Kushiel's Chosen by Jacqueline Carey Page B

the withering effects of age, one could see he had been doughty in his youth, and his broad shoulders still strained at the black cloth of his jacket. He must have been nearly eighty; his hair was almost wholly white, shot with a few strands of black. He'd not lost a whit of it, either-his sidelocks almost hid the dangling ends of his prayer shawl and his square-cornered beard fell midway to his waist. Fierce eyes glowered at me from a face like crumpled parchment.
    "Come in." His voice was as strongly accented as the young teacher's, but harsh with it. Joscelin bowed, murmuring the blessing again, and took a seat on a low stool at his feet; to my surprise, the Rebbe patted his cheek. "You're a good lad, for an apostate." The pitiless gaze came back to me. "So you're the one."
    "Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, father." I inclined my head. I did not curtsy, though it cost me a good deal of effort. Comtesse or no, I am trained to be subservient to authority, and the Rebbe had it in abundance.
    "A Servant of Naamah." The words fair curdled on his tongue. "Call it what you will, I know what you are, girl, fancy titles and all. Why would one such as you want to study Habiru and the teachings of the Mashiach?"
    We call them Yeshuites; so they call themselves, now. Before, they were the Children of Yisra-el. But before that, even, they were a tribal folk on the outskirts of Khebbel-im-Akkad, and Yeshuite scholars still call their ancient language by that name. If the Rebbe thought I would blink in confusion, he was mistaken. I am still one of the few D'Angelinas who understands the divisions of the Cruithne, whom Caerdicci scholars name the Picti. Delaunay made me learn such things, and I have not lost the trick of it. I took a seat on a second stool, spreading my skirts carefully about me.
    "I have some knowledge of the teachings of Yeshua ben Yosef, father," I said, drawing a deep breath. "All the descendants of Blessed Elua and his Companions know the tale of the Mashiach, for it is, too, a part of our history. But it is the older teachings that interest me; the Tanakh, and most especially such midrashim as have been recorded in writing or passed from ear to ear. And for that, I must study Habiru."
    The Rebbe did blink; I daresay he never expected to hear such words from the mouth of a Servant of Naamah. Nonetheless, he repeated his question relentlessly; although there was a crafty gleam in his fierce old eyes now. "Why?"
    I answered with a question. "What do you know of the Lost Book of Raziel, father?"
    "Bah!" Nahum ben Isaac made a dismissive gesture. "You speak of the book of all knowledge, that Adonai gave to Edom the First Man? Tales to entertain children, no more."
    "No." I shook my head, surety giving me strength. "What of the Master of the Straits, father? Is he a tale to frighten children?"
    He chewed thoughtfully on a corner of his beard. "Sailors say he is not. Sailors lie. But a schism eight hundred years long across a piece of water I could shout across does not lie." Yes, it was definitely a crafty light. "You say it has somewhat to do with the Sefer Raziel?"
    "Yes." I leaned forward. "And the angel Rahab, who begot a child on a mortal woman. For this, the One God punished him; but Rahab brought up pages-scattered pages, from the Lost Book of Raziel-from the deep, and gave them to his son, and bound him to endure the length of his punishment as the Master of the Straits, unless someone could penetrate his mystery and take his place.”
    The Rebbe chewed fiercely; I don't think he was aware of what he was doing. Not with his beard, at least. "You tell a good story," he said grudgingly. "But it is only that."
    "No." Joscelin intervened quietly. "Not a story, father; I was there too. I have seen the Face of the Waters, and been carried on the crest of a wave that never breaks. And I know the Tsingano who penetrated the mystery. He was ..." He hesitated, then finished the thought firmly. "He was a friend of