When I didn't immediately respond, he studied me with his coronal eyes and said, "Are you often given to these reveries, Calligrapher?"

Stung, I replied in all candor, "Yes, I'm afraid."

He laughed then and said, "I've had them put my bags in your carriage, if that eases you." And then he clapped his heels against his mount's barrel and was off, leaving me to stare after him.

We are a genteel people, we Ai-Naidar. Not passionless, as some might have you believe, but not particularly given to displays of emotion. And Shame was not exactly displaying any emotions, but his presentation had a raw quality: I couldn't decide if this was just how he was, or if he was damaged. My plan to study him during our trip to Qenain would be severely restricted with him riding, but... if he had as much energy as he seemed to project, I would much prefer he drain some of it in physical exertion before I had to grapple with his intellect, particularly given how nakedly he wielded it.

"Osulkedi?"

Yes, I was given to reveries. I looked toward the source of the voice and found the young Guardian, a steed's reins gathered in his hands, though he was still a-ground. From his face he was practiced in wearing this schooled polite expression. "Was aid needed?" he finished, nodding toward the carriage door.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't see you. Are you...?"

"Assigned to the priest," he answered, and I could not read his eyes. What few Guardians I had ever spoken with had all had some variation of this same expression when on duty. I couldn't tell if he was glad of his assignment, or how long he'd been with Shame and whether he was concerned over him, and it seemed the wrong time to ask. Instead, I said, "Aid would be appreciated," and allowed him to close the carriage door behind me.

Thus we proceeded, and a gladder Ai-Naidari you would have been hard-pressed to find leaving the Bleak that day. And once we were underway, I found myself looking again and again at the log I'd discarded.

Should I tell him Thirukedi had given me these records? Their intimacy was so acute I could not decide which would be worse: to read them while he kept my company, unaware of my doing so... or to tell him, forcing him into awareness of the exposure. And yet there was no undoing what I had already read. I fingered the edge of the leather cover.

...and ended up reading, with no further thought to the ethics of it. There were no mentions of blood in the hours I spent ensconced in the carriage as the countryside passed briskly by, but the Corrections described remained astonishing and unnerving. It wasn't until the sun had vanished completely, depriving me of the light to read further, that I began to understand a little of why: it was the way he always seemed to know what motivated the people he Corrected, no matter their station, age or sex. I had thought myself empathic, but this level of understanding of the Ai-Naidari heart seemed supernatural.

I looked out the coach window for him, but did not see him. And, even as I chastised myself for my subterfuge, I slipped the book back into the pack with the others.

We continued until well past the evening in order to reach the outskirts of Mekarieth's district, where we could find lodging. As osulked, both of us could stop in any household no matter the caste of its members and demand hospitality, from the lowest worker to the most harried Regal. This was a necessary courtesy; most travelers are hosted by family or caste-peers, but the osulked are few. And while we might occasionally find ourselves stopping somewhere with a temple, library or other public building, it was better for Kherishdar if its ultimate Public Servants visited with Ai-Naidar of all castes when they traveled, so they could remain familiar and comfortable with all the people they served.

In this way I have often left little pieces of calligraphy all over Kherishdar as I have gone on Thirukedi's errands... freehand paintings, mostly, projects that could be done in a few hours after dinner: embellishing the cover of a family's Book of Exceptions, perhaps, or inscribing a virtue over a door. While the first few times I found it difficult to impose on strangers, I have never regretted it since for the chance to meet so many people and be touched by the breadth and depth of Kherishdar's riches, its varied people.

So I was surprised when the carriage stopped before one of the Merchant halls with its impersonal facade. We could have tarried anywhere... so why here?

Oh yes, aunera. I'm afraid I was so naive.

By the time I stepped out of the coach, Shame and his Guardian had already made their way into the hall past the traffic still trickling over its path; Merchants did their business long into the evening, if the opportunity presented itself. The irimked who came with me would stay in the guest Servant quarters for the evening and I... I supposed I would be pretending to a Merchant's business. Shaking my head, I followed the two in, only to find they had already requested a room and gone to it...

...and in their wake, left a silence pierced only by furtive whispers and speculative looks. My own entrance barely registered to the inhabitants of the common room. It was then that I began to understand. I have never expected anyone to recognize me; I wear my stole with the Emperor's mark because I believe it necessary and useful. As I passed among the tables, I realized that everyone knew Kherishdar's sole Shame. I began to wonder if he was as notorious as the Exception, and the dart of pity that stung my heart was the first sign that I understood, that Thirukedi had been right to entrust this mission to me.

I ascended the stairs and found the Guardian standing outside one of the doors. He gestured, drawing my attention. The Guardian caste incurs many exceptions to the laws that govern behavior between castes, as they often must act precipitously to prevent harm to their wards. Nevertheless, he seemed more accustomed to speaking first than I would have guessed in one so young: deferent, yes, but comfortable.

"Forgiveness," he said as I approached. "The hall is crowded tonight; there is only the one room."

"Very well," I said as he opened the door for me. I stopped, not out of shock, but because I would have bumped my knees against the single bunk had I kept going. As the Guardian closed the door behind me, I asked the silhouette by the narrow window, "Where will he sleep?"

"Outside across the threshold," Shame said. He was loosening his cuffs, barely visible in the dark. When I didn't immediately reply, he said, "Don't concern yourself with it. He has had harder duties."

I glanced at the one bunk and said, "And where will you sleep?"

A laugh, cut short. "On the floor next to the bed. I too have had harder duties." He lifted his hand to stop my speech. "Your joints hurt. Sleep on the bed, Calligrapher."

Unnerved, I said, "I have not had much pain," and then halted, realizing I had confirmed his guess. How had he known?

Looking at me over his shoulder with his white eyes, he said, "You were warming them in the waiting hall at the Bleak."

"Do you miss anything?" I asked, startled.

He just smiled; I could hear it in his voice, the wry twist of it, though I could not see it in the dark. "Good night, osulkedi."

Apparently it was enough for him to sleep with throat and wrists unfettered, but to otherwise remain fully clothed; I was accustomed to wearing a sleeping robe, but could not imagine stepping over him to reach our bags, change in this small space and then slide back into bed. So I lay down there with my back to him and composed myself as best I could for sleep. And found that my joints did hurt, and the mattress gentle on them, and I was soon asleep.

Several of you have asked about our riding beasts, a topic I am afraid I know little about. They are much like ourselves: tall, slender things with narrow tails and heads and long ovate ears: grazers and herd-beasts, more comfortable in a group than alone.

As I said, they are much like ourselves.

What you will perhaps find unusual is that we do not speak of beasts as we would a person. I am given to understand several strange things about you, aunera, first being that you have a multiplicity of languages (how do you understand one another? Must you learn them all?), and second that many of these languages do not provide for easy ways to distinguish between people and everything else. Our language does this: there is a manner of speech particular to Ai-Naidar, and a manner that refers to animals, plants and objects: the non-Ai-Naidar case, I would call that.

I have tried in vain to decide on a way to render these distinctions in your language. The closest the scribe and I can come is to call Ai-Naidar "he" and "she" and to use "it" for everything else, from animals to objects. But even this division is unclear, for the scribe has confided that many of you use the pronoun "it" for your own beasts if you cannot confidently determine the sex of the creature. I cannot impart to you, then, the absolute wall our language builds between Ai-Naidar and other things. Like the Wall of Birth in our caste system, there is no rising above it without divine intervention.

I fear now I must tell you that aunera also are referred to in this manner, as non-Ai-Naidar. The scribe tells me some of you will not be insulted to be lumped in the same category as beasts and flowers, and I hope it is so.

Whatever the case, this distinction has relevance to our tale... for the use of weapons is controlled by their targets. The weapons allowed against Ai-Naidar are few, but there is no weapon that cannot be used against anything else. You have wondered why you have seen no guns among us? Now you know. I have never gone where their use is legal, for they cannot be turned against an Ai-Naidari. They are only employed against beasts... and aliens.

Let us continue from this unpleasant digression.

If anything, the traffic on the roads grew denser as we set out the following day. I wondered at it: the last major holiday in the capital, the Spring Welcoming, was a month behind us, and most people would have dispersed to their homes long since. The further we travelled the more people we encountered, until at last I wondered if we would have the luxury of staying in a Merchant's hall again.

Around dusk the carriage stopped. I peered out the window to find Shame, his Guardian and the carriage master conferring. I couldn't hear them, but from the twitch of Shame's ears and the rigidity of his back he was displeased. When we resumed moving, Shame rode ahead... and I called to the Guardian, using the caste-rank one would give the Guardian employed in public spaces.

"Basirkedi?"

The youth fell back to pace the carriage. "It's penokedi, osulkedi, if you would. I am Shame's Guardian in particular."

"I did not know osulked to require such service," I said, startled, for to be penokedi made this youth a Public Servant himself, and within my caste. No wonder he had so little habit of averting his eyes!

"His is a special case."

So many special cases, and this was only the beginning of my education in them.

He added, "My name is Ajan, also. If you prefer. I expect we will see much of one another, as I am not to be detached until Shame returns to the temple."

"Of course," I said; that at least, was customary, though he would not expect to call me by anything but my title. We shared a caste, but even so I occupied its topmost rank. "What did they decide?"

"Oh, we'll stay at Elikim's guest house tonight," the Guardian said. "You know Qenain's in Athurizin's district? And Athurizin's ascension day is approaching, so everyone is coming for the celebration. There's no other place to stay, not really, unless we want to crowd into some already over-burdened family's home. It's not likely that anyone without a Noble or Regal's size home is going to be able to keep us easily. It's just the one night, then we'll be at Qenain."

"Is it such a hardship, then?" I asked.