“Won’t be necessary,” Ishnah said as Red clapped softly. “Very impressive, Veil, though I should note that there are fifteen other customers, not fourteen.”
Veil started, then glanced around the tent room again, counting—as she’d done in her head just a moment ago. Three at that table … four over there … two women standing together by the door …
And a woman she’d missed, nestled into a chair by a small table at the back of the tent. She wore simple clothing, a skirt and blouse of Alethi peasant design. Had she intentionally chosen clothing that blended in with the white of the tent and brown of the tables? And what was she doing there?
Taking notes, Veil thought with a spike of alarm. The woman had carefully hidden a little notebook in her lap. “Who is she?” Veil hunkered down. “Why is she watching us?”
“Not us specifically,” Ishnah said. “There will be dozens like her in the market, moving like rats, gathering what information they can. She might be independent, selling tidbits she finds, but likely she’s employed by one of the highprinces. That’s the job I used to do. I’d guess from the people she’s watching that she’s been told to gather a report on the mood of the troops.”
Veil nodded and listened intently as Ishnah started training the men in memory tricks. She suggested they should learn glyphs, and use some ploy—like making marks on their hands—to help them keep track of information. Veil had heard of some of these tricks, including the one Ishnah talked about, the so-called mind museum.
Most interesting were Ishnah’s tips on how to tell what was relevant to report, and how to find it. She talked about listening for the names of highprinces and for common words used as stand-ins for more important matters, and about how to listen for someone who had just the right amount of drink in them to say things they shouldn’t. Tone, she said, was key. You could sit five feet from someone sharing important secrets, but miss it because you were focused on the argument at the next table over.
The state she described was almost meditative—sitting and letting your ears take in everything, your mind latching on to only certain conversations. Veil found it fascinating. But after about an hour of training, Gaz complained that his head felt like he’d had four bottles already. Red was nodding, and the way his eyes were crossed made him seem completely overwhelmed.
Vathah though … he’d closed his eyes and was reeling off descriptions of everyone in the room to Ishnah. Veil grinned. For as long as she’d known the man, he’d gone about each of his duties as if he had a boulder tied to his back. Slow to move, quick to find a place to sit down and rest. Seeing this enthusiasm from him was encouraging.
In fact, Veil was so engaged, she completely missed how much time had passed. When she heard the market bells she cursed softly. “I’m a storming fool.”
“Veil?” Vathah asked.
“I’ve got to get going,” she said. “Shallan has an appointment.” Who would have thought that bearing an ancient, divine mantle of power and honor would involve so many meetings?
“And she can’t make it without you?” Vathah said.
“Storms, have you watched that girl? She’d forget her feet if they weren’t stuck on. Keep practicing! I’ll meet up with you later.” She pulled on her hat and went dashing through the Breakaway.
* * *
A short time later, Shallan Davar—now safely tucked back into a blue havah—strolled through the hallway beneath Urithiru. She was pleased with the work that Veil was doing with the men, but storms, did she have to drink so much? Shallan burned off practically an entire barrel’s worth of alcohol to clear her head.
She took a deep breath, then stepped into the former library room. Here she found not only Navani, Jasnah, and Teshav, but a host of ardents and scribes. May Aladar, Adrotagia from Kharbranth … there were even three stormwardens, the odd men with the long beards who liked to predict the weather. Shallan had heard that they would occasionally use the blowing of the winds to foretell the future, but they never offered such services openly.
Being near them made Shallan wish for a glyphward. Veil didn’t keep any handy, unfortunately. She was basically a heretic, and thought about religion as often as she did seasilk prices in Rall Elorim. At least Jasnah had the backbone to pick a side and announce it; Veil would simply shrug and make some wisecrack. It—
“Mmmm…” Pattern whispered from her skirt. “Shallan?”
Right. She’d been just standing in the doorway, hadn’t she? She walked in, unfortunately passing Janala, who was acting as Teshav’s assistant. The pretty young woman stood with her nose perpetually in the air, and was the type of person whose very enunciation made Shallan’s skin crawl.
The woman’s arrogance was what Shallan didn’t like—not, of course, that Adolin had been courting Janala soon before meeting Shallan. She had once tried to avoid Adolin’s former romantic partners, but … well, that was like trying to avoid soldiers on a battlefield. They were just kind of everywhere.
A dozen conversations buzzed through the room: talk about weights and measures, the proper placement of punctuation, and the atmospheric variations in the tower. Once she’d have given anything to be in a room like this. Now she was constantly late to the meetings. What had changed?
I know how much a fraud I am, she thought, hugging the wall, passing a pretty young ardent discussing Azish politics with one of the stormwardens. Shallan had barely perused those books that Adolin had brought her. On her other side, Navani was talking fabrials with an engineer in a bright red havah. The woman nodded eagerly. “Yes, but how to stabilize it, Brightness? With the sails underneath, it will want to spin over, won’t it?”
Shallan’s proximity to Navani had offered ample opportunity to study fabrial science. Why hadn’t she? As it enveloped her—the ideas, the questions, the logic—she suddenly felt she was drowning. Overwhelmed. Everyone in this room knew so much, and she felt insignificant compared to them.
I need someone who can handle this, she thought. A scholar. Part of me can become a scholar. Not Veil, or Brightness Radiant. But someone—
Pattern started humming on her dress again. Shallan backed to the wall. No, this … this was her, wasn’t it? Shallan had always wanted to be a scholar, hadn’t she? She didn’t need another persona to deal with this. Right?
… Right?
The moment of anxiety passed, and she breathed out, forcing herself to steady. Eventually she pulled a pad of paper and a charcoal pencil out of her satchel, then sought out Jasnah and presented herself.
Jasnah cocked an eyebrow. “Late again?”
“Sorry.”
“I intended to ask your help understanding some of the translations we’re receiving from the Dawnchant, but we haven’t time before my mother’s meeting starts.”
“Maybe I could help you—”
“I have a few items to finish up. We can speak later.”
An abrupt dismissal, but nothing more than Shallan had come to expect. She walked over to a chair beside the wall and sat down. “Surely,” she said softly, “if Jasnah had known that I’d just confronted a deep insecurity of mine, she’d have shown some empathy. Right?”