Storms Over Open Fields

by G. Howell

  As we crossed the meadow of barely-domesticated wild grass that was the Rris idea of a lawn I could see there were two Rris waiting for us on the back verandah. Tichirik was quite recognizable: perfectly poised, perfectly groomed, quietly standing with a neatly-folded change of clothes in her arms and water on the table. Impeccable timing as usual. As the household major domo cum butler she managed the rest of the household servants and seemed to always be there when I needed her. Damn good at her job and doubtless a government spy. I was pretty sure that nothing went on in that house that wasn’t reported in triplicate to an office somewhere in the Palace.

  The adolescent Rris with her wore the tunic of a palace messenger and a flustered expression. He stared at me.

  “And I thought cell phones were bad,” I sighed absently to Chaeitch. “At least they don’t hunt you down. Now what?”

  “Sirs,” Tich greeted us. “I trust you had a good constitutional.”

  “Very good, thank you,” I smiled as I accepted the fresh clothes. Chaeitch made a noncommittal grunting sound. “What’s this about?” I gestured at the page who was still staring. New to the job, I’d wager.

  His ears went flat , but he stepped forward. “Sir... a message from the palace. Important. His highness requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

  “Translation: now,” I rolled my eyes. “Chaeitch, I’m sorry, but that drink’s going to have to wait.”

  “All that running for nothing?!” Chaeitch moaned theatrically.

  “All right, you incorrigible alcoholic. We should be able to find something. Tich, there was that bottle opened last night. Can you find it?”

  I really don’t know if that corruption of her name annoyed Tichirik. If it did, she didn’t bat an eye; just said, “Of course, Sir.”

  ------v------

  The carriage waiting for me was from the Palace. As one might expect, it was an elegant affair: a closed cab of polished wood and smooth lines riding on four iron-bound, wooden-spoked wheels and expensive leaf suspension. Intricate designs were carved into the cab’s exterior panels and trim while the brass fittings for lamps and handles were polished to a mirror finish that glared in the morning sunlight. With the Rris driver in his tooled leather tunic high on the driver’s bench and the two elk in the traceries, the whole thing looked like something from a gothic fairy tale. The Brother’s Grimm on a serious acid trip.

  I still get those moments where a sight like that clashes my mental gears.

  The journey through a Shattered Water lazing under an early summer heat wave was another sort of trip. Cobbles rattled under the iron wheels as we skirted outlying fringes of the city, inward bound. We passed by clustered smaller buildings and houses constructed in the Rris fashion, with their blank facades and shadowy tunnels leading through to the central atrium. Passed by the cheaper districts where buildings huddled, sometimes leaning crazily out over the narrow thoroughfares and propped with ancient timbers against building opposite. Peeling whitewash barely covered walls of wattle and daub and unglazed windows promised cold and draughty winters. Roofs were tiled with wood and bark and fragments of slate and stone rather than ceramic. Patches of grass - and in some cases small trees - grew in high guttering where airborne seeds had landed and taken root. Arterial streets and open spaces were clotted by impromptu markets: clusters of awnings and stalls where smoky fires burned, Rris voices hissed and snarled like background static and the smells of foods, livestock, wastes and chemicals etched the air.

  Further in toward the heart of the city the construction quality changed to reflect the fortunes of the inhabitants. Buildings were larger, some several stories high. Cheap whitewash and wood gave way to stone, mortar and brick, red tile and elegant facades with painted woodwork and elaborate murals and shiny metal plaques on the walls of the guild halls. Entranceways through to central atriums were gated with fanciful wrought iron or carved wood. Glass glittered in narrow windows and elegantly attired Rris went about their business. The narrow streets and alleys became avenues, cutting in toward the hub of the central square with its fountains and trees. From there it was north along the shaded avenue, past the old remains of the curtain wall, through the up market section of the Rock - or the Nipple: Nomenclature depended upon which side of the poverty line you were standing.

  A black, wrought iron fence marched around the palace grounds. It was ornate, curled and shaped into fancies of fronds and stems, but the gilt ornamentation along the top carried a definite air of sharpness. The cleared space on either side was a new addition, instituted following some security breaches not quite indirectly related to myself. Inside all that, the grounds were expansive, with forests and wild meadows and several small streams wandering off to take an interest in the lakeshore to the west. The Palace itself lounged amidst that crafted wilderness like a self-satisfied beast sunning itself: huge and sprawling, an edifice of thousands of rooms and halls that was to Rris Land-of-Water architecture what Versailles is to French.

  The front façade was a barrage of glazed windows, hundreds of them gleaming as the sun caught them just right. Walls of pale stone blocks were sectioned by columns rising to frescoed gables supporting a copper roof painted green by the elements. It was a construction that spoke of elegance and dignity and a refinement beyond the brute bulk of a fortress. But it didn’t speak it with a human tongue.

  It was the same sensation I get when looking at Rris artwork. Their golden ratio isn’t the human one. Proportions they find pleasing aren’t the same as the ones I do. They don’t even perceive the world in the same way or through the same equipment. The architect had used numbers and alignments that just seemed ever so subtly wrong to my eyes.

  As did the wild lawns and meadows where rippling golden grasses grew in knee-high profusion and threw clouds of seeds to the winds. The sprawling grounds were all carefully tended to, they just didn’t look it.

  A driveway bored a dappled green tunnel beneath overarching oaks before emerging into fields of summer grass and sweeping up to a gravel loop at the front steps. While the legions of traders, merchants, and suppliers required to keep the Palace provisioned had to use the tradesman’s entrance around the side, I got to use the front door. And those doors did look like they belonged on a fortress; which, apparently, is exactly where they came from. Of course the guards stared as they always did, but by now they were accustomed enough to my presence to simply watch me. Just inside the massive doors Kh’hitch of Woodmaker, King’s liaison and personal dogsbody, met me. All of him. He still hadn’t lost any weight and always reminded me of a snooty plush toy dressed by a mad tailor with a fixation on blousing and clashing colors.

  He was good at his job though.

  “Mikah, you’re wet,” he sniffed, looking me up and down. “And you could have dressed.”

  “I don’t spend my days off sitting around in my finery waiting for a call from you,” I said pointedly. “I was under the impression this was important?”

  “Huhn,” he huffed. “His highness wishes to speak with you.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  “Mikah,” he warned.

  “Why, Kh’hitch, your nostrils are flaring.”

  He took a deep breath then turned and led the way. Unnecessary. I knew the layout of the place well enough by then, but for some reason most highborn Rris have issues with me wandering around their estates unattended.

  Inside, the Palace was even more impressive than the exterior had been. But then, it was designed to be. The commonly traveled routes, those seen by outsiders and visiting dignitaries, were quite stunning. It was a deliberate ‘look what I’ve got’ statement that came across every bit as clearly as a human executive’s oversized desk. Walls were papered in fine embossed velvet or satin in different hues and textures; floors were marble or polished wood inlaid with parquetry made from individual splinters of wood polished and lac
quered smooth. There were chandeliers and artworks of all sorts including indoor windchimes of crystal ringing at frequencies I couldn’t hear and wood carvings that were supposed to carry ancient scents I couldn’t smell. Paintings of landscapes and portraits were displayed in frames far more subdued than the gilt rococo monstrosities with which human artists seemed so enamored.

  Less traveled routes were merely extremely elegant.

  My moccasins were almost soundless against the floor while Rris footsteps tended to clatter slightly as expressed claws ticked against the floor. At least while I was around they tended to. A nervous reaction.

  There were always guards around the King’s offices. They were wore polished and ornate ceremonial armor which wasn’t the most functional, and I couldn’t help but notice they still carried the old flintlocks and edged weapons. I supposed the Land-of-Water Rris were still sensitive enough about the leakage of arms information to outside countries that they kept the more advanced weapons under wraps. Who guarded the guards? Huhn.

  The King’s office had always struck me as odd. It was a huge, white room in the southeastern corner of the east wing. Almost all the room was unfurnished, empty white marble and pale stone, save for the desk on the patch of carpet over in the far corner. I wasn’t sure if it was a minimalist aesthetics thing or some obscure alien political statement. The open french windows along the outer walls provided a great view of the Palace grounds, as well as a breeze. That room might have been cool and airy in summer, but in winter it was a well-lit icebox. At least to my sensibilities it was. Yet another example of how a species’ needs dictates its design requirements.

  The figure was seated at the low desk, bent over and scribbling smoothly with a fountain pen. Kh’hitch just left me standing there and retreated quietly, closing the double doors behind him.

  I strolled over to the desk and stood waiting for about a minute while the Rris king finished etching chicken-scratches across the page, blotted the ink, then folded the paper and sealed it with orange wax. That done, Hirht sat back on his cushion and cocked his head at me. “Hello, Mikah.”

  “You paiged me?”

  “I sent for you, if that’s what you mean. Yes. I’m sorry to disturb you on your day off. You were...” he looked me up and down. “You were engaged, I take it?”

  “Running, sir.”

  “Ah.” His head tipped slightly. “I heard you’ve dragged ah Ties into it?”

  Now, how had he heard that? “I had to threaten him with lack of wine. He gave in.”

  He smiled. “At least you’re in one of your good moods. There are a few things I want to talk to you about. You know that there have been frictions with more than a few of our neighbors. There have been claims that we are ‘monopolizing a unique asset’. Some of them are becoming quite in their protests.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know that word... hesira...”

  “Hesirethir’k,” he gestured. “Loud, continual, outspoken.”

  Oh. Vociferous. “I understand.”

  “You understand that that sort of situation is unpleasant for all involved? Especially for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” I sighed. It wasn’t an entirely new situation. It was something that tended to ebb and flow. Other Powers’ protests would get louder and louder and Land-of-Water would have to make placating gestures and they would simmer down, only to slowly boil over again. “What are you doing to keep them happy?”

  “Oh, not us,” he smiled.

  I hesitated. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  He gave a dismissive wave. “It’s really not so bad. You were always wanting to see more of the world, so we’re giving you a chance. You’re going to visit a neighboring kingdom as a gesture of goodwill.”

  I gave it a second’s thought. “Cover-my-Tail?”

  His ears flicked like someone had blown into them: he was openly taken aback. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” I probably shouldn’t have given that away. It was a pretty obvious choice though: an influential country, nearby, an already amicable relationship and doubtless Land-of-Water was looking for allies they could call on if other Realms started putting diplomatic pressure on them. Cover-my-Tail was a prime candidate.

  “Huhn,” he looked at me curiously. “Good guess. Yes. You will be guests of H’risnth for a while. She has graciously agreed to accommodate you while you discuss business. There will of course be a pre-drawn agenda.”

  “’Guests’,” I noticed. “Plural.”

  “Ah Ties and aesh Smither will be accompanying you. They’re both quite used to handling you; habits, food requirements and such. Ah Ties has logistical details to negotiate and we decided that aesh Smither will be a good tutor for you in matters of commercial intercourse. There are some matters we think it would not be.... ah.... politic for you to discuss.”

  “Ah. You don’t want me selling them plans for a hydrogen bomb?”

  I saw muscles in his muzzle twitch as he forced his ears to stand still. “That would be of use to them?”

  “Very limited use.”

  “Ah.” Again his amber eyes stared at my face, his head twitching as he seemed to try and read me. “You know this is a very serious matter.”

  “It always seems to be,” I sighed. “You are on friendly terms with Cover-my-Tail? This isn’t going to degrade into some political game of... cloak and dagger?”

  “Interesting turn of phrase,” he mused. “No. We’re on very friendly terms.”

  He stood, rolled one shoulder and then the other and turned to gaze out a window at the palace grounds. There were fields of long grass out there, rippling in the breeze. “Still, you seem to have a knack for finding trouble, don’t you. This has been noticed, but I don’t think it’ll be an issue here. Mikah, this is a simple trip. It’s an easy boat ride and then a straight-line talk with their highborn.”

  He turned to face me, clasping his hands behind his back. “You’ve met Lady H’risnth before. You got along together. She said she finds you quite fascinating, so if you’re polite and careful there should be no problems. Just a friendly chat.”

  “And how are the other kingdoms going to feel about this?”

  Again he looked a little surprised. “They’ll see that you’re not just working for us.”

  “So they’ll be expecting me to go on more trips. Will I?”

  “That remains to be seen. This is a test case.”

  I nodded. “And how long will this take?”

  “We’ve allocated three weeks. Three days there at the outside, with leeway for bad weather. Two weeks minimum there and then three days back.” That wasn’t unexpected. Travel time here is a great deal slower than back home.

  “And I leave, when?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” he said.

  “Short notice.” But then I didn’t have a great deal to pack. “You’ve been planning this for a while. You could have told me earlier.”

  “Things have only just been... arranged,” he said. “There was a great deal of negotiation over time spans and access rights. Mikah, you do make this job interesting. Now there was one other thing.”

  “Sir?”

  He stepped forward and stopped just in front of me, looking up and cocking his head slowly and then abruptly grinned. I flinched before realizing he was imitating my smile: a threatening gesture to the Rris.

  “None of that,” he said, smoothing his muzzle out. “You know it causes problems. Just be careful and behave. Thank you.”

  That was all. Kh’hitch collected me from the antechamber outside the doors and took me to his office. There he spent the next hour and a half hour going over my itinerary and travel arrangements in a great deal more detail.

  ------v------

  For
the past few months my life in Shattered Water had been pretty routine and I certainly wasn’t complaining. Since I’d arrive there I’d had enough excitement to last three lifetimes. I’d seen murder, assassination attempts, kidnappings, threats, fights and poisonings. My body was a roadmap of scars and knots of tissue where hostile Rris claws had torn at me. Not only hostile: some of the pale marks across my back were a legacy of my first Rris lover.

  That’s still a... complicated memory.

  Things had quieted considerably over the past couple of months. I’d taken the opportunity to try and get my new life in order. I’d brought the house by the lakeside outright with a small portion of the local currency I was being paid. I’d been able to absorb myself in my work. In retrospect, I’d been aware of the simmering undercurrents of politics, but I’d just been telling myself they’d keep to themselves. Stupid of me. Of course they’d boil over again.

  My work was essentially a transfer of knowledge. The information I held in my head and in my laptop might have been fairly mundane by my standards, but to the Rris they had worth beyond measure. There were technologies, techniques and materials they’d never dreamt of; things that could make fortunes and countries. In the months since I’d been here their steam engine technologies had rocketed from basic single expansion to triple-expansion engines built using alloys non-existent not so long ago; they were harvesting crops using automated reapers; all advances that’d taken humans centuries.

  And their weapons had undergone radical changes as well.

  Just because they’re not as informed doesn’t mean they’re stupid. A lot of Rris are a good deal more intelligent than I am. They managed to get weapons information from my laptop by hit-and-miss techniques, simply by watching me, spying on me, copying the shapes of words and letters.