The Valet of Anize, Chapter Seven
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originalsam_backupCHAPTER SEVEN
I had reasonably sensible concerns, in my opinion, about spiriting my employer out of the city on the morning after someone might have tried to kill her.
In the most shallow sense, I wanted to see the body of the man I'd shot with his own weapon, for both personal and professional reasons. I thought seeing the body might make me remember, and while I wasn't certain I wanted to remember I did feel that it would be better than not remembering. That consideration aside, I wanted to be sure nobody had missed anything in attempting to discover who the assassin was.
On a less self-gratifying level, if we stayed in Anize then Dr. Anizin could be guarded around the clock. I trusted Bart and Stick and a handful of other guards I'd met to be diligent and incorruptible. Alone, traveling, and in the essential wilderness, it would just be me and Dr. Anizin, and sooner or later I would have to sleep.
Still, Dr. Dutta was something of a force to be reckoned with, and it was not my place to contradict her unless and until I was asked to do so by my employer. So I packed a bag, purchased two staterooms for the next morning, and tried to put my mind at ease.
I did not sleep much that night, worrying about the decision to leave Anize and anxious not to oversleep and miss the train. In addition, I'd notified the Agency and my father of what had occurred, and while the Agency was satisfied with my report that I was safe and being treated for my injuries, my father was not. He sent me endless texts, asking if I had been given pills, and what was in them if so, and why hadn't I been given any, and whether the nuskin was of decent quality, and who this doctor was who had treated me, and whether I didn't think perhaps I ought to take leave and come home and let him fuss over me. My final text may have been a little sharp, but at midnight one can't be expected to be patient with overprotective parents. He'd been the same when I dislocated my shoulder in fight class at the Academy.
After I went to bed, he sent four more.
By sunrise I had told him I would send him a proper letter from the train, later that day with special emphasis, and gone down to the stables with my small satchel packed for travel. Bart was already there, tacking up a pair of horses for us, and he helped me load my satchel into a saddlebag. The humid air felt cool and clammy on my skin, and I rubbed my fingers together to try and keep them warm. My shoulder itched and ached.
We heard Dr. Anizin before we saw her, which made us exchange a hopeless look. We were supposed to be sneaking out, keeping a low cover, but Dr. Anizin had not, in my brief experience, had much experience with stealth.
"...see why this is so necessary. Do you know what ungodly time it is?" she demanded, as she and Stick emerged from the doorway. Stick was carrying a heavy-looking carpetbag in one hand.
"A little past four, Dr. Anizin," I said, stepping away from the horses. "Would you like some gava coff -- eh!" I cried, as she rushed forward. She would have hugged me if I hadn't stepped back.
"Carry!" she said, looking hurt.
"I'm sorry," I said hastily. "My shoulder...and your gava...."
"Oh, god, of course," she blurted, accepting the mug without looking at it and handing it immediately to Stick. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just....glad to see you. Are you feeling okay? We don't have to travel if you don't feel -- "
"No," I said, possibly more forcefully than necessary. "I mean, I'm perfectly capable, and you can't go alone by any means."
"I don't see why I have to go at all," she answered.
"Dr. Dutta says -- " Stick began, but closed his mouth abruptly when he saw Dr. Anizin's expression. He silently began to strap her carpet-bag to the saddle of her horse.
"Bart, help Carry up," Dr. Anizin ordered loftily, and Bart put his shoulder under my thigh and hefted me into the air without warning. I yelped, threw out my leg just in time, and landed hard in the saddle, gritting my teeth against the jarring it gave my shoulder.
"You didn't have to throw me," I said, glaring down at him.
"Got you in the saddle," he answered carelessly, passing me the reins. "Safe travels, Carry. Stick?"
"Not far behind," Stick said, leading a third horse out of the stable. "I'll be your escort to the station, Dr. Anizin."
"Escort," my employer huffed.
"Someone has to bring the horses back," Stick mumbled.
"Fine. You, listen to me," Dr. Anizin said to Bart, settling onto her own horse without assistance. "Keep an eye on my mother. I'm trusting you both. Personally."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin," Bart said, across the withers of my horse. He rested a hand on my leg, warm and reassuring, before stepping back and standing to attention. With a last irritated look, Dr. Anizin turned towards the train station and set off. I sighed, gave Bart a halfhearted salute, and joined her, listening for the clop of Stick's horse's hooves behind us.
"I understand Dr. Dutta was not as persuasive as she had hoped?" I said, pulling alongside her and settling in for the slow ride to the station. The roads were empty, but a few lights were on in various shops -- the bakers, of course, and the fishmongers taking in crates of fresh fish from the sea. Stick hung back; apparently he preferred to watch us, rather than ride point, which made a certain amount of sense.
"I think it's crap," Dr. Anizin replied. "Nobody's trying to kill me."
"Dr. Dutta was fairly convincing," I said.
"Why, what did she tell you -- no, that's a stupid question, never mind," she interrupted herself. "Unworthy of her, unfair to you. But my mother is a major political player in the region and I'm just an engineer. I think it's much more likely she drew some unwanted attention. Did Bart tell you anything about the body?"
I shivered a little. "No. I didn't ask."
"They don't know who he is," she continued blithely. "Nothing in his pockets, no labels on his clothing. Mom thinks he's probably, you know, well, she thinks he was mentally ill. I think he was some malcontent."
"Your mother may have a point," I replied, feeling like it was a little early for this particular conversation, but gamely playing along. "Not to be rude, but if someone did want to kill either one of you, there are many safer opportunities than a reception full of people. Pulling a gun in a crowded ballroom isn't exactly a guarantee of success."
"No, but it's a guarantee of publicity," Dr. Anizin mused. "It makes a statement. Obviously, or we wouldn't be here."
"Ah," I said, realising what she meant. If anyone had been killed -- the Governor, her controversial daughter, the Maestro, even myself -- it would have been news. It probably would be anyway, but not nearly the news it could have been. "All the more reason to take a little time away from the city, if I may say."
"You may," Dr. Anizin sighed. "Sorry, Carry. I want to be here for my mother. And I didn't sleep well. And I'm not a morning person."
"I was aware," I murmured. She snorted.
"Well, daylight's not far off. You have tickets, I hope."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin."
"Have you ever been to Izza?" she asked. "It's...rural."
"I'm afraid I was never in Anize before I took employ with you," I replied. "But I'm not unaccustomed to rough travel. And at least this time there are no pets," I added thoughtfully.
"Nope, just would-be assassins," she said, and we both fell silent until the train station came into view.
***
The journey from Anize to Izza is two and a half days by train, northeast and inland from the sea, and would probably be shorter if such a thing as an express existed. At the time, given that a rich ore deposit had just been found in the formerly inconsequential farm town, we were fortunate that there was a train going there at all. Before the mining began the train had only gone to Izza once a week -- and then only passing through on its way east to Funlan prefecture.
We had been assigned, per my request, to two staterooms in the same train carriage, one considerably statelier than the other. Once Dr. Anizin was settled in her sitting room, I bought a second cup of gava, far inferior to my own brew, and a breakfast pastry from the sleepy attendant in the meal carriage. On consideration, I plugged my All-In-One into the infopoint on the train and downloaded a sort of tourist map, identifying all the stops on the way to and through Funlan. It had nothing to say about Izza, except that it existed. When I returned to the sitting room at the back of the sleeper carriage, Dr. Anizin was studying the newsfeeds.
"Thanks," she said absently, accepting the cup and sipping it with a mild wince. "Train food."
"I'll make arrangements for proper cooking in Izza," I said. "Anything in the newsfeeds about the shooting?"
"Brief and sketchy. Some eyewitness accounts. You're hardly mentioned."
"As it should be," I replied, sitting on the low bench across from the chair and tiny writing desk where Dr. Anizin sat. "I can check local blogs, if you like."
"No, that's fine," she said, taking a bite of the pastry. "What are you reading?"
"Tourism," I replied. "Standard train press about our stops. Mostly Funlan."
"Did you know it was once called Fun Land?" she asked.
"Yes, Dr. Anizin," I answered. "According to this, Fun Land was a prime destination for families with young children. An entire prefecture dedicated to -- " I cleared my throat and deadpanned, "Fun, Fun, Fun For All Ages."
I was aiming for a laugh, but she obviously wasn't in the mood. "I went there with my second-year Engineering class. It's horrible. They had these...adventure trains -- "
"Rollercoasters," I supplied.
"Yeah. Now there's just long tracts of concrete and old falling-down shanty buildings. All the metal went to scrap decades ago. And everything's very...faded-glory. The shine's worn off. They're good metalworkers though. The big steel-recycling plants keep the economy going."
"Not much for the kiddies anymore," I murmured.
"Not so much, no. My mother's been after the general manager of the prefecture for years, to get them to cut down on waste emissions. Arrival's not indestructible. Anyway. Funlan's dreary. I'm glad we're going to Izza. If I had to get out of Anize, at least I'll still be useful somewhere."
She seemed to be stewing, but on the other hand content to stew, so I left her to her thoughts after that, running through the Anize newsfeeds briefly. Dr. Anizin was right -- I was mentioned briefly, but only as a servant of Government House and with no particulars about my injuries. Still, half of my graduating class knew I was serving in Anize, and the other half would probably know once --
No. Plena wouldn't have told them, because she was no longer a valet, no longer had access to the lists and boards that kept valets in communication with one another. Her departure was a story I would have liked to know more of, and we hadn't even had time to exchange mail codes. She could find mine through the Agency, but valets who have left the service don't often like to contact the Agency or the Academy. I could try a search for hers, but perhaps she would find that unwelcome too. At least when we returned, and Senate was in session, our paths might cross again.
At any rate, I was reluctant to check my mailbox. Urgent messages from Government House or the Agency would be texted, and anyone truly worried about me would do the same, as my father had proved. So my mailbox would simply be full of valets wanting gossip about the shooting, and to know if I'd been there or seen it.
I scratched my shoulder through my tunic, glancing up at Dr. Anizin. She was engrossed in her All-In-One, probably reviewing some plans for the Izza redesign. Good; we had a long trip ahead, and it would be easier if both of us kept busy.
There not being much to clean, arrange, or serve on a train in the middle of the morning, I contented myself with making all available arrangements in Izza. A hotel was out of the question; there wasn't any such thing, though there were a few grubby-seeming taverns that advertised one or two rooms on the upper floor. There was temporary housing for the miners, which both Dr. Anizin and I could have suffered easily, I thought, but there had to be something better than a cot in a barracks full of miners for her, and I preferred a room with a locking door.
That left personal acquaintances in the area (none) and political contacts in the area -- likewise none, but more easily acquired. The mayor of Izza had to own a house -- and, I noticed when I logged into the Agency site, had recently inquired about hiring a valet.
It must have been a considerable ore deposit they found.
I contacted the mayor's office, expecting to reach a secretary of some kind, and instead found myself exchanging texts with the mayor himself, who said he would be honoured to host the eminent daughter of the Governor and myself. He seemed pleased that an engineer from the capital was taking such a personal interest in Izza's development, and had to be forcibly dissuaded from putting on some kind of parade for her arrival. I was finally settling him down when Dr. Anizin turned off her All-In-One and huffed an annoyed sigh.
"Can I get you something, Dr. Anizin?" I asked, flicking my screen off and setting it aside.
"Lunch," she said. "Am I allowed out to the meal carriage myself?"
"Of course," I replied. "I'll escort you."
"I thought you might," she said drily, but allowed me to hold the door for her and follow her down the hall, through the passenger carriage full of empty benches, and into the meal car. There were two people sitting at the window at the far end, and a handful more at the counter. I had my eye on all of them. I was determined that nobody should get the drop on me twice.
"So," Dr. Anizin said, when I brought a pair of sandwiches to the table where I'd insisted she sit (far from the long glass window, and facing me so that I could face the nearest door). "What exactly did Dr. Dutta tell you? I've decided it's not inappropriate anymore, if you and she really think I was the one who was supposed to die."
I waited for her to eat first. "She said you weren't without your enemies, though she wasn't specific as to who, or why."
"Wank on messageboards. Quasi-professional envy, in some cases," Dr. Anizin said dismissively. "Nothing you'd shoot someone over. Especially not in front of her mother. No, it's got to be about mom. Or about the Maestro. But, you know, who shoots musicians? Good musicians, anyway. Nobody wants to kill me for being a smartass."
"Then if I can suggest, perhaps looking on this as an opportunity to prevent your mother from worrying about you and her own safety as well..." I trailed off delicately. She rolled her eyes, mouth too full of food to answer immediately.
"My mother lets Government House worry about my safety. And you," she said. "Apparently she's right. I don't know anyone else who'd shoot someone to keep me safe."
I swallowed my own bite of food, and tried to look nonchalant, like I shot people all the time.
"Are you okay with it?" she added. Apparently my attempt had not been entirely successful.
"It's part of my duties as your valet," I said. "I was trained to defend you to the death, mine or someone else's."
"Yeah, but you never actually did it before, did you?"
"No, Dr. Anizin."
"So. Are you okay?"
"I fulfilled my duties successfully. Yes. I'm fine," I said, and took another bite of food to prove it.
"And your shoulder's okay? Prachi said you looked all right, but she was also trying to convince me to cut and run," Dr. Anizin said. She looked annoyed, whether at me or at Dr. Dutta I couldn't tell.
"I won't be armwrestling anyone for a while," I said. "But I'm capable of protecting you if I have to."
"You won't have to," she said, confidence ringing in her voice. I wished I felt her surety. Then again, perhaps Dr. Dutta's concerns had been overblown -- there's an old proverb on Arrival, "Serious Business Never Is", that reminds us that the more seriously we take something, the less we are likely to be able to see it in perspective. Dr. Dutta and Dr. Anizin were close; certainly Dr. Anizin would tell her about debates she'd been having, but Dr. Dutta might take them more seriously than her friend.
"In a manner of speaking, the capability is a constant," I said warily.
"Always on guard? Exhausting way to live, Carry," she pointed out.
I wanted to reply that if I hadn't been, last night would have gone very differently, but that seemed too much like pride, and much too much like backtalk.
"It's part of service," I said instead, and spoke again before she could. "Which reminds me that I need to excuse myself for the afternoon, unless you have duties for me."
"Excuse yourself? Going to interrogate suspects?" she asked, a hint of her usual amusement sparking through.
"Sleep," I replied. "If you are in danger, it's not likely to come in the middle of the afternoon on a crowded train, and if it does -- I'm a light sleeper. Tonight I'll keep watch."
"Carry, of all the ridiculous things," she sighed. "Yes, okay, it's sensible, but silly."
"You are my employer," I said. "If you order me to keep you company this afternoon, I can."
"Don't be that way. Ordering you around like that would just be...capricious and immature," she replied. "You know I won't. Tyrant."
"Only in your own interest," I answered, but I knew I'd won.
"Fine. If I want you I can bang on the wall."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin."
She rolled her eyes, but she didn't object when I left her at her stateroom door and went to the small sleeping cubby next to it. Through the thin wall I could hear her moving around, probably setting out the handful of drawings I'd seen poking from the edge of her carpetbag. The work would be a good distraction for her.
I toed off my shoes, loosened my collar a little, and settled down on the bed that dominated the tiny room. I had a little time before I should sleep, and I finally opened my mail to discover that my guess hadn't been wrong. There was a thirty-letter thread already on the subject of the shooting. I tapped out a brief, chastising reply -- I was there, read the news if you want details, I am fine and not interested in stirring the pot -- before turning to a new window to write to my father as promised.
As far as I knew, he had never had cause to defend his employer physically. If he'd ever actually acted as a bodyguard for his early temporary employers, he'd never mentioned it. Then again, the best wouldn't, would they?
Still, I suspected that if he had he wouldn't have been worrying himself into a state over my wellbeing.
I tried to write a cheerful letter, one that would obliquely inform him that I wasn't suffering and that I was, in fact, happy to be serving my employer and out in the great wide world of the sprawling Anize prefecture. I told him about how Bart had all but thrown me onto my horse that morning, and about the scenery outside, which at that moment was giving way from vineyards and fruit orchards to billowing fields of wheat and wild grazing-land. I asked after his friends, and told him a little about seeing Plena out of her uniform, permanently detached from the vocation she, and I, and my father, had trained in for many years of our lives.
An appropriately philosophical and calming letter, I thought, and sent it on its way. I hadn't told him where we were going, but I was sure he would understand the omission. And it wasn't as though he wouldn't be able to reach me; even in Izza, there would be wireless. It was a basic right of all people on Arrival -- you might starve and you might lack, but there was always a satellite near enough that you could tell the world.
I sent off the letter, set my All-In-One aside on the sill of the window over the bed, and slid down on top of the covers to sleep for a while. We had four more stops to make before I had to be awake for the late-evening meal, which would at least provide me with enough rest to see the night through.
I fell asleep watching the fields roll past the window, and dreamed fitfully of the clack of firing pins in empty guns.
There was a lengthy text from Bart waiting for me when I woke, but I didn't get a chance to open it until after I'd escorted Dr. Anizin to dinner. She seemed in better spirits than she had been that morning, and dinner was composed mainly of her expounding on the earthmoving engineering projects in Izza and me listening with great interest but not much comment.
When we were settled in Dr. Anizin's sitting room once more -- she watching something she'd downloaded from the UTube at the last station stop, where the signal was strong -- I opened Bart's text.
Nobody knows who he is. No signs on the body, nothing in his pockets, and he didn't stay at All Gods or a hotel in town. Governor very perturbed. Sending you a worrying link.
I frowned at the message, and opened my mail. Sure enough, there was a letter from him, a single line -- a link to what, when I accessed it, turned out to be a site local to Anize -- "Easy Anize" was the banner header. No other contact information. An underground blog, not illegal but not considered very respectable either, and certainly not a good source of news.
Except...
It was also obviously written by someone who had been at the reception.
So what I want to know is why, if it was some insane malcontent after the Governor, was it Leigh Anizin's servant, not a soldier? Consider it possible that the Anizins were notified ahead of time that one of them was a target. Why has Government House insisted on jurisdiction? Why aren't the police objecting?
This isn't dimly theoretical. I saw the unknown shooter, and I saw Anizin's servant shoot him. I was close enough to see the blood on the servant's gloves. And this servant? A valet.
So from what I saw, this very expensive, very public servant was put at extreme risk -- to what, catch the man pursuing Anizin? How long has she been aware she was being stalked and, if she was, why did she write incendiary messages like this?
There followed a link.
I sighed to myself, glanced at Dr. Anizin, and opened the second link.
The Sound Of Silence: Applying Critical Attention To Historical Examination
An independent messageboard, run off a privately-owned server, completely unchecked but eminently legal nonetheless. Dedicated to "critical attention" focused on the Silence.
Dr. Anizin wasn't difficult to pick out from the crowd, though her commentary was more...acerbic than I was used to on a day-to-day basis. Bordering on hostile, in places, though the responses were similarly themed on the lines of highly-intelligent playground-name-calling. If the man I killed -- I killed -- had been offended by her actions...
And if peoples' attention was now being drawn to this...
I closed the window and texted Bart with unsteady fingers. This is bad. This is drawing attention we don't want drawn.
His reply was quick; he was probably off-duty at this time of day. What do you want me to do about it?
Tell them to take the post down. It's a matter of personal and state security.
Good luck with that, he replied. Freedom of communication, Carry. If Government House tells an independent server to censor itself, Governor Anizin is breaking international law.
I snorted. You think the allied Prefectures are going to invade Anize because we asked someone to stop ranting in public?
I don't know how it works in New Breton, Carry, but this is Anize. Someone died. Yes, I think the world is watching very closely, and censorship could cause a war. It wouldn't be the first time. Keep your head down.
I sat back and considered my reply.
"Something wrong, Carry?" Dr. Anizin asked, looking up.
"No, Dr. Anizin," I said. "Did you need anything?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Carry on."
"Very droll," I replied, and she smiled before returning to her vid.
Carry?
Sorry, Bart. Collecting my thoughts.
Stick says hello, he texted. Are you really all right?
Worried, I wrote back. I worry so you don't have to. I'll make sure nobody comes after Dr. Anizin. You try and talk down the hystericals online.
Yes, sergeant. Goodnight, Carry.
Goodnight, I texted, and cleared the screen. Dr. Anizin rose, stretched, and cracked her neck.
"I'm off to bed," she said. "Wake me if someone tries to kill me."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin," I replied. I listened to her moving about in the little bedroom, and then when it sounded like she was asleep, I slid down to the floor and sat with my back to her bedroom door, fiddling with my All-In-One and occasionally reaching down to touch my spare boot-knife.
***
For all my fretting, the rest of the trip to Izza was quiet, tediously so. Dr. Anizin chafed at inactivity, and could only spend so long each day working. Pacing up and down the train cars and going up to the observation level to look out at the countryside only seemed to reinforce her boredom. I have no doubt she slipped out of her room and prowled the train while I slept the following afternoon, but I took comfort in the fact that if someone had been trying to kill her on the train, they would already have made their attempt.
We arrived in Izza on the third day to find a delegation waiting for us: Mayor Calder, a middle-aged, hard-looking man with white hair and a wide-shouldered farmer's build. For all his intimidating stature, however, he had been a well-written and considerate man in our correspondence, and he welcomed us with a broad, pleased smile.
"Dr. Anizin, I take it?" he asked, as we disembarked in a small crowd of fellow passengers. "Richard Calder. Welcome to Izza. We never expected to see you here so soon."
"Well, we had a little change of plans," Dr. Anizin said, while I stood behind her with my satchel over my shoulder and her bag in one hand.
"Only too happy to host you here. Your valet asked us to have some food on hand, and we've got a carriage waiting to take us home," he said, leading us along the bare platform, past a small electric ticket kiosk set in a sheltered wall, and down to a dusty platform where a closed four-seat carriage waited. I passed our luggage off to the driver, an unliveried woman who had probably been borrowed cart-and-all from somewhere, and settled on the upper seat next to her. I could hear Calder's booming voice saying something to Dr. Anizin as we set off.
"I'm Carry," I said to the driver, to pass the time.
"Shella," she answered. "You from down Anize way too?"
"Not originally. I work for Dr. Anizin, I'm from New Breton by birth. You're local?"
She grinned. "As local as they come. I like your fancy shirt."
"Thank you," I said.
"You're like that woman on the UTube, right? The valet?"
"More or less. Do you work for the mayor?"
"Nah. The mining company. Brought me in from my ma's farm, on account of she's a carpenter and had the nicest cart. I come with the cart," she added, with dry humour.
"I know the feeling," I replied. I was tired, and not a little hungry, but the fresh air felt good on my face, and the smell of horses and dust was nice after the warm-upholstery and steel of the train. "Izza must be becoming something of a boom town."
"I don't know about boom towns," she said, "but our satellite service sure had picked up, and we got engineers saying there's going to be a new town built, and the mining company pays pretty good. Geologists're saying, bout a million years ago there was a meteor shower and there's probably three or four solid deposits around these parts. Brought them big earthmovers in too. Hell of a morning that was. They came out on the train, and Benny -- that's the day foreman -- tried to drive one right off the platform and just about tipped it over."
I laughed. "I'd have liked to have seen that."
"Well, you'll see them in action," she said, pointing to a distant cloud of smoke. "That's the new dig. We got shafts down in the current deposit, and had that geologist looking for new ones, he says it's probably thereabouts if there's another one. Craters, you see," she said, as if this were the answer to life's mysteries.
"I see," I said. "Great things for this place, if you find another deposit. What's coming out of this one?"
"Iron, mostly, 'n Wolfram. Good for steel," she said.
"Wolfram?"
"It's called Tungsten too?"
"That's good for more than steel," I said.
"Well, we haven't got much yet, but they reckon they haven't hit the impact site," she continued. "We hit a big seam, it'll be top of every newsfeed in Clasica. Make a mint for you folks down the capital."
"And for Izza. Governor Anizin's a generous woman," I said.
"Well, you'd know, I suppose. What's your ma'am like, then? Decent engineer?"
"Dedicated," I said. "And very smart. She'll do a proper job for you. Good christ," I added, as we reached the edge of town.
Beyond the buildings, now, I could see the mineworks properly -- two huge brick structures, lined with narrow windows, topped by a series of chimneys that sent steady pillars of smoke and steam into the air. An enormous bellows on one side constantly expanded and contracted, run on a pair of what looked like the most expensive solar generators money could buy.
Near the buildings were two or three rows of house-sized landworks, dirt mounds with train tracks running out of their dark cavelike mouths. Carts shuttled back and forth on the tracks, some driven by engines and others pulled by teams of draft horses. The carts emptied out onto huge conveyor belts that carried an endless stream of ore and dirt through large holes in the foundry walls.
As we drew up in the drive in front of the mayor's house, opposite the road to the mines, a whistle blew and workers began to pour out from the mine-mounds into the light, met by a brigade of little carts selling food and drink. The foundry smokestacks, however, did not stop working, and the carts continued to come up from below.
"Welcome to the Izza Mining Cooperative," Shella said.
I had reasonably sensible concerns, in my opinion, about spiriting my employer out of the city on the morning after someone might have tried to kill her.
In the most shallow sense, I wanted to see the body of the man I'd shot with his own weapon, for both personal and professional reasons. I thought seeing the body might make me remember, and while I wasn't certain I wanted to remember I did feel that it would be better than not remembering. That consideration aside, I wanted to be sure nobody had missed anything in attempting to discover who the assassin was.
On a less self-gratifying level, if we stayed in Anize then Dr. Anizin could be guarded around the clock. I trusted Bart and Stick and a handful of other guards I'd met to be diligent and incorruptible. Alone, traveling, and in the essential wilderness, it would just be me and Dr. Anizin, and sooner or later I would have to sleep.
Still, Dr. Dutta was something of a force to be reckoned with, and it was not my place to contradict her unless and until I was asked to do so by my employer. So I packed a bag, purchased two staterooms for the next morning, and tried to put my mind at ease.
I did not sleep much that night, worrying about the decision to leave Anize and anxious not to oversleep and miss the train. In addition, I'd notified the Agency and my father of what had occurred, and while the Agency was satisfied with my report that I was safe and being treated for my injuries, my father was not. He sent me endless texts, asking if I had been given pills, and what was in them if so, and why hadn't I been given any, and whether the nuskin was of decent quality, and who this doctor was who had treated me, and whether I didn't think perhaps I ought to take leave and come home and let him fuss over me. My final text may have been a little sharp, but at midnight one can't be expected to be patient with overprotective parents. He'd been the same when I dislocated my shoulder in fight class at the Academy.
After I went to bed, he sent four more.
By sunrise I had told him I would send him a proper letter from the train, later that day with special emphasis, and gone down to the stables with my small satchel packed for travel. Bart was already there, tacking up a pair of horses for us, and he helped me load my satchel into a saddlebag. The humid air felt cool and clammy on my skin, and I rubbed my fingers together to try and keep them warm. My shoulder itched and ached.
We heard Dr. Anizin before we saw her, which made us exchange a hopeless look. We were supposed to be sneaking out, keeping a low cover, but Dr. Anizin had not, in my brief experience, had much experience with stealth.
"...see why this is so necessary. Do you know what ungodly time it is?" she demanded, as she and Stick emerged from the doorway. Stick was carrying a heavy-looking carpetbag in one hand.
"A little past four, Dr. Anizin," I said, stepping away from the horses. "Would you like some gava coff -- eh!" I cried, as she rushed forward. She would have hugged me if I hadn't stepped back.
"Carry!" she said, looking hurt.
"I'm sorry," I said hastily. "My shoulder...and your gava...."
"Oh, god, of course," she blurted, accepting the mug without looking at it and handing it immediately to Stick. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just....glad to see you. Are you feeling okay? We don't have to travel if you don't feel -- "
"No," I said, possibly more forcefully than necessary. "I mean, I'm perfectly capable, and you can't go alone by any means."
"I don't see why I have to go at all," she answered.
"Dr. Dutta says -- " Stick began, but closed his mouth abruptly when he saw Dr. Anizin's expression. He silently began to strap her carpet-bag to the saddle of her horse.
"Bart, help Carry up," Dr. Anizin ordered loftily, and Bart put his shoulder under my thigh and hefted me into the air without warning. I yelped, threw out my leg just in time, and landed hard in the saddle, gritting my teeth against the jarring it gave my shoulder.
"You didn't have to throw me," I said, glaring down at him.
"Got you in the saddle," he answered carelessly, passing me the reins. "Safe travels, Carry. Stick?"
"Not far behind," Stick said, leading a third horse out of the stable. "I'll be your escort to the station, Dr. Anizin."
"Escort," my employer huffed.
"Someone has to bring the horses back," Stick mumbled.
"Fine. You, listen to me," Dr. Anizin said to Bart, settling onto her own horse without assistance. "Keep an eye on my mother. I'm trusting you both. Personally."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin," Bart said, across the withers of my horse. He rested a hand on my leg, warm and reassuring, before stepping back and standing to attention. With a last irritated look, Dr. Anizin turned towards the train station and set off. I sighed, gave Bart a halfhearted salute, and joined her, listening for the clop of Stick's horse's hooves behind us.
"I understand Dr. Dutta was not as persuasive as she had hoped?" I said, pulling alongside her and settling in for the slow ride to the station. The roads were empty, but a few lights were on in various shops -- the bakers, of course, and the fishmongers taking in crates of fresh fish from the sea. Stick hung back; apparently he preferred to watch us, rather than ride point, which made a certain amount of sense.
"I think it's crap," Dr. Anizin replied. "Nobody's trying to kill me."
"Dr. Dutta was fairly convincing," I said.
"Why, what did she tell you -- no, that's a stupid question, never mind," she interrupted herself. "Unworthy of her, unfair to you. But my mother is a major political player in the region and I'm just an engineer. I think it's much more likely she drew some unwanted attention. Did Bart tell you anything about the body?"
I shivered a little. "No. I didn't ask."
"They don't know who he is," she continued blithely. "Nothing in his pockets, no labels on his clothing. Mom thinks he's probably, you know, well, she thinks he was mentally ill. I think he was some malcontent."
"Your mother may have a point," I replied, feeling like it was a little early for this particular conversation, but gamely playing along. "Not to be rude, but if someone did want to kill either one of you, there are many safer opportunities than a reception full of people. Pulling a gun in a crowded ballroom isn't exactly a guarantee of success."
"No, but it's a guarantee of publicity," Dr. Anizin mused. "It makes a statement. Obviously, or we wouldn't be here."
"Ah," I said, realising what she meant. If anyone had been killed -- the Governor, her controversial daughter, the Maestro, even myself -- it would have been news. It probably would be anyway, but not nearly the news it could have been. "All the more reason to take a little time away from the city, if I may say."
"You may," Dr. Anizin sighed. "Sorry, Carry. I want to be here for my mother. And I didn't sleep well. And I'm not a morning person."
"I was aware," I murmured. She snorted.
"Well, daylight's not far off. You have tickets, I hope."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin."
"Have you ever been to Izza?" she asked. "It's...rural."
"I'm afraid I was never in Anize before I took employ with you," I replied. "But I'm not unaccustomed to rough travel. And at least this time there are no pets," I added thoughtfully.
"Nope, just would-be assassins," she said, and we both fell silent until the train station came into view.
***
The journey from Anize to Izza is two and a half days by train, northeast and inland from the sea, and would probably be shorter if such a thing as an express existed. At the time, given that a rich ore deposit had just been found in the formerly inconsequential farm town, we were fortunate that there was a train going there at all. Before the mining began the train had only gone to Izza once a week -- and then only passing through on its way east to Funlan prefecture.
We had been assigned, per my request, to two staterooms in the same train carriage, one considerably statelier than the other. Once Dr. Anizin was settled in her sitting room, I bought a second cup of gava, far inferior to my own brew, and a breakfast pastry from the sleepy attendant in the meal carriage. On consideration, I plugged my All-In-One into the infopoint on the train and downloaded a sort of tourist map, identifying all the stops on the way to and through Funlan. It had nothing to say about Izza, except that it existed. When I returned to the sitting room at the back of the sleeper carriage, Dr. Anizin was studying the newsfeeds.
"Thanks," she said absently, accepting the cup and sipping it with a mild wince. "Train food."
"I'll make arrangements for proper cooking in Izza," I said. "Anything in the newsfeeds about the shooting?"
"Brief and sketchy. Some eyewitness accounts. You're hardly mentioned."
"As it should be," I replied, sitting on the low bench across from the chair and tiny writing desk where Dr. Anizin sat. "I can check local blogs, if you like."
"No, that's fine," she said, taking a bite of the pastry. "What are you reading?"
"Tourism," I replied. "Standard train press about our stops. Mostly Funlan."
"Did you know it was once called Fun Land?" she asked.
"Yes, Dr. Anizin," I answered. "According to this, Fun Land was a prime destination for families with young children. An entire prefecture dedicated to -- " I cleared my throat and deadpanned, "Fun, Fun, Fun For All Ages."
I was aiming for a laugh, but she obviously wasn't in the mood. "I went there with my second-year Engineering class. It's horrible. They had these...adventure trains -- "
"Rollercoasters," I supplied.
"Yeah. Now there's just long tracts of concrete and old falling-down shanty buildings. All the metal went to scrap decades ago. And everything's very...faded-glory. The shine's worn off. They're good metalworkers though. The big steel-recycling plants keep the economy going."
"Not much for the kiddies anymore," I murmured.
"Not so much, no. My mother's been after the general manager of the prefecture for years, to get them to cut down on waste emissions. Arrival's not indestructible. Anyway. Funlan's dreary. I'm glad we're going to Izza. If I had to get out of Anize, at least I'll still be useful somewhere."
She seemed to be stewing, but on the other hand content to stew, so I left her to her thoughts after that, running through the Anize newsfeeds briefly. Dr. Anizin was right -- I was mentioned briefly, but only as a servant of Government House and with no particulars about my injuries. Still, half of my graduating class knew I was serving in Anize, and the other half would probably know once --
No. Plena wouldn't have told them, because she was no longer a valet, no longer had access to the lists and boards that kept valets in communication with one another. Her departure was a story I would have liked to know more of, and we hadn't even had time to exchange mail codes. She could find mine through the Agency, but valets who have left the service don't often like to contact the Agency or the Academy. I could try a search for hers, but perhaps she would find that unwelcome too. At least when we returned, and Senate was in session, our paths might cross again.
At any rate, I was reluctant to check my mailbox. Urgent messages from Government House or the Agency would be texted, and anyone truly worried about me would do the same, as my father had proved. So my mailbox would simply be full of valets wanting gossip about the shooting, and to know if I'd been there or seen it.
I scratched my shoulder through my tunic, glancing up at Dr. Anizin. She was engrossed in her All-In-One, probably reviewing some plans for the Izza redesign. Good; we had a long trip ahead, and it would be easier if both of us kept busy.
There not being much to clean, arrange, or serve on a train in the middle of the morning, I contented myself with making all available arrangements in Izza. A hotel was out of the question; there wasn't any such thing, though there were a few grubby-seeming taverns that advertised one or two rooms on the upper floor. There was temporary housing for the miners, which both Dr. Anizin and I could have suffered easily, I thought, but there had to be something better than a cot in a barracks full of miners for her, and I preferred a room with a locking door.
That left personal acquaintances in the area (none) and political contacts in the area -- likewise none, but more easily acquired. The mayor of Izza had to own a house -- and, I noticed when I logged into the Agency site, had recently inquired about hiring a valet.
It must have been a considerable ore deposit they found.
I contacted the mayor's office, expecting to reach a secretary of some kind, and instead found myself exchanging texts with the mayor himself, who said he would be honoured to host the eminent daughter of the Governor and myself. He seemed pleased that an engineer from the capital was taking such a personal interest in Izza's development, and had to be forcibly dissuaded from putting on some kind of parade for her arrival. I was finally settling him down when Dr. Anizin turned off her All-In-One and huffed an annoyed sigh.
"Can I get you something, Dr. Anizin?" I asked, flicking my screen off and setting it aside.
"Lunch," she said. "Am I allowed out to the meal carriage myself?"
"Of course," I replied. "I'll escort you."
"I thought you might," she said drily, but allowed me to hold the door for her and follow her down the hall, through the passenger carriage full of empty benches, and into the meal car. There were two people sitting at the window at the far end, and a handful more at the counter. I had my eye on all of them. I was determined that nobody should get the drop on me twice.
"So," Dr. Anizin said, when I brought a pair of sandwiches to the table where I'd insisted she sit (far from the long glass window, and facing me so that I could face the nearest door). "What exactly did Dr. Dutta tell you? I've decided it's not inappropriate anymore, if you and she really think I was the one who was supposed to die."
I waited for her to eat first. "She said you weren't without your enemies, though she wasn't specific as to who, or why."
"Wank on messageboards. Quasi-professional envy, in some cases," Dr. Anizin said dismissively. "Nothing you'd shoot someone over. Especially not in front of her mother. No, it's got to be about mom. Or about the Maestro. But, you know, who shoots musicians? Good musicians, anyway. Nobody wants to kill me for being a smartass."
"Then if I can suggest, perhaps looking on this as an opportunity to prevent your mother from worrying about you and her own safety as well..." I trailed off delicately. She rolled her eyes, mouth too full of food to answer immediately.
"My mother lets Government House worry about my safety. And you," she said. "Apparently she's right. I don't know anyone else who'd shoot someone to keep me safe."
I swallowed my own bite of food, and tried to look nonchalant, like I shot people all the time.
"Are you okay with it?" she added. Apparently my attempt had not been entirely successful.
"It's part of my duties as your valet," I said. "I was trained to defend you to the death, mine or someone else's."
"Yeah, but you never actually did it before, did you?"
"No, Dr. Anizin."
"So. Are you okay?"
"I fulfilled my duties successfully. Yes. I'm fine," I said, and took another bite of food to prove it.
"And your shoulder's okay? Prachi said you looked all right, but she was also trying to convince me to cut and run," Dr. Anizin said. She looked annoyed, whether at me or at Dr. Dutta I couldn't tell.
"I won't be armwrestling anyone for a while," I said. "But I'm capable of protecting you if I have to."
"You won't have to," she said, confidence ringing in her voice. I wished I felt her surety. Then again, perhaps Dr. Dutta's concerns had been overblown -- there's an old proverb on Arrival, "Serious Business Never Is", that reminds us that the more seriously we take something, the less we are likely to be able to see it in perspective. Dr. Dutta and Dr. Anizin were close; certainly Dr. Anizin would tell her about debates she'd been having, but Dr. Dutta might take them more seriously than her friend.
"In a manner of speaking, the capability is a constant," I said warily.
"Always on guard? Exhausting way to live, Carry," she pointed out.
I wanted to reply that if I hadn't been, last night would have gone very differently, but that seemed too much like pride, and much too much like backtalk.
"It's part of service," I said instead, and spoke again before she could. "Which reminds me that I need to excuse myself for the afternoon, unless you have duties for me."
"Excuse yourself? Going to interrogate suspects?" she asked, a hint of her usual amusement sparking through.
"Sleep," I replied. "If you are in danger, it's not likely to come in the middle of the afternoon on a crowded train, and if it does -- I'm a light sleeper. Tonight I'll keep watch."
"Carry, of all the ridiculous things," she sighed. "Yes, okay, it's sensible, but silly."
"You are my employer," I said. "If you order me to keep you company this afternoon, I can."
"Don't be that way. Ordering you around like that would just be...capricious and immature," she replied. "You know I won't. Tyrant."
"Only in your own interest," I answered, but I knew I'd won.
"Fine. If I want you I can bang on the wall."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin."
She rolled her eyes, but she didn't object when I left her at her stateroom door and went to the small sleeping cubby next to it. Through the thin wall I could hear her moving around, probably setting out the handful of drawings I'd seen poking from the edge of her carpetbag. The work would be a good distraction for her.
I toed off my shoes, loosened my collar a little, and settled down on the bed that dominated the tiny room. I had a little time before I should sleep, and I finally opened my mail to discover that my guess hadn't been wrong. There was a thirty-letter thread already on the subject of the shooting. I tapped out a brief, chastising reply -- I was there, read the news if you want details, I am fine and not interested in stirring the pot -- before turning to a new window to write to my father as promised.
As far as I knew, he had never had cause to defend his employer physically. If he'd ever actually acted as a bodyguard for his early temporary employers, he'd never mentioned it. Then again, the best wouldn't, would they?
Still, I suspected that if he had he wouldn't have been worrying himself into a state over my wellbeing.
I tried to write a cheerful letter, one that would obliquely inform him that I wasn't suffering and that I was, in fact, happy to be serving my employer and out in the great wide world of the sprawling Anize prefecture. I told him about how Bart had all but thrown me onto my horse that morning, and about the scenery outside, which at that moment was giving way from vineyards and fruit orchards to billowing fields of wheat and wild grazing-land. I asked after his friends, and told him a little about seeing Plena out of her uniform, permanently detached from the vocation she, and I, and my father, had trained in for many years of our lives.
An appropriately philosophical and calming letter, I thought, and sent it on its way. I hadn't told him where we were going, but I was sure he would understand the omission. And it wasn't as though he wouldn't be able to reach me; even in Izza, there would be wireless. It was a basic right of all people on Arrival -- you might starve and you might lack, but there was always a satellite near enough that you could tell the world.
I sent off the letter, set my All-In-One aside on the sill of the window over the bed, and slid down on top of the covers to sleep for a while. We had four more stops to make before I had to be awake for the late-evening meal, which would at least provide me with enough rest to see the night through.
I fell asleep watching the fields roll past the window, and dreamed fitfully of the clack of firing pins in empty guns.
There was a lengthy text from Bart waiting for me when I woke, but I didn't get a chance to open it until after I'd escorted Dr. Anizin to dinner. She seemed in better spirits than she had been that morning, and dinner was composed mainly of her expounding on the earthmoving engineering projects in Izza and me listening with great interest but not much comment.
When we were settled in Dr. Anizin's sitting room once more -- she watching something she'd downloaded from the UTube at the last station stop, where the signal was strong -- I opened Bart's text.
Nobody knows who he is. No signs on the body, nothing in his pockets, and he didn't stay at All Gods or a hotel in town. Governor very perturbed. Sending you a worrying link.
I frowned at the message, and opened my mail. Sure enough, there was a letter from him, a single line -- a link to what, when I accessed it, turned out to be a site local to Anize -- "Easy Anize" was the banner header. No other contact information. An underground blog, not illegal but not considered very respectable either, and certainly not a good source of news.
Except...
It was also obviously written by someone who had been at the reception.
So what I want to know is why, if it was some insane malcontent after the Governor, was it Leigh Anizin's servant, not a soldier? Consider it possible that the Anizins were notified ahead of time that one of them was a target. Why has Government House insisted on jurisdiction? Why aren't the police objecting?
This isn't dimly theoretical. I saw the unknown shooter, and I saw Anizin's servant shoot him. I was close enough to see the blood on the servant's gloves. And this servant? A valet.
So from what I saw, this very expensive, very public servant was put at extreme risk -- to what, catch the man pursuing Anizin? How long has she been aware she was being stalked and, if she was, why did she write incendiary messages like this?
There followed a link.
I sighed to myself, glanced at Dr. Anizin, and opened the second link.
The Sound Of Silence: Applying Critical Attention To Historical Examination
An independent messageboard, run off a privately-owned server, completely unchecked but eminently legal nonetheless. Dedicated to "critical attention" focused on the Silence.
Dr. Anizin wasn't difficult to pick out from the crowd, though her commentary was more...acerbic than I was used to on a day-to-day basis. Bordering on hostile, in places, though the responses were similarly themed on the lines of highly-intelligent playground-name-calling. If the man I killed -- I killed -- had been offended by her actions...
And if peoples' attention was now being drawn to this...
I closed the window and texted Bart with unsteady fingers. This is bad. This is drawing attention we don't want drawn.
His reply was quick; he was probably off-duty at this time of day. What do you want me to do about it?
Tell them to take the post down. It's a matter of personal and state security.
Good luck with that, he replied. Freedom of communication, Carry. If Government House tells an independent server to censor itself, Governor Anizin is breaking international law.
I snorted. You think the allied Prefectures are going to invade Anize because we asked someone to stop ranting in public?
I don't know how it works in New Breton, Carry, but this is Anize. Someone died. Yes, I think the world is watching very closely, and censorship could cause a war. It wouldn't be the first time. Keep your head down.
I sat back and considered my reply.
"Something wrong, Carry?" Dr. Anizin asked, looking up.
"No, Dr. Anizin," I said. "Did you need anything?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Carry on."
"Very droll," I replied, and she smiled before returning to her vid.
Carry?
Sorry, Bart. Collecting my thoughts.
Stick says hello, he texted. Are you really all right?
Worried, I wrote back. I worry so you don't have to. I'll make sure nobody comes after Dr. Anizin. You try and talk down the hystericals online.
Yes, sergeant. Goodnight, Carry.
Goodnight, I texted, and cleared the screen. Dr. Anizin rose, stretched, and cracked her neck.
"I'm off to bed," she said. "Wake me if someone tries to kill me."
"Yes, Dr. Anizin," I replied. I listened to her moving about in the little bedroom, and then when it sounded like she was asleep, I slid down to the floor and sat with my back to her bedroom door, fiddling with my All-In-One and occasionally reaching down to touch my spare boot-knife.
***
For all my fretting, the rest of the trip to Izza was quiet, tediously so. Dr. Anizin chafed at inactivity, and could only spend so long each day working. Pacing up and down the train cars and going up to the observation level to look out at the countryside only seemed to reinforce her boredom. I have no doubt she slipped out of her room and prowled the train while I slept the following afternoon, but I took comfort in the fact that if someone had been trying to kill her on the train, they would already have made their attempt.
We arrived in Izza on the third day to find a delegation waiting for us: Mayor Calder, a middle-aged, hard-looking man with white hair and a wide-shouldered farmer's build. For all his intimidating stature, however, he had been a well-written and considerate man in our correspondence, and he welcomed us with a broad, pleased smile.
"Dr. Anizin, I take it?" he asked, as we disembarked in a small crowd of fellow passengers. "Richard Calder. Welcome to Izza. We never expected to see you here so soon."
"Well, we had a little change of plans," Dr. Anizin said, while I stood behind her with my satchel over my shoulder and her bag in one hand.
"Only too happy to host you here. Your valet asked us to have some food on hand, and we've got a carriage waiting to take us home," he said, leading us along the bare platform, past a small electric ticket kiosk set in a sheltered wall, and down to a dusty platform where a closed four-seat carriage waited. I passed our luggage off to the driver, an unliveried woman who had probably been borrowed cart-and-all from somewhere, and settled on the upper seat next to her. I could hear Calder's booming voice saying something to Dr. Anizin as we set off.
"I'm Carry," I said to the driver, to pass the time.
"Shella," she answered. "You from down Anize way too?"
"Not originally. I work for Dr. Anizin, I'm from New Breton by birth. You're local?"
She grinned. "As local as they come. I like your fancy shirt."
"Thank you," I said.
"You're like that woman on the UTube, right? The valet?"
"More or less. Do you work for the mayor?"
"Nah. The mining company. Brought me in from my ma's farm, on account of she's a carpenter and had the nicest cart. I come with the cart," she added, with dry humour.
"I know the feeling," I replied. I was tired, and not a little hungry, but the fresh air felt good on my face, and the smell of horses and dust was nice after the warm-upholstery and steel of the train. "Izza must be becoming something of a boom town."
"I don't know about boom towns," she said, "but our satellite service sure had picked up, and we got engineers saying there's going to be a new town built, and the mining company pays pretty good. Geologists're saying, bout a million years ago there was a meteor shower and there's probably three or four solid deposits around these parts. Brought them big earthmovers in too. Hell of a morning that was. They came out on the train, and Benny -- that's the day foreman -- tried to drive one right off the platform and just about tipped it over."
I laughed. "I'd have liked to have seen that."
"Well, you'll see them in action," she said, pointing to a distant cloud of smoke. "That's the new dig. We got shafts down in the current deposit, and had that geologist looking for new ones, he says it's probably thereabouts if there's another one. Craters, you see," she said, as if this were the answer to life's mysteries.
"I see," I said. "Great things for this place, if you find another deposit. What's coming out of this one?"
"Iron, mostly, 'n Wolfram. Good for steel," she said.
"Wolfram?"
"It's called Tungsten too?"
"That's good for more than steel," I said.
"Well, we haven't got much yet, but they reckon they haven't hit the impact site," she continued. "We hit a big seam, it'll be top of every newsfeed in Clasica. Make a mint for you folks down the capital."
"And for Izza. Governor Anizin's a generous woman," I said.
"Well, you'd know, I suppose. What's your ma'am like, then? Decent engineer?"
"Dedicated," I said. "And very smart. She'll do a proper job for you. Good christ," I added, as we reached the edge of town.
Beyond the buildings, now, I could see the mineworks properly -- two huge brick structures, lined with narrow windows, topped by a series of chimneys that sent steady pillars of smoke and steam into the air. An enormous bellows on one side constantly expanded and contracted, run on a pair of what looked like the most expensive solar generators money could buy.
Near the buildings were two or three rows of house-sized landworks, dirt mounds with train tracks running out of their dark cavelike mouths. Carts shuttled back and forth on the tracks, some driven by engines and others pulled by teams of draft horses. The carts emptied out onto huge conveyor belts that carried an endless stream of ore and dirt through large holes in the foundry walls.
As we drew up in the drive in front of the mayor's house, opposite the road to the mines, a whistle blew and workers began to pour out from the mine-mounds into the light, met by a brigade of little carts selling food and drink. The foundry smokestacks, however, did not stop working, and the carts continued to come up from below.
"Welcome to the Izza Mining Cooperative," Shella said.
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 03:38 am (UTC)Q. The trip sounds really short, and Carry is talking about the fresh air, and then boom! They're at the mines and there are pillars of smoke. So I think they'd smell the industry before approaching it. I'd weave that into the scene earlier, since smell is so primal.
Also, re: the religious things discussed earlier... Carry says "good christ" and "oh god", that's kind of... Western. Might s/he change it up a little? Maybe not, but... not sure.
Is travelling on the train a mostly silent affair? Or clackety? I don't get a feeling for the other people on the train. Do they recognise Dr Anizin? Are they probably miners? Are they middle-class or what?
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 12:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 03:57 am (UTC)Heh. Proverbs are srs bizness!
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Date: 2009-11-22 10:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 04:49 am (UTC)I'm still really liking Bart and Stick, especially now in the last few chapters we've been able to see a little more of them as distinct individuals rather than an inseparable team.
I like the internet-wank-as-cause-for-assassination-attempt theory, but I'm not sure I can actually believe it, and I kind of hope you're not actually going to ask me to.
I find myself wondering about the size and political structure of the various prefectures, as well as the relationships between them, especially with this story about Funlan the former amusement park, as well as the idea that the allied Prefectures might invade Anize over a violation of free speech.
~ c.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 10:35 pm (UTC)I like the internet-wank-as-cause-for-assassination-attempt theory, but I'm not sure I can actually believe it, and I kind of hope you're not actually going to ask me to.
Yeah, not many people get that het up about wank. What Carry says in the wank is definitely necessary to the reasoning behind the assassination attempt, but it's not a disgruntled wankster behind it.
Originally I had set up the prefecture system a little differently, but now I think of it as something more like the European Union -- a mass of individual countries, but essentially in agreement on certain laws, and reporting to a governing body with superior authority. The system was definitely a product of the Silence, when people began to realise that it was either find allies or fall to chaos. Plus the rigid control that the allied prefectures exert means that Arrival's minimal resources aren't wasted on pointless wars; if one prefecture gets it into its head to conquer another, the entire world steps in to smack them on the nose with a newspaper.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-20 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 04:13 pm (UTC)It's a small thing, but I'm not sure 'statelier' is technically a word. Either way, more stately sounds more natural to me.
I like the plot and the travel in this, and it's great to see things ramping up more. I'm also getting much more of a feel for Carry's character, though I still alternate between thinking of hir as female and male. Part of me really wants to know and the other part hopes you never find out, because that is of course part of the point of making hir androgynous.
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Date: 2009-11-22 10:31 pm (UTC)I'm still not sure if I'll reveal what Carry is. Kind of depends on how the rest of the story works out....
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Date: 2009-11-17 07:45 pm (UTC)I'm wondering if an oddly secular-to-us term might be more appropriate, one that can be woven in later to Carry's or dad's history. Or bast'dzation like Bog was used in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress ...
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Date: 2009-11-17 10:09 pm (UTC)2) Use of the word "wank". While most, if not the entirety, of your current audience will know what that word means, and while it certainly fits Dr. Anizin, I worry that it is too specific of lingo for the average audience.
3) I appreciate the translated use of the internet, PDAs, blogs, and youtube. It feels refreshing to have all of these conveniences at the characters disposal and to not have to explain them or make them too clunkily-futuristic.
Fun chapter.
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Date: 2009-11-22 10:30 pm (UTC)Wank -- I was trying to create a sort of thread of commonality, though as a term it pinged a few peoples' radars. It ties into the use of PDAs and blogs and the rest. I kind of like the dissonance of people riding horses but having blogs; it reminds me of The Secret History by Donna Tartt, which always reads like it's set in the forties until someone mentions a sports car or cocaine or Diet Coke.
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Date: 2009-11-17 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-18 01:51 am (UTC)An overprotective father is a stereotypically female trait, and that gets me wondering about Carry again, and feeling guilty for it.
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Date: 2009-11-22 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-18 05:20 am (UTC)I shouldn't have been so surprised but that seemed REALLY out of place, to me. It pulled me out of the narrative, anyway. I guess I feel like I use "christ" occasionally because it's a word that is common to our culture. But, I wish it wasn't what leapt to my lips and I try to avoid saying it. I would imagine Carry might be the same, since Carry seems to be non-religious.
I'm also dubious that the word "wank" would exist in the future BUT it's not worth making up a word that would require fresh understanding when really, you want to imply a lot of things with that word without explaining them all.
I am still suspicious of everyone! *waggles eyebrows*
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Date: 2009-11-22 12:04 am (UTC)I like to play with modern terms that are not yet a general part of established off-internet discourse, hence Wank -- I might change it eventually, but I kind of like the idea that it lasts well into the future...
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Date: 2009-11-18 08:04 am (UTC)Like others, the "christ" stood out to me, and I also felt that the term "mom" was a bit out of place, mostly because I associated that term specifically with Americans -- however, as no one else seems bothered by it, that's probably just me. I also wondered at Carry's use of the term "hysterical", as that's one of those subtly gendered terms that are often used by people who nonetheless feel that they are free of sexism. I think that someone like Carry would be aware of this nuance.
I find myself particularly fascinated by the character of Plena from Chapter 6, and I hope we find out more about her. It is a testament to your writing, btw, that I feel the urge to refer to her as "hir", because it somehow feels wrong to refer to a Valet -- even a former Valet -- with gendered pronouns. I also noted that in Chapter 6, although Dr. Dutta kept her back turned, she was looking into a potentially reflective surface -- I begin to fear that she may have violated Carry's privacy for some purpose.
Also regarding sex and gender, I have to ask -- do you yourself know what Carry's sex and gender are? (I am aware, of course, that they may not be the same.) I don't want you to tell me what they are, of course, but I'm curious as to whether or not you know, or if you've kept them a secret even from yourself, so as to avoid subconsciously gendering hir behaviour.
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Date: 2009-11-22 12:03 am (UTC)It's so interesting that the Christ stood out so blatantly, because in that moment I was trying NOT to use something that would stand out. God I love mass editing!
I also wondered at Carry's use of the term "hysterical", as that's one of those subtly gendered terms that are often used by people who nonetheless feel that they are free of sexism.
*facepalm*
Yeah, that was me being unaware of the nuance. Or rather, not unaware, but -- oblivious? I knew that hysterical carried certain connotations, but since that is a late-learned thing for me, and the word is in such common parlance, I use it without thinking. I have a note to put a different word in.
We will definitely see more of Plena, at least I hope so; I like her a lot as a character and I think she provides an excellent foil for Carry, too. She's the turnkey to a subplot that I hope to unfold, depending on how much time I have.
As for Carry's biological sex and gender -- to be honest I go back and forth, and it will probably not be decided until I get a little further on. Sometimes, just to change it up, I think, how would I write Carry as a woman, and how would I write Carry as a man? which is teaching me a lot about my own assumptions.
I know what I would prefer for Carry to be, which I'm keeping to myself, but I don't know if Carry will end up that way.
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Date: 2009-11-28 08:10 pm (UTC)Given that the fact of the word being gendered is only known/understood by a very select small subset of people in our culture I might respectfully submit that in the far distant future it will have become completely non-gendered.
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Date: 2009-11-18 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-20 12:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-20 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-25 03:45 am (UTC)There were a couple of odd bits though. The train seemed kind of empty of people. Maybe I missed something, but I don't know how many people were on the train or what they were like.
Also this part
"At the time, given that a rich ore deposit had just been found in the formerly inconsequential farm town, we were fortunate that there was a train going there at all."
confused me a bit because it seems like you're trying to say that it was *less* likely for there to be a train, on account of the mining boom, instead of the mining boom being the reason there was a train, if that makes sense.
And one little nitpicky thing, in “No, it's got to be about mom” I think Mom is supposed to be capitalized.
I'm excited to see what Izza will be like! And I do hope we get to see more of Plena later.
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Date: 2009-12-02 06:26 pm (UTC)Regarding the passage about the ore deposit -- the accent there was on inconsequential, ie, the town was so small that before the ore was found, very few trains went there, so they were lucky that more were going there now. Thanks for these comments -- I've got 'em in my notes :)
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Date: 2010-02-05 10:16 pm (UTC)I'm going to be the millionth person to say that "Good christ" was jarring. It was jarring for me because there have been (as far as I can remember) no mentions of anyone saying anything like "Oh my God" or "Holy crap" so it kind of came out of left field.
I like Shella's voice. She's fun.