Fatima looked Amro over one more time. Carrying Layla had left his uniform filthy. He wiped tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, still chuckling. It was the child's misunderstanding of something he had done that had caused the situation, but he was right. He had no business correcting it. He'd brought the child back safely, and that really was as far as his responsibility went.

Given how they'd treated him, Fatima was surprised that he'd stepped in to do anything at all.

Frustrated, she waved her hand at him. "Go. Off with you."

The Amro lifted his hands again and backed away a few more steps before heading back across the bridge. His Durrish friend followed behind, shaking his head.

"Can't believe they treat you like that," his Durrish friend said, shaking his head as they turned to leave. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

Amro shrugged, then inspected his knuckles. "I got to punch Rimmer. That's always a good day." Still, Amro spoke in Durrish. He clearly understood Hannish, so why wouldn't he answer in Hannish?

That wasn't a question she could ask right now, though. Asking him personal questions would imply that he had a place with them. He did not. That he'd assimilated with the Durs enough to feel comfortable walking around with his hair uncovered was proof enough that he wanted nothing to do with the Hans in Lockton. However, there was another side to this incident, and Fatima had to wait several hours to speak with Jamila. She had only just started her shift at the weaving factory.

Until then, she turned on her heel to deal with Layla.

Layla was sobbing uncontrollably when she arrived. Getting any kind of coherent story out of the child was going to be impossible until she calmed down. Fatima took a seat and waited, sending Fila away to deal with the other children.

Nearly half an hour passed before Layla calmed to blubbering hiccups.

"I'm sorry, Gramma," Layla said. "Aunt Jamila said Amro gave her ten shang for a hug, and I thought... my hugs are really good, and maybe he'd pay for one of my hugs! I didn't know it was adult hugging!"

"Then how did you find him?" Fatima asked.

"I got to the market, and then a man grabbed my hair. I screamed, and Amro punched the man and saved me," Layla said, rubbing her eyes with her filthy hands. "Then he took me to a big building where a lady with hair like sunshine looked at me." Looking at Fatima with red-rimmed eyes, Layla scooted closer. "Gramma, Amro is nice. He wasn't mad about me getting him dirty. He said he's mad about how we're treated. He wants to do something to help us, but he said he doesn't have any money." She shuffled, looking down, trying to find a way to explain what she'd overheard. "He said he wants to do something that... regrows. But we don't trust him, so it wouldn't matter what he did for us. That's what he said."

Fatima squinted. Layla wasn't prone to lying, but she was seven. Her understanding of what Amro had said might have been flawed. "And he told you this?"

"He was talking to Sir Timmons." Layla looked down, picking her nails. "The way grown-ups talk when they think I'm asleep." Her tone was grumpy. "I'm not stupid. I'm not deaf. Why do grown-ups do that?"

That seemed to be her only complaint about Amro.

"You really like him?" Fatima asked.

"He smells nice and his hair is really soft. And he saved me from the bad man. And then he took me somewhere to make sure I wasn't hurt," Layla explained. "I shouldn't have been there, but he saved me." She looked up at Fatima, eyes watering again.

"You touched his hair?" Fatima asked, feeling like her heart was about to stop.

"He didn't seem to mind."

"Aie," Fatima whimpered. "You know better than to touch a man's hair."

"But he leaves it out."

"He's just doing as Durs do. That doesn't make it right," Fatima explained.

"But why do men have to cover their hair?" Layla asked, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Long ago, when humans were young and stupid, a man had the audacity to say that his hair was more glorious than Ifri's. He boasted how his hair was so fine that his wives could spin thread with it and embroider cloth."

Layla gasped.

"Ifri heard this man's mockery and burned the man's hair away, exposing his head to the hot sun. The man had to hide his head in shame, and any man who didn't do the same suffered as well. Men wear tabba to show humility to Ifri."

"Will Amro lose his hair, then?" Layla asked, genuinely concerned for him. "That would be a shame, his hair is so pretty."

"Perhaps Ifri has not seen," Fatima hedged. "But he should cover it anyway. A man's hair is for his family to see, not the world. Shameless boy."

**

"Matron Tundra," Oregano said as he knocked on the door to Tundra's office.

Opening her eyes, Tundra lifted her head from the back of her chair to look at the man. "What is it?"

"Your son is in the hospital."

Sighing, Tundra set her head back down. Lifting her hand, she waved Oregano away. "Just pay the fine like always. Nyltia Bless, that boy is too much trouble."

Oregano stayed in the doorway.

Lifting her head again, Tundra sighed gustily and kicked her slave aside. Of course this would happen when she'd finally gotten the idiot to understand that she wanted a foot massage. At the interruption, the slave had stopped putting any pressure into his work and was just poking at her feet. "What is it, then?"

"Do you honestly not care about him?" Oregano asked, looking disappointed. "He's your son. He's in the hospital."

"He undoubtedly did something else despicable. So who beat him? I'll have the culprit punished. Will that be enough?"

Oregano blinked at her in horrified disgust.

"Don't you dare judge me."

Turning, he left.

Frustrated, Tundra got to her feet, kicking her slave in the shoulder on her way. "High Priest Oregano. How dare you walk away from me!"

"Tundra," Oregano snapped, turning to face her in the hall. "I used to be your friend, but I swear, every year, I recognize you less and less. You may have never wanted the boy, but that's no reason to treat him the way you have. He just wants your love, and he shouldn't have to earn it. He acts like a monster because he's reflecting you."

Gasping, Tundra reeled back, clutching her chest.

The stone of the hallway echoed and amplified the sound, making it sound more like a scream than it actually was.

It took a moment, but the door to High Priest Page's office opened. She stuck her head out to squint at the pair. Tundra turned to scowl at her deputy. "Mind your own business," she ordered.

Page's expression turned stonier, and she stepped out. "Actually, I'd like to hear what's going on to make you scream like that."

"None of your business." Tundra shoved past Oregano. After two steps, she realized she'd forgotten her shoes and shoved past him again to return to her office and get them. Her slave was sitting on the couch like he owned it. Furious, she grabbed him by the hair, dragging him up. "I've told you to stay off the couch, you flea-ridden scum!" she shouted.

The boy tumbled to the floor, landing hard with a yelp. She didn't stay to see if he was alright and shoved past both Page and Oregano.

"Don't you dare go telling people I didn't go to my son," Tundra snapped, jabbing a finger at the two. Furious, she left the Temple.

It was not currently pouring rain, but the temperature was rapidly dropping, and Tundra had forgotten her coat in her office. She was not going back to get it. Deciding that it would look better for her to be seen running down the street without a coat, she sucked up the discomfort and started off.

I swear I'm going to get whoever did this hanged. Just for the mere fact that they've inconvenienced me.

Hurrying her steps, Tundra's breath puffed frosty in the air. Her foot hit a slick patch on the cobblestones, and she nearly tumbled. Catching her balance, she scowled more. At least the activity was keeping her warm. The hospital was only a few buildings up the street, and she arrived within ten minutes. Panting and hot, Tundra went to the front desk. "I want to see my son." She pitched her voice loudly enough for others to hear, sure that they would be amazed at how great a mother she was. She'd run from the Temple without a coat to see her son in the hospital.

It took quite a lot to keep the smirk off her face.

The woman at the desk flipped through her book. "He's in room S-one-twelve. If you go through that door and turn right."

Tundra didn't let her finish her directions and brushed past the desk.

This was the first time she'd been in the hospital, but she didn't care about getting lost. Now that she'd been seen coming, the longer she loitered, the better it would look for her. She did turn to the right, but she could see that the first room straight across from the door was a triage area where people were being given a quick evaluation. A half dozen men and women sat on benches in the room, attended by the nurses employed at the hospital. This time, Tundra couldn't stop the sour disgust that twisted her mouth. Unwashed rabble like that didn't deserve medical care. She turned and started down the south hall, following the room numbers on the doors until she got to the twelfth.

Without knocking, she entered.

Rimmer lay on the bed, his head encased in some wire contraption that held his mouth shut. His eyes brightened. A smile pulled at his swollen lips.

"Fighting in the street again," Tundra said, folding her arms. "Goddess' mercy, you can not stop making trouble for me, can you?"

Rimmer's smile faded, his eyes flicked away to land on the far wall. She knew he wasn't going to look at her again the rest of her visit. All the better. He looked like that idiot who sired him. Fucking fool who thought Tundra could actually love him.

"I'll have to thank whoever did it this time. That contraption on your head means I won't have to hear your obnoxious complaints for a while," Tundra continued. "You are truly the worst decision I ever made. I could have easily found stairs to throw myself down."

A noise behind her caught Tundra's attention. She turned to look as the door cracked open. One of the other doctors employed at the hospital poked his head in. "Matron Tundra," he greeted.

Smiling, Tundra smoothed her hair back into the bun she kept it in. "Doctor. How is my son?" I hope he's dying, crossed her mind. Wouldn't that get her sympathy? She'd already lost her husband, then her son died too soon from street thugs!

She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning and lowered her eyes.

The doctor sighed. "His jaw is broken, and he has prior injuries of a broken nose and ribs. If he'd come to us weeks ago, we could have done something to set his nose, but it's already healed in position. Unless we break it again, I'm afraid that's how it's going to be."

"Oh my! I had no idea! He's been hiding in his room this whole time!" Tundra cried softly. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed her eyes. "I had no idea. I would have sent him to the hospital immediately if I'd known!"

Rimmer's lips trembled. He couldn't speak to refute her. Perfect. Just stay silent, you useless boy.

"Do you know who did this to him?" Tundra asked. "I cannot allow such ruffians to wander the streets!"

"I'm afraid I don't. You'll have to ask Captain Raccoon," the doctor admitted. "One of his men brought your son in."

"I'll go straight there," Tundra vowed. No I won't. First I'm going to get my jacket.