Shyly, Si'Wren bowed, and smiled briefly in return. Although she had no desire to become his next wife, she found him to be well-mannered and likeable enough, in spite of his crudeness. "Do not fear," he said, all businesslike again. "When you come to the royal stables, I, even I, Mearch, Chief Armorer to the Emperor himself, will not suffer you to come to the slightest harm."
Si'Wren slowly bowed low to him again.
Mearch grinned, and turned to go back to the stables.
* * *
Si'Wren continued to increase in knowledge and wisdom as she observed her astute Emperor in court, learning intuitively from the inevitable daily exercise of her mental faculties how to sift truth from lies, and how various evils and perplexing situations were to be properly adjudicated.
There were several ways that crimes were judged. One was by the severity of the crime itself. Another way was to judge the criminal by his or her own attitude and intentions. Equally important were the question of whether the suspect was high born and wealthy, or low born and bondable, or a beggar, or—most unfortunate of all, a mere penniless slave.
To Si'Wren, they were all human beings first and foremost, but she was no judge and could not voice an opinion regardless. However, she was well aware of the fact that high station was no proof of good character. In fact, there was very little to call good in any of the people she saw. They all seemed intent upon doing evil to their neighbors, and were only sorry to be caught, not for doing wrong.
* * *
One day, Si'Wren was finally given her new ivory marking sticks. They were beautiful, with different-shaped ends at the tips, for greater writing versatility, and she felt as if she had been given a gift from heaven.
Si'Wren was learning how to snatch up her marking sticks and write swiftly when called upon, mimicking her mentor Ibi and copying the flood of new words she heard by seeing what he wrote and duplicating it exactly in clay with the white ivory marking sticks. They were marvelous. The beautifully carved marking sticks did not grow soft from her almost ceaseless jabbing of the moist clay when at court, and never needed resharpening.