Memory Seed by Stephen Palmer

remained undamaged, though Graaff-lin cut her finger picking up the perspex shards. Turning quickly to face Arrahaquen, Zinina asked, ‘Have you just come from Rien Zir’s place?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Hmmm. Know a priestess called Arvendyn?’
    ‘No.’
    Zinina nodded. ‘Of course, you could be lying.’
    ‘I’m not,’ Arrahaquen said. ‘Why do you ask?’
    Zinina declined to elaborate. But Graaff-lin, laying the seedling on a side table, said, ‘Arvendyn has contacts with the Gedeese Veert, whose acolytes I imagine you know. What do you know of her?’
    ‘Nothing,’ said Arrahaquen.
    ‘She’s lying,” Zinina told her friend.
    Arrahaquen sipped her fragrant tea. ‘Delicious,’ she said. ‘Zinina, I’m not lying. You know as well as I do that only the Portreeve and the Red Brigade know what the plan is. I’m Ammyvryn’s daughter, but I’m not a member of the Brigade. I know nothing. But I want to know, now, before the whole race goes green.’
    ‘Nice speech,’ Zinina said, sarcastically.
    ‘Tell me some more,’ Graaff-lin encouraged.
    Was this aamlon playing the good character? Arrahaquen thought they both sounded honest, though she had noticed certain things about Zinina that made her wonder about the jannitta’s childhood. She said, ‘I’m a parthenogene, Graaff-lin. That Ammyvryn is my mother has no consequence to her work. My other mother ignores me. Look upon me as a reluctant official.’
    ‘Are you really a parthenogene?’ Zinina asked.
    ‘Which one bore you?’ Graaff-lin added.
    ‘Miriquyn, who is now a hermit at the Observatory, just spying the stars and sleeping during the day.’
    Zinina pounced on this. ‘How can she spy the stars with her telescopes when it’s always cloudy, eh?’
    ‘I believe she doesn’t use the optical spectrum.’
    ‘Hmmph.’
    Graaff-lin said, ‘Are you telling us that you are preparing to turn against your own mistresses?’
    Arrahaquen laughed with gusto. ‘No, no. I turned long ago. And now somebody tries to assassinate me – that’s how much I’m respected within the Citadel, Zinina.’
    There was a long pause at this, and Arrahaquen decided it was time to ask a few questions of her own. ‘Zinina,’ she said, ‘how long is it since you changed from a reveller to a defender?’
    Zinina just stared. Her face blanched. Graaff-lin stood back, as though Zinina had become blemished or infected with the pestilence.
    ‘Well?’ Arrahaquen insisted.
    ‘How did you know?’ Zinina asked in bitter tones. Her colour had returned, and so, Arrahaquen guessed, had her anger.
    ‘I’ve been watching you, and Graaff-lin too,’ Arrahaquen said, taking another sip of tea. ‘I noticed your reaction when Graaff-lin cut her finger just now. Some revellers have strict codes about blood, and you seemed almost frightened of Graaff-lin’s little wound... ah, you noticed that, Graaff-lin?’
    The aamlon was confused. Caught between a friend and the truth, as though she did not know what to say, she stuttered, ‘At the Infirmary... well, inside, you know...’ She turned to Zinina. ‘I just remembered how you acted when Arvendyn’s jacket was removed, Zinina. I’m sorry.’
    Zinina looked away. ‘And the other evidence?’ she demanded.
    Arrahaquen continued, ‘That was circumstantial. But you said that you met this Arvendyn at the Infirmary?’
    ‘Never mind that,’ Zinina said, ‘the evidence?’
    Arrahaquen finished her tea. ‘That was lovely, Graaff-lin. Well, your kit number seems very high considering your apparent age, which says to me that it was assigned to you well after you were born, perhaps even after puberty. Then there’s your manner, a sort of tense air that you have, which reminded me of some revellers. Then there’s the fact that you used to, and possibly still do, frequent inns very close to the Cemetery – the Spired Inn and the Hale Inn. So all in all it seemed to me likely that you were once a reveller. Am I correct?’
    Zinina