with warmth in Mother’s voice.
“I didn’t know I was coming.”
“That’s probably because he’d planned to see Seliora, and she had other plans,” suggested Khethila sweetly, a statement clearly offered as retaliation for what she thought had been condescension.
“I did see her, already, but it had to be brief because she had to work.”
“On Solayi?” asked Mother.
“A large and urgent commission.”
“Good for her,” Father said bluffly. “She and her family know what’s important. That’s why they’ve been so successful.”
The briefest of frowns crossed Khethila’s brow.
“So long as they don’t do it every Solayi,” added Mother. “Didn’t you have dinner with her family and some of their relatives last night? How was it?”
“They were all very nice. One of her aunts runs a bistro not all that far from Patrol headquarters. It’s called Chaelia, I think.”
“I haven’t heard of it,” Father replied.
“Is it in a good area?” asked Mother.
I laughed. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there, but it can’t be too bad because it’s only a few blocks from Civic Patrol headquarters, and that’s only a half block off East River Road.”
“If you eat there, dear, I do hope it’s in a good area.”
After that, we talked about, or rather I listened to Mother rhapsodize about Remaya and Rousel’s son Rheityr.
I barely made it back to Imagisle in time to eat and then go to services. I stood where I could watch Shault. Lieryns was next to him, I thought, but Iwasn’t totally sure in the dim light, and I didn’t want to get close enough that my observations would have been noted.
As often was the case, one part of Chorister Isola’s homily resonated with me.
“. . . Naming is as much about control as about labeling or identity. We tend to think that when we name something or someone we have gained control. The superior always uses a diminutive to an inferior. That, too, is part of the sin of naming. The man or woman who can act as though there were no names is far greater than one who insists on a hierarchy of names. . . . Is it any accident that those who most relish naming are those who are most loath to give up power, position, or control? . . .”
I had to admit that I really hadn’t thought about the way names were used as a symptom of power and of how people used them in that fashion, but it certainly made a great deal of sense, and I made a mental reminder to try to watch for that in the days ahead.
Lundi was a very busy day at the Patrol charging desk. So was Mardi. Meredi morning didn’t look to be that much better because, when I got to headquarters, there were offenders waiting everywhere even before Gulyart and I started to register the charges. By tenth glass, when we had three-quarters of a glass off to eat lunch, we both were more than ready to leave the confines of the Patrol building. The rain had subsided to a comparative drizzle, not too uncomfortable for mid-fall, as we stepped outside.
“This week has been like most of them,” Gulyart said. “There’s no charging done past Samedi at noon, and none on Solayi. So the holding cells are full by Lundi, and sometimes more than that, and it takes days before we get caught up. Last week was lighter than usual.”
“I liked last week better,” I said with a laugh. “You’d think some of them would learn.”
Gulyart shook his head. “They only get one chance to learn, two at most, before they end up on penal work duties for life. Most who get caught aren’t bright enough to see that.”
That was obvious—once he’d pointed it out, but I hadn’t thought of it that way. Some people just took longer to learn, but I could see the Civic Patrol’s view. Why should law-abiding citizens have to pay because lawbreakers had a hard time learning?
We walked to the second closest bistro—Saliana’s—because Gulyart said that he could only take so much of the heavy potato noodles at Fiendyl’s,
“I didn’t know I was coming.”
“That’s probably because he’d planned to see Seliora, and she had other plans,” suggested Khethila sweetly, a statement clearly offered as retaliation for what she thought had been condescension.
“I did see her, already, but it had to be brief because she had to work.”
“On Solayi?” asked Mother.
“A large and urgent commission.”
“Good for her,” Father said bluffly. “She and her family know what’s important. That’s why they’ve been so successful.”
The briefest of frowns crossed Khethila’s brow.
“So long as they don’t do it every Solayi,” added Mother. “Didn’t you have dinner with her family and some of their relatives last night? How was it?”
“They were all very nice. One of her aunts runs a bistro not all that far from Patrol headquarters. It’s called Chaelia, I think.”
“I haven’t heard of it,” Father replied.
“Is it in a good area?” asked Mother.
I laughed. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there, but it can’t be too bad because it’s only a few blocks from Civic Patrol headquarters, and that’s only a half block off East River Road.”
“If you eat there, dear, I do hope it’s in a good area.”
After that, we talked about, or rather I listened to Mother rhapsodize about Remaya and Rousel’s son Rheityr.
I barely made it back to Imagisle in time to eat and then go to services. I stood where I could watch Shault. Lieryns was next to him, I thought, but Iwasn’t totally sure in the dim light, and I didn’t want to get close enough that my observations would have been noted.
As often was the case, one part of Chorister Isola’s homily resonated with me.
“. . . Naming is as much about control as about labeling or identity. We tend to think that when we name something or someone we have gained control. The superior always uses a diminutive to an inferior. That, too, is part of the sin of naming. The man or woman who can act as though there were no names is far greater than one who insists on a hierarchy of names. . . . Is it any accident that those who most relish naming are those who are most loath to give up power, position, or control? . . .”
I had to admit that I really hadn’t thought about the way names were used as a symptom of power and of how people used them in that fashion, but it certainly made a great deal of sense, and I made a mental reminder to try to watch for that in the days ahead.
Lundi was a very busy day at the Patrol charging desk. So was Mardi. Meredi morning didn’t look to be that much better because, when I got to headquarters, there were offenders waiting everywhere even before Gulyart and I started to register the charges. By tenth glass, when we had three-quarters of a glass off to eat lunch, we both were more than ready to leave the confines of the Patrol building. The rain had subsided to a comparative drizzle, not too uncomfortable for mid-fall, as we stepped outside.
“This week has been like most of them,” Gulyart said. “There’s no charging done past Samedi at noon, and none on Solayi. So the holding cells are full by Lundi, and sometimes more than that, and it takes days before we get caught up. Last week was lighter than usual.”
“I liked last week better,” I said with a laugh. “You’d think some of them would learn.”
Gulyart shook his head. “They only get one chance to learn, two at most, before they end up on penal work duties for life. Most who get caught aren’t bright enough to see that.”
That was obvious—once he’d pointed it out, but I hadn’t thought of it that way. Some people just took longer to learn, but I could see the Civic Patrol’s view. Why should law-abiding citizens have to pay because lawbreakers had a hard time learning?
We walked to the second closest bistro—Saliana’s—because Gulyart said that he could only take so much of the heavy potato noodles at Fiendyl’s,
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