“A moment, Citizen,” I said. “Probably stolen off a construction site, because while it’s easy to find bits of scrap metal, finding the actual explosive is of course more difficult.” Quite deliberately so. Though sufficient determination and ingenuity could find ways around nearly any restrictions. “Of course, explosives aren’t generally left lying around. Whoever did this either has access to such things or knows someone who does. We can probably track them down that way.”
“I know who it was!” Raughd insisted, and would have said more except the doctor and the district magistrate entered just at that moment.
The doctor went immediately to where Captain Hetnys sat. “Captain, no nonsense from you, I must examine you to be sure you are unhurt.”
The district magistrate had opened her mouth to speak to me. I forestalled her with a gesture. “Doctor, the captain’s injuries are fortunately minor. Sword of Atagaris’s ancillary, on the other hand, is very badly hurt and will need treatment as soon as you can manage.”
The doctor drew herself up straight, indignant. “Are you a doctor, Fleet Captain?”
“Are you?” I asked coldly. I couldn’t help but compare her to my own ship’s medic. “If you’re looking at Captain Hetnys with your medical implants turned on, it should be obvious to you that she has sustained little more than cuts and bruises. Sword of Atagaris, which sees her even more intimately, has said its captain is largely uninjured. Its ancillary, on the other hand, has had a twenty-six-centimeter shard of glass driven into its spinal column. The sooner you treat it the more effective that treatment will be.” I did not add that I spoke from personal experience.
“Fleet Captain,” the doctor replied, just as coldly, “I don’t need you to lecture me on my own assignment. An injury of that sort will have a long and difficult recovery period. I’m afraid the best course will be to dispose of the ancillary. I’m sure it will be inconvenient for Captain Hetnys, but really it’s the only reasonable choice.”
“Doctor,” interposed Captain Hetnys, before I could reply, “perhaps it’s best to just treat the ancillary.”
“With all respect to you, of course, Captain Hetnys,” said the doctor, “I am not subject to the authority of the fleet captain, only my own, and I will rely on my own judgment and my medical training.”
“Come, Doctor,” said Fosyf, who had been silent so far. “The fleet captain and the captain both want the ancillary treated, surely Captain Hetnys is willing to deal with its recovery. What harm can there be in treating it?”
I suspected that the doctor, as was common in this sort of household, did not merely work for the tea plantation but was also a client of Fosyf’s. Her continued well-being depended on Fosyf, and so she could not answer her in the same terms as she had answered me. “If you insist, Citizen,” she said with a small bow.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” I said. “Five.” Kalr Five had stood silent and straight by the door this whole time, in case I should need her. “Find a proper doctor in the town and have her come and see to Sword of Atagaris as quickly as possible.” Sooner would have been much better, but I did not trust this doctor at all. I didn’t wonder that the field workers would rather bleed to death than consult her. I wished very much that Medic was here.
“Sir,” replied Five, and turned neatly and was out the door.
“Fleet Captain,” began the doctor, “I’ve said I’ll…”
I turned away from her, to the district magistrate. “Magistrate.” I bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, sadly in unfortunate circumstances.”
The magistrate bowed, with a sidelong glance at the doctor, but said only, “Likewise, Fleet Captain. I’m here so quickly because I was already on my way to pay my respects. May I express my sorrow at your loss.” I nodded acknowledgment of this. “As you were saying when we came in, we can probably find whoever made this bomb by tracking the materials it was made with. Security is even now examining what remains of the bathhouse. A sad loss.” She directed that last to Citizen Fosyf.
“My daughter is unhurt,” Fosyf replied. “That’s all that matters.”
“That bomb was meant for me!” cried Raughd, who had stood fuming all this time. “I know who it was! There’s no need to go tracking anything!”
“Who was it, Citizen?” I asked.
“Queter. It was Queter. She’s always hated me.”
The name was Valskaayan. “One of the field workers?” I asked.
“She works in the manufactory, maintaining the dryers,” said Fosyf.
“Well,” said the magistrate, “I’ll send—”
I interrupted her. “Magistrate, your indulgence. Do any of the people you’ve brought speak Delsig?”
“A few words, Fleet Captain, no more.”
“As it happens,” I said, “I’m fluent in Delsig.” Had spent decades on Valskaay itself, but I did not say that. “Let me go down to the field workers’ house and talk to Citizen Queter and see what I can discover.”
“You don’t need to discover anything,” insisted Raughd. “Who else could it be? She’s always hated me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“She thinks I’ve corrupted her baby sister. Those people have the most unreasonable ideas about things.”
I turned to the magistrate again. “Magistrate, allow me to go alone to the field workers’ house and talk to Citizen Queter. In the meantime your staff can trace the explosive.”
“Let me send some security with you, Fleet Captain,” said the magistrate. “Arresting this person all by yourself, surrounded by Valskaayans—I think you might want some help.”
“There’s no need,” I replied. “I won’t need the help, and I have no fear for my safety.”
The magistrate blinked, and frowned, just slightly. “No, Fleet Captain, I don’t suppose you do.”
I walked to the field workers’ house, though Fosyf offered me the use of a groundcar. The sun was going down, and the fields I passed were empty. The house sat silent, no one outside, no movement. If I didn’t know better I might have thought it abandoned. Everyone would be inside. But they would be expecting someone—Fosyf, Planetary Security, the district magistrate. Soldiers. There would be a lookout.
As I came in earshot of the house I opened my mouth, drew breath, and sang:
I am the soldier
So greedy, so hungry for songs.
So many I’ve swallowed, they leak out,
They spill out of the corners of my mouth
And fly away, desperate for freedom.
The front door opened. The lookout who had sung those words, that first morning when I had run past the workers picking tea. I smiled to see her, and bowed as I came closer. “I’ve been wanting to compliment you on that,” I said to her, in Delsig. “It was nicely done. Did you compose it that moment, or had you thought about it before? I’m only curious—it was impressive either way.”
“It’s only a song I was singing, Radchaai,” she replied. Radchaai only meant “Citizen,” but I knew that in the mouth of a Valskaayan, speaking Delsig, in that tone of voice, it was a veiled insult. A deniable one, since she had, after all, only used an always-proper address.
I gestured unconcern at her answer. “If you please, I’m here to speak with Queter. I only want to talk. I’m here by myself.”
Her glance flicked to over my shoulder, though she had, I knew, been watching, knew that no one had come with me. She turned then, without a word, and walked into the house. I followed, careful to close the door behind me.