The Burning City by Jerry Pournelle

I’ll be back,” she whispered.
    Whandall nodded. It had been a long performance.
    He watched. It was difficult to untangle. The kinless woman Clarata told of the killing, questioned any who had been nearby, showed bloody clothing. Of the men who spoke for Jispomnos, the little kinless man demanded that Clarata produce Jispomnos’s knife. Whandall nodded: no Lordkin would throw away his knife. He argued that the clothing wasn’t his, didn’t fit. Jispomnos was elsewhere during the killing—in the Eastern Arc, in the woods, in a dockside winery with Water Devils to vouch for him, and on a boat bound for Condigeo—until the audience roared with laughter, covering Whandall’s own giggles.
    But the Lordkin advocate spoke of Jispomnos’s prowess as a fighter, his standing in the bands…
    Shanda came back. “What did I miss?”
    â€œI think I get it.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œThey’re not talking to the same people. The little kinless, he’s funny, but two of the judges are kinless, so he’s talking to them. He tells them Jispomnos didn’t do it. But Jispomnos took a kinless as his woman. He lives like a kinless. What the Lordkin judges want to know is, did Jispomnos make himself kinless? The Lordkin advocate, he’s telling them that Jispomnos is still a Lordkin. He had the right to track his woman down and kill her.”
    â€œThe
right?”
Her eyes bugged.
“Why?”
    He had no way to tell her that. It just
was
.
    So he lied. “I don’t understand that either.”
    Shanda whispered, “I don’t think anyone does. It’s based on something that really happened in Maze Walkers. A Condigeo teller wrote this opera. The grownups like it.”
    The trial was still going on when part one ended and everyone applauded.
    The lords and ladies drifted apart. Samorty and Qirinty walked under the balcony. Samorty was saying, “And that’s the
best
part. Greatest argument for getting rid of that arts committee I ever saw.”
    â€œLet
me
run the arts committee. Or you. Or Chondor. At least we’llhave shows that satisfy someone.” Qirinty stopped in his tracks. “That’s what we need! A show! Not for us. For the Lordkin!”
    â€œNot Jispomnos!” Samorty said. “You’d start the next Burning!”
    â€œNo, no, I mean, give them a parade,” Qirinty said. “Get their attention and tell them about the aqueduct. Tell them we’ll have it done… before the rains?” He went back to his couch, looked up at the night sky. “It’s the season. Why doesn’t it rain?”
    â€œNot a bad idea,” Jerreff said. “While all the Lordkin are off at the parade, Samorty here can meet with the kinless association council. Explain what we’re really doing with their taxes.”
    â€œFind out if they’re ready to join the Guard,” Siresee said.
    Quintana said, “Lordkin hear you’re meeting with kinless and not them, there’ll be trouble.”
    Jerreff waved it off. “We’ll meet with some Lordkin too.”
    â€œWho?” Qirinty asked.
    â€œWho cares? Get the word out, we’re meeting their leaders. Somebody will show up.”
    â€œNow that’s disrespectful,” Samorty said. “And the Lordkin want respect.”
    â€œNo, they don’t. They demand it.” Siresee’s words were meant to cut.
    â€œWell, they say they want it, and they certainly demand it,” Samorty said placidly. “I agree, Jerreff, it doesn’t matter a lot which Lordkin we talk to. They don’t keep their own promises, and none of them can make promises for Yangin-Atep. But we have to talk to them.”
    â€œWhy?” Siresee asked.
    â€œTime you children went to bed.”
    Behind him!
Whandall jumped, but it was only Serana the cook. “Before Miss Bertrana catches you up so late,” she said.
    Morning was