The Summer Queen (48 page)

“Oh ... All right.” Fate nodded, looking pleased at the
thought. “I haven’t been there for quite a while.” She didn’t have to ask which
Shop; there was only one that they spoke of that way. It had been one of
Jerusha PalaThion’s ideas for making their new technological creations more
accessible: a block of former warehouses where there were displays and
demonstrations and free samples available for whoever was willing to try
something new.

They left the tram at the entrance to Azure Alley, where the
Shop was located, and made their way through the curiosity seekers to its
open-fronted sprawl of stores filled with new or recently salvaged equipment.

“Tor, is that juice seller still across the street?” Fate
asked, lifting her head “I think I smell their fruit—”

“Yeah. Do you want me to get you something?”

“A large cup of the roseberry juice would be wonderful. Suddenly
I’m dying of thirst.”

“Too much salt in the stew,” Tor said, guiding her to a
pillar where she could stand comfortably and wait. “I’ll be right back.”

Tor crossed the alley, noticing with satisfaction that there
appeared to be a reasonable mix of Winters and Summers in the crowd Once they’d
gotten past the new idea of a Change that really meant something, the Summers—especially
the younger ones—had slowly come around to other new ways of doing things Not
even Summers really liked to go on stirring the seahair paddies by wading
through freezing water on stilts, when a simple ng of wind-powered paddles
would do it for them, and leave them free to go out in their fishing boats with
lightweight, ultra-strong nets that would let them bring in twice their usual
catch.

She paid for the drink, went back across the alley and
handed it to Fate. They started on, wandering in and out of displays, while she
described them as well as she could, guiding the older woman’s hands to objects
she wanted to experience for herself.

“Well, good day to you, Fate Ravenglass Winter,” someone
said behind them

They turned together, recognizing the voice of Capella Goodventure,
and the unmistakable coldness in it as she spoke the word “Winter.” The truth
about sibyls—that they were not strictly the province of Summer’s Goddess—had
not grown noticeably easier for the Goodventures’ elder to bear, even after so
many years.

“Hello, Capella Goodventure,” Fate said, with wry
resignation, echoing the Summer woman’s formal address but leaving off her clan
surname.

“Come to pick up a few handy appliances for your townhouse,
Capella?” Tor said, pinched by irritation as she was left entirely
unacknowledged.

She immediately had all of Capella Goodventure’s attention, and
with it her hostility. “No, Winter. I’ve come to see what new perversions of
our tradition are being insinuated into our world in the name of ‘the Change’
and ‘the Lady’s Will.’”

Tor matched her frown. “If you love your summer traditions
so much, why don’t you go live on a plantation—or move back to the Lower City,
with the rest of the Summers? You like your townhouse next to the palace well
enough.”

Capella Goodventure stiffened. “I live where I do because it
is tradition that I be near the Lady ... in case she ever has need of me. And
she chooses to live in the Snow Queen’s palace.” There was bitterness, and
something that could have been regret, in her voice.

“So you can keep on interfering in her life, you mean,” Tor
said sourly. “Why don’t you face it—not even Summers want to live worse than
they have to. There wouldn’t be so many of them here looking, if they did. Even
your holy sibyls know that, or they wouldn’t all be working for the Queen.”

“Tor.” Fate reached out to put a restraining hand on her
arm. The abrupt gesture knocked over the roseberry juice sitting on the display
table. Tor swore as the pink-red liquid splattered onto her pants.

“They work for the Lady because she speaks for our Goddess
as Her Chosen .. and as a sibyl,” Capella Good venture said, “and they owe her
their service, whatever they may think of the uses she puts it to.”

“Believe that if you want to.” Tor turned away, wiping at
her clothing, using the accident as an excuse to go in search of a sponge, or
better company.

She went back through the tables and displays toward the
main entrance, where she knew she would find Danaquil Lu or Clavally. One or
the other of them was always here, overseeing the operation—getting the Winters
to think of sibyls as symbols of technological enlightenment, and at the same
time reassuring the Summers in the crowd with their presence. They answered
technical and personal questions for anyone who asked, with a patience that
astounded her. But that, she supposed, was why they were sibyls, and she was
not.

She saw Danaquil Lu now, standing with his kinsman Borah
Clearwater just inside the entrance.

“Well, rot me, boy, I don’t believe my eyes!” Clearwater was
roaring like a klee in rut, as usual. Tor moved closer, wondering what the
cantankerous old bastard was complaining about now. Clearwater put his hands on
Danaquil Lu’s shoulders, shaking his head “You’re standing straight! It’s a
miracle—”

Danaquil Lu shook his own head, smiling with his usual reticence.
“No, Uncle, it was surgery. I finally had that operation.”

“Gods,” Clearwater said. “And you survived? They must have
gutted you like a fish—”

“No,” Danaquil Lu said, in good-natured exasperation. “That’s
why I waited so long, until—Damn it, Uncle, I wish you’d listen when I try to
explain these things to you.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that would
have been impossible three months before; a motion that said he knew further
explanation was futile. “Look around you—” He waved a hand at the piled goods
and workshops behind him. Tor saw Danaquil Lu’s daughter Merovy, who had been
stacking boxes with Tammis Dawntreader, put down her load and step between
them. “You see, Uncle Borah,” she said. “I told you it would happen.”

Clearwater looked at her, and at Danaquil Lu. His grizzled
beard worked as if he were chewing tough meat. “Well, by all the gods, you look
like a miracle to me, Dana ... I’m just glad to see you able to look me in the
eyes again.” He glanced at Merovy. “I’ll even grant you that someone’s made a
difference that matters to me, Was time.”

Danaquil Lu smiled and nodded, putting an arm around his
daughter, holding tar close before she slipped away. “It’s all the difference
in the world,” he said softly.

Where’s Gran Selen? Didn’t she come with you?” Merovy asked.
“If she wants to see Tammis and Ariele, she’d better come here!” She glanced at
Tammis, who stood waiting, smiling at her, a half-forgotten box in his grip.
Her face brightened, becoming beautiful under his gaze, as she saw his
expression.

“Well, you know that woman, she has a mind of her own.”
Clearwater made a face, his mustache bristling. “Says she doesn’t want to see
so much change in one place. Couldn’t convince her to come. Let her spend time
with Moon, if she can get it; she gets little enough of that ....”

“So, how are the wind-driven paddles doing for your seahair
crop, Uncle?” Danaquil Lu said, pointedly changing the subject.

“Good, good ...” Clearwater raised his head, peering into
the interior. “You know, Jakard Homestead was telling me something about a new
sort of jury-rig that might get my pumps working again. Not that I believed
him, but since I’m here, I suppose I might as well take a look at it ... just
so I can tell him he’s wrong.”

Danaquil Lu led him away, past a laughing cluster of Winter
youths. Tor saw Ariele Dawntreader in the middle of them, the unmistakable fog
of her milk-white hair drifting around her. She was, as usual, the supremely
confident center of their attention, and not simply because she was the
heir-apparent of the Summer Queen. At the moment she was letting Elco Teel
Graymount wrap himself around her like a squin, her head falling back in melodramatic
rapture.

Tor looked away, unimpressed, back to where Ancle’s brother
Tammis was helping Merovy with her work. Merovy spent most of her time here,
because her parents expected it; Tammis spent most of his time here because of
her. But Ariele and her friends were here simply because it was the most
stimulating spot in their limited world—just as it was for the other gawking
kids who made up nearly half the crowd in the Shop. Tor smiled. “Merovy—” she
called. Merovy glanced up. “I need something to mop up a spill.”

Merovy disappeared into the back of the store. Tammis nodded
in Tor’s direction, and went back to his work. He was the quiet twin, the thoughtful
one, nothing like his sister. He seemed much happier here with Merovy, who was
even quieter, than he ever seemed to be when he was surrounded by a crowd, as
Ariele was just now.

Tammis looked up again, at the sound of someone’s laughter,
and Ariele’s voice called out something to him, unintelligible but rude. He
frowned briefly as his sister and her friends moved toward him, and past him.
Elco Teel looked back as they passed, and blew him a kiss. “Pass that along to
Merovy!” he called and rolled his eyes. Tammis stared after them as they went
out into the alley. Tor realized that he was still watching Elco Teel, and not
his sister, and the expression on his face was not anger; was not one she would
have expected to see at all.

She looked away again, pushing curiosity out of her mind as
Merovy came back with an armful of clean rags.

“Where is it?” Merovy asked, looking away into the forest of
equipment displays.

Tor took the rags from her. “I’ll take care of it.” She
carried them back through the store to the place where Fate waited, still
talking to Capella Goodventure. Tor grimaced, feeling vaguely guilty for having
left her trapped there so long. The spilled juice had spread in a lurid stain
across the floor. She sighed, wishing she had asked for a bucket too.

She opened her mouth to call out to Fate, to let her know rescue
was at hand.

Just then Capella Goodventure picked up an electric drill
lying in a puddle on the table, gesturing animatedly, her face filled with
disgust. “... another example of something that no one needs—” She reached for
the power switch.

“Don’t—!” Tor shouted.

Capella Goodventure turned, frowning, her hand still moving.

Tor leaped forward, reaching Fate first, dragging her aside.
They collapsed in an awkward heap, as the Goodventure elder pressed the drill’s
switch.

Capella Goodventure’s scream was high and shrill as the current
from the drill grounded itself through her body into the pool of juice. The
drill flew from her spasming hands, and she collapsed on the floor.

“Tor!” Fate gasped, as Tor rolled off her. “What happened,
what is it—?”

“It’s Capella.” Tor crawled forward, squatted down beside
the Summer woman’s motionless body. Capella Goodventure’s gray-blue eyes were
wide open, staring up at her in unblinking accusation; her face was empty, her
lips were rapidly turning blue. “Oh, gods.” Tor swore, feeling for a heartbeat,
for a sign of breaming; not finding them. She pushed her fingers into Capella’s
mouth, pulling her slack tongue forward; lifted her chin to clear the air
passage. She took a deep breath, put her own mouth over the other woman’s,
forcing air down into her lungs, counting; sat up, leaning on Capella’s chest,
pressing, pressing, over her heart. Another breath into the other woman’s
lungs, more heartbeats, another breath. Dimly she was aware of Fate behind her,
still calling, “Tor—? Tor—?” She was aware of the crowd gathering, of Danaquil
Lu keeping them back from her. Another breath, more heartbeats, repeating it
again and again, but still no response, still the empty eyes stared at her,
unforgiving. “Come on—” she whispered. Another breath, more heartbeats. She
shook Capella Goodventure’s unresponding body, leaned on its heart again,
again, forced air in through her open lips. “Come on, you self-righteous old bitch,
you can’t be this easy to kill! Come on, damn you, ruin my day!”

She forced another breath into the other woman’s lungs. A
tremor ran through the body under her; it took a sudden, shuddering breath on
its own, and the eyelids flickered. Someone was back, behind the staring eyes,
looking up at her in amazement, and then in sudden outrage.

Capella Goodventure took in another hoarse, painful breath. “What
... what are you doing? Get away from me—!” Her hands rose, flailing.

Tor sat back, away from her. Other hands were around the
Goodventure elder now: Danaquil Lu, some of her own kin.

“I ... touched that thing—” Capella Goodventure’s eyes focused
more clearly, filling with horror, as someone lifted her head.

“She saved you,” someone, a Summer, said. “The Winter saved
you. You stopped breathing.” The man who had spoken turned to Tor
incredulously. “I think she was dead. How did you do that—?”

She shrugged. “It’s just rescue training. I learned it a
long time ago. The offworlders taught it to people who worked on the docks. In
case somebody had an accident like that ...” She saw the Summers look at each
other with sudden speculation. She looked back at Capella Goodventure, seeing
no gratitude in the other woman’s eyes. “It doesn’t always work, though.”

Capella Goodventure frowned, meeting her stare.

“Do you think ... could someone show us this?” another Summer
murmured, avoiding Capella’s eyes.

“It was one of the Winters’ ‘improvements’ that nearly
killed me,” Capella snapped, gesturing at the fallen tool.

“It was ignorance that nearly killed you,” Tor said flatly. “There
was nothing wrong with the drill. You turned the thing on when it was wet. If
you knew anything at all about electricity you never would have done that. And
you wouldn’t owe your life to a Winter.”

Capella pulled free of the hands that held her, sitting
upright on her own. “I am grateful to you, for that,” she said, with obvious
difficulty. “It would not be fair to deny you the thanks you deserve. But if we
used the tools we have always made, ourselves, and kept the ways that have
always been our salvation, such a thing would never have to happen. And there
would have been no need for your ‘offworlder training’ to save me.” She looked
away again, her cold gaze glancing off the faces of her kin.