“Very well,” Stevahn replied, leaning comfortably against the edge of Menders’ desk. “It’s something we seek to avoid and over the years we’ve found ways to be certain things are run as they should be. I will bring you a great deal of information the next time I’m here and of course, you may come and see me at any time. Our little institution is easy to find. It’s right across the street from that newfangled store some young Hetzophian prince started up.”
He and Borsen exchanged an amused glance, but Stevahn was dealing with business – and that was his metiér.
“In reality, I’m proposing that you will need more financial backing than you should try to provide yourselves – and you will need continuing support. Building an institution isn’t like building a monument, a single expenditure and then it’s done.
“I suggest keeping your charities private, to avoid the issue of having a board of directors and all the power struggles and slowdowns that creates – and having the backing of The Rondheim Bank and the very lucrative Borsen’s.”
The joy on Katrin’s face gave him his answer.
“I’ve felt so terrible all this time,” she finally managed. “I thought of children who needed somewhere to go where they would be cared for and here that building sits, half-finished for two years while I’ve been sick. The hospital as well. I’m grateful we used a building we already had for the old tenants, because this winter has been colder than usual. Thank you, Stevahn.”
“One provision,” he said, suddenly looking steely. “You must learn how everything we are going to do works. You can’t expect anyone else to learn it and give you the salient points. We – the bank employees and myself – will teach you. It’s vital that you understand the entire process and make good business decisions.”
Katrin nodded while Menders managed to hide a smile. Stevahn must be a formidable banker, he thought. He comes off as soft spoken and even a bit vague, but it was obvious he was a shrewd observer of people and unafraid to speak his mind when necessary.
“You told him about the chickens,” Katrin said suddenly, looking right at Borsen.
“Of course. He knows all your wickedness,” Borsen replied.
Tharak burst out laughing, then rose to his feet when Stevahn nodded to him.
“I would like to request that you consider Thrun children for your orphanage, as well as others,” he said to Katrin. “The numbers of abandoned and orphaned City Thrun boys and girls in Erdahn are staggering now. You shouldn’t take them exclusively – they should live with children of other races so that they can all learn that we are one people. I also offer that any such children, if they wish, may return to the Thrun and be welcomed into good families which will cherish them – as any City Thrun would be.”
“You know I would never turn down a Thrun child,” Katrin replied.
“Indeed I do. And I vouch for Balancing Man – after all, I have money in his bank,” Tharak pronounced.
“My little project is suddenly growing some amazing legs,” Katrin said as Stevahn convened the business meeting and began to pour more coffee for everyone.
“And so it shall. Let Pappa and me work through it, and when we come back in the spring, I’ll bring along a proposal and other information for you to consider,” he replied.
“In the spring! How wonderful!” Katrin turned to Borsen. “Will you be able to take the time?”
“He just let my surprise out,” he said, giving Stevahn an amused look. “We will be coming to visit at least once every season. I will make the time.”
“Life is coming back,” Katrin smiled.
***
Stevahn lay face down in the wonderfully soft pillows of the bed, finding out for the first time just what a kirz hangover meant. He’d been mildly drunk on the stuff a couple of times since the Thrun had appeared, but reined himself in so he hadn’t suffered to speak of the morning after. He could hold his liquor well, but Last Night, the final celebrations of the Thrun carnival had tempted him beyond caution.
He’d been astounded by the Thrun finery that abounded among The Shadows’ population – until he saw what the Thrun themselves considered Last Night adornment. All were dressed to the teeth in beautifully embroidered gowns or dresses, elaborate hats and gallons of jewelry. There had been endless food and drink, wonderful dancing and performances. To Stevahn’s amazement, Borsen was called forward to sing. He had given a stunning rendition of a Thrun story, partially spoken, partially sung, partially danced.
Tharak had come to sit by Stevahn, looking as if he had been made out of gold and then showered with jewels. His gown was magnificent and must have weighed fifty pounds. He translated the tale Borsen was singing as the hunt of a Thrun chieftain for a particular spirit bird that knew an ancient secret of how people had come to Eirdon on a falling star.
“How did he learn to do this?” Stevahn asked in wonder, watching as his firelit bonded performed as if he was a seasoned actor-singer.
“He visits much with Tharan-T’ul, whenever we are here. Tharan-T’ul passes on our legends and the way of telling them to him. Tharkul a’ Thunar is a high chieftain of our people, Thetan a’ Thrun,” Tharak smiled, never taking his eyes from Borsen’s graceful movements. “He has learned his heritage well.”
The night became wilder as it became late and Stevahn had a vague recollection of being helped to bed by Borsen.
Now he felt every single drop of the stuff he’d swallowed, and thought he might be going to die.
“It’s time to get up,” Borsen said from somewhere in the room.
“Unh.”
“Come on, it’s better if you start moving around. The Thrun are leaving, and we have to say good-bye to them.”
“Unh.”
“Come on, Stevahn, if you have something to eat you’ll feel better.”
The very idea was agony. He felt Borsen sit on the edge of the bed, pushing him, turning him over.
“You have to come and say goodbye,” he said insistently. “You’re one of them now, don’t you realize that?”
“Borsen, I’m dead.”
“I give it to you on good authority that you are breathing. House rules are that anyone who gets drunk on kirz is not allowed to complain about the hangover,” Borsen smiled, looking fragile himself.
“How come you’re not hungover?”
“I haven’t been to sleep yet.”
“What?”
“You fell asleep, I went back to the camp and sang for them some more. They always leave early. Get up.”
Borsen rose and horrified Stevahn by pouring out a quarter measure of kirz and carrying it over to him.
“Here – hair of the dog. Drink it. If you don’t drink it I’ll hold your nose and pour it down your throat.”
Stevahn gave up, somehow managed to hoist himself into a sitting position and poured the drink down his throat. He was amazed when he began to feel better within a few minutes.
“All right, Brother Persistence, I’ll go say good-bye,” he said. “You are a cruel man.”
“It’s important, Stevahn,” Borsen answered, all seriousness. “I wouldn’t have wakened you otherwise.”
The Thrun were making their camp disappear as rapidly as it had been assembled. Tharak Karak, with several of his children following in his wake, was striding this way and that despite obvious signs of having had too much kirz. He saw them and walked over.
“Ah, good, you are the first out,” he said, grinning gingerly. “You like our kirz, Balancing Man.”
“Not this morning,” Stevahn replied. Tharak laughed resoundingly.
“An hour’s walk and I will be young again,” the huge man said. “Take care of Borsen, my friend. He is precious.”
He turned to Borsen.
“And you, Reflection Of My Friend, remember that Balancing Man is the most important thing in your life. Nothing comes before the two of you.”
Tharak pulled Borsen close, then clapped Stevahn on the shoulder so hard he thought he was going to
collapse. Then Tharak looked beyond them and smiled. Stevahn turned to see Menders approaching with Katrin, Eiren and Hemmett.
After all parting words had been said, Tharak strode away to the front of the newly-formed column of Thrun, wagons and animals.
The enormous gong was struck, icicles cascaded off the house. The big horns droned, bells and small gongs were struck, and the Thrun rapidly walked away. Tharak stepped out to the side and let the column pass until only he was silhouetted against the sky.
He turned toward The Shadows, holding his arms out, palms toward the sky, at shoulder level. Then he raised his arms into a circle, his fingertips meeting over his head.
“Until The Circle Turns Again,” Borsen whispered to Stevahn. “The Thrun have no word for good-bye.”
Erdahn, Mordania
16
Toward Light
“A
letter from Surelia addressed to Waldrum the Dancing Bear?” Varnia said in confusion as she sorted through the envelopes that had just been delivered.
“Oh, that would be for me, dear,” Stevahn said with a smile, holding out his hand. Varnia and Borsen exchanged a look as he broke the seal and took out the letter. They watched as Stevahn read it, smiled broadly and then began to put it in his jacket breast pocket.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Borsen said.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s from my sister, Stellia.” Stevahn looked very innocent. “Just letting me know how things are in Surelia.”
He handed the letter to Borsen, who exchanged another puzzled glance with Varnia and then held it so they could both read it.
Darling Stev,
Only a short note this morning, as Pappa is anxious to go for his walk. He and Mamma are very much improved and are eager to return home so they may meet your Borsen. It will be difficult to get them to stay the time the doctor prescribed. You know Pappa once he has an idea in his head. They say you are very naughty for not letting them know you were bonded in time for them to send Borsen a Winterfest present!
How are you and your little jeweled grasshopper faring? How was your visit to The Shadows? I hope you enjoyed every moment! Our Winterfest was very pleasant, but I missed the winter cold and snow that is such a part of the holiday.
I must close now, Pappa is pacing up and down the hallway. But I must know – did you show everyone how very beautifully you can dance, Waldrum?
Your loving sister,
Stell
Borsen looked over at Stevahn, who had picked up a financial newssheet and was showing great interest in it.
“Why does she call you Waldrum?”
“Hmm?” Stevahn didn’t look up from his paper.
“Breakfast is about to burn, you get it out of him,” Varnia murmured to Borsen. She shook her head as she walked away, chuckling.
“Stevahn! What the hells is this about?” Borsen persisted.
“Oh, the letter?”
“Of course the letter!”
“Have you ever heard of the Waldrum The Dancing Bear books?”
Borsen nodded. “Of course – I read them after I got my first pair of glasses, trying to improve my reading. Before then I could barely read at all. There was Waldrum the Dancing Bear Goes on the Train, Waldrum the Dancing Bear Goes to Town, Waldrum the Dancing Bear Catches a Social Disease,” he answered.
“Well, I told Stellia about the time I made your glass of kirz explode and she said it sounded like Waldrum the Dancing Bear Goes to the Tailor,” Stevahn explained. “She said if I just started dancing instead of knocking things about and making them blow up, I would get the sort of attention I wanted from you. She’ll be very smug when it turns out she was right.”
“Knocking your hat off in the gutter was dancing?” Borsen laughed.
“After that. Gods, you were impressed by me knocking my hat off?” Stevahn teased. “Then you must have been mesmerized by me knocking your screen over.”
“Oh, overcome with passion,” Borsen snorted, looking at the letter again.
Suddenly Stevahn reached out and tried to take it. Borsen held it away from him.
“Give me my letter back,” Stevahn ordered.
“Pah! I’m reading, leave me alone… who is your little jeweled grasshopper?”
“Give me my letter back!” Stevahn stood and took a swipe at it. Borsen eluded him easily, jumped up and put his chair between them.
“Remember, my uncle taught me how to elude and how to fight,” he grinned. “Grasshopper? That’s what you think of me? Bug eyes, skinny legs, knobbly knees?”
Stevahn snorted in exasperation, knowing that if Borsen worked at it, he could never catch him.
“I called you that in a letter to Stellia – my little jeweled grasshopper, because of your size and looks. Not some grasshopper out in a field, but a gold one covered with jewels, something rare and singular,” Stevahn sputtered in embarrassment.
Borsen looked up at him, his almond eyes rounded with surprise.
“That – that’s beautiful,” he said softly. “I thank you, my dear.”
Then he grinned wickedly.
“I’m going to write to your sister and let her know how beautifully you’ve been dancing,” he announced, going toward his desk. “She should get to know her very attractive and adorable brother-in-law.”
“Give me back my letter, you felschat!” Stevahn couldn’t help smiling. Being called Waldrum by the likes of his onetime lover, Selnor, no longer mattered a damn.
“Here you are. I can remember the address.”
In the kitchen, Varnia shook her head and laughed out loud.
***
“Will you look at this trash!” Alahno Beregovia spat furiously as Borsen walked into his workroom at Borsen’s. He picked up a handful of gemstones and let them run through his fingers like sand. “Every piece a chunk of swarf! That Surytamian bastard switched the stones I chose for this useless garbage!”
Borsen put a hand on his new jeweler’s shoulder and looked closely at the pile of stones. They were indeed trash, flawed, some cracked, others dull or partly occluded. It was an old trick some suppliers tried, switching out the quality goods they’d shown for lesser merchandise – but it never worked more than once when they tried it with Borsen’s.
“That’ll be the end of him then,” Borsen said, stirring the glittery pile, shaking his head at the cracked and damaged stones. “What they think they gain by doing it, I don’t know, but I have quite a few crates of similar trash.”
‘They gain the damned five hundred florins I paid them! I paid them, from my own pocket!” Alahno snarled.
“Just think of all the florins they lost,” Borsen answered abstractedly, picking up a stone and holding it up to the light. He drew a chair over, settling in it and perusing the stone. “We’ll never trade with them again.”
“My friend, I’m glad you can be calm, but it was my pocket this came out of, not Borsen’s,” Alahno said, frustration ringing in his voice. He picked up a flawed gem and then flung it down in disgust. “It won’t bankrupt me, but it will cut deep into my profits for a good long while.”
“What if I find a way for you to recoup your loss and more with these stones?” Borse asked, his voice preoccupied as he picked up one gem after another and held them to the light. He reached out abstractedly and picked up Alahno’s loupe, holding it near the stones rather than against his eye, a concession to his corrected vision.
“As what, a doorstop? They’re nothing but trash, Borsen!”
Borsen looked sideways at the irate Samorsan.
“I’m an old trash-picker from way back,” he said with a glint of humor, but Alahno wasn’t amused, too distraught over the loss to his brand-new business.
“Pah, what did you ever pick through trash for?” he snapped, glaring at Borsen.
“Something to eat, usually,” Borsen said in the distant voice that indicated he was completely absorbed, peering intently at a gem that should have been a uniform gold, but was instead half-gold, half
matte black.
Alahno began to retort and then stopped. He and Borsen had met when Borsen’s family toured the Middle Continent. They gravitated toward each other in an art class where they were the only nancy men present. They had no attraction to each other, but became friends easily. Alahno’s traditional Samorsan family disowned him after he refused to join their family jewelry business, preferring instead to strike out on his own. Upon hearing this, Borsen rapidly invited him to join his growing army of craftsmen, who were given free shop space within the enormous store in exchange for a percentage of their profits.
Borsen had told Alahno he had been poor as a boy. Now Alahno knew more about Mordanian City Thrun than he had at the time he’d met his new friend. He knew Borsen had been destitute, one of the desperate Thrun who lived hand to mouth in the most literal sense.
“Here, now, could you do something like this in gold, Alahno?” Borsen asked, shaking off his abstracted daze and picking up a pencil. Within seconds he slashed out a drawing of a pendant, with space for a dagger-shaped stone – like the flawed piece he held in his hand. Some rapid shading and crosshatchings finished, he placed the stone on the paper, as if it was being put into the sketched setting.
The worthless stone was now part of a soaring, heart-lightening piece of jewelry – or would be as soon as Alahno could get his hands on his tools.
“Gods, Borsen, we could sell this for – well, more than that entire shipment of trash cost me,” he said with glee.
Borsen picked the stone up again and held it close to his eyes.
“From Darkness Into Light,” he murmured. “No, you don’t get to sell this one. I want it for a gift. But I’ll do the same for a number of those stones. You’ll make a pretty profit by the time we’re done. So soothe your nerves and get to work, because I need this first pendant before Spring Festival.”
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 52