This attitude, Spot said silently, is not very supportive of function for any wizard, successful or not.
“No kidding,” Dairine said softly, unfolding her arms. “Come on.”
She headed over toward the two of them, not rushing, with Spot ambling along behind her. Dairine could feel Spot’s stalky eyes fixed on the tall dark woman, and it was his regard, interestingly, that first got the woman’s attention as they approached. She gave him a look like someone who’s seen an unusually large bug on the kitchen floor and is considering the best way to step on it.
Dairine noted this. Her eyes narrowed. “Mehrnaz,” she said, ignoring the tall woman and focusing all her attention on her mentee. “Problem here?”
Mehrnaz looked suddenly panicked. “What? Oh, no, it’s all right, Dairine, everything’s fine, we’re just—”
“Waiting for the organizers to get their act together and stop wasting our time,” the woman said in a tone abruptly gone very sharp.
“Well, it’s all kind of hurry-up-and-wait at this point for everyone,” Dairine said.
“Not for everyone,” the woman said, disdainfully. “Don’t you know who I am?” And the implication was as much “Because I’m important and famous!” as “Because I can’t believe she hasn’t told you.”
Dairine simply put her eyebrows up. I could make a pretty good guess, she thought, but let’s see how far into your mouth you’re willing to stick your foot before I have to commit myself.
Mehrnaz’s face was a study in immobility. “This is my aunt,” she said. “Ameh, this is my Invitational mentor, Dairine Callahan.”
The woman looked down at Dairine from her considerable height. Dairine, who before now had been looked down on by experts—up to and including the Lone Power—stood there with her head tilted up, matching her gaze for gaze.
The woman emitted an indignant sniff. “Afsoun Farrahi,” she said, as if that should have been sufficient.
“‘No education is ever complete,’” Dairine said, “‘and enhancement of one’s own is always to Life’s advantage.’” The phrase in the Speech was very neutral, and implied a willingness to receive more data without you having to regret that you didn’t know what was going on, or having to say “sorry” about anything. Because I get a feeling that the only thing I’m going to be sorry about is that we’ve met. Seriously, you look like you just drank a pint of vinegar.
“I am the daughter of Bardia Mazandarani and the wife of Dalir Farrahi,” Mehrnaz’s aunt said, “the granddaughter of Asek Jahanshah and Baharak Gol, the great-granddaughter of Mehredem Khadem; and thereby a member of three of the foremost families of wizardry in all the East.” Dairine noted in passing that she didn’t appear to be in a big hurry to be the aunt of anybody. “So, little one, you ought now to recognize your place, and pay proper respect to your elder wizard.” And she looked haughtily down at Dairine, waiting.
Dairine knew there were traditions of wizardry in which younger ones performed physical gestures of respect to older ones. But right now she had no particular taste for cross-cultural courtesies, as she was concentrating on holding perfectly still while the back of her mind shouted things like You’re not my elder wizard and My place?? and Little one? LITTLE ONE?
Very slowly she let out the breath she’d been holding.
While there were many equivalents in the Speech for “pleased to meet you,” Dairine had no intention of using any of them, especially since right now they wouldn’t be true. So, “Madam,” she said. The word in the Speech was talif’, a polite-enough generic feminine-gender title, and was normally used for nonwizards or Speech-users whose enacture status you weren’t sure of. As such, used on someone you knew was a wizard—and one who was making a big deal of it—the title was as exquisite an insult as the hearer cared to make it.
Afsoun’s eyes had already started to go wide. Good. Hang on, lady, because we’re just getting started. “I hear your asserted ranking,” Dairine said. “Now hear mine. I am the daughter of Harold Edward Callahan, friend and confidant of kings and Planetaries, and of Elizabeth Kathryn Callahan, who walks with the Powers and whose name is known to the Transcendent Pig.” Which is true enough, Neets saw them together . . . someplace . . . and such visions don’t arrive unauthorized. “And in my own right and of my own wizardry I am the Mother of Mobiles, and of the world they have made for themselves.” She used the Speech-name that the Mobile species had after some thousands of seconds’ deliberation chosen for itself, Eles’ha; and am’Merensheh-ta-Eles’havesh rolled very nicely off the tongue, especially when the listener’s annoyed eyes went a little wider against her will.
Then Dairine smiled gently. “But out of regard for my friend and colleague, to whom you have the privilege of being related,” and she tilted her head in a friendly nod in Mehrnaz’s direction, “I permit you to omit the traditional obeisance to one of significantly senior rank or experience. You may continue to stand in my presence.” And her gaze flickered up and down Afsoun in amusement. “Because it’s such a pain when the kneeling gets the knees of such nice jeans all baggy.”
Dairine spent the next few seconds concentrating hard on keeping her face straight as Afsoun’s jaw dropped. “Just who do you think you are?”
“Thought we’d already established that,” Dairine said. “You, we’re still working on.” Then she applied a carefully puzzled look. “Or was the vocabulary in a recension you haven’t mastered yet? You should work on that, someone your age.” Afsoun’s eyes got even bigger, and Dairine smiled in satisfaction, realizing that she’d hit at least one tender spot, probably more. “Either way, I said it in the Speech; you know it’s true. So you can stop trotting out how many generations of wizards you’re descended from, blah de blah de blah. I know people from much older, longer lines who make way less fuss about it.” She could still hear Roshaun saying ke Nelaid am Seriv am Teliuyve am Meseph am Veliz am Teriaust am det Wellakhit: but for him it had been like reciting his credit card number.
Afsoun was working her mouth like a fish out of water. Dairine grinned. “In the meantime, while I’m sure there must be somebody here who’d just looooove to have you hang around and try to pick up a few pointers while pretending to critique wizardries you don’t understand, our prep time for this event is at a premium and so we’re going to have to say goodbye.” She grabbed Mehrnaz’s arm. “So, goodbye!”
And she glanced down at Spot. A short-hop transit circle flared into life around the three of them, and everything winked out, including Aunt Afsoun’s face, gone all blotchy with rage.
They popped out right across the concourse, with Dairine working hard to stifle her laughter, as she didn’t want their position given away. “Spot,” she said, “stealth-field us. I don’t want her able to see us or hear us or figure out where we are until Mehrnaz is in the judging room and you have to kill the spell to keep it from interfering.”
No problem.
Under her hand, Dairine could feel that Mehrnaz was shaking. When she let her arm go, Mehrnaz rubbed at it in a frightened way, as if she thought it might fall off. Her expression, meanwhile, was torn between terror and delight. “Oh sweet Powers—oh Dairine—what did you just do?”