pleasant to amuse that secret person within herself, the Queen of Life-before-Death.

At the shop of a coppersmith she picked up some pieces she had ordered and, farther on, a thumb-sized jar of chemicals. She found a man-height of lace fabric she needed at a weaver’s stall but did not buy it — tomorrow perhaps; today it was enough merely to imagine the lacy costume. Subvocally she hummed the piped tune of a dance and her ghost feet jigged while her real feet plodded an idle path down the street of Early Wings, now deserted as if she had planned to be alone. Such a street was seldom empty.

As she had been instructed, the jeweler-merchant was there, cooped in his narrow room that was hardly wider than his heavy door. Yes, the pale man was of the Weigeni, a merchant clan spread over half of Geta though rare in Kaiel-hontokae. He had the rectangular carvings in his skin and the nose ring. She was his only customer. He stared at her, not speaking, not thinking much of her, for the Miethi bought little except beads to weave into their robes.

She asked him shyly for beads, some rich green ones, and smiled at the man with her eyes, then readjusted her veil so he could see less of her. He brought the beads from a drawer. While he was stooping and she had her eyes cast demurely toward the door, she yanked a wire loop around his neck so quickly that he died without even surprise on his face. The body dropped behind the counter.

Why did the old crone want this particular Weiseni dead? She did not know. The old crones were too old for men so they played politics on a grand scale. A leisurely moment later Humility had closed and barred the door and drawn the shutters as if her victim were gone on some errand as jewelers were wont to do.

She listened. Then she returned and quickly cut the dead man’s throat. For artistic completeness she slashed his arms as if he had defended himself from a clumsy knifing. She stabbed him viciously, as one would who knew no anatomy and bore the strength of a large man. After a careful review of the imaginary fight, she tumbled a counter to imitate a recoil against a stagger heavier than the counter could bear. For a moment she glanced at the jewelry. The emeralds pleased her, but she did not take them. She took the larger, flashier stones that were nearly worthless, and some gold. Even a fool would recognize gold.

Dusk was a pleasant time of day. She disposed of the jewelry while walking and sat washing her knife at the pool in the Bok of the Fountain of Two Women. Dead insects floated on the surface of the water. A hawker was selling hot spiced soybean curd to passers-by for copper coin. She felt delight that others were enjoying the dusk, too. A small o’Tghalie woman was strolling with two of her men, holding them one on each arm, smiling to her left and teasing with her hip to the right. Magicians, those o’Tghalie. They could tell you how the electron demons would fly along the shapes of metal that the coppersmith had made for her.

Humility’s time to herself was over. She wandered back to the hive, gradually changing the appearance of her robe so that she would no longer be mistaken for a Miethi. The se-Tufi Who Possessed Honor met her in the hive briefing room where they tranced. Honor memorized Honey’s latest exploits, donned Humility’s clothes and left for the Palace. Humility spent a sun-height resting nude on the stone floor of her cell to drain from her mind the luxury of the Palace, and the feel of the hands of men, and the thoughts of pleasing. Then she took the copper pieces, the last pieces, and finished assembling the toy rayvoice that Hoemei had shown her how to build. She had seemed stupid but only because she was checking three ways everything that Hoemei said.

The only part she had been unable to make herself was the electron jar which she had had crafted for her at great expense in one of the market factories and seduced Hoemei into testing. The test she understood, but it was incredibly frustrating that she did not know how to make the testing instruments. Magic always had its loose ends which made it hard to steal.

None of the Liethe knew what she was doing; even Honor had not been able to duplicate Humility’s rayvoice experiences, and would need special training if she were to continue Honey’s escapade as Hoemei’s mistress. Humility needed to be able to give the hive a show. First she took Cocked Ear into her confidence, promising nothing, but sending her to a distant room with the voice box, while Humility retained the machine’s ear. Sarcastically, she mimicked Aesoe’s sweet talk into the ear, wondering if anything would happen.

The universe, according to Hoemei, was like a tuning fork. If you sang the right note at a tuning fork it vibrated. The whole world was many such tuning forks, conjoined, and if you calculated the linkages and built real ones to match the calculations, then you could have a musical instrument that would respond to your voice a hundred days journey away. Humility didn’t really expect her box to work even though she had been very careful with the calculations, checking them by hand as well as by o’Tghalie, but she hoped it would.

Cocked Eat burst into her cell, astonished. “What is it? I heard Aesoe speaking! Was that really him?”

“Silly. That was me! You heard me?”

“I should have known,” Cocked Ear giggled. “Aesoe is never that obscene!”

“I want to try it on the crone mother! Set her up for the game. As soon as she has the voice to her ear, wave a flag in the corridor.”

When the signal came, Humility said into her box, “Your enemy sleeps!”

The crone mother was at her door almost immediately, huffing and trembling. “What is this thing!” She held out the talking shell as one might the giant mutated head of a fei flower.

“It’s a magic ear!”

“Did you steal it from the Palace?” the old crone asked almost in panic.

“I made it! Hoemei showed me how.”

Humility was received with disbelief. The ancient woman could not imagine herself learning how to build such a device. The se-Tufi had an illustrious place in the chronicles, but they were not magicians!

Humility smiled with engaging innocence. “You never had Hoemei for a lover! He’s adept at stuffing the best of himself into my head.”

But the old mind had retreated and was already testing the possibilities. “How far can it reach?”

“Not far. This one is only a toy.”

“You’ve seen the fuller magic?”

“The magician’s workshop in the Palace, yes.”

“How far does their magic reach?”

“You’ve heard the gossip. Anywhere on Geta. Sometimes noise demons cast counter magic.” Humility’s eyes lit up proudly. “I’ve talked to our Liethe sisters in Soebo.”

The crone’s cane rose and jabbed the air. “When!”

“A mere few sunsets ago.”

“You chatted about the size of Mnankrei dongs?” the crone asked sarcastically.

Humility bowed. “No, honored one. I have brought a special message for you. I knew you wished this information so I asked if it were obtainable. It is Winterstorm Master Nie’t’Fosal who does genetic probings upon the lowly underjaw.”

“Ah, so it is true. Aesoe has made such speculations.”

“You didn’t think you’d get an answer to that one for eons, did you?”

“You are immodestly aware of your abilities.”

“I have Hoemei tied to my hairs.” The slight flick of her hip was arrogant.

“Four rounds of penance tonight before you sleep!” the crone commanded, whacking her with the cane for her pride.

Humility knelt to the floor and bowed her head, wiping the ground with it. “I shall seek true humility in my penance, wise crone.”

The hive mother dismissed Cocked Ear. She waited until they were well alone. “How went your afternoon?”

“I truly enjoyed it. I walked as far as the Bok of the Fountain of Two Women.”

“Frivolous.”

“To clean my knife.”

“Ah. The jeweler. Did he suffer pains?” Hag eyes glowed like bone heaps in the cremation fire of a poisoned man.

“I do not dally to allow my opponent the choice of a response. He never knew.”

“Yes. I suppose,” she grumbled. “Perhaps it is better that way.” The harridan did not sound convinced.