Chapter 16

A narrow beam of light shone in his eyes, obscuring everything behind it. "What is your name?"

He would have sworn he was dead and facing judgment, except Ishvala would know his name.

He was lying on his back, but not on the ground, which would have been cold. Probably on the stage. Stanno squinted and turned his face away. "What kind of stupid question is that?" he snapped, or rather, mumbled. "And get that out of my eyes!"

Marcoh gently but firmly turned Stanno's head back to face him. "I'm checking you for concussion. Tell me your name."

Stanno blew out an impatient breath. "Stanno Dreva, last of the noble house of Dreva, chieftain of Kanda, master craftsman—"

"Yes, that's fine. Do you know where you are?"

"On my back."

Marcoh's wizened features wrinkled even more as he frowned. "I'm doing this for your benefit, you know."

"Fine. I'm in the temple square. On the stage, I think."

"Good. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Do I? Oh, yes! "That sonofabitch Kaihan punched me in the face!"

"You had it coming, yaakhtai!" a voice a short distance away called back.

"That's enough out of you, Kaihan!" Stanno heard Andakar growl from somewhere else not too far away. He sounded less than pleased.

Marcoh flicked his penlight from one eye to the other, then nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw. "Pupils equal, round, and reactive to light," he murmured. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"No."

"He sure makes me want to puke!"

Stanno tried to push himself up. "Shut up, Kaihan!"

Marcoh pushed him back. "Stay down! I don't want you to move yet!"

Somewhere off to the left, Shua suggested, "Let's see just how addled his brain is. Hai, Stanno! What year is it?"

Marcoh chuckled a little. "I was checking for concussion, not dementia."

Stanno frowned slightly. What difference does it-wait, what year is it? He panicked for an instant, then said, "1919."

Grumman's face hove into view above his, upside down. "Who's the Fuhrer?" he asked cheerfully.

Are you serious? "You are."

The Fuhrer chuckled as he straightened up and hopped down from the stage. "Maybe that was too easy."

"Oh! Me! My turn!" Pashmina bent over Stanno with a look of grave concern. "What's one half divided by one fourth?"

Stanno gave her an odd scowl. "Two."

Pashmina clapped her hands. "Eh-h! That's right!" She beamed happily at Marcoh. "He did that in his head, just like that! He must be all right!" She looked back down at Stanno. "It took me forever to understand that! Zhaarana Rose helped me figure it out."

"I lost count of how many times I explained it to you, laleh," Andakar said from wherever he was.

Pashmina tossed a look over her shoulder. "That's good, because I did, too." She turned back to Stanno. "Zhaarana Rose took an orange, you see, and she cut it in half, and then—"

Stanno drew in a sharp gasp. "Rose!"

He tried once again to push himself up, but Marcoh held him firmly by the shoulders. "All right, all right. Slowly, now!" he warned. The doctor looked around a little irritably. "Is Havoc back with that ice yet?"

"Right here, Doc!"

With Marcoh's help, Stanno sat up slowly on the edge of the stage, his head throbbing. A number of people were gathered around the area. Not far away, a couple of the pullers were huddled in a little group, looking disheveled and subdued. A short distance away, the tagma stood rather in the same condition. The military police had established a subtle presence and were joking easily with the former combatants. Havoc came trotting up, carrying an armful of cloth bundles. He came up to where Stanno sat and handed one of the sacks to Marcoh, who placed it against the back of Stanno's head. The carpenter sucked in a painful hiss.

"Hold that there." Marcoh reached out to Havoc. "We'll need another of those," he said.

"I figured," Havoc replied with a chuckle.

"Thank you." Marcoh put another ice pack into Stanno's hand and brought it up to a swollen spot near his mouth. "There. That should keep you busy for a while."

Stanno wearily held the cold, wet bags, one against his scalp, the other against the left side of his face. Marcoh got up and moved to the far corner of the platform. Stanno glanced over to watch him hand one of the ice packs to Kaihan, who pressed it against his left eye. That'll spoil your looks for you!

He looked away to see Pashmina still standing before him, gazing at him with forlorn concern. He must look ridiculous. "Where is Rose?" he asked her, although he thought he knew the answer.

"I…think she left," Pashmina replied cautiously.

Stanno nodded then hung his head. Pashmina moved to sit beside him, taking hold of the ice pack on the back of his head where he could feel a knot growing. The melting ice was dripped down his neck and his arm, soaking his clothes and chilling him in the cold night air. He shoved the fingers of his free hand into his hair and gripped tightly enough to bring tears to his eyes. Or were they already there? "Shit!" he muttered savagely. "What a pig she must think I am!"

"Well…Kaihan's the one who hit you," Pashmina ventured.

"Yes, but—" Stanno lowered his voice so Kaihan couldn't hear. "But I deserved it."

"Maybe…" She seemed to be agreeing with him, nonetheless. He heard her draw in a quick breath. "Atash!" she called.

Stanno tilted his head to see the young man walk up and sit at his other side. The young man hid a slightly grim look with a smile. "You look like you'll live," he pronounced.

"Never mind that," Stanno growled. "Where is Rose?"

Atash glanced at his girlfriend. "She went back to the hotel."

Stanno regarded him expectantly, not sure he wanted to hear more. Atash went on. "I saw her run off when the fight started. I was afraid she might get lost, so I followed after her, and a good thing I did. She was heading in the wrong direction, she was that upset."

"Upset?" Stanno's stomach twisted. "Did she say anything?"

"Not much. I just asked her if she was all right, and she said no, but she didn't say why. I mean, not that I couldn't figure it out." Atash scowled at Stanno in exasperation. "What were you thinking?"

Good question. I wish I had a good answer.

Stanno didn't reply, so Atash continued. "So I walked with her back to the hotel and made sure she got up to her room. I asked her if she needed anything or if she wanted me to stay downstairs, but she said she just wanted to be left alone." He lifted his shoulders a little helplessly then looked down at his feet. "I…um…hung around outside her door for a couple of minutes, and I think she was crying."

Stanno lowered his head to rest in his free hand. Well, there it was. He made her cry. The last nail in the coffin.

Atash leaned toward him, giving him a little nudge with his shoulder. Pashmina made a little tsking noise, whether in disgust or commiseration was unclear, but she kept her hold on the ice pack. Stanno was a little surprised to find the young couple's company something of a comfort.

The festival seemed to be continuing, in spite of the brawl, but it had quieted down somewhat. The musicians were still playing somewhere within hearing, no longer bothering with the broadcasting themselves over the speakers. There was still the sound of laughter. Shua was off somewhere nearby, joking with Grumman, whose cackle could be heard briefly over the other voices. The world was continuing on, almost as if nothing had happened.

Stanno raised his head as footsteps approached. Bozidar, Miles, and Andakar were walking toward the stage. Oh, good, he thought bitterly.

"I'll be happy to throw them all in the stockade," Miles was saying.

"This is not a military matter," Andakar corrected him.

"Yes, but you just suspended the entire tagma," the colonel returned sounding amused. "You might want to rethink that."

"It's only for a week. They're lucky it's not more."

"I think bruised heads will be punishment enough," Bozidar replied. "I won't be surprised to see these same bruised heads offering their sins at the altar in the morning."

"We're definitely putting a limit on the alcohol consumption next year," Andakar growled.

"Yes, I think that might be wise," Bozidar agreed. "But it could have been so much worse, if the Xingese chronicles are anything to go by." He laughed quietly. "I don't think the earth is going to swallow us up over one brawl."

They halted in front of Stanno, considering him like a sad piece of neglected baggage. Miles clapped Andakar on the shoulder. "Right, then, I'll leave this miserable offender to you."

Stanno glared up at the colonel as he walked away, but he didn't have the energy to make a retort.

Bozidar leaned down and patted him on the shoulder before taking his leave. Stanno was grateful that the old priest forbore from offering any parting words of wisdom.

He hoped that Andakar would follow the other two, but he gave no sign of doing so. "How are you feeling?" he asked, a little brusquely.

"Well…" Stanno lifted his hand then dropped it on his knee. "I can still do fractions."

That actually got a grim half smile out of Andakar. "I've been told to walk you home."

Stanno frowned. "You? What for?"

Andakar gave a slight, dismissive roll of his shoulders. "For my sins, I suppose."

"Ideally," Marcoh said, walking back across the stage toward them, "someone should stay with him overnight."

"I am not doing that," Andakar replied darkly.

"No, well, I wasn't really volunteering you," Marcoh said with a hint of a laugh. "Atash, would you be willing—"

"I don't need a damn nursemaid!" Stanno growled. "I'll be fine!"

Marcoh shrugged. "I can't force you. But I'll come by your place in the morning." He pointed at Stanno. "And no arguments on that!"

"Fine," Stanno sighed.

"I can take him back, Zhaarad Andakar," Atash said. "I ought to get back to the hotel anyway."

Andakar shook his head. "Thank you, Atash, but I'm under an obligation. Not to you," he added to Stanno, who looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "To my wife."

Stanno's mouth quirked in a weak grin. "I thought so."

8888

They didn't speak on the way back. Stanno's head still throbbed, but it was beginning to ebb, which he supposed was a good sign. Atash and Pashmina, who were both returning to the hotel to prepare for the guests' return, walked up ahead, hand in hand, talking quietly. Stanno glanced at them now and again, envying them their happiness. Neither of them were what you would call brilliant. How did they manage to get it right?

They turned down the final street and Atash and Pashmina headed for the hotel. Stanno paused and looked up at the second floor windows. There were no lights emanating from the carved shutters. With a shake of his head, he went on to his house and down the side alley.

"I can manage from here," he said tersely, pushing the gate open.

Andakar held onto the gate as Stanno tried to close it. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Stanno let out a quiet snort and left Andakar to do whatever he liked with the gate. He searched his pockets for the key to his back door. "Well, if I'm dead by morning, I'd appreciate a decent funeral. Then you can all take turns gloating over my grave and good riddance!" he muttered bitterly. He went through his pockets a second time. "Where the hell is my damn key?"

"Check the breast pocket," Andakar said. "Inside on the left."

"Huh?"

"Rada made that coat, didn't she? She always sews in a pocket there."

Stanno clapped his hand over his left breast, then dug his hand inside his coat. He pulled out a door key. "Bloody hell!" he mumbled irritably to himself. He gazed with weary futility at his door. He would step through this door and the day would end and the hopes he had cherished for it would die. He let out a long sigh. "Bloody hell," he murmured again.

Andakar was still there, watching him. Stanno turned on him. "Go home!" he snarled.

The khorovar just folded his arms and regarded Stanno somewhat quizzically. "Are you sure you should be by yourself? You may have hit your head harder than you think."

Stanno clutched at this head, which hurt, but he didn't care. "All I want is to be left alone!"

That's what Rose had said, according to Atash. How wretched she must feel. He wanted to hold her and tell her how sorry he was, but maybe she had already recognized what would be the pattern of their future, and even a sweet girl like her had her limits.

"Kaihan was reluctant to tell me exactly what happened." Andakar left his statement open ended as if expecting Stanno to fill in the rest. As if he couldn't squeeze whatever he wanted out of Kaihan with nothing more than a stern look.

"If you want the sordid truth-" Stanno began, then shook his head. "You can crawl for it."

"This is about Rose, isn't it? I saw the three of you." Andakar considered him doubtfully. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that you were defending her honor."

Stanno shoved his key into the lock. "I wish to God I could tell you different," he said heavily, "but yes, it's too much to hope for. Why don't you go home?"

"She hasn't left yet, you know."

Stanno paused. He had expected something biting and sarcastic. This took him a little by surprise, coming from Andakar, not that it mattered. He shook his head and pushed his door open. "She's done with me."

"Are you sure about that?"

Stanno let out a bitter chuckle. "Shua asked me the same thing, more or less. Yes, I'm sure."

Andakar still wouldn't leave. "Do you remember the story of Ishvala and the spider?"

Stanno turned in the doorway to give Andakar an incredulous look. "You're joking."

"A spider was trying to spin a web between the branches of a meskaa tree," Andakar began.

Stanno nearly turned away to slam the door closed, but he just groaned and leaned against the doorframe. He began to wish that he could fall over dead right then.

Andakar continued patiently. "But everything seemed to conspire against it. A dust devil blew past and tore at the web. Then a cactus wren nearly caught the spider and it had to hide. Then there was a storm and the lashing rain destroyed the web. The world acted as it normally did from one day to the next, but everything that happened made it impossible for the poor creature to spin its web.

"Finally, Ishvala took pity on the spider. He caused the earth to stand utterly still for a few precious moments. Not a breath of wind stirred. Not a bird took wing. Not a raindrop fell. The spider took those few precious moments to build a fine sturdy web."

Stanno continued to lean against his house. Finally, he muttered scathingly, "Your point?"

"My point is that you shouldn't give up hope."

Stanno straightened up and gave Andakar a grim, level glare. "Listen, Scar, I don't need your advice and I certainly don't need you to tell me stories. You're not my father, you're not the brother I never had, I don't even like you!"

"I don't like you either," Andakar replied evenly. "That doesn't mean you're not worthy of someone's regard."

Stanno gave a derisive snort. "Well, it won't be Rose's and probably not Ishvala's, either. I doubt very much that the Creator is going to take an active hand in my fate and make time stand still."

Andakar shrugged resignedly and stepped away from the gate. "I did what I could. You're on your own then."

Stanno sighed to himself and stepped into his house, closing the door behind him. "Yes, I am."

8888

For the first time, and possibly the last time in his life, Scar felt sorry for Stanno. He had actually started to hold out some hope for the man, but he was ultimately unable to overcome his own nature.

Scar looked up to see a small group of people heading up the street toward him. Fuhrer Grumman walked along with Roy and Riza. Little Christine was fast asleep on her father's shoulder.

Grumman raised a hand in greeting. "Seen your boy home, have you?"

"I expect he'll survive the night."

"Oh, I expect we all will," Grumman said easily. "I wouldn't have thought so, Mr. Governor, but you folks really know how to put on a lively party!"

"It's still going pretty strong back there," Roy said, adding with a little grin, "despite a few moments of drunk and disorderly."

A dark, exasperated growl emanated from Scar's chest, but Grumman said, "Oh, that was nothing! East City's Oktoberfest has a glorious tradition of bloody noses and cracked skulls. I had to miss it this year," he sighed wistfully, then he brightened. "But at least I caught the show here!"

"That is not a tradition I want to establish," Scar remarked, a little severely. "But I suppose it was bound to happen."

"Well, it was very brief," Roy said, "and you handled it efficiently."

"That's right," Riza agreed. "We really would have stayed longer, but we really do need to get Christina to bed. She was getting cranky."

"She doesn't get cranky!" Roy retorted. "She's had a long day and she's just overtired."

Riza smiled wearily and patted her husband on the shoulder that wasn't occupied by Christina's head. "It's the same thing, Brigadier." She made his rank sound like an endearment. She turned back to Scar. "Don't worry about your festival. It was wonderful."

Roy gave a little bow in the Fuhrer's direction. "Good night, Excellency. Good night, Zhaarad Khorovar."

"Good night."

Grumman replied with a wave. "Good night, all you young Mustangs."

Roy and Riza took their little girl into the hotel, and Scar would have headed on his own way, but Grumman lingered in the street, contemplating the cloud-laden sky.

"As much as I'd like to head on back to that shindig, I'd better take little Christina's example and turn in," he remarked. "If I want to outwit some trout, I've got to get up at sparrowfart."

Scar wasn't about to ask him to elaborate. It sounded self-explanatory anyway. He thought he should meet him on more common ground. "You must be quite proud of your granddaughter and great-granddaughter."

"Oh, to be sure, to be sure," Grumman said. He lifted his shoulders and sighed. "Not like I had much to do with it. That young Mustang may not have won the election, but he's got me beat as a father. Otherwise my daughter wouldn't have run off with that whack job Berthold Hawkeye." He peered up over his glasses. "You're not doing too bad, yourself, young feller, and I'm not just talking about that brood of yours." His looked turned shrewd. "Your people have developed a confidence about themselves, and I think you have a lot to do with that. That little scuffle earlier?" He gave a dismissive flip of his hand. "Nothing more than a bump in the road. Everybody got settled back down just fine, and you want to know why?"

"Actually, yes."

"Because they trust you." Grumman smiled under his mustache. "So think about that for a bit."

Whistling the tune to Grandfather Went to the Marketplace, Grumman strolled on to the front door of the hotel and went inside.

Scar shook his head and continued on his way, smiling slightly to himself. Grumman's assessment was not one he would have thought about, but he supposed it made sense, in a sort of backhanded way. He certainly hoped his people trusted him, but he couldn't always fix everything.

Take Stanno, for example. He was irritated that he should even care, but it was frustrating to watch someone make the same mistakes over and over again, Scar shook his head. No, Stanno wouldn't listen to him. If Ishvala wanted to show the poor fool some mercy, it was probably more than he deserved.