Perrin remembered the date: the 16th Day of Raining Season.
It was four weeks since Mahrree sent her letter to the Department of Instruction and, he was secretly relieved, she had yet to receive a response.
As he walked briskly home in the falling snow he hoped again that if she did get an answer it would be one of the form letters. The moment she’d left the house to put that envelope into the message carrier’s bag, Perrin had begun to regret it. She likely hadn’t said anything seditious or threatening, but merely the fact that she said anything at all could be construed as something more. That was just the way they thought in Idumea, as if the water in the city—specifically the springs that fed the red and orange Administrative Headquarters—caused paranoid delusions.
But then again, she was only a little wife from a tiny village and no one in the world would ever think twice about her.
The more he told himself that along his damp jog home, the closer he came to believing it.
He trotted up the steps where snow was just beginning to accumulate and paused before opening his front door, prepared for almost anything. He took a deep breath and pushed. The door stuck partway.
“Not surprising,” he mumbled, trying to shove it open. “Knew I should have tried the back door.” He slipped his body in as far as it would go, but it wasn’t enough. His broad chest lodged securely between the frame and the door, and he realized he should’ve taken off his overcoat before trying to force his way in.
“Mahrree?” he called hesitantly.
There was no sound from the surprisingly quiet house.
He took a deep breath and shoved open the door the rest of the way. The sound of chairs tumbling to the ground behind it made him cringe.
On the floor he saw what had jammed the door: one of his work shirts was wedged in the gap. He worked it free and dared to examine the rest of the room.
“Oh, boy,” he groaned. “Or rather, boys.”
He took a step, felt something give way and crumble under his boot, and chose not to look down. He had done that last week, and regretted it.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the effort,” he muttered as he picked his way through the mess, “but it really is a small house—”
Giggles stopped his forward progress. He froze in place to identify the sound. “Now girls?”
The giggles floated to him again, from the kitchen.
He exhaled. “It’s about time.” He plowed through the rest of the gathering room, past the eating table that was buried under too many things for him to identify, and opened the door to the kitchen.
It was bursting with females.
Mahrree was just about to open her mouth to say something when she saw her husband. “Oh, is it that time already?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, looking at the two teenage girls who stared back at him uncertainly.
“Perrin, you remember Sareen and Teeria? They were my students when we first met.”
“I do,” he lied, but smiled at them anyway. “Don’t tell me they need watching after school, too?”
Sareen, holding Peto, giggled.
That’s right, Perrin thought to himself. The Giggler. The other must be The Smart One. There was a third one, The Hair-Tosser, but she’s gone to some village to visit her grand something or the other.
“No, Captain Shin,” Teeria rolled her eyes as she wiped Jaytsy’s runny nose. “We’re here to clean up and start dinner for Mrs. Shin.”
“You were right,” Mahrree sighed. “I do need help in the afternoons. So I hired me some.”
He looked around the empty kitchen devoid of any smells suggesting dinner. “Ah. And they’ve done an excellent job, too.”
Mahrree gently slapped his arm. “You’re such a tease. I haven’t seen the girls in many moons so we’re catching up first.”
“Understood,” he said, and pulled up a chair and sat down.
Sareen’s giggle strangled in her throat.
Jaytsy slid down out of Teeria’s tense arms and climbed up on her father’s lap.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Perrin said cheerily to the shocked girls as he cuddled Jaytsy. “Since I have a daughter, I need to learn how women talk. Besides, after spending all day around only soldiers—”
Sareen got a dreamy look in her eyes, and Teeria actually sighed longingly. Mahrree looked at her former students with amused concern.
Perrin blinked a few times. “—I need something to entertain me until dinner’s ready.”
“I was going to start on that,” Mahrree promised him. “The girls will get to work on the gathering room. It’s not too bad, is it?”
Perrin’s eyebrows went up. “Ever see any twisters up here in Weeding Season?”
Mahrree chuckled and shook her head. “Too close to the mountains, I guess.”
“Well, I’ve seen the aftermath, north of Orchards,” he told her. “And in our gathering room, ten twisters touched down, didn’t they?”
“Only nine,” Mahrree told him. “Poe was ill today. Not that his mother was too happy about having to miss a day at the Edge of Idumea Estates to care for her son,” she said in a pinched tone. “She wanted to leave him here in our bedroom.”
“No Poe today?” Perrin nodded. “That explains why the ceiling was still relatively clean.”
“That wasn’t Poe’s fault last week,” Mahrree laughed. “That was Shem’s. I’m not taking any more of his ideas.”
“Just mine?”
“I’m wondering if I should listen to you anymore. Having the boys act out Terryp’s Large Man Who Holds Up the World? They tried to hold up everything, unsuccessfully.”
Perrin chuckled. “But they went home happy?”
“Very!” Mahrree beamed. “And guess what? All of them passed the Department of Instruction exam.”
“Well done, Mrs. Shin,” Perrin beamed back. “Told you they’d need only half an hour of instruction each day.”
“And then two hours of destruction?”
Teeria looked at her former teacher with alarm. “You spend only half an hour tutoring them? I thought they were here for two and a half hours.”
“They are,” Mahrree said. “But honestly, girls, can you imagine trying to keep ten boys, ages eight to thirteen, seated for two and half hours studying? After all day in school?!”
Teeria shook her head. “I’m so glad I finished last year.”
Sareen exhaled a sad giggle. “And I still have to finish this year. I couldn’t imagine sitting around for another two hours after each day.”
“See? And I heard from one of their teachers that all of them passed a few points higher than the rest of the children.” Mahrree nodded at them triumphantly.
“You’ll have to start letting in girls then, too,” Teeria warned her.
“There’s no room!” Mahrree exclaimed. “But maybe someone else will see the need and fill it.”
“Miss Mahrree,” started Teeria shyly, “Did you say Private Zenos was helping you?” Her normally serious eyes glowed with hope.
“Yes,” Mahrree said, smiling slightly at Teeria’s flushing cheeks. “He comes by once a week to spend the afternoon with the boys. He’s planning next week to send them all on a relay race if the weather is cooperating.”
“Does he run, too?” Teeria breathed. “Fast?”
Perrin looked down at his daughter, slowly shook his head, and groaned softly.
“I’m not sure,” Mahrree struggled to keep her face sober. “Perhaps you’ll want to come by earlier on that day and watch him.”
It was her little whimper of amorous anticipation that made Perrin look up at Teeria. The poor girl flushed red, glanced at the captain, turned purple, and headed for the kitchen door. “I may have to consider that. I best see to the private—gathering room. Come, Sareen.”
Sareen squinted after her friend who fled out the door. “I noticed him first,” she muttered as she handed Peto to Mahrree, grabbed a pail and cleaning cloth, and headed out to the eating table.
r /> Perrin and Mahrree covered their mouths to conceal their snorts, but tears of laughter leaked from their eyes.
“I better warn Zenos!” Perrin chortled in a whisper.
“Don’t!” Mahrree giggled. “Let’s see how well he handles an ambush.” She placed Peto on Perrin’s other knee.
“And how are my little ones?” Perrin asked, kissing each one on the forehead. They leaned into him, bonked their heads against each other instead, and both burst into tears.
Mahrree smiled in sympathy as Perrin soothed them. “They’re exhausted. They seem to think they have to keep up with the boys. They were dirtier, but the girls already cleaned them up.”
“So hiring the girls—I’m assuming this means that all the parents agreed to pay you for this After School Care?”
She nodded. “I was really surprised. I thought they would be more opposed to it, but they seem desperate for someone to take in their sons.”
“Well, if they do at their homes what they’ve done to this place . . .”
“There’s enough to pay the girls,” Mahrree said, chopping carrots and potatoes. “Teeria’s saving up to go to the college at Mountseen next year, we can cover our expenses, and still save up for a long sofa.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” Perrin smiled as Jaytsy, thumb in mouth, snuggled into his chest, and Peto tried to kick her off his father’s lap.
“Except that I’m ready for a nap as soon as dinner’s over,” she murmured wearily, dropping the vegetables into a large pot.
“Would you want your life any other way?”
She shook her head. “I think my life is as close to perfect as I could ever have imagined it. Now, if I could just find some time to still read.”
“You can read when these two,” he held his daughter and son just out of reach of the other, “go off to Mountseen for college. Until then, I had an idea for the boys.”
Mahrree bit her lip. “Why does my chest always tighten when your eyes glow like that? Let me have your latest idea for Education, Shin Style.”
“Catapults!”
Her eyebrows went up. “Those take a lot of work, times ten.”
He shook his head. “Don’t make them so big. Something smaller and simpler. You don’t need to throw pumpkins to demonstrate the principle. Only snowballs.”
Mahrree grinned. “I love it! Just yesterday two mothers told me in the market that they didn’t want their boys throwing snowballs at each other, because they might mess up their outfits.”
“That’s why you’ve pulled out all my old work shirts, isn’t it? Took some out of the rag bag to protect their precious clothing?”
“Yes, and now we can allow them to launch snowballs,” she grinned impishly, “and if a snowball happens to hit another boy, they can blame the invention and not the friend. I can’t understand why these parents won’t let their boys act like boys.”
Perrin’s eyes glowed. “I absolutely love the way your mind works, my darling wife.”
“That’s because our minds are so much alike.”
“After dinner I’ll work on that sled and harness for Barker. Then he’ll be able to pull the children up to the fort when you bring your Ten for their tour week after next.”
Mahrree glanced at the great black beast lying against the back door, a puddle of drool forming on the ground under his mouth. Barker was as tired as the children, having been one of the many items the boys attempted to pick up for two hours that afternoon. Otherwise, he would have been crowding Perrin’s lap as well.
“Sure he couldn’t pull all of us?”
Perrin shrugged. “He could probably pull you.”
“Right into the river,” Mahrree shivered. “Never mind.”
“Oh, you can control him,” Perrin said. “He’s slow enough.”
“In his mind, yes. With his responses to commands, most definitely. But when he sees water? Nope.”
Perrin chuckled. “Any messages today?” he tried to say casually.
“Nothing,” she sighed, dropping several pieces of beef into the pot. “I suppose the Department of Instruction is swamped by letters. Can’t read all of them in a timely manner.”
“Yes,” he said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice, “most likely.”
“Not as if I’d have time to do my study right now anyway,” she sighed again. “But I really was looking forward to trying.”
“You already are, in a way,” he pointed out. “Just keep notes of what you’re doing with the boys, especially when you tutor them in their lessons, then record the results. That they scored higher than the rest of their class already suggests that teaching at home has potential.”
She shrugged. “But that’s only a small part of what I was hoping to test. To do this right, I really need to—”
“Not add yet another project,” he said firmly. “Mahrree, it’s enough. And don’t worry about schooling just yet. We have plenty of time still. Jaytsy’s not even two yet.”
“I know, I know,” she admitted as she stirred the pot. “But do you realize that in a few weeks it will have been a whole year since you had Gizzada go shopping for a white coat?”
The long scar on his back itched to remind him. “I see what this is all about,” he said gravely.
She cocked her head in questioning.
“You want a white rabbit fur coat, don’t you? A little jealous of how lovely I must have looked?”
She chuckled. “No, not at all! When I’m feeling down, I imagine you in it quite vividly and I’m cheered up for hours. No, it really is that time’s going by so quickly. Peto pulled himself up today! Well, not for long. But he’s only seven moons old.”
“I wondered where the new bruise on his forehead came from,” Perrin said, kissing it lightly.
“Before we know it, Jaytsy will be six years old and trudging off to school. I feel like I’m running out of time.”
“I feel it, too,” he confessed. “But more like a sense of change in the air. As if things will be shifting soon, somehow.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” she cringed. “It’s not the coming of Planting Season already, so what we’re feeling is probably a warning from the Creator.”
“You know, most people would be grateful to receive warnings from the Creator.”
Mahrree shrugged guiltily. “I am. It’s just that I worry what it portends.”
He nodded slowly. “Me, too. We have to make sure that—”
A crash in the gathering room made both of them wince.
“I can fix it!” Sareen called in a frantic giggle.
“I didn’t realize we had anything left to break,” Perrin murmured.
“Give it a few more weeks,” Mahrree said. “We may be surprised what can still break.”
---
After five more weeks, anything else that could possibly break did. Which made their lives that much easier, now that they didn’t have to worry about preserving anything intact. Even so, each time Perrin came home he warily opened the door, bracing himself for just about anything.
And on the days that Zenos was in charge, that ‘anything’ could be truly nerve-wracking when the cold snows and icy rains of Raining Season forced them all inside. But Teeria always showed up early on those days to sit on the stairs and watch with adoring eyes the large, handsome young private who easily held the enthralled attention of all ten boys.
At the end of those days Private Zenos would shyly tip his cap at Teeria and Sareen, say, “Good evening, ladies,” and rush out the door, much to the girls’ weekly disappointment.
“Captain Shin,” Teeria bravely approached him one afternoon, “can’t you order him or something?”
Perrin folded his arms across his chest. “Order who to do what?”
Teeria gestured to the retreating jacket of Private Zenos, who was out the door in a flash. “Him. To talk or something!”
“What kind of something are you hoping for?” asked Perrin slyly.
&nb
sp; Teeria turned bright red and mumbled, “Never mind,” as she stormed off to the kitchen to help start dinner.
Then one afternoon Perrin noticed that as the boys were leaving, Teeria didn’t even try to talk to Shem, but was banging some pots angrily in the kitchen.
So instead Sareen was giving it a worthy go as Shem gathered the arrows and bows he had brought to introduce the boys to archery. Next week Mahrree would bring them up to the indoor training arena at the fort, and four more soldiers would help Shem supervise the boys’ first attempts at shooting arrows.
Actually, Perrin realized as he looked around his gathering room, today was their first attempts if the three arrows lodged in the oak ceiling were any sign.
“I mean, what’s it like, riding along the forest’s edge, never knowing when someone could pop out at you with a dagger?” Sareen giggled at Zenos who was crouched on the ground putting the arrows back into the quiver. The seventeen year-old hovered over the soldier like an eager bee waiting for Planting Season.
“Just . . . nothing much,” Zenos said, shrugging. He glanced up and regarded his commander with a combination of relief and dread in his eyes. “Sorry about that, sir,” he gestured to the ceiling.
Perrin stared at the odd sight of the fletching of an arrow just at his eye level. His gaze followed the shaft that went straight up into a timber. “Remarkable that it’s my ceilings that suffer the most when it’s Zenos Day.” He yanked the arrow out and looked down at his cringing private.
“The boys—they get a little over-eager,” Zenos explained as he took the arrow out of the captain’s hand. “Mrs. Shin stepped out of the room to try to put Peto down for a nap, and since the wind was blowing quite fiercely today . . . I suppose it wasn’t the best idea to bring these in to the house.”
Perrin winked forgivingly at him. “That’s all right. It’ll look like some more knotholes once I pull them out.”
“Like the doors, sir? Can hardly tell, can you?” he asked hopefully. If he noticed Sareen so close to his side that she was practically crawling into his uniform, he gave no indication.
Perrin’s eyebrow arched. “Just how many went into the doors, Zenos?”
Zenos snatched up the two bows on the ground. “I’m on duty in an hour, sir. Best get up to the fort for dinner—”
“You could stay here,” Sareen offered. “Eat with us!”
Perrin’s eyebrows rose. The girls never stayed to eat. That was probably why Sareen was avoiding his questioning glare.
“Have to get my sword,” Zenos said without looking at Sareen. “At least I’m wise enough not to wear that down here. Mrs. Shin?” Zenos looked past his ardent admirer and called to the kitchen, “I’ll be leaving now. Again, sorry about the arrows.”
Mahrree poked her head around the kitchen door. “You know my philosophy: if there’s no bloodshed—well, at least not a lot—then it was another successful day. Thank you, Shem!”
“Good-bye, ladies,” Zenos said, still not looking directly at Sareen.
A loud scoffing sound came from Teeria the kitchen, but Sareen gripped Zeno’s arm. “Good-bye, Private. Or may I call you Shem?”
Perrin held open the door for his private as Zenos’s ears turned pink. Without another word he charged out of the house, and Perrin shut the door behind him before Sareen could follow.
Sareen smiled in triumph. “I get to call him Shem!” She set off cheerily to tidy the gathering room.
Perrin shook his head. “I’ve got a lot to learn about teenage girls before Jaytsy becomes one,” he whispered to himself as he made his way over to the eating room table. A folded piece of parchment caught his eye. Before he could pick it up, Mahrree came through the door.
“Look what finally came!” she beamed as she unfolded it. “Dated three days ago, the 49th Day of Raining Season, and all the way from Idumea.”
Perrin held his breath as he took the letter from her hands. A moment later he sighed in relief.
“Isn’t it wonderful? They’re going to consider my proposal! ‘We will look into your issue and respond as we see fit’.”
He folded the letter again and handed it back to her. “And you’re responding precisely in the manner they want you to: believing they really care. This is form letter number one, Mahrree. I’m sorry. A senior letter skimmer read your message, and a junior letter skimmer filled out this reply. If you look at the style of handwriting for your name, then the body of the response, you’ll see that they don’t match. They have stacks of these letters, waiting for the names to be filled in.”
“Oh,” was all she quietly said, and Perrin felt a stab of regret for her disappointment. But it was safer this way, it really was.
It took her only a moment to recover. “I’m going to send another letter,” she decided. “Telling them all about After School Care, and how other villages could benefit by having homes set up for children to have a place to go when their parents are still working.”
Perrin shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get form letter number two to add to the collection.”
“Your faith in me is overwhelming,” she said, her voice heavy with discouragement.
He put his arms around her. “We still have plenty of time. And Mahrree, honestly I feel much safer with your failures than your successes.”
He didn’t add, because I suspect you may be the most dangerous woman in the world.
---
That night Barker was waiting. He watched the movements along the alley with drooling expectancy until finally the man in the black jacket appeared with the bacon. Barker leaped to his feet and trotted happily to the fence.
“Well done, well done,” the man whispered, giving Barker the bacon strips. “Tonight, something new.” He patted his chest. “Up, up, up.”
Barker hesitated, remembering how often he received a knee in his chest for jumping up on the captain and his wife.
Another slice of bacon appeared, held up high by the man.
There was only one way for Barker to get it. He slowly reared up on his hind legs and reached over the fence, his big front paws landing on the man’s chest.
“Up, up, up. Well done, well done.”
---
Two men sat in a dark room of an unlit building.
“Mrs. Shin must have fired this one off the day after she received form letter number one,” Brisack chuckled as he waved the parchment. “Had a taste of ‘success,’ so she wants more?”
“Perhaps,” Mal tipped his head. “Or maybe she was told by the captain that she didn’t get a personalized response.”
“Maybe,” Brisack said, reading the letter again. “Or maybe her husband doesn’t even know she’s sending letters.”
“You think she’s acting secretly?” Mal made a face, obviously never before entertaining the thought.
“A woman acting behind her husband’s back? What an unusual development,” Brisack barked a laugh.
Mal’s expression remained unchanged.
“I know you never married,” Brisack smirked, “but did you have a sister? Female cousin?”
“No.”
“Mother?”
“Died when I was four.”
“Aunt? Grandmother?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Once. She was too silly.”
“I see,” Brisack nodded slowly. “That explains your complete lack of knowledge about women. All these years you’ve assumed they are simply watered-down, washed-out versions of men, haven’t you?”
“Are you trying to make a point, Doctor?” Mal clasped his hands impatiently.
“Yes,” Brisack couldn’t help but chuckle, “but not one I think you’ll ever understand.”
Mal glared. “So you’re suggesting that perhaps Mrs. Shin is sending letters without her husband’s knowledge.”
“It’s a possibility,” Brisack acknowledged. “She may think someone’s taking her suggestion seriously.”
“And that’s the wonderful ir
ony, isn’t it?” Mal’s lips formed the slightest of smiles. “We are taking her seriously, just not in a way she expects.”
“Then again, maybe she does know it’s a form letter,” Brisack suggested. “Maybe the captain did see it and told her. So maybe this is a test of her own. Oh, how wonderful! And to think, just a short time ago I was getting bored with all of this. She’s making it interesting again.”
Mal scowled. “A test of her own?”
“I had a colleague who once observed a group of children taunting a teacher,” Brisack smiled in recollection. “He was young and nervous, and for a time he ignored their tossing small rocks at him. But after half an hour, and several well-thrown pebbles, the teacher lost his composure and whipped three of the boys.”
“Dr. Brisack, has anyone ever told you that you don’t make your points very well?” Mal sighed.
“My point is that the boys were pushing the teacher to acknowledge them. He was obsessed with getting through his lesson—probably because he knew my friend was there observing him—and he was trying to proceed at any cost.”
“So you’re suggesting that she’s going to keep sending letters until someone takes her out behind the school building and whips her,” Mal intoned.
“In a matter of speaking,” Brisack nodded. “I think she simply wants a personal message, to believe someone’s actually listening to her.”
“Hmm,” Mal grunted. “You know, I have a wide variety of whips that I use on the horses and dogs. Could try a cat . . .” A sneer grew on his face.
“I have no doubt that you do,” Brisack responded coldly. “When will your test of her be ready?”
Mal rolled his eyes. “I don’t think there’s a department in all of government more slow to act than the Department of Instruction! If the world ended tomorrow, their committees wouldn’t be able to ‘formulate an educational strategy’ for ‘teaching it most effectively’ for another twenty years.”
Brisack smiled at Mal’s attempt at sarcastic humor. “Which, of course, would be utterly unnecessary since the world no longer existed.”
“I’m putting pressure on them,” Mal said ominously enough to wipe the smile off of the doctor’s face. “There’s no logical purpose for them to take so long. It’s as if they are always waiting for someone to give them permission to do the next thing, to check off every little detail before they continue. Without someone hovering over them, they don’t work.”
“Sounds like the effects of Full School already,” Brisack muttered.
“Which is what we want, I agree,” said Mal, agitated. “We want the citizenry to hesitate before they act, to seek permission for every little thing. That’s the only way to keep them contained and controlled. But I need more from their leadership! I need people willing to experiment, to dare, to innovate, to take the initiative—”
“Someone like Mrs. Shin?” Brisack waved her letter like a banner. “After School Care?”
In an uncharacteristic display of exasperation, Mal rubbed his temples with fingers. Through clenched teeth he said, “Someone like her, but not her. Send her form letter number two, in about four weeks. The Department of Instruction should be finished by then. Or I’ll finish them myself!”
“I suspect she’ll keep throwing stones,” Brisack warned.
“Let her. No one has more whips than me.”
---
He’s right, Mahrree thought to herself five weeks later as she watched the message carrier ride by her house yet again without dropping off a response to her second letter. Perrin kept reminding her that they still had time. The end of Raining Season and the year 322 was just around the corner, but Jaytsy wouldn’t be turning two until halfway through Planting Season. And then it was still another four years.
Four very short years.
She shrugged that off and turned to admire again the latest addition to their family: the longest, widest, sturdiest sofa she could afford to have built, complete with thick brown cloth that the furniture maker assured her would stand up to the abuses of ten rowdy boys, one very large captain, two small children, and even the unwieldy dog that climbed slowly onto it and resisted all efforts of Mahrree to drag him off.
One should never own a dog that weighs more than one’s self.
That’s where he was again, Mahrree grumbled to herself. Barker had taken over the sofa once more, since the children were napping and Mahrree had been working at the table. The only reason she tolerated the animal was because Perrin loved him so much. And her heart softened a little toward the beast when Shem confessed that it was actually him who brought the large black puppy to Perrin. Shem had found him abandoned, muddy, and whimpering along the canal by the fort. Perrin kept him for two days in the stables to make sure he would live before he brought him home.
How could Mahrree demand he be thrown out again? She had two old blankets that she alternated throwing over the new cloth to keep it clean. Most of his body fit on it, except for his big paws and sharp nails.
“Just don’t drool on it,” she glowered at Barker as she passed him on her way to the kitchen.
He only twitched an eyebrow.
Mahrree was starting to wash the dishes from midday meal when she saw Perrin hopping over the back fence.
“That can’t be promising,” she whispered. He always sent Shem with messages, unless—
The back door flew open and he flashed his fake grin. “Hello, my darling wife!”
“What is it?” she asked tonelessly.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Can’t I come home in the middle of the day to check on my wife and her new sofa? Oh. Wait. I see. There’s someone else here, isn’t there? What’s his name? Out with it.” He folded his arms and glared at her severely.
“You’re right, Perrin,” she tried to keep her face solemn as she wrung her hands. “I should have told you this before, but . . . there is someone else. Has been for some time. I’ve regretted the relationship from the beginning, and I never should’ve agreed to it. But now I’m trapped. No matter what I do, I can’t get him to leave me alone. He resists all my attempts and . . . well, he’s on the sofa right now, staring at me.”
Perrin nodded slowly. “Well, I’ll take care of that. BARKER!”
They heard his claws on the wood floor eagerly scrambling to come to the only human he ever obeyed. He plunged through the door and sat obediently at Perrin’s feet, the dog’s melon-sized head even with Perrin’s belly.
Perrin petted his head and opened the door for him to go out.
“Right into the muddy back garden!” Mahrree whimpered. “Not exactly what I was wanting. Well, you’re far less gullible than Shem was last week when I pulled the same thing on him.”
“That’s because he told me about it,” Perrin chuckled. “Said he was so nervous that you might be serious about an unwanted man on your sofa that he nearly dropped his long knife. He still dreads using his sword, unless it’s in practice.”
“So, I’m still wondering why you’re here . . .” she hinted.
His pastry smile returned. “There are, indeed, changes to the education of the world.”
For a brief moment her heart leaped, but then it fell back into place when she realized his voice was far cheerier than his eyes. “What have they done?”
“After such a successful debut on a trial basis, Full School is now mandatory throughout the world, beginning with the upcoming Harvest Season. Isn’t that wonderful?” He could have frosted cakes with his grin.
Mahrree bared her teeth.
“That’ll never do for a convincing smile, by the way,” he gestured at her face. “Work on lifting the corners of your mouth, like this.” He pointed to his own stiff grin.
“I’m not smiling,” she assured him.
“Obviously.” He sighed as he pulled out some folded pages from his jacket. “Thought you’d want to know as soon as possible. Teachers will no longer need to worry about with consulting parents about what their children will learn,” he said
, holding up the document in his hands. “Since it’s such a burden . . .”
Mahrree snatched the official parchment from him. Forts always got news from Idumea the day before the village magistrates received their bundle to post on the notice boards. Maybe it was to hint to the army that trouble may erupt the next day.
Mahrree was near to boiling as she read out loud. “‘All directives in children’s education will now come directly from the Department of Instruction, under the supervision of the Administrator of Education.’” She let out a low whistle.
“There’s more,” he pointed. “But only if you feel compelled to read it.”
She grunted. “Like running across the remains of a mouse after Barker’s had at it—as gruesome as it is, you feel compelled to see it . . . ‘All schools will now be under the guidance of Directors of Education, up to three depending upon the size of the village. These men will oversee school construction, teacher selection, and curriculum implementation, thus removing the responsibility of parents to worry about, for even one moment, their children’s education.’”
“What?” Perrin said, moving behind her to read over her shoulder.
“I added the last part,” Mahrree confessed between her clenched teeth. She continued reading. “‘In order to improve management of the schools, new Educational Regions will be established to oversee the Directors of Education—’ So that’s two more levels of supervisors?”
“Well, there’s the Administrator, then the Head of the Department of Instruction, then the Overseers of the Educational Regions, then the Directors of Education—”
“Oh, this is insane!” Mahrree spat. “At least they can’t add any more levels, because I think they’ve exhausted the amount of titles they can come up with.”
Perrin shook his head wretchedly. “I can think of a few more, depending on how many more friends need pointless jobs. Give them time. They’ll find a way to complicate this even further.”
“Next they’ll choose a representative for the parents who alone can discuss concerns with the Director, who then can send a message to the Overseers, who might pass it along to the Head of the Department, who maybe will remember to show it to the Administrator!”
“Ideas such as After School Care?” Perrin suggested.
“No. No new letter about that,” she said in disgust.
Perrin pulled another envelope from his jacket. “This was brought to me by mistake.”
She dropped the document on the work table and snatched the envelope out of his hands, tearing it open in the process.
The writing she sneered at was familiar. “‘We appreciate your concern and assure you that the Administrators are doing all they can . . .’”
“Form letter number two,” he tried to say brightly. “Your collection is growing.”
She threw it down on the work table. “I’m completely voiceless!”
“That’s debatable.”
“You know what I mean!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t read the rest.” He subtly slid his hand over to the announcement about education.
But she was quicker to snatch it up. “Each class will have twenty-five students?” she declared a moment later. “Madness! How can a teacher get to know each child intimately enough to help him if she’s wrestling with twenty-five of them? Eight to ten was difficult enough!”
He only sighed.
“More?” she demanded.
His sickly-sweet smile returned and he nodded to the document.
A moment later her upper lip curled. “They ARE making schools here! Big ones! Out of block! Oh, how lovely.”
“I believe it’s deliberate,” he said tapping his lips with his finger. “You see, the schools in Idumea are very square, very plain, and very gray. Surround children with that much dullness so that their imaginations die, then a classroom of twenty-five depressed students will feel the same as ten normal lively children.”
“That’s probably true,” she said, her eyes squinting in fury. “Our new director of schools, along with the new curriculum, will be arriving by the middle of Planting Season.” She scanned the rest of the document. “So where’s he going to stay?”
“I was asked to give him our study,” he said.
“WHAT?!”
“Just teasing, just teasing,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “He’s probably going to take a storage shed at one of the schools as his office.”
“I hope the roof leaks on him,” she snarled.
“That’s my sweet, kind, compassionate wife,” he said, stroking her hair. “I knew you’d be open-minded and fair about this.”
“I hope the roof leaks, the floor floods, his desk molds, and trees collapse on it. Then a land tremor strikes, opens a crevice in the ground, and devours it all.”
“And here I thought you’d be small-minded and petty, wishing horrible things upon someone you don’t even know. Some poor, hapless puppet of the Administrators who’s doing his best to deal with a daunting situation—”
Mahrree could only grumble.
Chapter 8 ~ “It’s really quite progressive, as you can see. Lots of pages.”