winking, surely?
“Certainly!” he said. “A water pipe adds nothing and takes nothing away; it merely transmits a substance, water, from one place to another, just as Mistress Brota and her ship transmit goods from one port to another. But these are services vital to the well,being of the People. Water pipes are useful things, yet
lead is the lowliest of metals. Conclusion: Humble folk, who may originate nothing themselves, may yet perform valuable duties, not to be despised. Correct, learned one?”
Angrily Honakura agreed that he was correct. After all these weeks, he should have remembered that this was no ordinary swordsman. Few priests, even, could have worked that out for themselves, and so quickly.
“The epitome, I would presume,” Shonsu said, “would deal with the value of labor—no, commerce!”
Correct again, Honakura admitted grumpily.
“Then the episode, please?”
The priest was about to protest once more that he could not reveal arcane matters when he caught Shonsu’s eye. A shy smile crept over the swordsman’s face, making Honakura think of granite slabs being thrust aside by tree roots. But it was affectionate amusement—it invited turn to share. Suddenly they both laughed. The knife twisted in Honakura’s chest, but he felt better
afterward.
“Very well, my lord! I suppose you have earned it. But I warn you that it is a foolish and banal doggerel.”
“Which may yet transmit valuable thought?” Shonsu asked
innocently.
Honakura laughed again in surrender and quietly chanted him
the episode:
Ikondorina’s black,haired brother Late at night to village came, Weary from a long day’s plodding, Very hungry, dry, and lame.
Heard two peasants loud disputing,
Also heard a farrow squeal.
“There,” proclaimed the black,haired swordsman,
“I can hear my evening meal.”
“Villagers!” he then addressed them. “Notice, pray, my honest face. As a stranger come amongst you, Let me judge this sorry case.”
The peasants laid the facts before him— Bach one claimed he owned the beast. Swordsman, drawing his sword to slay it, Bid the peasants share his feast.
The big man had a big laugh, and now Shonsu put his head back and uttered one enormous bellow of laughter, like a clap of thunder. Chanting stopped. From bowsprit to rudder, heads turned in astonishment. Smiles appeared, the sailors pleased that their hero was restored to his normal good humor.
“That’s marvelous!” Shonsu said. “No artist could have drawn him better—Katanji to the life! Honest face! And you said it was irrelevant? Come now, holy one, share the other with me!”
“No, my lord.”
The barbaric glare returned. “I am making a toy for Vixini.”
“Not fair, my lord!” Honakura protested, although he no longer cared very much what Shonsu was doing. He must certainly not be told the other sutra.
“Half a truth deserves half a truth!” the swordsman persisted. “I figure that if Vixini can work this, then perhaps the swordsmen can... Why will you not tell me?”
“The god said you could trust me,” Honakura replied. Nnanji and Thana were deep in a world of their own by the rail.
“But can I trust the god?” asked Shonsu.
“My lord!” Honakura displayed shock—but secretly he knew that he shared that doubt. It would depend how one defined trust, of course.
The swordsman was studying him closely. “Why would he not tell me exactly what is expected of me? How am I supposed to serve him under those conditions? What should I do, priest? You tell me, then, if you are so trustworthy.”
“I am not a priest anymore,” Honakura said. “I am a Nameless One.”
“You’re a priest when you want to be!” Shonsu roared. “All right, then, answer this one! After the battle on the holy island, fte god put a swordsman fathermark on my right eyelid. Fair enough—my father in the dream world was a sort of swordsman. But after the battle of Ov, I was given a sorcerer’s feather
on my left
“Certainly!” he said. “A water pipe adds nothing and takes nothing away; it merely transmits a substance, water, from one place to another, just as Mistress Brota and her ship transmit goods from one port to another. But these are services vital to the well,being of the People. Water pipes are useful things, yet
lead is the lowliest of metals. Conclusion: Humble folk, who may originate nothing themselves, may yet perform valuable duties, not to be despised. Correct, learned one?”
Angrily Honakura agreed that he was correct. After all these weeks, he should have remembered that this was no ordinary swordsman. Few priests, even, could have worked that out for themselves, and so quickly.
“The epitome, I would presume,” Shonsu said, “would deal with the value of labor—no, commerce!”
Correct again, Honakura admitted grumpily.
“Then the episode, please?”
The priest was about to protest once more that he could not reveal arcane matters when he caught Shonsu’s eye. A shy smile crept over the swordsman’s face, making Honakura think of granite slabs being thrust aside by tree roots. But it was affectionate amusement—it invited turn to share. Suddenly they both laughed. The knife twisted in Honakura’s chest, but he felt better
afterward.
“Very well, my lord! I suppose you have earned it. But I warn you that it is a foolish and banal doggerel.”
“Which may yet transmit valuable thought?” Shonsu asked
innocently.
Honakura laughed again in surrender and quietly chanted him
the episode:
Ikondorina’s black,haired brother Late at night to village came, Weary from a long day’s plodding, Very hungry, dry, and lame.
Heard two peasants loud disputing,
Also heard a farrow squeal.
“There,” proclaimed the black,haired swordsman,
“I can hear my evening meal.”
“Villagers!” he then addressed them. “Notice, pray, my honest face. As a stranger come amongst you, Let me judge this sorry case.”
The peasants laid the facts before him— Bach one claimed he owned the beast. Swordsman, drawing his sword to slay it, Bid the peasants share his feast.
The big man had a big laugh, and now Shonsu put his head back and uttered one enormous bellow of laughter, like a clap of thunder. Chanting stopped. From bowsprit to rudder, heads turned in astonishment. Smiles appeared, the sailors pleased that their hero was restored to his normal good humor.
“That’s marvelous!” Shonsu said. “No artist could have drawn him better—Katanji to the life! Honest face! And you said it was irrelevant? Come now, holy one, share the other with me!”
“No, my lord.”
The barbaric glare returned. “I am making a toy for Vixini.”
“Not fair, my lord!” Honakura protested, although he no longer cared very much what Shonsu was doing. He must certainly not be told the other sutra.
“Half a truth deserves half a truth!” the swordsman persisted. “I figure that if Vixini can work this, then perhaps the swordsmen can... Why will you not tell me?”
“The god said you could trust me,” Honakura replied. Nnanji and Thana were deep in a world of their own by the rail.
“But can I trust the god?” asked Shonsu.
“My lord!” Honakura displayed shock—but secretly he knew that he shared that doubt. It would depend how one defined trust, of course.
The swordsman was studying him closely. “Why would he not tell me exactly what is expected of me? How am I supposed to serve him under those conditions? What should I do, priest? You tell me, then, if you are so trustworthy.”
“I am not a priest anymore,” Honakura said. “I am a Nameless One.”
“You’re a priest when you want to be!” Shonsu roared. “All right, then, answer this one! After the battle on the holy island, fte god put a swordsman fathermark on my right eyelid. Fair enough—my father in the dream world was a sort of swordsman. But after the battle of Ov, I was given a sorcerer’s feather
on my left
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