Read Online Water Logic by Laurie J. Marks - Free Book Online Page B

did not know enough glyphs.

    When Zanja had gone to the kitchen earlier, Garland had been feeding egg pie, fruitcake, hot bread, and a vat of tea to the weary but still exhilarated volunteer guard force. Seth had been there, discussing weaving, gardening, roofing, and a dozen other commonplace subjects with them. Zanja had made a short speech. Now the guests all had departed, leaving a mess of dishes to be washed. Zanja set to work drying a mountain of mismatched cups and saucers, and was nearly finished when Seth arrived, glancing bemusedly at Karis, who was putting a shine on a soot-black pan.
    “You’ll always find her doing the dirtiest job,” Zanja explained. “Will you help me put away these teacups?”
    Travesty was not a uniformly horrible house. Garland loved the kitchen. And one of the rooms in his domain, the crockery room, which was tucked behind the kitchen chimney, was a warm and secret place. On one wall a bank of windows looked out onto the frozen garden. The other walls were nothing but shelves on which were stacked an enormous quantity of dishes. The only furniture was a small table with two chairs, and a ladder with which to reach the highest shelves.
    “Whoever built this house was not entirely stupid,” said Seth, spinning slowly to view the cozy room.
    “It’s a good place to escape to.”
    They put teacups on shelves in companionable silence. Zanja went out to fetch another tray of cups. When she returned, Seth said, “The best watchdogs come from a farm to the east, on the south bank. So long as the river stays frozen, it’s a short day’s journey there and back. If the ice breaks it will take us two days at least.”
    Zanja thought about walking across the countryside, about being able to see across the land and not merely across the square. Her entire body came alive at the prospect of leaving Watfield for the first time in many long months. “I don’t know anything about dogs, but I could probably convince the farmer to give one to the G’deon.”
    “I know dogs.”
    “We should go soon—the ice could break up any day. The day after tomorrow?”
    “There’s another storm coming, but I think we’ll be able to travel.”
    “Oh, you have the talent for weather prediction.”
    Seth’s head tilted as though she noticed a change in the noise in the kitchen. “Are they cooking already? I promised Garland I would peel turnips.”
    Soon after Seth went out, Karis came in. “You washed everything but yourself,” Zanja said, and gave her a dishtowel.
    Looking out the windows, Karis rubbed the grease from her face. Outside, the leafless vines that climbed the stone wall had trapped snow in an ornate pattern of white lines on gray. “Green,” Karis said. It was the color of one of the outfits Zanja had commissioned for her, which she had until now refused to wear. Green was a good color for a funeral.
    Zanja looked at her wife’s preoccupied face, thinking how much younger she had looked once. She thought of how far they had come together—how surprising it had been that they had and could love each other—and how near they had come to abandoning each other. “Do you blame me?” she asked.
    Karis looked at her. “For what? Oh, I’m worrying you, is that it? You’re thinking I’m angry at having become what I am, and that I’m blaming you because you finally made it happen.”
    “That is what I’m asking you.”
    “I admit it was much easier when I was the G’deon no one wanted. Now that some want me and some don’t, the complications are intolerably stupid and aggravating. What do people think, that there’s another choice, a second G’deon hiding somewhere?” Karis sighed. “I guess some people do think that.”
    That’s not today’s problem, Emil would have said, had he been there. Zanja said, “You’re not suited to the duties before you.”
    “I’m not. Not at all.” Karis gazed out the window again, perhaps seeing what only she could: the waiting spring