"Yes, I am, and I am a busy woman. What do you want?"
"You…from Xis? Speak Xis?"
"For the love of the gods," the woman grumbled, and then switched to Xixian. "Yes, I speak the tongue, although it's been years since I lived in the cursed place. What do you want?"
Qinnitan took a deep breath, one obstacle passed. "I am very sorry to bother you, Mistress Soryaza. I know you are an important person, with all this…" She spread her hands to indicate the sea of washing-tubs.
Soryaza wasn't so easily flattered. "Yes?"
"I… I have lost my father and my mother." Qinnitan had prepared the story carefully. "When my mother died of the coughing fever last summer, my father decided to bring me and my brother back here to Hierosol. But on the ship he too caught a fever and I nursed him for several months be¬fore he died." She cast her eyes down. "I have nowhere to go, and no rela¬tives here or in Xis who will take me and my brother in."
Soryaza raised an eyebrow. "Brother? Are you sure you do not mean a lover? Tell the truth, girl."
Qinnitan pointed to Pigeon. The child stood by the door with his eyes wide, looking as though he might flee at a sudden loud noise. "There. He cannot speak but he is a good boy."
"All right, brother it is. But what in the gods' names could this possibly have to do with me?" Soryaza was already wiping her hands on her volu¬minous apron, like someone who is finished with something and about to move on to the next task.
This was the risky part. "I… I heard you were once a Hive Sister."
Both eyebrows rose. "Did you? And what do you know of such things?"
"I was one myself-an acolyte. But when my mother was dying I left the Hive to help her. They would have let me come back, I'm certain, but my father wanted me here in Hierosol, his home." She let a little of the very real tension and fear mount up from inside her, where she had kept it carefully bottled for so long. Her voice quivered and her eyes filled with tears. "And now my brother and I must sleep in the alleyways by the harbor, and men… men try…"
Soryaza's brown face softened a little, but only a little. "Who was the high priestess when you were there? Tell me, girl, and quickly."
"Rugan."
"Ah, yes. I remember when she was merely a priestess, but she had a head on her shoulders." She nodded. "Do the priests still come into the Hive every morning to collect the sacred honey?"
Qinnitan stared, surprised by such a strange, illogical question. Had things changed so much since this woman's days as a priestess? Then she realized she was still being tested. "No, Mistress Soryaza," she said carefully. "The priests never come in… except for a few Favored who tend the altar of Nushash, that is. No true men do. And the honey only goes to the priests twice a year." The amount sent in the winter ceremony was slight, only enough taken from the jars covered with holy seals to symbolize the light of the magnificent, holy sun that would survive the cold months and re¬turn again. Then, in summer, the high priestess herself and her four Carri¬ers always took the wagon filled with jars of sacred honey to the high priest of Nushash during the important ceremony of Queening, when the new hives were begun and the weariest of the old hives were sacrificed to the flames. The high priest took that honey and presented it to the autarch, or so it was told: Qinnitan and the other acolytes never saw any of the cere¬monies that took place outside the Hive, even one so important as the de¬livery of the god's honey.
"And the Oracle?"
"Mudri, Mistress. She spoke to me once." But that was telling more than she needed to. Fortunately, Soryaza didn't seem to notice.
"Ah, Mudri, was it? Hands of Surigali, she was there when I was a girl and she was old then."
"They say she has outlived four autarchs."
"The gods bless her and keep her, then. One autarch was enough for me, and now I hear there's a new one who means even less good than his father."
Qinnitan flinched at this casual blasphemy, so trained was she in the decorous and unthinking autarch-praise of the Seclusion. Still, she thought, I could tell her things about this autarch that would freeze her blood. She felt a small thrill of power even as the memories brought a rush of fear. She had
survived-she, Qinnitan, had escaped. Had any other wife ever left the Seclusion except in a casket?
"Well, then, I believe your story, child," Soryaza said. "I will find work for you. You can sleep with the other girls, those who live here-some stay nights with their families. But you will work, I promise you! Harder than you've ever done. The Hive is a dream of paradise compared to the palace laundries."
"What about my… my brother?"
Soryaza regarded the boy sourly. He straightened up in an effort to look useful, even though from such a distance he could have no idea what was being discussed. "Is he clean? Does he have decent habits-or has he been allowed to run wild like most simpleminded children?"
"He's not simpleminded, Mistress, just mute. In truth, he's very clever, and he will work hard."
"Hmmmph. We'll see. I suppose I can find a few things for an able child to turn his hand to."
"You are very kind, Mistress Soryaza. Thank you so much. We won't give you any cause to regret…"
"I have regrets enough already," the laundry-mistress said. "More if you don't stop chattering. Go with Yazi-the one with the red arms, there. She's a southerner, too. She'll show you what to do." She turned to leave, then stopped and looked Qinnitan over, a disconcertingly shrewd appraisal. "There's more than you're telling me, of course. I can hear from your way of speaking, though, that the part about the Hive is true. No poor girl gets a place there, and no poor girl ever spoke like you. You'll have to learn to talk proper Hierosoline, though-you can't get away with Xixian here, someone will knock your head in. They don't care much for the autarch in this city."
"I will, Mistress!"
"What's your name?"
Qinnitan s mouth fell open. With all the talk about the Hive, she had forgotten the false name she had chosen, and now it had vanished as though it had never existed. In a stretching instant that seemed hours, her mind flit¬ted wildly from one woman's name to another, her sisters Ashretan and Cheryazi, her friend Duny, even Arimone the autarch's paramount wife, but then lighted on that of a girl who actually had left the Hive, an older acolyte whom Qinnitan had envied and admired.
"Nira!" she said. "Nira. My name is Nira."
"Your name must he 'addled, girl, if it takes you so long to remember. Go now, and I kid better not catch you standing around with your mouth hanging open-everyone works here."
"Thank you again, Mistress. You have done…"
But Soryaza had already turned her back on Qinnitan and was on her way across the steaming laundry floor, off to deal with whatever practical joke rude Fate would next set in her path.
Axamis Dorza, sensing something wrong when no one responded to his greeting, came through the door with surprising delicacy for a big man. The captain seemed to have some idea of the pantomime Vo had prepared for him, but though he was obviously a clearheaded fellow and not to be underestimated, his eyes still grew wide when he saw the blood on the floor. When he in turn observed Dorza's heavily muscled arms, Vo took his blade back a few finger-widths from the boy's throat: he didn't want things happening too quickly. If he had to kill the boy he'd lose much of his lever¬age; if he had to kill Captain Dorza before he could be made to speak, the entire day's careful work would be wasted.
"What are you doing?" Axamis Dorza said hoarsely. "What do you want?"
"A few words. Some friendly conversation." Vo slowly moved the blade back until its needle-sharp tip touched the boy's convulsing throat. "So let us all move slowly. If you tell me what I need to know I will not harm the boy. Your son?"