Brolt was smiling even more broadly. “I see,” he said. “Then perhaps I needn’t even ask if the second situation might apply.”
“What would that other situation be?” Kerk asked a little desperately. He was still thinking of Jalci. Well, of course, she
was
a woman. A fascinating, unpredictable, chaotic, restless thunderstorm of a woman, but not someone you
thought
of as a woman. Not the kind of person you imagined sharing your house with, sharing your bed with, sharing your life with. Not
that
kind of woman.
“A man your age might be thinking of how to free himself from the influence of his father and his other male relatives,” Brolt said. “You came here tonight and offered to leave if I had no more use for you. Perhaps you were trying to tell me that there is other work you want to do at some other company.”
“I would not say such a thing,” Kerk said. “That would be disloyal.”
Brolt shrugged. “Now and then, a son must leave the family business, or no new businesses would be formed,” he said. “It is not disloyal for a son to move on, as long as the new place he finds is honorable and efficiently run. I would smooth your way if you wished to leave for another company. I would do more. I would back an enterprise you wished to found on your own, provided I was convinced it was a sound financial investment.”
Now Kerk straightened in his chair, truly surprised. This was a mark of favor that he had never expected. “Brolt Barzhan is openhanded indeed,” he said. “I have no words to express my gratitude.”
Brolt smiled. “But should I conclude that no such business idea has germinated in your head? Should I understand that all your abstraction has been caused by a woman—even if she is one you cannot explain? Or is there, indeed, a business proposition you would like to discuss with me—if not now, at some point in the future?”
Kerk sank back against the chair, studying Brolt’s face. This man had taught Kerk everything he knew about honor, everything he understood about family; this man had shown Kerk how a good man was supposed to live. And yet this man had the unconscious sense of entitlement common to any privileged gulden man who had lived in a society constructed to adore him. Brolt did not know from experience what it meant to live as an outsider, a dependent, or a castoff. Honorable as he was, Brolt might not understand what Kerk had to say next.
“I have spent my recent days in an activity that I am not sure you will approve of,” Kerk said finally, speaking slowly and as plainly as he could in goldtongue. “I wish you would hear my entire story before you judge.”
Once again, Brolt’s face grew serious and composed. “I will,” he said.
“There is a place in the city where gulden women go,” Kerk said, “when they have left the protection of their husbands and fathers in Geldricht. Let us not discuss their reasons for leaving or how despicable their actions might be. When they come to the city, sometimes they come alone. Sometimes they come accompanied by their children. Some of those children are boys.”
Kerk paused a moment before proceeding. “Young gulden men who grow up in the city apart from their fathers’ influence are young gulden men who are completely lost. They understand nothing about honor. They do not know how to show respect. They do not know how a family works, how a man protects those who are under his roof, how a woman cares for the hearts of those who are within her circle. And yet they live, and they grow, and they will soon go out in the world, where I think they will do nothing but wreak havoc.”
“I would think the same,” Brolt murmured.
“I had occasion to visit this ghetto in the city where women live and young men grow up fatherless,” Kerk said. “Some of those young men have had so little direction that they looked to
me
for guidance. Since that first visit, I have spent many days in the ghetto, teaching those men what I know. I do not lecture them, you understand, for what young man will sit still to be told how to behave? Instead I have chosen to coach them in baltreck, and in that way to model the behavior that is expected of a gulden man. I don’t know that they have learned as much as I would have wished, but they have learned more than they knew before.”
Now he looked up at Brolt, whose face was solemn but closed, giving away none of his thoughts. “Part of me wishes there is more I could do for them. And part of me wants to leave them behind and never return. Am I not endorsing their runaway mothers if I stay to teach them? Am I not in some sense betraying Gold Mountain if I stay?” He spread his hands. “I do not know any of the answers. Brolt Barzhan is wise. Perhaps he can explain to me what I should do next.”
It was a long moment before Brolt replied, and Kerk felt his stomach twist with anxiety. He had just been offered a lifelong place in the Barzhan firm; he had just been offered funding for his dreams, if he happened to have any. Would both those offers now be rescinded?
“I think you should not ask if you are betraying Gold Mountain, but ask instead if Gold Mountain has betrayed these boys,” Brolt answered finally. “The way of Geldricht is precisely defined and beautifully functional until it fails completely. I love to look at my family and see generations of strong men and beloved women, all connected by pride and honor. But I do not have to look far to see cruel men and abused women, both of them shaped by and trapped within an unforgiving society. I wish no woman had ever felt the need to run away from Gold Mountain. But I think it is the fault of Gold Mountain that they did.”
Kerk caught his breath. This was more philosophical than Brolt’s typical conversation, and a little harder for Kerk to follow. But Brolt was not angry with him, that much was clear, and Kerk could begin to relax.
Brolt went on. “Should you continue to model the proper behavior for these boys? Indeed you should. Is there more you can do? Perhaps there might be. Are they capable of working? Can they be trusted with responsibility? There are jobs available in the city for willing hands. I am not looking for more sons, but I could use more workers.”
Kerk just stared at him. At no time when he imagined this conversation had he expected Brolt to speak those words. “There are one or two who show remarkable discipline and a will to improve,” he said. “Investing in them would be a risk, even so.”
“I know how to minimize risks,” Brolt said.
“I had not even thought of trying to find employment for them,” Kerk said. “My greatest ambition has been to see them play together as a team. Jalci even thinks they could take the court against school baltreck leagues, but I am not so sure they will ever be skilled enough for that.”
He had not meant to say the name, and, of course, Brolt instantly caught it. “Jalci?” he said, smiling broadly. “Does she serve on your coaching staff? Is she the reason you are so often gone from home? Is she one of the runaway wives now living in the ghetto?”
“She’s a blueskin heiress who volunteers in the Lost City,” Kerk said baldly. “Hardly the sort of woman you would be proud to see me befriend.”
That silenced Brolt completely. For the first time during this conversation, the older man seemed wholly at a loss.
“And now you know the worst of it,” Kerk said. “But despite the color of her skin, I believe she is an honorable woman. What she wants is to put more good into the world than existed before she was present. That is a noble goal for gulden
or
indigo.”
“Indeed it is,” Brolt said, his face and voice once again neutral. “I know you confide in the lady Tess from time to time. Is she aware of this most unlikely friendship you have managed to strike up?” Kerk imagined the rest of the sentence.
And why hasn’t she informed me of this disastrous turn of events?
“No,” Kerk said. “She knows I have been to the Lost City. She does not know how often, nor how I spend my time when I am there.”
“I myself have done business with blueskins, and found them, at times, reasonable and intelligent and not without honor,” Brolt said. “I suppose your new friend might fall within that same category. But anything other than friendship—”
“I know.”
“Would be scandalous in the extreme.”
“I know.”
“And very difficult to tolerate.”
“I realize that. It is strange to me that I even consider her a friend. I have not viewed her in any other light.”
“Might I know the full name of this blueskin woman who has so dangerously befriended a member of my family?”
“Jalciana Candachi.”
“Candachi?”
Brolt exclaimed. “Is she any relation to Anton Solvano’s daughter?”
Kerk was confused. “Who? I don’t know. She’s mentioned her aunt Kitrini a few times, but—”
Now Brolt was staring at him, but his wide smile was back. “She is from the family of Kitrini Candachi? How is it that you have managed to find, among all the indigo in the city, the only one for whom the gulden can feel a genuine affection?”
“I know nothing of Kitrini Candachi,” Kerk muttered.
“She is a great favorite of Chay Zanlan. They had a grave disagreement ten years ago, but they have reforged their relationship. The Candachi name will open more doors in Chay Zanlan’s palace than the Barzhan name ever could.”
“Then you’re not angry that I have met her?”
Brolt watched him awhile before answering, smiling slightly. “I am thinking that of all the surprising news you have brought me this evening, this is the most surprising—and the most welcome. And yet none of it was unwelcome. You have long been an honorable man, Kerk Socast, but tonight you have proved to me that you are much more than honorable. You are enterprising—you are committed to kindness—and you are lucky. Such a man is an asset anywhere he goes. I am happier than ever that the family you call your own is mine.”
Seven
A
lthough they never explicitly made plans, Jalci and Kerk had fallen into the habit of leaving the Lost City together after a coaching session and heading to some small, intimate restaurant where the races were allowed to mingle without harassment. The day after Kerk’s revelatory conversation with Brolt, Jalci took him to a rather more upscale place than they had frequented so far. It was near the East Three gate, practically back in the commercial district, and decidedly more biased toward indigo than gulden. Kerk counted only seven guldmen eating at any of the tables, and none of the items on the menu would have been served on Gold Mountain.
Jalci was oblivious. “You ought to try this dish with wine sauce. It’s a specialty of the restaurant and it’s
so good
. Oh, and we’ll have to order some of the spiced nut bread. The only person who’s ever made it better is my grandmother, and she says she’ll give me the recipe if I ever get married. Which is almost enough incentive to let my mother matchmake for me after all.”
“I can’t tell what would be good, so just tell me what to order,” Kerk said. He realized he would never ask a gulden woman to direct his choices that way—in fact, if he were here with Tess, he’d be picking the items she should eat—but, as always, life with Jalci didn’t conform to what he considered ordinary rules.
“Well, let me figure out what
I
want first, and then we’ll get something completely different and share.”
Once the waiter had taken their orders and brought them a plate of spiced nut bread—which was even better than Jalci had led him to expect—Kerk said, “So tell me more about your aunt Kitrini.”
Jalci widened her dark eyes. “What made you think of her?”
“I had a conversation with my stepfather last night. He asked where I have been spending my time lately. I told him.”
“Oh, I hope he wasn’t angry with you!” Jalci exclaimed.
“He surprised me by seeming to approve of what I have been doing.”
She eyed him. “And if he had been displeased? What would you have done then?”
“It would have been more difficult,” he said quietly, “but I would have continued to come to the Lost City. But to have gone against Brolt’s stated wishes would have caused a rift between us, and such rifts tend to grow instead of mending.”
“So. You told him about coaching the team and—” She tilted her head to one side. “And you must have told him about me.”
He smiled very slightly, just to tease her. “I barely mentioned your name. But he recognized it right away, and he asked me if you were related to Kitrini Candachi.”
“I’m hardly surprised he knew her name. He might even have met her, if he’s ever gone to the palace to see Chay Zanlan, because Kitrini practically grew up there,” she replied. “Kitrini’s always said that Chay Zanlan was like a second father to her.” Jalci thought it over for a moment and added, “Kit and Chay had a terrible falling-out a few years ago, but they’ve patched things up. When Chay Zanlan comes to the city, he often stays with Kitrini and Uncle Nolan. She’s probably the reason relations between the races are as good as they are today. There are indigo politicians who hate her—and they
despise
Uncle Nolan, but that’s a whole different story—but she’s on every board and committee that has anything to do with indigo-gulden collaborations.”
“How did a blueskin woman become so close to Chay Zanlan?”
“Her father and grandfather were sociologists who lived in Geldricht for years. They were activists who fought for gulden rights in the city—
very
unpopular in their day, but now all the schoolchildren learn about the Solvanos, who laid the groundwork for peace between races.” She cut a piece of bread, took a small bite, and let her face show a brief look of ecstasy. “Have you tried this yet? It’s like eating autumn. I can’t believe your stepfather didn’t ask you any more questions about
me
.”
The quick change of topic would have taken him off guard except he had been waiting for it. “He did, but I said very little. The conversation would not have been awkward at all except he had just asked me if I was leaving the house so often to seek the company of a woman.”