Chapter 1
A storm was writhing over Valdegeld, its tendrils churning Giant’s ever-present fog and pressing sleet and freezing rain through the atmoshield and onto the august buildings of Valdegeld University and auxiliaries, including my—less august, but evocative and comfortable—lodgings.
I had canceled my last tutorial of the day, knowing the student needed more time to gnaw on their thesis in any case, and had long since been ensconced in my rooms with a blazing fire, a pot of tea, and a plate of scones up from the kitchens. I had spent a few dutiful hours with my work, but as the evening wore on I had decided it was well past time for leisure and switched to a Modern novel instead, a tale of early settlement derring-do and romance, with a railcar heist and a space shuttle rescue that fit the mood of the evening.
I had been rather hoping that Mossa would come for a visit. She had been somewhat, amorphously, absent of late; uncommunicative, or offering excuses that seemed reasonable until considered in bulk. I had been trying for some time not to feel worried about the situation—surely, after all we had been through together, surely if something was wrong she would tell me?—and I did not want to miss any opportunity for intimacy with her, so when a friend suggested going for a concert that night I refused, just in case. However, if she were to join me that evening I would have thought she would arrange to arrive before the worst of the storm, and my hopes had dimmed considerably when a knock on my door raised them again.
I opened it with Mossa’s name on my lips, only to see instead a narrow wedge of a woman, her coif showing some of the effects of the storm, a dripping raincoat and atmoscarf over her arm and a determined smile on her face. “Hullo, Pleiti,” she said, a little hesitantly. “How are pubs?”
Her face was uncertainly familiar, but I couldn’t immediately identify it, not when I was expecting to see Mossa’s instead. Before I could make too great a fool of myself, Nakalo the porter leaned around her shoulder. “Sorry for bringing her up directly, but as a scholar and she said she knows you from student days…”
Bless him, the name popped right into my head. “Petanj! It’s been so long. Er, would you like to come in?”
She hesitated. “Not if it’s not a good time for you. Or, well, we could meet somewhere else, it’s just, there’s a small matter…”
I tend to be somewhat jealous of my rooms, but I had become slightly more sociable of late, and in any case the unheralded appearance of an acquaintance on such a night had aroused my curiosity. “Not at all, not at all.” I mouthed a thank you to Nakalo behind her back as I closed the door and ushered her to the fireplace, wondering the while. I knew Petanj, as Nakalo had intimated, from when I had been at Valdegeld the first time, as a student; like me, she had since earned a place as a scholar—even before I had, if I recalled right—but she was in the Modern faculty, less prestigious than my Classical appointment. As the faculties didn’t mix very much, and we hadn’t been especially close as students, I didn’t see her often; indeed, I wasn’t sure I’d met her more than once since returning to Valdegeld. For her to appear in my rooms, therefore, particularly on such a tempestuous night, suggested some significant motivation for the visit.
“Thank you,” she said, letting me take her raincoat to hang it up. “I know it’s unconscionable, my coming here without any warning, but I just don’t know where else to turn.”
“Oh?” I couldn’t imagine in what arena I could be a place for her to turn, but my heart was beating faster nonetheless. “Please tell me what I can do for you. But first—some tea? Something to warm you? It’s horrid out.”
“It is. Tea would be lovely, thank you.” There was a brief silence while I put in the order, and it stretched after I had seated myself. At last Petanj swallowed and spoke. “Forgive me again for the intrusion. I … well, I have heard that you had a, er, a connexion of some kind with the Investigators…?”
I answered as carelessly as I could. “Oh, you mean Mossa. She’s not here tonight, but I’m sure … Didn’t you know her at school?”
“Not—not very well.” I wondered if the tinge of embarrassment was from vaguely disliking Mossa (as many people did) or from liking her too much (as some people surely did as well). “Is that … well, what I mean to say is, perhaps you can help.”
I hoped my face was bland. “If you’re looking for an Investigator—” I hesitated. It would be rude to tell her to go directly to their bureau; unbearable to think that if I sent her to Mossa’s place Petanj might see her before I would; presumptuous to the point of risible to suggest I could manage whatever it was instead.
“No! No. I was hoping for you, in fact.” I felt my eyebrows rise in disbelief. “That is…” She twisted her hands. “When I heard about the things you’ve done recently, you and Mossa, well—I thought perhaps you could help me. An Investigator … well, they might help or they might make it worse, if you understand.”
The service bell dinged, and I stood to get the tea, considering what she meant. “It’s a … a reputational matter?”
“Exactly,” Petanj agreed hurriedly. “Exactly that.”
Everything seemed much easier suddenly. “Not to worry. Mossa is entirely discreet—” I hesitated again. She was, but it also seemed very unlikely that she’d be even distantly piqued by the sorts of petty academic bickering that I imagined we were talking about (especially, my undermind whispered, in her current range of moods). “And she’s much more understanding of, er, academic nuance than most. But she is quite busy, of course…”
“Yes, I’m sure. And her responsibility will be to the Investigators’ Bureau, naturally, and I’m not sure that those official channels would be the wisest approach for this. They might not understand the, the seriousness of it.”
“Precisely,” I agreed, pleased to have found a potential excuse that wasn’t solely reliant on Mossa’s personal inclination. “If she’s wil—that is, if she has availability to take on an additional case, I can tell her what we’ve discussed.”
“Then you’ll listen?” Petanj leaned forward with such a melodramatic mien that I instantly felt guilty.
“I may not be able to help at all, mind. But yes, I’ll listen.”
“That alone would be an enormous relief.” Petanj took a fortifying sip of tea, then leaned back and began her tale. “I am not here for myself really, but for my cousin, Villette.”
“I remember you were close,” I commented, pouring.
“Yes, more sisters than cousins. We grew up on a small platform and—in short. I don’t know if you heard, but a few years ago Villette received an appointment in the Modern faculty at Stortellen.” I clicked my fingertips in polite admiration. Our Classical faculty was far more renowned, but in Modern studies Stortellen was nearly as well-thought-of as Valdegeld. “She was quite pleased, and I was naturally very proud, although we did hope at some point in the future we might find appointments in closer proximity.” Stortellen was about as far away as it was possible to get on the network of geo-synchronized rings and platforms that formed humanity’s habitat on Giant; the initial logic, of course, being to provide universities within reasonable distance of all platforms.
But it was more than two days of travel between Valdegeld and Stortellen, and that if the connections were good; reasonable that these sisterly cousins might have wished to be closer together. Reasonable even that the distance might engender some worry. I wondered if Villette had disappeared, or if Petanj thought she might have; that seemed like the sort of problem she might have sought Mossa and myself out for, given our recent adventures.
Petanj was silent for a time, her lips pressed neatly together. I leaned forward to refresh her tea, though I didn’t have quite enough in the pot to fill her cup all the way, and that seemed to rouse her. She lifted her cup, raised her eyes to mine. “She has come up for the possibility of a donship.”
“Enhorabuena,” I murmured, with surprise—at her age, it was quite an accolade—but Petanj had barely paused.
“It seemed likely, I thought. Then, last week, she was accused of falsifying data.”
My stomach dropped. “In truth?” Mossa did not have much patience for meaningless expostulations, and I quickly gathered myself to say something useful. “Who accused her?”
“It was anonymous, which naturally created much skepticism, and perhaps it will come to nothing, but…”
“But of course they had to look into it.” I still felt sick, imagining it. And I could see why she wouldn’t want to go to the Investigators without a conduit; even those accustomed to working in university platforms would not fully understand the vital threat of your research being undermined; might not understand how devastating a careless investigation could be. All it would take was a thoughtless interview question—Have you ever seen any suggestions of plagiarism by this person?—to the wrong person, and an academic career could slip down the rungs of prestigious positions, or all too easily disappear altogether. I grasped for some cheer. “Well, and if the university is looking into it”—rather than dismissing her or quietly letting the donship possibility evaporate—“that is a hopeful sign, surely?”
“Yes. Yes, I do hope so. Villette has assured me there’s no need to worry, she says it is certain that the evaluation will vindicate her. Of course, she would say that—because she herself knows she is innocent of any wrongdoing, you understand, but also because she’s awfully trusting, my cousin.” Petanj frunced slightly in disapproval. “She attributes to everyone a general good faith comparable to her own, but even more than that she has a confidence which I cannot at all share that institutions—well, the university in particular, but also the committees; the student guild; the Investigators, for that matter; et cetera, et cetera—are all doing their best towards their stated purpose.”
Copyright © 2025 by Malka Older
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