Edhadeya smiled and bowed her head at what was obviously this harsh woman's best effort at peacemaking. "Does she remember me?" asked Edhadeya.
"I don't know," said Shedemei. "She doesn't speak much of her days in captivity, and no one here would be rude enough to ask."
So much for peacemaking. The words struck Edhadeya like a slap. Chebeya was about to suggest that they had taken enough of Shed-emei's precious time when the schoolmaster said, "Come on, then. Do you want to see the school or not?"
Curiosity won out over offended feelings, especially since Edhadeya seemed none the worse for wear. They followed Shedemei as she pointed out the different classrooms, the library-with an astonishing number of books for a new school-the kitchen, the sleeping quarters for the girls who boarded there. "Of course, all of Rasa's girl students were in residence," said Shedemei. "They were so close they were like family. They called her Aunt Rasa, and she called them her nieces. Her own daughters were treated no differently from the others.'
"Forgive my asking," said Chebeya, "but where is this sort of detail about Rasa's house written down?"
Shedemei said nothing, simply led them on to a cell-like bedroom. "Some of my teachers think this is rather an ascetic room; to others, it is the most luxurious place they've ever slept. It doesn't matter-if they work for me and board with me, this is the kind of room they sleep in."
"Which teacher sleeps in this one?" asked Luet.
"Me," said Shedemei.
"I must say," said Chebeya, "that this school could not be more perfectly modeled on my husband's teachings if he had drawn up the constitutions himself."
Shedemei smiled coldly. "But he never has drawn up constitutions for a girls' school, has he?"
"No," said Chebeya, feeling as though she were confessing some horrible crime.
By now they had wound their way through the connected houses until they were on the opposite side of the courtyard, near the place where Voozhum had gone inside. Not surprisingly, they found her teaching in a room on the ground floor.
"Would you like to go in and listen for a little while?" whispered Shedemei.
"Not if it would disturb her," said Edhadeya.
"She won't hear you, and her vision's none too good, either," said Shedemei. "I doubt she'll recognize you from the opposite end of the room."
"Then yes, please." Edhadeya turned to the others. "You don't mind, do you?"
They didn't, and so Shedemei led them in and offered them stools that were no different from the ones the students sat on. Only Voozhum herself had a chair with a back and arms, which no one could begrudge her, feeble as she was.
She was teaching a group of older girls, though they could hardly be advanced students, since the school itself was so new.
"So Emeezem asked Oykib, ‘What virtue does the Keeper of Earth value most? Is it the tallness of Ancient Ones?'-for that was what they called the middle people when they first returned to Earth-'or is it the wings of the skymeat?'-for that was the terrible name for the sky people that Emeezem had not yet learned she must not use- ‘or is it the devoted worship we give to the gods?' Well, what do you think Oykib told her?"
Chebeya listened to several of the girls reject all virtues that only one of the sentient species would possess, and thought, This is no more than mere indoctrination. But then the proposals became more universal and, occasionally, more subtle. Hopefulness. Intelligence.
Comprehension of truth. Nobility. Each proposal led to a consideration of the particular virtue, and whether it might be used against the laws of the Keeper. Much of the discussion showed that today was something of an examination; they had discussed these virtues before, had thought about them and argued about them. A criminal might hope to evade punishment. Intelligence can be used to undermine and destroy a virtuous man. Just because someone comprehends the truth doesn't mean he values it or will uphold it; liars have to comprehend the truth in order to defend their lie. A noble woman might sacrifice all she has in an unworthy cause, if nobility is not accompanied by wisdom.
"Wisdom, then," said a girl. "For isn't that the virtue of knowing what the Keeper's will would be?"
"Is it?" answered Voozhum mildly.
Of course, all this conversation was very loud, partly because Voozh-um's deafness no doubt required it, and partly because the girls had the normal exuberance of youth. Chebeya, though, had never seen such exuberance used inside a classroom. And while she had seen teachers try to get their students to discuss issues, it had never worked until now. She tried to think why, and then realized-it's because the girls know that Voozhum does not expect them to guess the answer in her mind, but rather to defend and attack the ideas they themselves bring out. And because she treats their answers with respect. No, she treats them with respect, as if their ideas were worthy of consideration.
And they were worthy of consideration. More than once Chebeya wanted to speak up and join in, and she could feel Luet and Edhadeya grow restless on either side of her-no doubt for the same reason.
Finally Edhadeya did speak up. "Isn't that the very point that Spo-koyro rejected in his dialogue with the Khrugi?"
A deathly silence fell upon the room.
"I'm sorry," Edhadeya said. "I know I had no right to speak."
Chebeya looked for Shedemei to say something to ease the awful tension in the room, but the schoolmaster seemed completely content with the situation.
It was Voozhum who spoke up. "It's not you, child. It's what you said."
One of the girls-an earth person, it happened-explained more. "We were waiting for you to tell us the story of... of Spokoyro and the Khrugi. We've never heard it. They must have been humans. And not ancient ones. And men."
"Is that forbidden here?" asked Chebeya.
"Not forbidden," said the girl, looking confused. "It's just-the school was only started a little while ago, and this is a class in the moral philosophers of the earth people, so... ."
"I'm sorry," said Edhadeya. "I spoke in ignorance. My example was irrelevant."
Voozhum spoke up again, her old voice cracking often, but loud in the way deaf people's voices often are. "These girls haven't had a classical education," she said. "But you have. You are most fortunate, my child. These girls must make do with such poor offerings as I can give them."
Edhadeya laughed scornfully, then immediately thought better of it; but it was too late.
"I know that laugh," said Voozhum.
"I laughed because I knew you were making fun of me," said Edhadeya. "And besides, I also ‘made do' with your ‘poor offerings.' "
"I understand that my teaching cheapened you," said Voozhum.
"You never heard that from me. And I never heard it myself until today."
"I've never spoken to you as a free woman," said Voozhum.
"And I've never spoken to you except as an impertinent child."
Finally the girls in the classroom understood who it was who was visiting with them that day, for they all had heard that Voozhum once was the personal chamberservant to the daughter of the king. "Edhadeya," they whispered.
"My young mistress," said Voozhum, "now a lady. You were often rude, but never impertinent. Tell us now, please. What is the virtue that the Keeper most values?"
"I don't know what Oykib said, because this story isn't known among the humans," said Edhadeya.
"Good," said Voozhum. "Then you won't be remembering or guessing, you'll be thinking."
"I think the virtue that the Keeper most admires is to love as the Keeper loves."