Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1)(83)

“I don’t wish to be indelicate, honored. But Citizen Seivarden doesn’t appear to have any money in her possession.” Beside me, Seivarden grew tense again, tightened her jaw, swallowed something she had been about to say. “Parents,” continued Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat, “buy clothes for their children. The temple gives gloves to attendants—flower-bearers and water-bearers and such. That’s all right, because everyone owes loyalty to God. And I know from your entrance application that you’ve employed Citizen Seivarden as your servant, but…”

“Ah.” I understood her. “If I buy gloves for Citizen Seivarden—which she clearly needs—it will look as though I’ve offered her clientage.”

“Just so,” agreed Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat. “Which would be fine if that’s what you intended. But I don’t think things work that way in the Gerentate. And honestly…” She hesitated, clearly on delicate ground again.

“And honestly,” I finished for her, “she’s got a difficult legal situation that might not be helped by her association with a foreigner.” My normal habit was expressionlessness. I could keep my anger out of my voice easily. I could speak to Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat as though she were not in any way connected with Lieutenant Awn, as though Lieutenant Awn had had no anxieties or hopes or fears about future patronage from her. “Even a rich one.”

“I’m not sure I’d say it quite that way,” began Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat.

“I’ll just give her some money now,” I said. “That should take care of it.”

“No.” Seivarden’s tone was sharp. Angry. “I don’t need money. Every citizen is due basic necessities, and clothes are a basic necessity. I’ll have what I need.” At Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat’s surprised, inquiring look Seivarden said further, “Breq has good reasons for not having given me money.”

Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat had to know what that likely meant. “Citizen, I don’t mean to lecture,” she said. “But if that’s the case, why not just let Security send you to Medical? I understand you’re reluctant to do that.” Reeducation wasn’t the sort of thing that was easy to mention politely. “But really, it might make things better for you. It often does.”

A year ago I’d have expected Seivarden to lose her temper at this suggestion. But something had changed for her in that time. She only said, slightly irritably, “No.”

Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat looked at me. I raised one eyebrow and a shoulder, as if to say, That’s how she is.

“Breq has been very patient with me,” said Seivarden, astonishing me utterly. “And very generous.” She looked at me. “I don’t need money.”

“Whatever you like,” I said.

Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat had watched the whole exchange intently, frowning just slightly. Curious, I thought, not only about who and what I was, but what I was to Seivarden. “Well,” she said now, “let me take you to the palace. Honored Breq Ghaiad, I’ll have your things delivered to your lodgings.” She rose.

I stood as well, and Seivarden beside me. We followed Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat to the outer office—empty, Daos Ceit (Inspector Adjunct Ceit, I would have to remember) likely gone for the day, given the hour. Instead of taking us through the front of the offices, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat led us through a back corridor, through a door that opened at no perceptible cue from her—Station, that would be, the AI that ran this place, was this place, paying close attention to the inspector supervisor of its docks.

“Are you all right, Breq?” asked Seivarden, looking at me with puzzlement and concern.

“Fine,” I lied. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.” I was sure my expression hadn’t changed, but Seivarden had noticed something.

Through the door was more corridor, and a bank of lifts, one of which opened for us, then closed and moved with no signal. Station knew where Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat wanted to go. Which turned out to be the main concourse.

The lift doors slid open onto a broad and dazzling view—an avenue paved in black stone veined with white, seven hundred meters long and twenty-five wide, the roof sixty meters above. Directly ahead stood the temple. The steps were not really steps, but an area marked out on the paving with red and green and blue stones; actions on the steps of the temple potentially had legal significance. The entrance was itself forty meters high and eight wide, framed with representations of hundreds of gods, many human-shaped, some not, a riot of colors. Just inside the entrance lay a basin for worshippers to wash their hands in, and beyond that containers of cut flowers, a swath of yellow and orange and red, and baskets of incense, for purchase as offerings. Away down either side of the concourse, shops, offices, balconies with flowered vines snaking down. Benches, and plants, and even at an hour when most Radchaai would be at supper hundreds of citizens walked or stood talking, uniformed (white for the Translators Office, light brown for Station Security, dark brown for military, green for Horticulture, light blue for Administration) or not, all glittering with jewelry, all thoroughly Civilized. I saw an ancillary follow its captain into a crowded tea shop, and wondered which ship it was. What ships were here. But I couldn’t ask, it wasn’t the sort of thing Breq from the Gerentate would care about.