Amari Arrested?
A section from much later in the story where they attempt to arrest Amari for...well. for being an outsider. Genric sites other laws to attempt to weasle out of this...
“Wait!” I shouted. I got up. “Let her go! I saved this woman's life by God and she owes me her three years of service!” The men paused and looked at their commander who made a face.
“Sir. Please sit down.” He said. I sat down, but did not take my eyes from Amari. “You will be remunerated, but she cannot stay.” the man at the desk continued. “She is dangerous.”
“She's not dangerous!” I said. “Look at her hands. Just take one look at them.” I got up and motioned for the man to follow me.
“Still, Amari.” I whispered to her. “Be still.” She was shaking pretty badly, but she wasn't fighting them. I motioned for the guard on her right to let her go. The man's commander made a face, but a moment later nodded. I caught her hand in mine and gave the back of it a caress with my thumb. She met my eyes and shook her head. She couldn't stop the shaking, I understood.
“There you go. Be still.” I whispered. I turned to the man and offered him Amari's hand, repeating what Ten had told me those months before. “Look.” I said. “Look at the muscles here. This woman is not dangerous. She has done lifting and carving, which is why this here is defined. But her hands, look at them. She has never handled a weapon or gunpowder. See how soft her palm is? She's an artist.”
“An artist?” The man repeated. “And what use do you have for a barbarian artist?”
“That is my own affair. The law states that I am entitled to three years of her service. She is not dangerous.”
“An artist?” the man repeated.
I nodded. The other men in the office had their eyes on our exchange now. I motioned for the other man to let her go and, given the fact that we could hardly bolt, surrounded as we were. I took her other hand and squeezed. I wanted to promise that I wouldn't let them hurt her. That I wouldn't let them drag her away. If she went to Sanri as a slave she would never see home again, I knew. In this light, I couldn't promise that everything would be fine. I did not, but I tried to remain calm. “Amari, come here.” I whispered.
She took a step towards me. I led her to a seat and took a blank sheet to set in front of her on the table.
“What do you think you are doing?” The commander barked at me.
“Proving what I just said was the truth.” I said. I gave her a pen and an inkwell. She stared at me.
“Draw something.” I told her. She looked at the paper, the men, and back at me.
“Oh, yes.” the commander said “I can see now that she is very skilled.”
I bent beside her.. “Amari. This is important. Draw something. Please.”
She shook her head slightly, tilting it. “I don't understand.”
I raked one hand through my hair, and wondered why it was our intelligence failed us in times of our greatest need.
“I think we have seen enough of this.” The commander said, motioning to his men.
“Draw Jinto!” I blurted.
She looked from me to the guards and back to the paper. From the look on her face she was still unclear as to this being a good course of action, but she trusted me enough to bend and start to draw the face that now adorned such a percentage of the scrap paper in my father's office. She was still trembling as she sketched in the curved underside of the man's face, making for a few awkward lines, but soon the familiarity of the act calmed her and when she went over them again they were smooth. It was a quick sketch, with bold strokes only to indicate the features and expression and the men held back before seizing here to watch her finish.
It was, I was thankful, one of her best to date. Jinto, that mythical paper creature whom I had come to know so well, was, as always, not the most handsome man, but she conveyed as always, movement and emotion, concern in the eyes, the sorrow in the smile. Her rendering made him haunting and beautiful.
Amari's tender motions as she measured spaces with her fingers and sketched each line spoke as well, telling anyone who was reading the language of her body that this was not any man. This was a man that the artist knew, and loved. When she drew in the final line of the eyes that brought the light to them one of the men gasped. The commander shot him an glare. Amari finished a few lines, eyebrows and hair, then put down the pen and, for a moment. No one moved. Finally the commander took the paper in front of her in his hands and looked it over.
The man snorted. “All right.” He said. “She's an artist. I am not sure what this proves.”
“She is a woman of skill. She is in my service as law dictates for three years and I will not relinquish her. She is worth more to me than she would be to any Sanri trader.” I stood and inched, carefully between Amari and the men “She is not dangerous.”
“Wait!” I shouted. I got up. “Let her go! I saved this woman's life by God and she owes me her three years of service!” The men paused and looked at their commander who made a face.
“Sir. Please sit down.” He said. I sat down, but did not take my eyes from Amari. “You will be remunerated, but she cannot stay.” the man at the desk continued. “She is dangerous.”
“She's not dangerous!” I said. “Look at her hands. Just take one look at them.” I got up and motioned for the man to follow me.
“Still, Amari.” I whispered to her. “Be still.” She was shaking pretty badly, but she wasn't fighting them. I motioned for the guard on her right to let her go. The man's commander made a face, but a moment later nodded. I caught her hand in mine and gave the back of it a caress with my thumb. She met my eyes and shook her head. She couldn't stop the shaking, I understood.
“There you go. Be still.” I whispered. I turned to the man and offered him Amari's hand, repeating what Ten had told me those months before. “Look.” I said. “Look at the muscles here. This woman is not dangerous. She has done lifting and carving, which is why this here is defined. But her hands, look at them. She has never handled a weapon or gunpowder. See how soft her palm is? She's an artist.”
“An artist?” The man repeated. “And what use do you have for a barbarian artist?”
“That is my own affair. The law states that I am entitled to three years of her service. She is not dangerous.”
“An artist?” the man repeated.
I nodded. The other men in the office had their eyes on our exchange now. I motioned for the other man to let her go and, given the fact that we could hardly bolt, surrounded as we were. I took her other hand and squeezed. I wanted to promise that I wouldn't let them hurt her. That I wouldn't let them drag her away. If she went to Sanri as a slave she would never see home again, I knew. In this light, I couldn't promise that everything would be fine. I did not, but I tried to remain calm. “Amari, come here.” I whispered.
She took a step towards me. I led her to a seat and took a blank sheet to set in front of her on the table.
“What do you think you are doing?” The commander barked at me.
“Proving what I just said was the truth.” I said. I gave her a pen and an inkwell. She stared at me.
“Draw something.” I told her. She looked at the paper, the men, and back at me.
“Oh, yes.” the commander said “I can see now that she is very skilled.”
I bent beside her.. “Amari. This is important. Draw something. Please.”
She shook her head slightly, tilting it. “I don't understand.”
I raked one hand through my hair, and wondered why it was our intelligence failed us in times of our greatest need.
“I think we have seen enough of this.” The commander said, motioning to his men.
“Draw Jinto!” I blurted.
She looked from me to the guards and back to the paper. From the look on her face she was still unclear as to this being a good course of action, but she trusted me enough to bend and start to draw the face that now adorned such a percentage of the scrap paper in my father's office. She was still trembling as she sketched in the curved underside of the man's face, making for a few awkward lines, but soon the familiarity of the act calmed her and when she went over them again they were smooth. It was a quick sketch, with bold strokes only to indicate the features and expression and the men held back before seizing here to watch her finish.
It was, I was thankful, one of her best to date. Jinto, that mythical paper creature whom I had come to know so well, was, as always, not the most handsome man, but she conveyed as always, movement and emotion, concern in the eyes, the sorrow in the smile. Her rendering made him haunting and beautiful.
Amari's tender motions as she measured spaces with her fingers and sketched each line spoke as well, telling anyone who was reading the language of her body that this was not any man. This was a man that the artist knew, and loved. When she drew in the final line of the eyes that brought the light to them one of the men gasped. The commander shot him an glare. Amari finished a few lines, eyebrows and hair, then put down the pen and, for a moment. No one moved. Finally the commander took the paper in front of her in his hands and looked it over.
The man snorted. “All right.” He said. “She's an artist. I am not sure what this proves.”
“She is a woman of skill. She is in my service as law dictates for three years and I will not relinquish her. She is worth more to me than she would be to any Sanri trader.” I stood and inched, carefully between Amari and the men “She is not dangerous.”