Voices of Chaos (23 page)

I
wonder what he's thinking. What the Asha's thinking--(I they do think.
It could be just reacting to his stare.

Zhik blinked at his cousin's wry comment and flicked his ears nervously. "A-apologies, designer; I know it is ill manners to stare so, but--but the garment!

My father's garmenter clearly should serve as his curtainmaker! If that." He brought his whiskers forward and gave Fahara a proper greeting-gesture. "I am Zhikna, of the house of--"

"One knows you from vid, noble-he," Fahara said as he hesitated. Her voice was unexpectedly high and carrying. "Also, An-Lieye and I came to the city from one of your northern villages when my repute began to grow."

"Earned, beyond doubt," Zhik murmured, eyes drawn again to An-Lieye's softly rippling fringe. He added, rapidly. "There is a cap in my flitter, in a color I favor. But the robe it once matched is four seasons old and long out of style.

If I--?"

Fahara was pleased. "Go fetch it, noble-he, and let me see what I think of it."

"The robe really
is
beautiful," Magdalena said. "But why is she wearing it?

Apologies, Fahara, but this is the first Asha I have seen wearing real clothing."

Fahara gestured assent. "It is uncommon. I may be the only Arekkhi to do such a thing. But I have no young of my own, and it both pleases and amuses me to clothe her. Also, those who visit me are mostly wealthy; if they have offspring, they will often purchase garments they see upon An-Lieye. I choose with care, and craft; they buy; I am rich." The designer smiled; a calculated movement of mouth and whiskers, though her eyes remained warm. "She wears the fringe for you, Translator."

"For me? Oh!" Magdalena smiled, but her eyes were wide. "Fahara, you do me too much honor! The gown is wonderful, but I could not afford to pay what it must be worth!"

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''A gift--'' the designer began, but Alexis gestured a negative.

"Apologies, designer, but we are not permitted to accept gifts. Khyriz can tell you. But if perhaps--"

Khyriz touched the interrelator's arm. "Not a gift, of course. But... if the robe were a loan? A loan like the gems the CLS has already granted that I can tender you and Magdalena, for my father's ball? Also, think of the good to Fahara, for Magdalena to wear such 'Fringe of Dancer.' At present, Fahara has few noble clients and only one royal. She needs a reputation to gather such clients."

"Well, if you put it like that," Alexis said. Khyriz was right; he'd first offered jewelry as an outright gift, and then as a loan when the CLS cited their

"bribe-rule." "I'll have to make certain it's all right, but it should be the same as your offer of lent jewels."

"Which was considered acceptable," Khyriz agreed.

"But--but 'Fringe of Dancer,' " Magdalena began. The designer uttered a little spat of laughter.

"I have seen the Prince's vid," she said. Alexis smiled as Magdalena groaned and made a face at Khyriz, who merely smiled and wandered away to inspect the gardens. Fahara eyed Alexis with a professionally narrowed eye. "The quality of
our
vid is unfortunate. I chose colors for you both based on the news report, but they will not do." She talked almost nonstop as she positioned the interrelator midroom and used a small black box to measure height and armlength, pausing only to ask a question or answer them, or to move Alexis's arms or legs for additional measurements. The box emitted faint clicking noises.

"Refreshments, I forget my manners," the designer announced suddenly.

She set the measuring box on a matching pad and scooped a black basket from under the fabric-piled table as she gestured sharply. The Asha came to her at once, seemed to take in her urgent hand gestures, then took the basket, and hurried across the room in a flurry of skirts and fringes, and vanished down the hallway toward the outside. Zhik, murmuring something about his cap, left moments later.

Alexis pulled her attention from the black pad, which was

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clicking and beeping softly, and asked, "Your pardon, designer-she, but I am curious. We have pets on our world, often very clever and trainable--

somewhat like your Asha, perhaps. But I know of few who could be trained to take that basket, go to the right place with it. How was she trained?''

Fahara's whiskers flicked, and her words sounded stilted, all at once. "The ...

that particular basket always goes to the common pantry the five corridors share. Dhejahl, who prepares the food and drink for all of us, he fills the basket. She knows to carry a filled basket from the pantry to this room."

Whiskers curved in a smile. ''And Dhejahl has a vid-screen in the pantry with my appointments each day, so he knows how much to send."

"Oh. Would've been my next question. Hmmm--that's easy enough," Alexis said. Her eyes went back to the measuring machine. "What is that doing now?''

"It makes a model for me--look there," she added, pressing two red points on the board with one hand and gesturing toward one of the clear cases.

Magdalena caught her breath as a three-dimensional red-line-holo of Alexis filled the space. "For Arekkhi, it shows the complete figure, and soon, the creator of the device tells me, he will be able to show the complete figure of human women. Now..." She pressed something else on the surface of the mat; a basic loose robe in pale blue clothed the body. Fahara tinkered with sleeves, turned the figure partway around, moved its arms, changed the neckline, added a hat, made it larger and then smaller. Alexis's eyes moved avidly between the board and the holo. The designer gestured. "The Prince says you understand such tech. Will you care to experiment with it?"

"Would I?" Alexis breathed, clearly enchanted. She took the designer's place. "I can't damage or erase anything, can I?"

"The figures are stored," Fahara assured her, and turned her attention to the translator. "Not the white for you, no. The special red. I go to fetch it."

Khyriz seemed to break free of his thoughts; he came back inside and gestured--the very basic, "This one requires the

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toilet."
Arekkhi are unexpectedly direct about bodily functions,
Alexis thought wryly.

"You know your way about my apartments, Prince," the designer said, and gestured a quick bow to the women. "I shall not be long over the fabrics.

Begin your refreshment if An-Lieye returns before I do." She crossed the room and disappeared behind the enameled panel, following Khyriz.

Storage as well as private space back there, Alexis thought vaguely, her attention already on the designer's neat little piece of tech. There were enough press-pads here to keep her occupied for some time.

Magdalena glanced at her absorbed companion, past her to the sunlit (and hot, even though covered) garden, then moved over to the table to feel the materials there and look at Fahara's drawings. Mostly the drawings were of ordinary daytime clothing for hot weather, the kinds of things the Arekkhi they'd met so far were wearing. Many of the drawings showed subtle changes in style: uneven hemlines or doubled skirts, a square-cut throat.

Changes to fashion that hadn't altered much in a hundred years would need to be subtle, of course. Still--here was a jumpsuit, though it was covered by a very long vest.

Beyond another of the shallow cases, there were more pictures: Mostly still lifes, similar to old-style photographs, though there were a few holos, all showing the designer's Asha in a variety of exquisite robes. I
wish I could
think what it was about her,
Magdalena thought vexedly. Her direct gaze?

The pet of those two elderly females hadn't even looked at her, though it had delighted in being stroked. An-Lieye--she couldn't imagine stroking the little beauty. It would be like ... like petting a child.

It was quiet in the sunroom, the only sound a faint beeping from where Alexis stood, and a faint clacking cry: those gecko like creatures.
Ehnoye,
she remembered, pets, but they also kept the local crawlers in check.

She frowned. Off to her left, she could hear voices--the designer's unmistakable one and another, softer. Argument? She was right next to the enameled panel, which gaped in front of the doorless opening. Well, Fahara's private life wasn't her

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business after all, and she began to move away. The designer's next words froze her in place.

"I do not feel at all safe, Khyriz. We know what will happen if
they
learn--" A soft murmur; she exclaimed angrily. "Yes, of course, I understand why you asked this. But what if they
do
suspect? If they, or your cousin say anything to--" Another murmur. "I
do
trust you! Or I would never have agreed to this meeting, or to having
her
here. All the benefits to me and this shop are nothing if--well, you know who has the most to lose if this goes wrong!"

And then Khyriz spoke almost as loudly and angrily as the designer.

"Fahara, the time is past for these worries! If we do nothing, and my cousin's noble parent has his way? You know?''

"I... yes, I know." The designer spoke more quietly.

"We have not given up the search, Fahara, and will not. It is unfortunate they were moved. But I know this much: The movement was not caused by

anything done here, in your household. Remember, we were permitted to come here today, with no change to the ... population, shall we say?''

Silence. Magdalena became aware she was holding her breath and let it out quietly. "I will go back now; compose your face and follow." No further sound. The translator glanced around quickly and retreated to the table of fabrics; Alexis was absorbed in the black box and the robe she was creating--all the colors of the rainbow, it looked like.

Moments later, Khyriz came back into the room. He glanced at Alexis, smiled at her, and wandered into the open once more. Magdalena gazed after him, stunned. He looked utterly normal; as if the conversation back there had never taken place. Whatever it was about, she could think of no possible way she could ever ask him.

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CHAPTER 9

***

Zhik automatically smoothed his robe as he eased out of the flitter, the crushed cap clutched in one long-fingered hand: How could it have gotten so far down in the forward storage locker? He shrugged that aside; no matter, any more than the wrinkles. He only had the cap at all because he'd hidden it years ago, when his father had ordered his son's out-of-fashion clothing burned, as he did every year. The robe was gone, but Zhik had hidden the cap. The designer could perhaps create another robe in this color--bronze, of course, but the weave was unique: It had shimmered at his least movement.

Fahara could re-create the weave, he was certain: Only think of the costume for "Fringe of Dancer"! The material was a wonder, the shimmering fringes held the eyes....

Eyes. He paused in midstride. The look in the Asha-she's eyes, when Fahara had named him, the--the
depth
of that gaze, as if she could know who he was, who his father...
Impossible,
he told himself flatly.
She is Asha.

Voiceless. Trainable, capable of some learning, but not... but not...

But that was wrong! It was more than the way she had looked when Fahara named him, and not simply the way her ears flicked as Fahara named his father. Even an Ahla could react to names; Zhenu's was known and feared, and Fahara and An-Lieye had come from Zhenu's lands.

No: There had been a wariness to her face, her features. That had changed to a warmth when she looked at Khyriz. Sharp-pupiled eagerness, her eyes taking in the human women

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whenever no one seemed to observe her, her whiskers quivering with excitement...

Fool! You would have given such emotions to Ah-Naul once! He loved you,
you told your cousin! Knew you, shared a bond with you!
He could almost hear his father's chill voice behind the harsh thought; he looked quickly around the deserted parking, eased back nearer his flitter, and waited until his breathing returned to normal.

Asha--what did he know of them? Those like--like Ah-Naul, the ones he'd thought of as pets, simple beasts capable of deep emotional attachment to the Arekkhi who cared for them. He swallowed, his mouth dryer than ever.
Or
so I thought. So I was told.
So he'd seen, all his life: His father had always kept ahla-Asha in his private apartments in the ancient family holding--and Zhik knew that before the current Emperor, he had kept them in his palace apartments. Khyriz's father had banned them from the new palace, though nothing had been said against Zhik keeping Ah-Naul.
That I heard, at least.

Now... he didn't know what to believe. More honestly, which of them to believe: his cousin, or his father.

But the working Asha, the Voiceless. Like An-Lieye. Khyriz had never spoken to him of them; his father, his tutors, and his personal priest had all said that Voiceless were a separate bloodline, bred for intelligence so they could be trained to take over tasks too repetitive or dull for Arekkhi.

"The bloodline broke, upon both sides...." The line of verse caught him by surprise: He'd forgotten about the epic old Ysif had brought him, the last year or so he'd been tutored. He recalled so little; mostly because of his father's rage to find the youth poring over a trashy bit of cheap romance, as he'd called it.

It wasn't... it was exciting. Tragic.
From the last war, Ysif had told him. When brothers fought brothers, and fathers against sons. Zhik hadn't cared about the historical accuracy, if any; he'd been captivated by the excitement of battle, heroic charges, brave deaths.

He hadn't paid much attention to the love story that was the epic's heart, either, though that was mostly what he

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remembered of it. Hyeffan, the young commoner who'd fought his way to leadership of the doomed side of the war; Ynala, a female of different class, though he couldn't remember if the epic stated what class. Their love had been doomed as well: They'd taken poison together. He still recalled how Hyeffan had described her the first time: "A gleam of palest fur within the shielding hood; upon her face, a single spot; black droplet like a tiny tear, blotted upon her cheekbone."