After he had snooped out security, he'd be in place to build himself some spies, and after he had his maps, he could start the real job of collecting the equations that would save life as it was from the enemy of everything.
ALA BIN TAY'WELFORD CLAIMED a glass, took up his usual position near the sours table, and surveyed the room. All about scholars were clustered in their usual knots of allies and associates, avidly engaged in Osabei Tower's favorite pastime—the gaining of advantage over one's colleagues.
He turned his attention to the offerings on the table—a much more interesting prospect—debating with himself the relative merits of the berries vinaigrette and the pickled
greshom
wings. Impossible to be neat with the berries, and one disliked to stain one's robes. The wings, on the other hand—he was most fond of pickled
greshom
wings, which were a delicacy of his home province—the wings were possessed on two days out of four of a certain unappealing graininess. He had constructed an algorithm to predict the instances of substandard wings, and according to those calculations, this evening's would be of the unfortunate variety. He sighed, fingers poised over the plate. He might, he supposed, appease his palate with a sour cookie or—
"So," Leman chi'Farlo's soft, malicious voice fell on his ear, "tay'Azberg will have it that Interdimensional Statistics has Seated a scholar of rare virtue."
He chose a cookie, taking care with it, and straightened. Seeing she had his attention, chi'Farlo inclined her head, the data tiles woven into her numerous yellow braids clicking gently against each other.
"A scholar possessed of an—interesting intellect, I should say," he answered. "To offer Osabei such a coin in trade for a chair."
chi'Farlo raised her glass so that her mouth was hidden. "tay'Azberg allows us to know that the scholar's coin would disprove all the work upon which our department's master bases his eminence," she murmured.
"Aye," he said unconcernedly. "It would seem to do just that." He bit into the cookie, chewed meditatively—and sighed. Appalling.
"But this is dreadful!" she insisted. "If the Governors should cut the department's budget—" chi'Farlo was of an excitable temperament. She stood next junior to him in departmental rank, and he needed her calm and focused.
"Peace, peace," he murmured, finishing off the cookie and taking a liberal swallow of wine to cleanse the taste from his mouth.
She laughed sharply. "You may show a calm face to catastrophe, pure scholar that you are, but for those of us who hold hope of seeing the department attain its proper place..."
"The Governors have not cut our budget," he pointed out, "nor even have they called good Scholar tay'Nordif to stand before them and explain herself, her work, or her proofs. It is possible that they will not do so," he continued, though in fact he considered it very likely that the Governors would take a decided interest in Scholar tay'Nordif and her proof. Saying so to chi'Farlo, however, would not serve in the cause of calming her.
He glanced about the room, finding tay'Palin near the door, speaking with dea'San and vel'Anbrek. The time displayed on the wall beyond that small cluster of worthy scholars was perilously close to the moment at which the door would be sealed, and all those left on the wrong side required to report first thing the Truth Bell rang tomorrow to the office of their department head for discipline.
"Our new sister in art is late," chi'Farlo murmured spitefully.
"Not yet," he answered, continuing his scan of the room—but no, Scholar tay'Nordif had not arrived when his attention was elsewhere. Pity, that. He brought his gaze to chi'Farlo's stern, pale face. A taint of Outblood in the line, he'd always thought. Pity, that.
"tay'Palin looks tired, poor fellow," he said, raising his glass and cocking an eyebrow. chi'Farlo glanced over at the small cluster of scholars, and sighed.
"He did not look tired this morning," she said, "when he once again successfully defended his work."
"Indeed he did not," tay'Welford said patiently. "Though I think we can agree that it was a spirited discussion. It is unfortunate that these challenges come so closely of late. If the scholar but had a few days to rest... He is formidable in defense of his work, but greatly wearied by these continual demands to prove himself. And then to have taken a wound—"
"A wound?" chi'Farlo scoffed. "I saw no breach of his defenses this morning."
"Nor did I, during the proving," tay'Welford said. "He is canny, and hid the weakness. I only know of it because I came upon him in his office while he was binding the gash." He met chi'Farlo's eyes squarely. "High on his dominant arm. The sleeve of his casement would have hidden it."
"I...see..." chi'Farlo sipped her wine, face soft in reverie. "Tomorrow perhaps our good department head will find the rest he deserves."
"Perhaps," tay'Welford murmured. "Indeed, it is possible. For surely—"
A movement across the room claimed his attention, which was certainly the door being drawn to—but stay! According to the clock, they were still some seconds short of closure, and, indeed, it was not the door, but Scholar tay'Nordif, of course still wearing her Wanderer's garb, the black sash of a Seated Scholar accentuating her slim waist.
"
That
is our new sister?" chi'Farlo's voice was slightly edged, and tay'Welford hid a smile, remembering that his junior cared as much—if not more—for her standing as the department's Beauty as for her scholarship. "She is something bedraggled, is she not?"
"She has just come from the frontier," he said mildly and then, because he could not resist teasing her, just a little—"Doubtless, she will be very well indeed, once she is properly robed, and rested from her travels."
chi'Farlo sniffed, and raised her glass. tay'Welford pressed his lips into a straight line as Scholar tay'Nordif made her way to the group of which tay'Palin stood a member and bowed deeply, fingertips touching forehead, a model of modest courtesy. tay'Palin spoke, and she straightened. tay'Welford understood from the gestures following that she was being made known to dea'San and vel'Anbrek.
Across the room, the door closed, the bar falling with an audible clang. Scholar tay'Nordif was seen to start and turn her head sharply to track the sound, much to vel'Anbrek's delight.
"She will be sitting with tay'Palin at her first meal," chi'Farlo muttered irritably. "Really, she puts herself high!"
"Does she?" tay'Welford smiled, and moved forward, slipping a hand beneath her elbow to bear her along with him. "Then let us also put ourselves high."
"To what end?" she asked, keeping pace nonetheless.
"I think our new sister might have some interesting things to tell us of the frontier," he said.
"Oh, the frontier!" she began pettishly, and had the good sense to swallow the rest of what she might have said as they joined the group around tay'Palin.
"Ah, there you are, tay'Welford!" vel'Anbrek cried. "I began to believe you would miss an opportunity."
Unpleasant old man. It was a wonder, tay'Welford thought, that no one had challenged him simply to rid the community of a source of on-going irritation. But there, the old horror had close ties to the Governors, which was doubtless the secret to his longevity.
"I hope," tay'Welford said evenly, "that I never miss an opportunity to be informed."
"And chi'Farlo had nothing to say to you, eh?" vel'Anbrek laughed loudly at his own small witticism.
"So," said Scholar dea'San to Maelyn tay'Nordif, her hard voice easily heard over her compatriot's noise, "you are Liad's student, are you? I wonder—-"
"She is wearing her truth-blade," chi'Farlo interrupted.
"Well, of course she's wearing her truth-blade," returned vel'Anbrek, interrupting in his turn, his voice high and querulous. "She doesn't look a fool to me, does she to you, Scholar?"
"I'm sure that I couldn't—"
"And with all the rest of Liad's students being killed dead as they have—"
"Gor Ton," snapped Scholar dea'San, "you exaggerate. Not all of Liad's—"
vel'Anbrek waved an unsteady hand, missing Scholar tay'Palin's glass by the width of a whisker. "All the important ones," he said airily. "And I recall young tay'Palin here telling us the scholar is new-come from the frontier. I remember sleeping with my truth-blade during the years of
my
wandering. Did you not do the same, Elvred?"
"Certainly not! I hope that I never once allowed the traditions of civilization to be overcast by—"
"Bah!" the old man said decisively.
"The meat of the matter, I believe," said tay'Palin, calmly overriding both, "is that truth-blades are put aside with the ringing of the Mercy Bell. They are not worn at the common meal, Scholar tay'Nordif."
The scholar abased herself immediately, holding the bow.
"Forgive me, Scholars," she said humbly. "I am ignorant of custom."
"Indeed," Scholar tay'Palin said dryly. "I had trusted that Scholar tay'Welford would hint you toward the accepted mode. It is hardly like him to be so neglectful of one who comes into our own department."
Scholar tay'Nordif straightened slowly, and sent a hard look into tay'Welford's face. He smiled at her and raised his glass, waiting.
"The scholar was kind enough to warn me to be on time for the gather, sir," she said to tay'Palin. "I take him for a man who does not offer advice freely, and I am well-pleased not to stand in his debt."
A certain boldness to that reply, thought tay'Welford approvingly. It did not do for a scholar to be timid.
"You are gracious to impute such noble motives to Scholar tay'Welford," dea'San murmured. "However, the more likely case is that he simply forgot."
"Doubtless, doubtless! Our esteemed tay'Welford can be flutter-witted," Scholar vel'Anbrek said. "Mind on higher things." He laughed, so pleased with his sally that he repeated it. "Higher things! Hah!" He raised his glass, found it empty, and lifted it, still cackling.
A servitor detached itself from an animated knot of scholars some steps deeper into the room and came to the old man's side. It wore an extremely brief tunic, and a half-mask of smart-strands, and stood very straight in order to keep the tray precisely balanced on its sleek head.
vel'Anbrek dropped his empty carelessly on the tray, and selected a full glass. Those others of their group who were in need likewise served themselves, including Scholar tay'Nordif. tay'Welford stood holding his new glass, idly watching as she turned her head deliberately to the right, staring hard down room; thence to the left, then again over each shoulder, and finally returned her gaze to the elder scholar.
"Pardon me, sir," she said courteously, "but I had not heard that all of Master Liad's students had been—killed, did you say? It seems remarkable to me..."
"Nonetheless—" It was dea'San who answered. "And allowing for exaggeration, it does appear that the greater portion of Liad's students have met their mortality before the fruits of their work was harvested.
Most
annoying in terms of advancing the discipline."
"It must certainly be vexatious," Scholar tay'Nordif agreed, with no discernible irony. "And yet, ma'am, the words of the great philosopher bin'Arli spring to mind—
Adversity breeds greatness
. Perhaps this trying circumstance will bring forth even greater and more illustrious work from those who are, I believe, the core and the keepers of our discipline."
"How," tay'Welford asked delicately into the unsettled silence that followed this, "do you find things on the frontier, Scholar tay'Nordif? We are so retired here, that—were it not for a certain ...thinness... of scholars come to sue for a chair—we should scarcely have heard that there was a war at all, much less the state of the conflict."
Green eyes considered him with disconcerting straightness.
"Surely you don't think I sought out the war zones, Scholar? I assure you that I studied the alerts closely and kept myself as far as possible from active conflict."
"Certainly what anyone of sense might—" chi'Farlo began, and stopped as Scholar tay'Nordif once again executed her peculiar stare into all corners of the room.
"Pardon me, Scholar, but what do you?" dea'San inquired sharply. "You may be new-come from the frontier, but that hardly gives you license to be rude."
Maelyn tay'Nordif blinked at her, clearly at a loss. "I beg your pardon, Scholar? In what way was I rude?"
dea'San bristled. "Scholar chi'Farlo was speaking to you, and you simply turned your head in that—
peculiar
manner and ignored her! I would call that rude, but perhaps on the frontier—"
"On the frontier, we call such things not rude, but survival skills," Scholar tay'Nordif interrupted. "You will excuse me, Scholar, if I suppose that it has been some time since you were last on the frontier. You may not recall the extraordinary and constant vigilance required merely to remain alive. When there is the added imperative of one's work, strategies must be fashioned and practiced without fail. I therefore have trained myself to survey my surroundings thoroughly every three hundredth heartbeat and have practiced the technique so faithfully that I may now perform this function without breaking the concentration necessary for my work."
There was a small silence, before chi'Farlo said, with admirable restraint, "But we are not at the frontier, Scholar tay'Nordif. We are in-hall and safe among our colleagues."
"Doubtless that is true," tay'Nordif replied. "And doubtless in time I shall craft another technique which will accommodate conditions here. Do you not use such techniques to clear your mind so that you may become immersed in your work, Scholar?"
chi'Farlo, whose ambition might in fairness be said to outstrip her art by a factor of twelve, merely murmured, "Of course," and raised her glass. It was well, thought tay'Welford, that Scholar tay'Nordif was newly seated and thus too inconsequential for chi'Farlo to challenge.
"If you will allow one who has been Seated for many years advise you, Scholar tay'Nordif?" dea'San said.
"Indeed, Scholar, I am grateful for any assistance," the other replied, and performed her peculiar stare about the room.