Twenty-Seven #3
“That’s about the shape of it.” Ky sighs. “On the other hand, they won’t know what you are up to, as long as we stay quiet. The way you’ve built Star helps a lot, too—without standardized parts, it’s hard for anyone to guess—”
“Miss,” Bradley says from the door. “A Master Nurow is here to see you.”
“Give us one minute,” Ky calls back. “Star, get back in the stall and don’t move. We don’t want to show off how… you you are.”
[?] Star sends, his equivalent of an interrogative raised eyebrow.
You’d better do it. She knows what she’s doing.
Star obediently pads back to the stall and settles into immobility. Ky raises her eyebrows and whistles.
“He really does understand me, doesn’t he?” Ky says. “Starshit, Taj, you have no idea…” She pauses, shakes her head. “Later.”
Bradley arrives with the bureaucrat, an older pinch-faced man with spectacles and a gray topknot, dressed in an impractical purple robe. Ky gives him a slight nod, and he inclines his head in return, then directs a suspicious look at me. Eventually he clears his throat.
“Miss Tranto. Allow me to express my pleasure at your safe return.”
Does everyone on Hod know her? I hold my tongue while Ky smiles politely.
“Master Nurow. If I’d known how pleased everyone here would be to see me, I wouldn’t have stayed away so long.”
The old man’s sour expression doesn’t flicker. He adjusts his spectacles and produces a clipboard from within his robe.
“Your application is”—he coughs—“somewhat irregular. The same could be said of your circumstances.”
“Because my father was murdered?” Ky says sweetly.
“Because of the unsettled status of your father’s estate. I know you do not have access to any of his accounts. So I…” He coughs again. “There is the matter of the entry fee. I am forced to ask…”
“If I have the money.” Ky’s smile gets even more shark-like. “Which is a horribly impolite thing to say to any leading family, let alone a Council member, but here we are.”
“Here we are,” Nurow says, relieved.
There’s a strangled moment of silence.
“Well?” the bureaucrat ventures.
“Well what?” Ky says, still sweet.
Nurow’s face reddens, but he is determined to persevere. “Do you have the money?”
“Of course. It’s in an account of my own.” She rattles off a string of numbers. “Do we need to go to the bank and check?”
“No, no,” Nurow says hastily. “That won’t be necessary.” He takes a deep breath, relieved to be through the awkward part of the conversation, and turns to regard me and Star again. “I take it this is your master and his runic?”
“He is.”
“What is his name?” Nurow sounds like someone examining an unpleasant specimen in a jar.
“He is fully capable of answering questions for himself.”
Reluctantly, the old man looks at me. Looks down at me; most of the Hod residents are taller than almost everybody in the Heap, and I’m not tall for a Heaper. Even this bent-backed old man tops me by ten centimeters.
“What is your name?” he asks, enunciating clearly as though I might be deaf.
I draw myself up. “Taj.”
He scratches a character on his board. “Family name?”
I see Ky wince, and I try to stand even straighter. “Haven’t got one.”
“Haven’t got—” Nurow sighs and looks back at Ky. “Really, Miss Tranto, it’s one thing to employ a Yesodean or even a well-behaved Malkuthite, but this—”
“Put Fara if it makes you feel better,” I interrupt.
Ky only stares. Nurow sighs even louder.
“Taj Fara,” he says. “Fine. Age?”
“Twenty.”
He looks like he’s not sure he believes that, but he writes it down anyway. “And this is your runic, Taj?”
I nod. “His name’s Star.”
“It appears… unfinished,” Nurow says.
“There’s a little bit of work to do,” I admit. “But we have four days, right?”
“Indeed.” Nurow’s lips purse in disapproval, and he leans closer to me.
“Very well. You have a sponsor and a runic, so I cannot deny you entrance. But are you certain you know what you are doing, boy? Your life will be on the line.” He glances at Ky.
“If you are being compelled by threats, know that the Arbiters can—”
“I’m doing this for me.” And Somi, and Spike. And Ky.
A final sigh. “As you wish.” He presents the clipboard to Ky, and she scans it and scrawls a signature. “Present yourself at Central Square at ten o’clock in the morning in four days’ time. Rules will be explained to all contestants then.”
“Thank you, Master Nurow,” Ky says. At a slight nod of her head, Bradley appears to lead the old man away.
“What did he mean that my life would be on the line?” I ask once they’re gone.
“Oh.” Ky flushes a little. “Duels in the Ascent are a little different from the ones in Malkuth. The masters are in the arena alongside the runics.” As my eyebrows go up, she adds hastily, “It’s just a formality!
Having a runic try to attack a master is dishonorable, and masters aren’t even allowed to be armed.
It just shows that you’re willing to accept a warrior’s risk, or something like that. ”
“When were you going to tell me this?”
“I mean—soon.” She looks away. “I was trying to avoid making a big deal out of it. Hardly anyone actually dies in the tournament, I promise.”
“Hardly anyone?”
“You’ll be fine!” She waves her hands wildly and puts on a big smile. “Probably.”