“I mean to say, sir, that from the great elevation of Mianaai, Denche must appear as no different than other servants. And I know it’s always said that we each have our role, our given task, and none of them is any better or worse than another, just different.” I had heard it said many times myself. Strange, how equally important, just different always seemed to translate into some “equally important” roles being more worthy of respect and reward than others. “But,” Captain Hetnys continued, “we don’t all have your perspective. And I imagine…” The briefest of hesitations. “I imagine if ever your cousins committed some youthful foolishness or indiscretion, they were not treated much differently than Raughd Denche. And that is as it is, sir.” She lifted her green-gloved hands, the vague suggestion of pious supplication. All that was, was Amaat. The universe was God itself, and nothing could happen or exist that God did not will. “But perhaps you can understand why everyone here might see the daughter of this house in that light, or why she herself might think herself equal to even a fleet captain, and a cousin of the Lord of the Radch.”

Almost. Almost she might have understood. “You see Raughd, I think, as a nice, well-bred young person who has somehow, in the past few weeks, made some inexplicably unfortunate choices. That I am perhaps being too harsh on someone who does not live under the military discipline you or I have been accustomed to. Perhaps the daughter of the house has even spoken to you of enemies of hers who have whispered accusations into my ear, and prejudiced me against her unfairly.” A brief change of expression flashed across Captain Hetnys’s face, nearly a plain admission I was right. “But consider those unfortunate choices. They were, from the beginning, meant to harm. Meant to harm residents of the Undergarden. Meant, Captain, to harm you. To harm the entire station. She could not have anticipated the death of Translator Dlique, but surely she knew your ancillaries went armed, and knew how uneasy you were about the Undergarden.” Captain Hetnys was silent, looking down at her lap, hands empty, her bowl of tea cooling on the bench beside her. “Nice, well-bred people do not just suddenly act maliciously for no reason.”

This would clearly go nowhere. And I had other things I wanted to know. I had spent some time considering how someone could remove transportees from the system without anyone knowing. “The Ghost Gate,” I said.

“Sir?” She looked, I thought, not quite as relieved at the change of topic as she might have.

“The dead-end gate. You never met another ship there?”

Was that hesitation? A change of expression, gone from her face before it could be read? Surprise? Fear? “No, sir, never.”