Kushiel's Chosen

we go?"
    He had spoken truly; Nahum ben Isaac made no comment on my clothing, but merely sat me down at a desk and brought forth a scroll from the cabinet in his study. Joscelin sat quiet on a stool. "Now," the Rebbe said decisively. "We will see." Unfurling the top of the scroll, he revealed the opening words of the Be'resheith. With a pointer, he indicated the first sentence. "You will read until I tell you to stop. And then you will tell it to me again, in your own tongue. And we will see."
    Following the pointer-it was a holy scroll, one used for services, which may not be touched by human hands-I read aloud in Habiru, smoothly at times, faltering at others. Each time I stumbled, the Rebbe corrected me; impatiently, I thought, but then he would gesture for me to continue. When at last he motioned for me to stop, I took a deep breath, and recited the entire tale in D'Angeline, all the way through the covering of the earth with the great flood.
    The Rebbe leaned back and listened, chewing thoughtfully on his beard. Periodically, he nodded with something resembling approval; periodically, he winced.
    When I was done, he looked grudgingly at me. "You studied a translation, I suppose."
    "No." I shook my head. "I've read it in translation before, father, in the past. But you told me to study it in Habiru, and I did."
    He gave me a suspicious glare. From the corner, Joscelin spoke up. "Phèdre is a gifted linguist, father. The Queen sent her to Alba because of it."
    "Hah. I have heard that story." The Rebbe plucked a few strands of beard from his bottom lip, and gave me his cunning look. "Well, then. You will read it again, child, line by line. First in Habiru, then in D'Angeline. And perhaps- perhaps -if you make it through without too many mistakes, I will tell you a tale my own master told me, about the Sefer Raziel and the disobedience of Rahab."
    On this stool, Joscelin settled and prepared for a long wait. I sighed, and began again.
    Nahum ben Isaac was an exhausting teacher. If I thought young Seth had taught me well, I was disillusioned that day. A great many of the mistakes I made in pronunciation and translation, he had allowed me, slight as they were. No surprise, I suppose; for the first weeks, he could not even look at me without blushing. But slight mistakes accumulate, and grow to gross errors if unchecked. The Rebbe allowed me no mistakes, and halted me repeatedly during this last reading to correct some minor point until both of us were irritable with it.
    "Blame!" he said crossly, correcting me a third time; it was a mistake in translation I'd got lodged in my memory. "Not sin, blame! Blame! Only Yeshua was without sin!" Emphasizing the point, he rapped my knuckles smartly with the pointer.
    With a faint scraping sound, Joscelin surged to his feet, daggers half-drawn before he realized what he was doing. When he did, he looked mortified. "Forgive me, father! I..."
    "Are still more Cassiline than anything else." Looking up at Joscelin, the Rebbe chuckled into his beard. "Well, apostate, we will see." Fingering his khai pendant, he nodded at me. "You did not embarrass the Tanakh. Master these verses, and next time I will tell you of Rahab and the Lost Book. Maybe there is somewhat in these children's tales you may use."
    "Thank you," I said gratefully, standing. My muscles had grown cramped from sitting so long, and my mind felt taxed. Oddly enough, it was not a bad feeling. So it had been when I was a child in Delaunay's household, and he used to push Alcuin and me to cram our minds full of history and politics and language. I had fretted at it, then, though I learned. Now I knew the value of it. "I will come at your summons, father, whenever I am able."
    Joscelin, still red-faced, made his Cassiline bow. "Ya'er Adonai panav elekha, father, please accept my apology. I was half-drowsing, and did not think."
    "So like a child, you rest safely in the presence of Yeshua, hah!" The Rebbe gave his cunning smile, and poked a finger at Joscelin. "There is something to think about." He made a wave of dismissal, "Now go."
    Outside, Joscelin moved like a man in a dream, hitching the team and making ready to drive. I longed to say a word to draw him back, but what that word might be, I did not know.
    Arriving at home at dusk, all three of my chevaliers were clustered in the reception salon, with Gemma hovering over Ti-Philippe and pressing a cool, moist cloth over his right eye.
    "Don't tell me," I sighed. It had