“What about that inspector supervisor?” I asked. “Skaaiat, right? She seemed polite enough. And you seemed to know who she was.”
“All the Awers seem polite enough,” Seivarden said, disgustedly. Over her shoulder I watched Daos Ceit laugh at something one of her companions had said. “They seem totally normal at first,” Seivarden went on, “but then they go having visions, or deciding something’s wrong with the universe and they have to fix it. Or both at once. They’re all insane.” She was silent a moment, and then turned to see what I was looking at. Turned back. “Oh, her. Isn’t she kind of… provincial-looking?”
I turned my full attention on Seivarden. Looked at her.
She looked down at the table. “I’m sorry. That was… that was just wrong. I don’t have any…”
“I doubt,” I interrupted, “that her pay allows her to wear clothes that make her look… ‘different.’ ”
“That’s not what I meant.” Seivarden looked up, distress and embarrassment obvious in her expression. “But what I meant was bad enough. I just… I was just surprised. All this time, I guess I’ve just assumed you were an ascetic. It just surprised me.”
An ascetic. I could see why she would have assumed that, but not why it would have mattered that she was wrong. Unless… “You’re not jealous?” I asked, incredulous. Well-dressed or not, I was just as provincial-looking as Daos Ceit. Just from a different province.
“No!” And then the next moment, “Well, yes. But not like that.”
I realized, then, that it wasn’t just other Radchaai who might get the wrong impression from that gift of clothes I’d just made. Even though Seivarden surely knew I couldn’t offer clientage. Even though I knew that if she thought about it for longer than thirty seconds, she would never want from me what that gift implied. Surely she couldn’t think that I’d meant that. “Yesterday the inspector supervisor told me I was in danger of giving you false expectations. Or of giving others the wrong impression.”
Seivarden made a scornful noise. “That would be worth considering if I had the remotest interest in what Awer thinks.” I raised an eyebrow, and she continued, in a more contrite tone, “I thought I’d be able to handle things by myself, but all last night, and all today, I’ve just been wishing I’d stayed with you. I guess it’s true, all citizens are taken care of. I didn’t see anyone starving. Or naked.” Her face momentarily showed disgust. “But those clothes. And the skel. Just skel, all the time, very carefully measured out. I didn’t think I’d mind. I mean, I don’t mind skel, but I could hardly choke it down.” I could guess the mood she’d been in, when she’d gotten into that fight. “I think it was knowing I wasn’t going to get anything else for weeks and weeks. And,” she said, with a rueful smile, “knowing I’d have had better if I’d asked to stay with you.”
“So you want your old job back, then?” I asked.
“Fuck yes,” she said, emphatic and relieved. Loud enough for the party across the room to hear and turn disapproving glances our way.
“Language, citizen.” I took another bite of my algae roll. Relieved, I discovered, on several counts. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take your chances with Captain Vel?”
“You can have tea with whoever you want,” said Seivarden. “But she should have invited you herself.”
“Your manners are a thousand years old,” I pointed out.
“Manners are manners,” she said, indignant. “But like I said, you can have tea with whoever you want.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat entered the shop, saw Daos Ceit and nodded to her, but came over to where Seivarden and I sat. Hesitated, just an instant, noticing the correctives on Seivarden’s face, but then pretended she hadn’t seen them. “Citizen. Honored.”
“Inspector Supervisor,” I replied. Seivarden merely nodded.
“I’m hosting a small get-together tomorrow evening.” She named a place. “Just tea, nothing formal. I’d be honored if you both came.”
Seivarden laughed outright. “Manners,” she said again, “are manners.”
Skaaiat frowned, nonplussed.
“Yours is the second such invitation today,” I explained. “Citizen Seivarden tells me the first was less than entirely courteous.”
“I hope mine met her exacting standards,” Skaaiat said. “Who failed them?”
“Captain Vel,” I answered. “Of Mercy of Kalr.”
To someone who didn’t know her well, Skaaiat probably looked as though she had no real opinions about Captain Vel. “Well. I admit I intended to introduce you, citizen, to friends of mine who might be useful to you. But you might find Captain Vel’s acquaintance more congenial.”