Part 7 (2/2)

Cara said, ”It won't affect us.”

Binkie said, ”It wouldn't affect you anyway, Cara,”

Cara said, ”Don't snip at me.” She glanced at the white scar on her own arm. ”It did once.”

”Yes, I know,” said the secretary. ”You were lucky.” He looked at Dana.

”Cara was so devoted to the Yagos she stayed on as steward after her contract ended.”

Cara said, ”It's a good job.”

”So's my job,” said Binkie. His tone was ironic, brittle as gla.s.s. ”But when my contract runs out, Chabad will never see me again, and Sector Sardonyx and Family Yago can go to h.e.l.l!”

Cara said softly, ”You'll get into trouble talking like that.”

Binkie's lips tightened. He swung around and left the kitchen for the dark slaves' hall.

”Poor Binkie,” said Amri. She trotted from the room, and returned with the plates. ”They're going upstairs.”

Immeld put the leftovers into containers, and the containers into a cooler. ”That's done till tomorrow,” she said, sighing. She and Cara walked toward the slaves' hall, their arms around each other.

Amri cleaned the table, and wiped the kitchen counters. Dana wiped the pots and dishes clean. It only took a few moments. ”What Binkie said -- ” he hesitated.

”About what?”

”About Cara -- did he mean she's not a slave?”

”Yes,” said Amri. ”Immey told me. She was a slave when Isobel Yago, Rhani-ka's mother, died. Then her contract was canceled. That's the law. You go free if your owner dies. Her contract had three more years to run. But she stayed. She's been here all this time.”

”If Rhani died, would you stay?”

Amri looked shocked. ”Don't talk like that,” she said. ”It's bad luck to talk about somebody dying.”

”I'm sorry,” said Dana. ”Do you want me to stop talking?”

”No.” She sat on a stool. ”I like it. Cara and Immey don't talk to me much.”

”How long have you worked for the Yagos?”

”Three years.” said the girl. ”They bought me to help Immeld.” Reaching out, she dimmed the kitchen lights.

”What do you do?”

”I do the housekeeping. I straighten the rooms, I do the laundry. I water the plants inside. Wash the windows. I'll show you. You can come with me tomorrow.”

”I'd like that,” Dana said. ”Can I ask you something else?”

”Sure.”

”What happened to Binkie?”

Amri bowed her head. Her hands twisted in her lap. Dana was not sure she had understood him. Finally, she said, ”It was Zed.”

”Oh.” I should have known, he thought.

”He tried to run away. Out the front gate. It was stupid, you can't live out there, it's too hot. He left at night. In the morning, Zed took the bubble and brought him back. His lips were all b.l.o.o.d.y where he had bitten them for moisture, and he was sick, because he tried to eat the plants. Zed took care of him until he was stronger and then -- ”

”You don't have to tell me,” Dana said.

” -- punished him,” finished Amri. ”Rhani was angry. She and Zed had an awful fight.”

”Good,” said Dana grimly.

”It wasn't,” protested Amri. ”It's horrible when they fight. But then Zed went to Abanat, ice climbing, and when he came back it was all right. He leaves Binkie alone, but Binkie hates him.”

Dana said, ”I can see why. When was that?”

”About a year ago, I think.” Amri frowned. ”I can't remember. It was sometime before the last Auction. When there isn't any weather, all the times seem alike.”

In the dim kitchen, the sentence, spoken in Amri's high child's voice, was poignant as a cry. ”Where are you from?” Dana asked.

She twisted her hands. ”We're not supposed to talk about that.” Her huge gray eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, stared past him. ”Belle,” she whispered. ”It rains there, all the time. I miss it.”

He put his arm around her. ”Don't cry.”

She stiffened. ”I'm _not_ crying!” She sounded very much like one of Dana's younger brothers. She yawned, a great jaw-cracking shuddering yawn. She put a belated palm up to hide it.

”You should go to sleep.” He walked her to her door. She clung to him a moment in the hushed hall.

”I like you,” she said. He kissed the top of her head lightly. Her hair smelled of cinnamon. ”Good night.”

”Good night.” Silent as a ghost, she slid inside her room. Again Dana wondered what she had done to come to Chabad. What sort of system made slaves of children?

There were lights on in Binkie's room, none in Immeld's, a flicker of a candle in Cara's. Dana went to his room. He sat on the bed. He didn't think he could endure ten years of this: kicking around a lonely house, doing nothing, piloting Rhani Yago once in a while, fighting off shudders whenever Zed came near him. He would go mad. n.o.body could live like that.

Tears of rage and despair swelled into his throat. He stood up violently.

The bed rocked. Don't cry!” he ordered himself, as he had Amri. He had no use for tears; he had cried enough.

The panic -- that was what it was -- halted.

Through the jitter of misery in his head, Dana heard music.

He heard it clearly; Stratta's ”Concerto in A Minor.” It grew in strength: a soft, precise, intransigent construct of song. It stopped the tears.

His head and his bowed spirits lifted of their own accord. He listened until it stuttered in his mind, and was lost. Walking to the washroom, he scrubbed his face. A somber reflection looked at him from the mirror. He made it grin. You won't go mad, he told himself.

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