Water Logic Read Online Free PDF Page A

to slash her face open, which was an impulse Clement understood well. Every time Clement saw Norina she had this same thought, and the Truthken knew it.
    “Well, we are worried about you, General,” said Norina to her.
    “So I have gathered, Madam Truthken.”
    “Should I be offended by your resentment, or should I admire the skill with which you mask it? I can never decide.”
    “Of course I’m skilled—I’ve had thirty years of practice. How are the governors of Shaftal today?”
    “Working—some harder than others.” Norina gestured towards a hallway. “Karis is expecting you.”
    In the meantime, Seth had been permitted to enter. As they started down the designated hall, she said, “What was that boy? And all those other intimidating children? And those monstrous books they were reading? I have never seen anything like it.”
    “They say it’s a law school.”
    “Oh, those are air children. They do make the skin crawl, don’t they. But that woman—!”
    “That was Norina Truthken. Her duty is to locate and rehabilitate— or else execute—the villains of the world. She seems to think I can be rehabilitated, though being executed would be less painful. Seth, I should warn you—”
    They turned the corner, and there, standing in an open doorway, was the G’deon: tall, broad, big-shouldered, ham-fisted, dirt-smeared, dressed in much-mended work clothes, with a massive hammer tucked into her belt. It was Karis who had named the building Travesty, and who had set about destroying and rebuilding it, one wall at a time. When Clement first met her, she had been covered with pulverized mortar, and ever since then it had been plaster dust and dirt. No one would ever accuse Karis of keeping her hands clean.
    “It took you long enough to get here,” Karis said. “Anyway, you’re staying for supper.”
    She stepped back through the open doorway, beyond which Zanja na’Tarwein sat cross-legged on the hearth—her extinct people had lived without furniture, and she still preferred not to use it. Today she wore a restrained, meticulously fitted suit, as black as the slim braid that draped over her shoulder like a woven cord. Karis could not have chosen a lover more physically and mentally unlike herself: compact, sharp-edged, dark-skinned and dark-haired, quick and mystical, remarkably impractical.
    The door closed. Zanja held out her arms and Clement handed Gabian to her, then sat on a footstool that was upholstered in needlework so lovely it seemed wrong to use it for such a humble purpose. “I believe I’m the victim of a conspiracy,” she said to Zanja in Sainnese.
    “You are—but it’s a conspiracy of friends,” Zanja replied in the same language, one of at least three in which she was fluent. “Emil advised Karis that some of the tasks he gives you are impossible to achieve; Norina warned her that you are under unendurable strain; J’han confided his concerns for your health; Medric dreamed of your cow farmer’s arrival; and Gilly declared that you would only take a day for yourself under duress.”
    “You are dangerous meddlers, every one of you.”
    “ Now you realize this?”
    “Oh, I will never doubt your own or your family’s ability to achieve by indirection that which cannot be achieved by force. And of course you act in good will. But what did Medric dream? Why is a soldier’s dalliance with a farmer worthy of a seer’s attention?”
    “Our much-beloved madman rarely bothers to explain himself,” said Zanja. “You can be sure it’s important, though.”
    “If it’s important, then you all should stop frightening her.”
    “That one? Oh, no, she’s not likely to be frightened so easily.”
    “Zanja—I’m feeling stupid again.”
    “You have no idea what she is? Look!”
    Clement looked, and saw Seth and Karis, clasping each other’s hands, speechless, seemingly entranced.
    Clement said, “Bloody hell. What is she then?”
    “It’s in their hands, Clement. My wife’s