Quatrain (18 page)

“Bree Socast,” he said.

Del tilted her head to one side, seeming to test the name against an internal data bank, but coming up without a match. “And her father’s name, in case she no longer wanted to be known by her husband’s? And her mother’s?”

“Velder and Cahbrist,” Kerk replied. He thought Del looked surprised that he could answer so readily. He was pretty sure Makk didn’t know his mother’s mother’s surname; few gulden boys would. But Kerk had tried to immerse himself in family history. He could have offered names from many more generations back, if Del had asked for them.

Del shook her head. “None of these sound familiar. But someone will recognize one of these names. In fact, Ria might.”

“Oh, yes, Ria knows everyone,” Jalci said, on her feet at once. “Is she here today? Let’s go ask her.”

They made a strange procession out of the office and down the hallways again. The small, stooped old guldwoman led the way and was greeted with universal respect by the younger women they passed. Jalci, following after Del, elicited a mix of friendly, curious, and measuring stares; in this setting, her cobalt skin and night-black hair marked her as utterly alien. Kerk, bringing up the rear, towered over all of them and came in for most of the attention. As before, it was largely hostile, but the fact that Del was tolerating him made some of the women eye him more with speculation than hatred.

He supposed that was an improvement.

Leaving the building, they headed toward a sprawling one-story structure that looked like it might have been hastily assembled by a dozen crews all working from different sets of architectural plans. Probably built piecemeal by volunteers, Kerk guessed, and lucky to still be standing.

“It’s a community center,” Jalci informed him, though he had not asked. “We hold some adult education classes here for the women, but mostly it’s used for activities for the gulden boys.” She shook her head. “It’s really not enough to keep them occupied. Especially the teenagers. They don’t like living in the Lost City, but most of them are afraid to go back to Gold Mountain, and they aren’t old enough to find jobs in the city. We arrange sports tournaments and all kinds of classes—but even so, not that many of the boys spend their time here.”

As soon as Kerk stepped inside, he could see why. The place seemed smaller on the inside than the outside, with cramped corridors and low ceilings and the sweaty smell common to gymnasiums. Down a hallway to his left he could hear the shouts and echoes of a baltreck game in progress; from his right came the sounds of women’s voices raised in high-pitched laughter.

“Ria is no doubt with the women in the cooking class,” Del said. “Wait for me here.”

“I’ll go look in on the game,” Kerk said, and started toward the gym. No surprise, Jalci followed close on his heels.

“I’ve watched them play plenty of times, but I confess I have no idea how they keep score,” she said.

He grunted in amusement. “That’s what Tess says.”

He pulled open a swinging door and they stepped inside the gym, which was a little more welcoming than the outer corridors. The ceiling was high and graced with skylights; the walls were covered in bright oranges, yellows, and reds. The space was a little too small to be a regulation baltreck field, but the correct lines and zones had been painted in place, and the metal scoring cones looked to be properly positioned. About twenty young gulden men, all between the ages of twelve and eighteen, were scrambling around on the polished floor, battling each other for possession of three rubberized balls. Two youthful referees stood on opposite sides of the playing field, shouting just as much as the players. A few spectators lounged against the walls, calling out encouragement or derision. Two of the balls simultaneously landed in scoring cones on opposite sides of the floor, and the noise for a moment was deafening. Half the players cheered, and the other half shouted that a penalty had been overlooked.

“I mean, what is even
happening
here?” Jalci demanded.

Kerk grinned. “There are four teams on the floor at the same time. Each team is trying to get possession of all three balls. If you have two or more balls, you can score by throwing them into the cones, but of course the other teams are defending the cones. If you only get one ball in, you don’t get any points. If one of the other teams takes away one of the balls
and
has the third ball in its possession, it can try to make a quick score before the other defenders realize that they have now become the offensive team. If—”

She flung up a hand. “Stop. I’m already lost.”

“Well, it’s not that hard,” he said. “But it moves fast.”

“And it’s
stupid
,” she said.

He merely shrugged and watched the action. Unlike school-based and pro leagues in Geldricht, these players didn’t have matching uniforms, so it took him a while to sort them into teams. Apparently they were divided by who was wearing any item of clothing that could be considered to fall in the same color category. One team consisted of a boy with a dark red shirt, a boy with a crimson headband, a young man who had tied a woman’s red scarf around his stomach, and two players who had split a pair of red socks between them. The level of talent varied wildly, as was to be expected, and clearly no one had bothered to spend much time honing defensive skills, so the scoring was pretty high. So was the level of energy. A couple of fights broke out in just the few minutes Kerk and Jalci stood there watching, but they involved nothing more than a couple of shoves and a few insults before play resumed again.

“It seems like a very violent game,” Jalci observed.

“Even more so at the professional level,” Kerk replied. “Fun, though.”

“Do you play?”

He nodded but did not answer.

One player, who looked to be about fifteen, was far superior to all the rest. He was thin and slightly built, a little shorter than average, but unbelievably fast and uncannily able to read the action on the floor. Anytime his team had possession of the third ball, he instantly tried to strip one of the other two game balls from the opposing teams, and managed it three times while Kerk watched. And his ball went straight into the metal cone each time, even when his teammates weren’t able to capitalize on the steal.

“That boy is really good,” Kerk said.

“Which one? They’re all moving so fast I can’t tell them apart.”

“The boy with the red hair, wearing the yellow shirt.”

“The short one?”

“Yes. Keep your eyes on him. He’s going to take the ball from the big player with the blue headband. There—and then he’ll score—
there
. Did you see that?”

“How did you know what he was going to do?”

Kerk shook his head. “It’s just how the game is played.”

“I bet you’re really good at this, aren’t you?” she asked.

He shrugged.

A few of the players had noticed them as they came in, and the longer they stood there watching, the more attention they drew. At first he thought the players were all looking at Jalci, the blueskin who did not belong, but then he realized that
he
was the draw.
He
was the unfamiliar sight: a grown gulden man in top physical condition in a place ruled by women. Slowly, the action on the field began to shift; more and more plays were executed around the cones nearest to Kerk. A few of the younger boys were practically staring at him; a few of the older ones made elaborate, acrobatic passes and scoring throws, almost as if they were showing off. He and Jalci had been watching for fifteen minutes before a referee called a time-out, and a few of the players at Kerk’s end of the playing floor clustered together just inside the painted boundaries, their eyes on him. Waiting for him to speak. Wondering if he would be willing to acknowledge them, fatherless boys who had no claims on anyone.

He gave a decisive nod. “Good game,” he said. “Looks like the yellow team is going to win.”

That was enough of an invitation for the younger boys, though most of the older ones hung back. Within seconds, Kerk was surrounded by about twelve of the players, all vying for his attention.

“Yellow always wins,” one of them said. “At least, when Quint’s playing.”

“Did you see his pass to Shoev?”

“Helten made that pass.”

“He did not! I mean the pass where Quint scored.”

“Did you see the last score? All three balls in the cones, all at once!”

“Do you go to the pro games?”

“Do you know any of the players?”

“Do you play?”

“Do you want to play?”

Kerk held his hands up to stave off the questions, and they mostly fell silent, still grinning, still watching him. “I’ve played a little,” he said.

“Do you want to play now? You can be on the red team. They need help.”

He pointed at his hard-soled shoes, not designed for running and jumping. “I’d fall on my face.”

“We could lend you shoes. There’s a whole box of them. They’re used and they stink but there’s probably some in your size.”

He smiled a little. “I didn’t come here to play baltreck.”

“But you
could
play, couldn’t you? You know
how
to play, don’t you?”

“Sure,” he said, and let a little arrogance come into his voice, the tone they would expect from him, so much their superior by age and size and position in the world. “I’m pretty good at it.”

Again, they clamored for him to join them, to put on a pair of borrowed shoes and tie a red band around his arm.

“Oh, why don’t you do it?” Jalci said. “You can see it would make them happy.”

“How would it make them happy for me to humiliate them with my advanced skills?” he said. But he was grinning, and the boys hooted and pointed at him, then renewed their pleas for him to join them on the court.

“If I could get your attention for a moment,” said a dry voice behind him, and Kerk realized Del had stepped into the gymnasium while he wasn’t watching the door.

“Your pardon,” he said, pivoting to face her. “Do you have news for me?”

Before she could answer, the red-haired boy named Quint spoke up. “Stupid old bitch to come interrupting men. Go back to your filthy office and let us play.”

Without even thinking about it, Kerk spun back around and grabbed Quint in a headlock, doubling the boy over till he yelped with pain. “You will apologize to the lady Del,” he said in a calm but implacable voice. “I am embarrassed to hear such rudeness from the mouth of a gulden man.”

Quint grunted and tried to wriggle free, but Kerk’s hold on him was unbreakable. “She’s just a
woman
!” the boy gasped out.

“She is a woman who spends every hour of her day making sure you are clothed and fed and safe,” Kerk said. “But even if she never lifted a finger to ease your way, you owe her courtesy as you owe courtesy to every living soul. A man who shows dishonor to anyone, no matter how insignificant, proves he is without honor himself. Is that the kind of man you are? Dishonorable?”

There was dead silence in the gym. The entire mass of players had drifted to this end of the court and every gaze was fixed on Kerk’s face. He didn’t look up from the back of Quint’s head, but he could tell they were all stunned and a little excited. He wondered if some of them might break through the crowd and come to Quint’s defense, in which case the situation might get dicey fast, but none of them moved. None of them spoke. They just watched Kerk and seemed to suspend their breathing.

Quint made a little sound that might have been a whimper. “I just want to play baltreck,” he whined.

“And we will all play as soon as you apologize,” Kerk said. He heard the little murmur that went through the other boys as they assimilated his words.
He said we will all play! The guldman will join us to play baltreck!

“Apologize, you gilder prick,” one of the older players called out, and the rest of the boys laughed.

Kerk lifted his eyes briefly to scan the crowd. “And that’s the last time I want any of you to say
that
particular word,” he said coldly.
Gilder
was the highest insult that could be leveled against a gulden, and Kerk had heard it often enough, directed at himself.

He could feel Quint’s thin ribs expand as the boy took a deep breath. “I apologize to the lady Del,” he said formally. “I spoke rudely. I hope she will forgive me and never have cause to be pained by my disrespect again.”

“I will hope the same thing,” Del said shortly. “You are forgiven.”

Kerk loosed his hold on Quint, and the boy instantly swung around to face him. His expression was eager. “And you’ll play with us?”

“I will, for a little while,” Kerk said. “But I must first ask the lady Del a question. Go find shoes that will fit me.” He kicked off his hard-soled shoes and Quint scooped them up. He and three companions ran across the gym to a box that apparently held cast-off gear and other donated items.

Kerk returned his attention to Del. “Do you have any news for me?”

She was eyeing him with an expression that was hard to read, but Kerk thought he could decipher it nonetheless. She was impressed at how he had handled the boys but not about to say so outright. “No,” she replied. “But Ria is willing to make inquiries. If you come back in three days, I might have information for you.”

He gave that studied nod that signaled great respect. “Thank you. You are most kind. I will return then and see what you have to tell me.”

“Are you really going to play baltreck with these boys?” Jalci demanded.

Quint was racing back across the floor, waving a pair of truly disreputable shoes over his head. “I am,” he said. “You don’t have to stay and watch.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for any amount of money,” she said. “Especially now that you’ve
explained
the game to me.”

He laughed. Two minutes later, he had donned the shoes, stepped onto the playing court, and redivided the teams to compensate for the way his presence would skew the balance of skill. One of the referees shouted, “Go!” and the game was on.