Chapter 57 Hat

        When Ihann entered, Conley was staring out of the window, the atlas resting on her lap.
        "Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful hair?" he asked.
        She looked at him, blankly.
        "Just now, in the sunlight, it was almost glowing. It's not a trick, is it? A spell?"
        "No," she answered, slightly confused. "You like my hair?" She fingered a lock, "But I thought you, well..."
        He smiled. "But should that stop me from admiring your looks? I don't have to be attracted to something to find it pleasing - a flower, a butterfly, a sunset. Are you saying you never notice pretty women?"
        "I don't go up to them and say so."
        "Different societies, different customs," he chuckled, neatly. "Do you have anyone special back home in Cala?"
        She almost said "who'd want me?", shook her head.
        "A pity," he sighed, "you frighten suitors, I think. Too good looking, too intelligent, they suppose you're already taken, or, if you aren't, that you'll eat them whole and spit them out in the morning. If you ever marry, your husband will rank among the bravest men in Murak!"
        She felt herself offended, somehow. "That isn't true, Ihann, I don't throw up barriers. I receive lots of attention, men aren't afraid of me."
        "The nice ones are. Tigers fear nothing, but they live alone. With other tigers, they're intense, ferocious, but only for a short time, then they're gone."
        She smiled. Anya had been a tiger, yes. What other animals were men? Sennary?
        "I can see I've upset you; I'm sorry. Let us change the subject. I came to ask if you would like a walk this afternoon, down to the royal palace and back. Some fresh air today should help your convalescence."
        A release from her prison? "Yes please!"
        "Perhaps, on the way back, we can visit some shops, buy you some new clothes. Roween did choose you an outfit yesterday, but it was, well, a little plain..."
        "I can imagine," she grinned, "Ro tries hard, but she doesn't have the eye."
        "She has a lot on her mind." He pulled a chair up next to the bed. "How much of it has she told you?"
        Conley thought back, realised it was very little. "She detects the use of nearby magic, and kills it if it's offensive, a conditioned reaction she can't control. She's unable to cast spells herself, but won't tell me why. She says she knows how to get unlimited power, but that because she can't use magic she needs someone else to take it. For some reason, she picked on me - I haven't yet proved out her motive. Maybe because I came along at the right time, maybe because I unwittingly stole her spell-proof ideas, who knows? She doesn't want to tell me until I'm `ready', but hasn't mentioned the subject for weeks; she's probably given up on me. Maybe she's satisfied to leave things as they are?"
        "No, don't think that way, Conley, she's very proud of you, the way you've come on recently. I think she'll explain her all when she returns. She's worried, though, that you still don't consider magic as a bad thing, because in that case you may decide merely to modify the way it works when you have full control over it, rather than completely destroying it as she intends." He sounded mildly insincere.
        Conley nodded. "She may be right; I won't know until she tells me everything, and the longer she leaves it then the less time I'll have to come round to her way of thinking."
        "I'll have a word with her in private, see if I can ease her mind." He leaned on the bed.
        "Why is she meeting Medreph anyway? What does he have to do with all this?"
        Ihann looked surprised. "She hasn't told you?"
        "She mentioned something a long time ago about `stating a case', but that's all, vague. Not a word recently."
        "Didn't want to cause any stress, I imagine, she gets anxious about you. Well, as your physician, I think you'll be able to take it, it isn't going to induce respiratory problems or anything." He smiled, paternally.
        "Well she's been fussing about meeting Medreph for some time now, so it must be important."
        "Oh, without a doubt it's that, and for two reasons. Firstly, it was Medreph who awakened in her the confidence to embark on this entire adventure. Initially after her discovery she felt helpless, doomed, unable to influence events; someone - Ansle? Giqus? - would sooner or later appropriate magic, and thereby would end reality. How could she, a worthless bookfetch, ever hope to prevent it? Well she knew how, of course, but it seemed so futile, so skinny a chance; she couldn't believe that she'd ever succeed. Medreph talked her into realising that, whatever the odds, she nevertheless had to try, because no-one else could even do that."
        "So he's the rock who supports her." She nodded. "And secondly?"
        "This is more real-worldly. We knew when she left Svala that by the time she arrived here there'd be a single empire stretching northeast of a Schaaldt-Leskina frontier. We didn't know whether Justan or the Messenger would be emperor, but we were certain it would be one of them, and that whoever it was would have magic to command. Let me ask: do you know why the Messenger never attacked the Lowlands?"
        Conley looked down at the atlas, its pages open on Seesel. "Hmm, Elbienau is much closer to here than to the Purasan plains. Yes, I'd have expected him to invade what was nearest to home first, rather than stretch his supply and communication lines so far east."
        "You see? If you've learned nothing else from this trip, at least you know a little about military logistics now!" She raised an eyebrow, chastisingly; Ihann hurried to his answer. "The reason the Messenger left the Lowlands alone was because - and this is the sum of it - the Elets told him to."
        "Told him?" Her eyes widened. "The Elets told the Messenger not to invade the Lowlands? And he complied?" She sank back into the pillow. "Very likely..."
        "Don't scorn me, please, Conley. What I'm telling you, few people outside Elet know. My fellow Lowlanders believe the Messenger was fearful of our army and its battle drugs. They think that Justan will respect us, too. They are wrong. Perhaps, in some ways, your king is not as wise as the Messenger, although I suppose it could have been that with access to magic the Messenger would also have turned his attention to us at this point. Now is no time for complacency, anyway. Roween is meeting Medreph to find out what the Elets are going to do about it."
        She stared at him, open-mouthed for a moment, then she laughed, once. "Justan has his own armies, plus those of Akrea, Estavia, and Davia, with Voths and probably Purasans too by now. He also has magic on his side, and neither you nor the Elets have anything close to that in power. You're seriously suggesting that he'll stop his advance west just because the Elets tell him to?"
        "I didn't say that." His hand twitched, nervously, he wiped it on his leg. "The Messenger obeyed because he knew what would happen if he didn't. He may have been tempted to try his luck once he had magic to wield, but even then he might still have kept east of the plateau. Justan won't lend the Elets' threat any more credence than you do, he'll attack the Lowlands despite any Eletic warnings. We must pray that you can dismiss magic from the world before he does."
        She fingered her hair again, not really aware she was doing so. "I can see that if magic ceased to function as expected, Justan would have terrible problems. Militarily, yes, but economically, too, it's such a part of modern life that without it there'd be an almost immediate social collapse. Manufacture, agriculture, exports, they all depend on magic - even our currency, although based on gold, uses magic for day-to-day transactions."
        "But only the wealth of Murak and the others of your home countries truly depend on it. Justan rules an empire, now. Akrea and Estavia are powerful trading forces, and the destruction of magic would harm them little. Justan could soon continue his war: a lack of magic would only delay him, perhaps even enrage him enough to commit genocidal atrocities against us. Don't you agree with that analysis?"
        She thought, carefully, then answered. "No. Losing magic would pretty well knock his empire to pieces, he couldn't hold it."
        Ihann slapped the bed, laughed. "Then we share beliefs! Oh, I'm so relieved! Medreph has been putting our case to the Elets. If they concur, then after you have performed your task they'll leave Justan and his empire alone. Roween has travelled to learn from Medreph the outcome of the deliberations."
        Conley narrowed her eyes, raised her upper lip. "I still don't understand. What could the Elets do anyway? They're just barbarians really, aren't they?" Why were his eyes suddenly wide?
        He spoke slowly, his demeanour now purposeful, grave. "`Barbarian' isn't the word. You clearly don't know what they're capable of. They held back the might of the Estavian empire for a thousand years, and Justan's little jaunt will be as nothing to them." He picked up "Piydra's Gate" from her bedside table. "Have you read this?"
        "Sorry? The book, yes, I read it, finished it this morning. It's relevant?"
        "What did you think of it?"
        "I thought, well, that it was strange, but very compelling. A whole novel with only the one character, alone in that house, with all those bodies."
        "It's common in Nuagh Casii's books to have a narrative describing the thoughts and actions of a single individual. There were other people mentioned."
        "But only in flashback, and as she remembered them, their words, her feelings for them, and how they had died that night."
        "Flashback, ah, then it's as I suspected, you haven't fully understood the tale yet. What do you think of the heroine, Piydra?"
        "I like her. She's vulnerable in a way, intelligent, but she cares too much for others, and that's her weakness. She tolerated Benedth's eccentricity beyond the bounds of sense because she didn't want to offend him. That's what led to the murders, and very nearly to her own death. When she looked into the flames and recalled the fight, I almost lived it, wrestling against his superior strength, partially stunning him on the shelf for just long enough to seize his dagger. Gripping stuff, very well written, it really had me tied."
        He coughed, almost apologetically. "She made it all up. She wasn't remembering the events, she was inventing them, getting her story straight before she called anyone in. She murdered them, every one, in cold blood. At the beginning, when she's worrying what people will say, that she did it: well she did."
        Conley's face was empty amazement.
        "Benedth wouldn't have killed Laphrey, because she was his lover. Piydra, in her single-mindedness, doesn't realise that, but from her descriptions of the two we can easily deduce it. If Benedth didn't do it, then no-one saw him do it, and that removes his motive for the rest of the murders. Piydra killed the lot of them."
        "But ... why?"
        "Did she like any of them?"
        "She didn't seem to, no, they all had their faults, but as I said, she was put-upon, didn't want to offend anybody. She's a mouse, really. She wanted reconciliation, that's why she held the party."
        "She murdered them because she found their liberty-taking annoying, and thought of a tidy way to rid herself of them all without being lynched for it."
        Conley looked down at the atlas, then the bedsheets. "Oh my ... hell!"
        "Of the three books Roween gave you, this is the only one which truly gives an insight into the Elets. They're tolerant in the extreme, will allow anyone to do whatever they wish; individuality is all important to them, it's their life. But if you push them too far, if you press them too hard, they'll react. Barbarians?" He laughed.
        Conley felt terribly cold. "If Medreph doesn't talk them round, what will they do?"
        "They'll rise, not just a few, but every last one of them. They'll leave their fields, their homes, and they'll swarm through the Lowlands and over the Schaaldt. There, they'll kill that which offends them, whatever threatens their freedom. Your bravery shots, our battle drugs, the berserk fury of the Guels, they pale alongside the Elets when they're doing what they believe is right. They have full control, you see, both of their minds and their emotions. They know exactly why they're killing, what they have to do. Complete ruthlessness, no mercy, no fear of death. I wouldn't want to be Justan, no matter how big his army..."
        "I think I'm in shock."

* * *


        Large, iron railings surrounded the palace, black with gilded points. Guards paraded outside, wearing the golden tunics of the Seesel princes. Conley was impressed by the spectacle, the close-order marching, all in step; slow, long strides designed to catch the eyes of the admiring public watching from the gates. Ihann was looking at the soldiers, too, Conley suspected for reasons similar to her own. Life, but I could do with a man!
        "Ihann," she asked, quickly, "why are there no women in the Prince's guard?"
        He grinned, winked. "The display is for aesthetic purposes as much as security. Only soldiers of the same height are selected for duty here. There may be a tall woman among them, as there may be shorter men in the parade tomorrow. You, for example, were you in the Prince's guard, would be in today's march rather than tomorrow's or the day after's."
        "I see. They're very good - it's considered glamourous to be in the army?"
        "Here as elsewhere, yes. Recruits enjoy a certain status in the community, but it's not without its drawbacks."
        "Drawbacks?" She turned, took his arm as he led her away through the crowd.
        "They're not allowed recreational drugs, only those meant for battlefield or medicinal purposes. It wouldn't do to have the army floating around on a cloud of good feeling."
        "That's understandable, but I think that back home in Murak our soldiers are allowed to use happy shots when they're off duty, except maybe in some barons' armies the rules are different, I don't know."
        "Oh, not every drug is proscribed here, only the ones with lingering after-effects. Alcohol is permitted at all times, and its use is even encouraged in the navy. Bliss is out completely, which can be a little upsetting at first, when you've been used to feeling all smiles for so long."
        They crossed the square and walked towards a wide street opposite. There looked to be a scaffold at its end, she'd get a better view from the hump of a bridge.
        "Ihann," she asked, "have you ever taken Bliss?"
        He half-smiled. "Conley, all Lowlandic parents give small doses of Bliss to their offspring. They do it as a matter of course, it makes discipline much easier if children all feel good about the world."
        She did little to hide her surprise. "But that's terrible!"
        "No more terrible than giving wine to a child in Cala?" Devil's advocate.
        "Nonsense! It's of a far more serious nature. It distorts their entire outlook on life, on other people. Surely there's a price to be paid for such wholesale manipulation of an individual's emotions?"
        He dropped his head. "When the children become grown-up, they may stop, yes, but then they'll begin to have feelings that they've never really experienced before. Anger, discontent, frustration, passions that people in your country will have learned to deal with at an early age. The fear usually gets them in the end, it takes a particular kind of strength not to return to the drug as soon as its emotional cushion disappears. They have counsellors in the army, to help recruits come to terms with themselves, but for most people it's straight back to blissfulness."
        "So you still use it?" Why did she find that repellent?
        "I studied medicine in Elet for two years. Nobody can hope to do that without the respect of the people. I haven't taken Bliss since 1788."
        Now she felt foolish. "I - I had a problem with happies, I feel I'm over it now, but I'm scared, in a way, that I might go back on them sometime."
        "I've never been tempted. Emotions only have meaning when they arise themselves. Unlike Roween, I do believe that mood-altering drugs can be useful as a way of temporarily influencing behaviour to achieve some immediate goal - the army's battle-drugs, for example; on a more constructive level, there are many people who have difficulty in talking to others, and would be unable to find a partner if they didn't have some help in overcoming their early inhibitions. These Bliss-like longer- term effects, though, I feel they just cheapen lives, not enrich them."
        The street was busy, noisy with the clacking of wooden heels and the shouts of vendors.
        "Bliss is supposed only to enhance feelings that you already have, so how can you say that using it devalues them?"
        He stared into the distance, towards the scaffold. "How can there be true pleasure without knowledge of pain?"
        She noticed a man gazing at her, taking in her figure. "Sometimes, you can make the pain yourself."

* * *


        The rocking of the cab was gentle, smoothing out the unevenness of the cobblestones, swirling Conley's stomach as they crossed over bridges.
        "It's been a wonderful day, Ihann, thank you. All these outfits, you're very kind, I wish I could repay you somehow."
        "The pleasure is all mine, I haven't enjoyed myself so much in years! It's rare I'm able to shop with someone of such excellent tastes, but who is yet prepared to listen to my suggestions - and even to heed them. You're very beautiful, Conley, and a magnificent frame for clothes. Even the dullest of gowns would seem special if worn by you, but the latest Taltu imports, accentuating the waist, well! Just seeing you in them was a thrill! There's no need to thank me, and certainly no need to pay me back; I consider your company reward enough."
        She looked away in embarrassment. "I can't get used to these compliments..."
        "What you are not used to is a man giving them so freely. You feel I should have some hidden (yet perhaps not-so-hidden) motive. I assume you have no brothers?"
        "None." She didn't know if his assessment was right, but she did feel muddled, yes.
        "Prepare yourself for more such comments in Elet. Few people there will have seen your like before, and they will be genuinely taken by your looks. When Elets say they admire your beauty, it will always be without improper intent. They don't approach anyone for courtship unless... Oh, forgive me, but you don't speak Eletic anyway, do you?"
        She smiled. "No, I'm sad to say that I don't, it wasn't until Roween told me that I even knew they didn't speak Estavian. I think she does - speak Eletic, I mean."
        "Roween?" He laughed, put a hand in a pocket. "Roween speaks many languages, or at least she understands them, some are dead. She learned Eletic from Medreph, but even before then she was fluent in Inquan, and from books in the Academy library she's taught herself the old languages of Chaien and Ilathica. Oh, and also Old Ca-Atlan - I remember her telling me that it's quite similar to modern Inquan. Our Roween is quite a linguist."
        "That's impressive, I never knew; I wonder why she's not mentioned it to me herself? I would have, in her position."
        He rapped the roof of the cab with his knuckles. "Perhaps she thought it would be conceited of her?"
        The driver slowed his horse to a halt, climbed to the ground, opened the door. Conley jumped out, much to Ihann's amusement and the other man's dismay. He pulled a small set of steps from underneath the bodywork. Conley felt somewhat silly for not having noticed them when she boarded the cab, but at the time she'd been worried that her boxes weren't properly secured on the roof.
        "I think," said Ihann, "that tomorrow afternoon I'll teach you a little Eletic. Is that fine with you?"
        Conley watched the coachman untie the string holding her purchases to the baggage rack. "Yes, it sounds fun. We can surprise Roween when she returns." If she ever does.

* * *


        "I'm not sure this is a good idea." She was wearing one of her new outfits, cotton but with a silk-like trim, practical yet smart. "If what you told me yesterday is true, the Elets are utter brutes. I don't know if I want to learn their language; I don't know if I even want to visit their country, I might offend one and have him go berserk on me."
        Ihann grinned. "It's not like that at all. I know I must have sounded as if I despised them, but I don't, not really. You see, the Elets are an uncommon people, yes, but it's because they're highly principled. They never lose their tempers, ever; everything is thought through, calmly and rationally. They may take their feelings into consideration as valid contributing factors in determining their eventual actions, but they never let their hearts drive their minds. They are the noblest nation I know."
        "I don't understand, Roween has that same attitude of reverence - they must dope the food there or something! To me, they sound a bunch of crazy people, suppressing their feelings for most of their lives before finally releasing them in a frenzy of bloodlust to stop their brains from exploding!"
        They were in Ihann's library, the walls half-concealed behind endless shelves of medical books from countries near and far. Neatly-bound handwritten notes stood in a glass cabinet close to a desk.
        "The Elets haven't risen for over a thousand years, Conley. When they next do, it will be because there is some threat to their homeland, or to their way of life; it won't be as a valve to relieve some periodic build-up of collective emotional pressure. They are not savages: they're intelligent human beings who know themselves and have an unbreakable sense of right. It's that which makes them so formidable, so frightening. Step on them too willingly, ignore all reasoned argument to desist, and they'll accept your decision calmly, coolly, without anger. Then they'll hit you so hard you won't ever get up."
        "You talk as if you have experience..."
        He nodded, stared straight ahead. "Indirectly, yes. In the Eletic medical archives I found cures, treatments, ways to deal with conditions that are often fatal in the Lowlands. Not just the big killers like smallpox, cholera, but the smaller things that most people fall to in the end - abscesses, swollen prostates, different forms of dementia, heart rot... There were so many cures, volume after volume, covering everything from childbirth complications to, well, to others so obscure I could barely make sense of them. Yet of all these marvellous procedures and remedies, the Elets will let me use but a handful."
        Conley gaped surprise. "But - but why? Why train you, and then..?" Her words seeped away.
        He shrugged. "They don't say. Oh, they're very nice about it: upon my return, when I set up my surgery here, the first time I placed an order with a herbalist for some of the plants I'd need the Elets informed me by letter that they would prefer it if I didn't obtain further supplies without their permission."
        "Or what?"
        Ihann's cheek twitched. "It may have been a test, but if so then I failed it: I didn't risk finding out. People are therefore coming into my surgery every day with ailments I could cure within a week, but of which they are going to die, and just because the Elets don't want for-some- reason-secret medical techniques disseminated." There was sadness in his voice. He glanced at her. "You think I'm weak?"
        "No, it's..." She stumbled for the words. "I can't conceive their point of view, and I don't fully comprehend their actions. How, then, can I censure you for what I don't even understand?"
        He smiled. "You don't always need to think the way that they do to know how they'll react to circumstances. At times, they can be all too predictable, especially when it suits them. I don't know that they ever bluff: if they pledge to do something, then they will do it - no matter how bad the consequences might appear to us. Were they to threaten Justan with the conquest of his entire empire unless he met certain trivial conditions, you can be quite assured that if he didn't then they would follow through with an all-out invasion. As I said, though, they prefer reason over force; they don't want to die any more than we do. It's only when all other methods fail, and they are compelled to act, that they'll resort to confronting a problem on its own terms."
        "Or so you're hoping..."
        He sat at the desk. "They may see as their best option the destruction of Justan's empire before he can fully stabilise it, rather than let him be until he can attack them at leisure. Some believe that even without magic, he, or perhaps the Estavians, could achieve the necessary level of restructuring within a decade; these pessimists might win the argument. Roween and I, and to some extent Medreph (although for different reasons), consider the loss of life that would follow a preventative attack to be too great, especially as it might well be completely needless, and coming as it will on top of all the deaths occurring from when magic cuts out. Unfortunately, that's irrelevant to the argument." He smiled. "Perhaps I just don't have the stomach for it. You still want to learn their language?"
        "In the book, it said it was the best way to understand their culture, the way they think."
        He passed her a quill and some paper. "You'll probably want to take notes."

* * *


        "We'll start with some grammar. In Estavian, every sentence has a verb. So it is in Eletic. Most sentences have a subject, and they can also have objects. Now whereas a basic Estavian sentence is of the form subject-verb-object, as in `Conley eats carrots', in Eletic the verb comes first, `eats Conley carrots'. Fine so far?"
        "If it wasn't, there'd be something awfully wrong with me!"
        Ihann smiled, but looked a little wounded. "Adjectives are treated like verbs in applying them to nouns. If I wanted to say `Conley is rude', in Eletic the word order would be `rude Conley'."
        She knew he was right. "I'm sorry, Ihann, I didn't mean to be, I know this isn't going to be easy."
        He smiled. "Let's use `hungry Conley' instead. Now, joining the sentences together, the obvious thing to us would be to say `hungry Conley and eats Conley carrots', but the Elets don't do that. Instead, they have a special pronoun, `na', which they use to mean `the subject'. So they'd start off by naming the subject, then follow it by the descriptive part, thus: `Conley, hungry na, eats na carrots'. Got that?"
        "I think so, yes."
        He nodded. "Now there's one other thing that's important. Whenever they say a noun, the Elets mean it indefinitely - `a' rather than `the'. So `eats Conley carrot' means `a Conley eats a carrot'. If you want to refer to a specific carrot, then you can use a word that means `this' - the same rule formally applies for a specific Conley, too, but with common proper names they usually drop it."
        "Can you give me some examples in the actual language? How would I say `my name is Conley'?"
        "Right, well you don't phrase it `my name is Conley', it's more like `I am Conley'. I'll go through the stages: the word for `person' is `giala', so `giala Conli' would mean `a Conley is a person'. The word for `this', well, it's not really a word, it's the prefix `lae'. So `laegiala Conli' means `this person is a Conley', or `I am a Conley'. `Giala laeConli' means `Conley is a person', or literally `a person, is this Conley'. `Laegiala laeConli' means `this person is this Conley', or `I am Conley'.
        "Right. Laegiala laeConli, Laegiala laeConli, got it. So how would I ask someone their name?"
        He sighed. "You wouldn't ask them their name, you'd ask them who they are. Well, let me see, it's a question, I think some of this may be hard to explain. The easy part is the prefix for `that', which is `cai', so `caigiala' is `that person' - or simply `you' in Estavian. Now, you want to know a noun for which caigiala of it applies, so that's `hua caigiala na?'. The `hua' is the interrogative, and the `na' shows where the answer you want is to go. So `who are you' translates literally into `for what thing is it the case that you are that thing?' If you ask a question in which there isn't any missing information, you just need to know whether a statement is true or not, the form is `va' followed by the ordinary sentence. So since `you are Conley' is `caigiala caiConli', `are you Conley' is `va caigiala caiConli?'."
        She was writing this down.
        "If someone asks you a question, `yes' is `yae', `no' is `nae', and `don't know' is `hae'. Easy to remember. Oh, but `not' is `nae', too, so `I am not Conley' would be `nae laegiala laeConli'."
        "I think I'm getting the idea. What does `Liagh Na Laerich' mean, then? The `Lae' part is `this'-something, I guess, but why is there a `Na' in the middle?"
        "Well I'm afraid that sometimes the Elets take things as understood implicitly, and so they don't always say everything in full. The city's ceremonial name is `Ihll liagh na laerich'. `Ihll' is island, `liagh' is lake, `rich' is country. So it means `an island, a lake of which is this country', which to them is Elet. They're likening the city to an island, with Elet as the lake surrounding it. Quite poetic, really."
        "Why don't they call it `Liagh Ihll Laerich'?"
        "Because that would be a statement, `a lake for an island is this country'. By taking out the Ihll and putting it first, it lets you know what the coming phrase refers to. If I wanted to say `Medreph is in Liagh Na Laerich', for example, it would properly be `Ihll, liagh na laerich, eshal beMaedregh na', although I'd usually drop the `Ihll' - and the `be' in front of `Maedregh' that makes the noun third-person. See?"
        She grinned. "It's all very logical, but I can envisage its getting complicated."
        "It's better than Estavian, there are no irregular verbs or anything, but the Elets tend to omit a lot, especially when using different tenses. Sometimes, too, you have to listen to their tone of voice to know whether what they're saying is indicative, like `I am thirsty and I want a drink' or subjunctive, `if I am thirsty I want a drink'."
        "What about the spelling? I've been assuming it's phonetic?"
        "And so it is - very! In different parts of Elet they spell words according to the local accent, which means vowels are sometimes shifted. That's why they don't always transcribe them when they use their horoform script. They do adopt a formal convention when rendering their words in Estavian letters, though."
        "Wait..." Conley looked down at her notes. "You're telling me they have two alphabets?"
        "For different purposes. They use Estavian characters for the printed word, because their own clock-shaped ones don't stamp very clearly. The rest of the time, though, they resort to their original, more thought-out system. Numerals are the only things common to both schemes, because the Estavian ones are actually based on ancient Eletic archetypes anyway."
        She sighed.

* * *


        The study door opened, her host peered round it. "How are you doing?"
        "Fine, fine - is there a word for a hundred, or do they use `ain- aich-aich'?"
        "`Ainaichaich'," he replied, "but a thousand is `ainaiches'. Sorry to disturb you, I just came for a book..." He emerged fully, crossed over to a shelf.
        "These notes of yours are very good, Ihann, they're helping me a lot."
        "When you can read them," blushed.
        She smiled at his shyness. "Some words are hard to make out, yes, but as I have to struggle reading my own hand sometimes I can hardly complain about yours!"
        "The medical bias isn't distracting?" He turned his head sideways, read titles.
        "Oh I haven't got into vocabulary yet, I'm focusing on the grammar. I've developed this notation for bracketing pieces of a sentence together so I can track what the whole thing means."
        "Really?" He removed a hefty volume from a leather-bound set standing near the window, put it on the desk, positioned himself behind Conley. He read a little of her work, nodded. "I see, yes, that's very smart, it looks like a real help. I wish I'd thought of something similar when I was beginning." He picked up the book again, headed for the door. "You're quite a theoretician!"
        "Not really, Ihann - Roween beats me cold. You know, I still haven't fathomed how she purges magic, and I've been trying for months. It doesn't fit into the framework at all - spells just don't work that way. What she does ought to be impossible."
        He paused, half out of the room. "I congratulate you on the speed of that forced link, but I nevertheless won't compromise Roween's plans; regretfully, you'll still have to await her return."
        "No hints at all?" sweetly.
        He smiled. "Perhaps you should consider how magic would have to operate to support the observable evidence of what she does?"
        Before she could answer, he hurried to his consulting room.

* * *


        They were washing up after their evening meal, fish, Ihann had cooked it.
        "I was wondering," said Conley, "why the Elets don't have an explicit concept of name. They can say that an object is called something, but they can't say that something is its name."
        "They can," he began to dry a plate, "but they don't; it's not part of their philosophy. Their whole way of seeing things is founded on ideas of referents - what things are called - rather than identifiers - what their names are; indeed, if you think about it, it's even built in to their grammar. This all stems from their conviction that names are separate from an object's intrinsic being, mere vehicles for conveying labelling information between interlocutors. When an Elet says `chair', that properly translates into `what I call a chair', which could be different to what someone else calls it."
        "But that's a little pedantic, isn't it? If they can agree on a common, very precise meaning for verbs and adjectives, why can't they for nouns?" She placed a second plate in the rack.
        "I trained in medicine, not linguistics - Roween could perhaps tell you the theory, but not me; I do know, though, that to an Elet, saying that this object is a plate," he held up the one in his hands, "is on a par with saying that this action is putting it away." He placed it in the cupboard. "Naming an object is as meaningful - or as meaningless - as naming an action. It's really just a question of perspective."
        She smiled. "I don't pretend to understand, but I do know that whatever system it is they employ, it'll be totally self-consistent; I've learned that much already..." She reached for more soap flakes.
        "`The Customs of Elet' is correct when it states that learning their language gives an insight into their minds. But do you like what you see?"
        "I like the language itself as a mathematical formalism, but to have to speak it all the time? Is it an aid to creative thought, or a hindrance? It must certainly raise some odd questions of identity: not to have a name, only a marker by which others refer to you."
        "Yet is that such a bad thing?" He shrugged. "It gives you a privacy, an isolation; no-one can really know you. You can be who or what you like, you can be several people, experiment until you find a persona with which you're comfortable. Who cares if you used to be someone else? What's it to them?" He realised he was holding an empty cloth, picked up a cup.
        "You can't be anything, though, can you? There are physical factors that curb your choice. Without magic, for example, Roween will always have goggly eyes, irrespective of whatever identity she might brew in Elet. And you yourself, you can never be - " hand to mouth, "oh I'm sorry Ihann! I shouldn't have - "
        "I can never be the same as other men?"
        She flustered. "I - no, I was going to say, you can never be female."
        He stopped. "Female? Why would I want..?"
        "Well, because..." She was rubbing at some cutlery, a fish knife. "The social advantage of being male outweighs it all, I expect."
        "Outweighs what all? I could still be a doctor, whatever my gender. This is Bridges, not some pokey little stop-over in sunny Svala." He bowed his head, held his breath a moment. "I apologise. I know there are still ways that men - "
        "So that's not it? Then why - " She bit her lower lip, looked up a memory. "I ought not really to tell you this," edgily, "it's company confidential, but at Porett Technologies I read a paper from the internal library which proposed a method for consciousness projection. It was way horizon for its time, but I do know that more work was done in the area, classified. Now just suppose someone there figured how to cut a proper job of it, offered a service where people could exchange bodies. Would you swap with, say, a female who wanted to be male?"
        "Would I? Well I might try it, but, I don't know, if it was permanent." He was frowning, had his cheeks raised.
        "Well think of it: at the moment, you're attracted to men, but on the whole they're not attracted to you. If you were female, they would be, and you'd be properly equipped to respond."
        "But I wouldn't find myself attractive." He started to dry the second plate.
        Conley didn't reply immediately, washed the forks and spoons. "So you fancy yourself?" Another pause. "It makes sense that you should, I hadn't given that thought, but - "
        "No, no I don't, but that's precisely my point. To attract, people need to feel attractive, there's a vanity about it that..." He smiled at her. "I'm talking rubbish, I fear."
        "No, not entirely," she grinned, "but I know Roween would disagree rather forcefully!"
        "And yet there's something," the cutlery, absently, "some unease I have... I wish I could pin what it was. I know there are people who'd give all they had for a body swap, even if they got one twenty years older than the one they left. Personally, though..." He looked up. "This must sound like an awful slight to womankind?"
        "Is it the practical side, having periods, babies?"
        "No, not that, I'm a physician, I..." He grunted. "It's emotional."
        "You can voice it?"
        "Well, yes I can, but it's - "
        "Now, now," laughing, "don't be bashful! I won't tell anyone - promise!"
        "No, but I know you'll think badly of me, it's selfish, illiberal."
        "You can't help the way you are, I won't mind, but I'm curious: what is it that you find so deterring about becoming female?"
        "It's just..." He sighed. "Very well: if I can't have, I don't want to be had."
        She paused, digested. "I concede - you're far too male."


Copyright © Richard A. Bartle (richard@mud.co.uk)
21st January 1999: isif57.htm