CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Melumalai, Kartunnen, Venorai
One thing you could say about Melumalai—paper merchants, anyway—they loved to decorate for parties. Della, open-mouthed, struggled to take it all in. This warehouse room was filled with white paper in myriad forms that, until this moment, she could not possibly have imagined. Narrow, twisted lengths of paper hung over the entry door, so Yoral and Kuarmei had had to push them out of the way when she and Tagaret came in. Bright lights shone from behind discs of paper pierced with tiny little holes, casting white points on the floor. Other paper shapes, almost crystalline in their patterns, hung on strings from above. Far off there, in the side corner, what looked like stone columns were surely enormous rolls of paper, stacked almost to the ceiling. Amidst it all, the employees of Dorlis and Nenda, Melumalai, had gathered to celebrate the deal signed this afternoon, after a month of competition among the Selimnar paper companies, and another month of arduous negotiations with the Imbati bureaucracy.
They’d made it this far.
She’d made it this far, to this room full of noisy strangers in snug hats and shining castemark necklaces of silver and chrysolite. The Kartunnen Jaia dresses were still holding her in good stead, though Yoral had adjusted them many times. Tonight she felt less awkward than usual—physically, at least. And Tagaret kept telling her she looked beautiful.
“I don’t know anyone here,” she said.
Tagaret patted her hand on his arm. “I don’t know most of them, either. I’m also having a hard time understanding what I’m looking at. The last time I was in this room, it looked nothing like this.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Let’s try at the end near the paper columns; I think that’s where the office is. I’d like to introduce you to Dorlis and Nenda, obviously, and also to my bureaucratic contact Imbati Wenn, the purchaser. Don’t forget, though, the Administrator in charge of the negotiations only knows me as the paper research assistant. I’m not sure if he’ll be here tonight.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I remember. I’m so proud of you.” It was wonderful to see him succeed at what he’d been held back from so long. In the same amount of time, she hadn’t accomplished nearly as much, but it was difficult when you kept having to nap, suddenly, at odd times. The Residence Household under Director Aimali had accepted her easily, and she now had several friends at the Lady’s Walk, but no one below the level of the Kartunnen, unless you counted bakers.
An energetic Melumalai approached them holding a tray of finger foods; Della took something that looked like a stack of colored circles on a tiny slice of bread, and bit into it.
“Mm!” Selimnar food kept surprising her in delightful ways.
Tagaret chuckled. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Bread. Roasted roots? Cheese?” She cleared her throat. “Pepper? It’s not like cling-pepper, it’s—sharper.”
Tagaret took one, too, thanked the Melumalai, and led her onward. The closer they got to the columns, the more their enormous size became evident.
“Tagaret,” she said. “That is just—so much—paper.”
“They have entire rooms filled with it,” he said. He waved to someone in the crowd ahead. “Here we are. Dorlis? Excuse me, Dorlis and Nenda!”
Dorlis and Nenda stood with arms around each other, one with an arm draped over her partner’s shoulder, and the other with an arm around her partner’s waist. Each wore a brimless felt hat that almost matched the color of her hair. They turned in unison. Both wore heavy silver necklaces with chrysolite pendants, and stars made of folded paper at their shoulders.
“Grobal Tagaret, noble sir, deal day!” The shorter, brown-haired Melumalai grinned, and her round cheeks shone in the light.
“Deal day is a great day, so,” Tagaret replied.
“You’re learning!” Dorlis crowed. Nenda smiled, and quietly leaned her pale head against her partner’s.
“So,” said Tagaret. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to my partner, Della. Della, Nenda and Dorlis.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Melumalai,” Della said, and offered her hand. She wasn’t wearing gloves tonight, because Tagaret said merchants didn’t consider gloved handshakes binding. Yoral had expressed concern, but her inoculations were up to date, and Tagaret had agreed the risk was not particularly serious.
“How many times may we shake your hand, noble Lady?” Dorlis asked.
Odd question. She glanced at Tagaret, but he only looked at her encouragingly. “Uh, twice, please.”
Dorlis seized Della’s hand between hers, roughened in odd places, and pumped it up and down decisively, one, two.
“Lady,” said Nenda, and did the same.
“Congratulations,” Della said. “Tagaret has been very grateful for your flexibility in the negotiations.”
“Give a little way, win a little way, make a better deal for everyone, so,” replied Dorlis cheerfully. “Here, have a paper sample.”
Della took the small paper rectangle, a fine and flexible paper with a shiny smooth surface. “Thank you.”
“Well,” said Tagaret. “I’m just going to take her now and introduce her to Wenn.”
Nenda spoke, suddenly. “Take care with Wenn, Lady. She’s Imbati, so.”
Dorlis nodded. “Ask nicely first, and she’ll surely only ever let you shake her hand once.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Tagaret led her onward. Glimpsing a Melumalai with a tray, Della waved him down and grabbed a cup that was also made of paper. It contained what appeared to be juice, and she drank it gratefully; the pepper had left discomfort in her throat.
“Those two are delightful,” she said, after clearing her throat again.
“They know a lot about Higher castes,” said Tagaret.
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. All of them, in fact.” He winked. “Except Grobal. I think they think of us as fancier Imbati when it comes to handshakes.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
Imbati Wenn was the single figure in all black amidst the white paper, standing alone beside a wall with steel doors in it. The bureaucrat’s pierced oval had been tattooed between her gray eyebrows.
“Wenn, hello, and thank you for being here,” said Tagaret. “May I introduce my partner, Della?”
“Pleased to meet you, Imbati,” Della said. “Thank you for your service in this negotiation.”
The elderly Imbati woman bowed. “So kind, noble Lady.”
All at once, fatigue overtook her in a wave. Della squeezed Tagaret’s arm. “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to need to lie down. Really soon.”
“Wenn,” said Tagaret, “is there anywhere we could find her a couch?”
Wenn moved immediately past Tagaret to open one of the doors. “Over here, noble Lady. I hope you’ll find the negotiations room suitable.”
Tagaret and Yoral between them supported her into the room, which was smaller and quieter than the warehouse party room, quite dim, and furnished at the near end with deep stuffed chairs and couches. The other end had a long aluminum table with stools on either side.
Her head started to spin a little, and there was an unpleasant knocking low in her stomach, the soulless interloper reacting to juice or pepper or both. She lay down on the nearest couch; her Yoral gently lifted her legs and gown and rested them on a pillow. The knocking hit her in the spine, so she shifted her hips to an angle until it moved elsewhere.
Much better.
“I’ll just rest a bit,” she said. Her eyelids felt heavy.
Tagaret crouched down, and his fingertips gently stroked her hair away from her face. “Are you all right, love?”
She nodded. “The usual. Plus, too much excitement, I guess.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need four minutes. Don’t let me keep you from your business connections.”
His fingers caressed her chin, trailed reluctantly up to her temple, then moved away. “I’ll be back soon.”
Della stared up into the dark. They’d settled into a strange kind of silence, as if keeping the secret from others meant they must remain careful and oblique even between themselves. Tagaret was unfailingly caring and solicitous about how she was feeling. When they were together, he stayed closer than Yoral, as if waiting to catch her if anything went wrong.
Which it hadn’t. But it might still.
Mother Elinda, why must you put me through this?
She closed her eyes. She’d dozed for what felt like only a few seconds when a male alto voice said directly overhead, “You don’t wear a castemark, so.”
Della opened her eyes. A pale face was staring studiously down at her. Below it, a dangling chrysolite pendant on a silver chain caught the dim light.
She said, “Hello?”
“You’re sleeping.”
“It’s all right, I’m awake now. I’m Grobal Della.”
The young man nodded several times, but said nothing.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Melumalai Forder, Product Quality Assessor Number Two.”
She shifted, tried to push herself back against the pillow, but managed to move very little. Where was Yoral? Maybe he’d retreated, so he wouldn’t startle her visitor. “Who’s Product Quality Assessor Number One?”
“Mom.”
“Oh?”
“Nenda.”
“Oh!” On closer examination, she could see the resemblance. It was hard to tell how old he was. Something about him reminded her of her little sister, though the longer she looked, the more she doubted herself for thinking it. Forder was big, and Liadis was small. And Liadis was unconfirmed, so she wasn’t allowed to have a job. “That’s a very important job for someone your age.”
“Fifteen, so. Parties are overly loud.”
“Yes, they are.”
“You’re able to sit up? If you’re able to sit up, I’ll show you how to be a Product Quality Assessor at Dorlis and Nenda, Melumalai.”
“I can sit up if I ask my nurse to help me. May I?”
“Yes.”
“Yoral?” she called. Yoral came to her and helped her up to sit. He’d probably been sitting quietly in one of the deep chairs; she had to guess the young heir of a paper company had appeared out of another.
“Your nurse is an Imbati, so,” said Forder. “Imbati: may your honorable service earn its just reward.”
“Thank you, Melumalai,” said Yoral.
“Selimnar Imbati use eleven thousand five hundred spools of grade eight paper in a single year, so,” Forder declared. He unhooked a blocky case from his belt, and pulled a cylinder from his pocket. He sat down on the couch beside her and clicked something on the cylinder, which emitted a beam of white light. The case, he flipped open to reveal an extensive collection of paper samples.
“You have a great many grades of paper,” said Della.
“Eighty, so,” Forder said. “You prove them by reflection, weight, opacity, silk content.” He picked up a sample and shone the white light on it. “Reflection.” He rubbed a corner between two fingers. “Weight.” He lifted the sample and shone the white light through it. “Opacity.” Then he flipped his cylinder around, clicked it again, and shone a bluish light through the same sample. “Silk content.”
“I can see you’re an expert,” Della said. “Dorlis gave me a sample a few minutes ago.”
“Mother,” said Forder. When Yoral produced the sample, he rapidly ran through the steps he’d just shown her. “Grade forty-seven, so.”
Della blinked. That was impressive; no wonder he was already Number Two. “I’d love to show you a piece of paper I brought from Pelismara, but I’m afraid I don’t have it with me tonight. Maybe you could come see me sometime, at the Residence.”
Forder dropped both hands into his lap, instantly intent. “You came out of Pelismara.”
“Yes, with my partner Tagaret.”
“You’re Grobal Della, out of Pelismara, partner of Grobal Tagaret who has negotiated an extremely great deal, so.”
Della swallowed. Had she upset him? “Yes.”
Forder grinned. “So grateful ever! How many times may I shake your hand?”
Della had just set out for a morning walk when running footsteps came up behind her. She turned and found Tagaret arriving, slightly out of breath.
“Darling,” she said, “is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes.” He caught up her hand. “I just thought, with my negotiations finished, I could join you.”
She smiled. “Please do.” She resumed her path along the bridge, allowing him to tuck her hand under his elbow, and leaned her head against his shoulder. She’d finally given in and purchased a hat; it really did make the chilly air more comfortable. Just look at them, walking along with this magnificent view of the Selimna cliffsides. From here, you could see traffic on the road in places, and the Ride cars moving up and down, and even glimpse the roofway. “Come to the bakery with me?”
“I’d love to.”
Music was playing at the Lady’s Walk. They crossed through the Ride station and approached the bakery. The front entrance had the name of the shop, Bread in Hand, rendered sculpturally as if it were formed from twists of bread. When Tagaret’s Kuarmei opened the door for them, a bell sounded.
“Greetings of the day, noble Lady,” the proprietor called from behind the counter, where she was pushing a tray of buns into her display case. “Noble gentleman, too, today, so. Welcome.”
“Greetings of the day, Seu,” Della replied. “My usual morning bread, please. Tagaret, what will you have?”
“What’s your usual morning bread?”
“Tea, and one plain bun, and one herb bun. It’s just, they’re so delicious that I’ve fallen into a habit.”
“The same, please, Melumalai,” said Tagaret. He sat across from her at the small front table, considering her with an odd expression on his face. “Clearly, I should have been coming here with you more often.”
“Clearly.”
Della looked over toward the counter. Seu’s brother Beu had emerged from the back, and they were working on something side by side, though their hands were out of sight. “Greetings of the day, Beu. Did you get your garbage issue resolved?”
“So kind to ask, noble Lady,” Beu said. “We did, so.”
“I’m glad it worked.”
“What worked?” asked Tagaret.
Seu placed a steel tray on the table between them. She’d set each of the four buns on a decorative leaf, and positioned the steel teacups with their rubber handles toward each end.
“So grateful ever,” Della said, picking up a bun and holding it warm against her lips. The aroma still brought tears to her eyes. She lowered her voice. “There have been troubles with garbage and recycling pickup since Alixi Unger’s ‘cleanup’ initiative. Akrabitti are afraid they’ll be arrested for doing their jobs. I was hoping to speak to the workers, but only managed to speak with the neighborhood police officer. It appears to have helped a little.”
“Mercy of Heile.” Tagaret rubbed his face with both hands. “I’ve been too focused on Dorlis and Nenda. And if it’s bad here, imagine what it’s done in the rest of the city.”
“I know. I particularly worry about the Up-Bend medical center, since Unger was paying so much attention to it. I should go and see whether there have been any effects.”
“Iyemmelim Medical Center,” said Tagaret. “We could both go, and if we pretend we want you to be seen, that would give us a chance to talk to Kartunnen Iyemmelim.”
Della pulled her bun closer to her chest. “We could pretend that, to fool a Kartunnen, Tagaret. Or to fool me.”
Tagaret winced. “I didn’t mean that.”
“What did you mean, then?”
He glanced at the Melumalai behind the counter, and lowered his voice. “I admit I think it would be a good idea for you to be checked by a doctor,” he said. “It’s just that I worry.”
Talking about it gave her a cold feeling, as if Mother Elinda were looking over her shoulder. “When you were busy, you didn’t worry. Please don’t assume Yoral hasn’t been checking me every day.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure he has.” He inhaled deeply, and took her hand. “I’ll try not to worry. Let’s find some new areas of the city to explore.”
“All right,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll take Yoral with me to Iyemmelim, and the two of us will investigate who has access to his services.”
“Keep her safe, Yoral,” Tagaret said, and took a bite of his bread.
“Yes, sir, of course.”
Della ate her bread, and drank her tea. Tagaret really did mean to be helpful. Perhaps, in his mind, he believed if he was always close by, he could bargain with Elinda for two souls or one. She knew it was one or none, and that Elinda did not bargain.
Going to the medical center made her stomach jittery. Remember: no subversive plan could be complete without tackling the question of medical care . . . As shields against panic went, the thought felt too flimsy, but Della carried it with determination.
Household Director Aimali had given Yoral the directions. They took the Ride up to the roofway; Lower passengers, mostly Kartunnen and Melumalai, allowed Della to sit at the window for the view. She should have talked to them. But how was she supposed to talk to people who cringed every time she tried to make eye contact? Of all her conversation pieces, only the paper card had received any interest, and she hadn’t been carrying it when she needed it.
They passed through several stations where other passengers boarded or disembarked. She spotted the green buildings of the University, and then the track headed into the Bend’s dramatic curve. She recognized one of the rooftop restaurants from their previous tour.
“We should eat there afterward,” Della said, pointing.
“I’ll try to arrange it, Mistress,” said Yoral.
The station at the river confluence, where their previous tour had stopped, was very busy. Della started to get up in spite of the bumping, moving bodies, but Yoral stopped her, saying it would be less crowded and just as easy to access Iyemmelim from the next station.
He was right, at least about the crowds. Only a couple of Melumalai remained on the car as it continued. The roofway curved rightward, toward the waterfall above the mist zone, and stopped at a station by the entrance to the Venorai tributary. As they exited, they found themselves at the far end of a station deck so long it felt like a curving, widening corridor. Della walked along it cautiously, grateful that Yoral was close by and on the alert.
The farther they went along the curve, the more it was busy with Venorai. These people were strikingly different from one another, despite the uniformity of their broad castemark belts. Some were young, some old; some were short, some tall; some were wiry and some vast; some were pale, some golden, and many were sunmarked in a wild variety of patterns. Many wore hats of leather or animal fur. Eventually she and Yoral found their way to the Ride, which opened directly off the roofway deck, and boarded.
This Ride car was not made of delicately braided metal. It was a giant metal box, as if the cases in which their luggage had traveled to Selimna had been expanded to fit people. People, and freight. They rode downslope alongside five Venorai, including a splotchy-skinned older man with a cap of speckled gray fur and a wheelbarrow full of mushrooms. The smell of them was enough to make her head spin. Della covered her nose with a handkerchief. Thank Heile, Yoral nudged her to disembark at the second stop.
Outside was a narrow alleyway between high walls, just wide enough for a cargo skimmer. The air here was distinctly chill and damp, maybe from its proximity to the mist zone. She pulled her gloves tight and tugged her hat down over her head. The ground under her feet was a roof—you could tell because, while the left side wall had doors in it, the right side wall had skimmer-sized railed alcoves, each one labeled with a name in twisting bright neon, and containing a metal panel like the elevator she’d accidentally ridden by the Residence. There was no view here at all.
“Let’s walk quickly, Lady,” said Yoral.
She lifted her skirts and did as she was told. The alley curved, a single continuing wall on either side with no splits or turns. A group of Venorai emerged from a door on the upslope side, and Yoral defensively moved ahead of her, but they passed by without greeting or incident. Somewhere on the right, an elevator hummed. Who was coming up? She tried to push her feet even faster.
At last she glimpsed the lighted green globe of the medical center ahead on the right. Desire to get out of the alleyway propelled her into the elevator, which hummed and descended. Of course, halfway down, the fearful place in her mind remembered this was a medical center. She took a slow, shaky breath.
Oh, blessed Eyn, let me return home from this place.
The elevator deposited them in a large room with a row of reception windows along the opposite wall. Low aluminum chairs were arrayed all around the edges of the room, and three islands of back-to-back chairs stood in its center.
Every chair was full. She could hear crying, coughing, the occasional moan.
“Yoral, could you give me my notepad and pencil, please?” When he handed them to her, she began tallying the population of the room.
One of the chair islands was entirely occupied by Kartunnen, another by Venorai, and the third by Melumalai. The chairs around the edges of the room were similarly segregated, but with a bit more randomness. There were a few Imbati groups closer to the reception windows, a long row of Melumalai, a few Venorai and then more Melumalai again. No Arissen appeared to be here at all. Where the end of the row abutted the elevator, a single individual in a dark charcoal hood sat, both hands wrapped in a bloodstained towel. Between him and a Venorai woman with a bawling child on her lap was a single empty chair.
Della considered the chair, gulped, and looked around. I should sit there. I should talk to that man.
A Kartunnen nurse in a long gray coat emerged from a door beside the reception windows.
Della startled and took a step backward; she felt Yoral’s hands press against her back reassuringly.
“Greetings of the day, noble Lady, may I aid you?”
Her throat tried to close up. “H-help him,” she stammered, gesturing at the undercaste man with the end of her pencil. “He’s bleeding and he needs help.”
“Noble Lady?”
“That Akrabitti is bleeding, Kartunnen. Help him.”
The nurse looked confused, but said, “Yes, noble Lady.” She went to the man with the bloody towel and took him into the back.
What in Varin’s name had she just done? She wasn’t here to talk to Iyemmelim, not really—she was here to learn. She hadn’t encountered a mixed-caste place like this since their arrival, but instead of taking advantage of her opportunity, she’d panicked and sent the Akrabitti man away. Where was her courage? Why couldn’t she just have sat next to him?
Get yourself together. Just be brave enough.
Della braced herself and sat down beside the Venorai with the crying child. Yoral quietly took the chair that the undercaste man had vacated. The Venorai woman had a leather hat like a pot lid, with graying hair curling out from underneath it, and was too large to shrink away from her effectively. She started murmuring to her child, who looked to be under ten years old and had somehow hurt her arm. The child’s cries subsided to whimpers.
“Noble Lady, may I aid you?” came another voice.
Della looked up. This was a different nurse: a young man with a friendly face. “Not now, thank you,” she said.
“Kartunnen,” said Yoral, “Please allow my Lady to sit until she feels ready to speak to you.”
The Kartunnen bowed. “May your honorable service earn its just reward, sir.” He glanced at the Venorai woman—would another opportunity vanish? But the nurse didn’t call the woman in; he walked away and called an Imbati instead.
“Venorai,” said Della, “how long have you been waiting?”
The Venorai woman startled, and her child yelped and started to cry again.
“Forgive me,” Della said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—”
“Noble Lady, three hours.”
“Three hours? Oh, I’m sorry!” The last thing this woman needed was an interview with a Higher. When the female nurse who had first greeted her emerged from the back, Della waved her down.
The Kartunnen bowed. “Noble Lady, may we aid you?”
“This Venorai child is in pain and has been waiting here for three hours. Why haven’t you treated her?”
“I’m sorry, noble Lady,” said the nurse. “That’s confidential, so.” She hesitated for a second, as if wondering whether she’d be punished for leaving Della’s presence, but then moved away and called in a different Venorai.
Clearly, caste wasn’t the issue.
Minutes passed. An Imbati patient emerged from the treatment door and approached the elevator; when the doors opened, a pair of Melumalai joined the waiting room crowd, and the Imbati left.
Della took a breath and let it out slowly. She was going to figure this out. She glanced at the Venorai woman. “What happened to your daughter’s arm?”
“Broke, noble Lady,” the Venorai said cautiously. “She made a dive, so.”
“Heile’s mercy, she’s been sitting here for three hours with a broken arm?”
The Venorai nodded. “Noble Lady, are you here for the child you’re carrying?”
Della shrank, and her neck prickled. “No.” Was it that obvious?
“Noble Lady, Sirin bless you.” The Venorai made some kind of warding gesture. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
She tried to smile. “That’s all right.”
The next time the door opened, two nurses came out: the young man, and one she hadn’t seen before. The new nurse summoned a Melumalai into the back. The young man . . .
Yes, he was coming this way. Della’s stomach clenched.
“Noble Lady, perhaps you’d agree to tell us what brings you here?”
“I’m evaluating your facility,” she said. “And, to be honest, I can’t figure out why you would leave a child here for three hours with a broken arm.”
“Noble Lady,” the nurse said. “Please come into the back if you wish to discuss our services.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, incredulous. “Why won’t you help her?”
“Excuse me, noble Lady,” the nurse said, and disappeared back behind the door.
Della found herself shaking—maybe from the Venorai’s discovery of her condition, maybe from the outrage. She pulled her gloves tight again, and tried to slow her breathing.
“Carrying will tire you so, noble Lady,” said the Venorai. “My sympathies.”
Della glanced at her. “I wish I hadn’t said it. I’ve never had a living child. Miscarried every one.”
“Oh, noble Lady,” said the Venorai, reaching out as if to touch her belly, but stopping before making contact. “That’s a grief will tear your heart. May the Mother bless you. I never miscarried, but I’ve had children die. Our boy Lussy died last year, so.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Iyemmelim tried to help him. Failed, so. Wouldn’t believe it was the wysps.”
“What?” Della asked, shocked. “Wysps killed your baby?”
“Noble Lady, Lussy was no baby. He was eighteen, so. Firehead, and it killed him, the idiot.”
“Heile have mercy!”
“Noble Lady,” said a new voice.
Della looked up and found another Kartunnen here, a broad-faced man with a rounded gray hat and a University pin affixed to his gray medical coat. “Doctor Iyemmelim,” she guessed. Well, she was not going to let him take her on a tour. She pointed at the Venorai child. “Is that girl’s arm broken, or not?”
“Please, noble Lady, come into the back.”
This was ridiculous! “Fine, on one condition.”
“Name it, noble Lady.”
“This Venorai and her daughter are coming with me.”
He looked affronted. “Not Castremei. She lies.”
“Not about a broken arm, Doctor. I insist.” Stubbornly, she added, “So.”
The doctor looked infuriated, but didn’t refuse. “Bring her,” he said. The Venorai obeyed, setting the small girl on her feet and guiding her forward as the doctor passed through the door. Della followed, grateful for her Yoral’s supporting hands against her back.
The hall inside, with its rows of treatment rooms, made her heart flail against the inside of her ribs, and the soulless interloper picked up on her panic. The doctor waved significant fingers at nurses they passed, and they sprang into action. Scowling, he led them into a room where you could see a large machine through a window, and set the nurses to placing the child in it. The Venorai woman clung to the edge of the window, watching as the nurses emerged, returned and shifted the girl, emerged again.
“Noble Lady,” the doctor said. “May we speak outside?”
She didn’t trust him. “Yoral,” she whispered, “give the Venorai your card and tell her to contact us if she doesn’t receive proper treatment.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Once she’d seen the card handed over, she allowed the doctor to lead her out into the hall.
“I’m here to evaluate your facility, Doctor, and after this, I’m not sure I’m impressed.”
“I hope you’ll understand,” Iyemmelim said placatingly. “Venorai often make use of our facility. They’re not a very careful people, and they breed infections due to their animal-like living conditions.”
Della stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“We’re doing the city a service, keeping them from harming others. But they overtax our facility, considering our level of funding, so. If you could consider having a word with the Alixi on our behalf.”
She wasn’t going to say what she really wanted to. It would obviously be no use asking him about Akrabitti. She smiled at him deliberately. “I’d be happy to, Doctor, but first I’d like you to send along records of which castes get treated here, in what numbers, for what kinds of complaints. To Lady Della at the Residence. And thank you for helping my neighbor. Castremei, was it?”
“Castremei was excluded from care because she lied about her son’s drug dependency,” said the doctor. “Firehead is a real scourge among the Venorai. It causes brain damage, so.”
“That sounds terrible,” said Della. “But I don’t think it has anything to do with a broken arm.”
He held his breath for a second; he looked like he was trying to control his temper. “Noble Lady,” he said, “I began my career at the Residence Medical Center, and have a great deal of experience with noble ladies, so.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at him. She was not going to finish his sentence for him.
“So I would prefer, if you wish treatment, that you bring your partner with you. Our center is unprepared for legal action he might bring if we treat you without him present.”
Her heart immediately started pounding hard enough to make her dizzy; her skin flushed hot. “I won’t be asking for any treatment here, ever, thank you very much. Yoral, let’s go.”