"So you will have the permit, and we will cross to the colony," I said. "And there... we will find the lord of Qenain and...?"
"And then, we will have to improvise," Kor said with another of those smiles. I was beginning to like them... his humor's self-deprecating slant made him more approachable, even if it occasionally bordered on overmuch harshness.
"And here?" I wondered. "The taint..."
"Will hopefully not spread much," Kor said. Some body sign that I was too far to read caused Ajan to reach to the table and pour him a fresh cup of the tisane, which he handed up to his master. "But we cannot stay to arrest it. Once we reach the Gate we will send a message to the capital requesting help."
"Why not send a messenger now?" I said.
"Because," Ajan said, "our last messenger to the capital returned and was pre-empted."
My surprise at his interruption became dismay at the information. "Pardon?"
"I did a little talking with the house's Guardians," Ajan said. "When our messenger returned, my master was indisposed and you were elsewhere—perhaps with the physician or the observer—and the lady received his message in your stead."
"...and I have not heard its contents, nor have you," I said, looking at Shame. "This was the messenger who was to tell us whether Qenain had permission to host aunera on our soil..."
"And it was the lady who heard the answer," Kor said. "And perhaps she found it distressing."
I sighed out. "Ancestors preserve us. No wonder my message disordered her mind so, if it came on the heels of... whatever news it was the messenger gave her."
Ajan murmured, "You are very forgiving of her, osulkedi."
I glanced at him, then at Kor, ears flicking back. "He really does speak very plainly. You might counsel him on it before it wins him trouble."
Kor chuckled softly. "He trusts you, or he would not speak so in your presence, Farren."
"You are very forgiving of her, and you didn't earn what she dealt," Ajan said, looking up at me boldly.
"But I did," I said, answering the anger I sensed beneath the words; despite my astonishment at his forthrightness, I was moved that he felt such outrage on my behalf. "I will not blame the lady for a situation for which there is no right course, Ajan. The taint here creates discord: a Public Servant who threatens to undermine a Noble's authority; a Noble who must Correct a Public Servant for doing his duty. What would you have done?"
"I would have let you do your duty," Ajan said. "And trusted that duty to reveal my rectitude, in the end."
"And disorder the house's workings in the process?" I said. "Qenain would have suffered. If you do not yet know this, Ajan, then you will learn: the rumor of wrongdoing will follow a person even if they are shown to be innocent of it. What people will remember is the wrongdoing, not the verdict."
Ajan's fingers closed on the haft of one of his knives. His voice was tense. "Osulkedi, she broke you. Had my master not been here, she would have ruined you."
I looked down at my cup and drew in a long breath, thinking of what the lady would have done, had I truly been broken for my duties, for the empire's use. I thought of the sorrow in her eyes when she ordered me released, and knew that she was confused and frightened. Something alien had come into our lives, something for which our traditions, our customs, even our books had no wisdom to offer. I said to Ajan, quiet, "Accidents happen."
"Accidents!" Ajan bristled.
Shame set a hand on his head, between his ears... dark fingers on bronze head. Ajan fell silent at the touch, eyes closing. Then he twisted his head to look up. "You know I'm right."
Kor touched his chin, thumb resting just below his lower lip. And then he smiled. "I thought I knew everything at your age, too."
Ajan stuck his tongue out at him and Kor chuckled, shaking the youth's head gently by that chin-hold. "Be respectful."
"Yes, master," Ajan murmured, but the touch had gentled him.
"You have not disagreed with me," I said when Kor looked up from him.
"No," Kor said. "But I am perhaps a little more aware of the history of Correction and its many weaknesses than the penokedi at my feet." Ajan snorted. Kor ignored him, continuing. "The healing of social sin is not a simple matter, and could not be; people are too different from one another... from themselves, even, as they grow older and change. And Kherishdar, too, is changing, and so Correction must change with it. The Book of Corrections still contains acts that are punishments, and those served a valuable purpose when they were first codified: they made clear the rule of law, and made those who broke it accountable to others publicly, and such things are powerful necessities when a society is still new to law. But the law is no longer young, and as people we grow more sophisticated. With that sophistication comes, or should come, respect for the differences in individuals and the flexibility to respond to them. The idea that Correction can heal—should heal—is relatively new, from a historical perspective. And you are right, Farren: in the past, Correction broke some number of its supplicants, and that tragedy was acceptable because of the good it did in other areas."
"But you think that things should change," I said, startled. I had not thought of Correction as... an art with a historical tradition, one that was evolving. In truth, I had not thought of Kherishdar itself as something that evolved. We prided ourselves on our stability, on the ancient pedigrees of our traditions, our ways. It had never occurred to me that the rate of change was merely so slow that the individual Ai-Naidar living through it never noticed it.
"I don't think anything, in the way you suggest," Kor said. He had left his hand on Ajan's head, and now his thumb was lightly passing through the strands of the youth's hair, ruffling it. "I reflect Thirukedi, Farren. He has directed the change in Kherishdar since its inception and He continues to do so. He in His turn has entrusted me with the office of Shame in the empire, and it is then my duty to ensure that Correction in Kherishdar reflects the direction He has been guiding us toward. And He has been guiding us toward a system of more compassion and understanding of the individual."
"The Book of Corrections," I began.
"...is too brief, and too general," Shame said. "And I expect that I will spend many years rewriting it. Not everyone will have my sense of other people's hearts. I must find a way to impart that knowledge."
I stared at him, then, deeply affected. This man, revealed by sickness to be no less vulnerable an Ai-Naidari than any other, nevertheless had confessed to the necessity of a task so much greater than himself... I had thought that the office of Shame alone was larger-than-life, without the addition of such a far-reaching project. And yet, I could see how he was right.
"Thirukedi chose well," I said at last.
Shame lowered his head.
I sipped my tea then, and gave him time to compose himself. When he had, he tugged gently on one of Ajan's ears. "Go on, then, Guardian. My peer and I have matters to discuss."
"Yes, master," Ajan said, rising. And grinned. "I was hungry anyway."
I watched him leave... and presumably, Kor watched me, for after the door closed he said, "He is like a brother to me. A much younger brother."
"There is a great deal of love there," I observed, setting my tea cup on the table.
Kor sighed. "Yes. I will not work without love. And that is my problem."
I looked at him, then, and he held up a hand. "Not yet," he said. "I must go through my exercises, and you must paint. We will discuss Qenain's fault—and mine—when we are both more settled."
