by Steven Gould
Leland nodded. “I remember your father. I was three or four on his last visit. He sat me in his lap and told me to call him Uncle Willi.”
“That sounds like Father. I still miss him.” She shifted her ample posterior to a better seat on the padded saddle. “I remember the time your father met your mother.”
“Oh? My father doesn’t talk about her, but my brother Dillan has told me something about her. I’d appreciate hearing about it.”
“Well, I was fourteen, and lucky, because I wouldn’t have been allowed to attend the ball if I’d been anything but the granddaughter of the high steward. Your father was there with your grandfather, of course. He should of have been, oh, twenty-two years old? That’s right, twenty-two years old and not particularly handsome, but striking in a stern way. Your brother Dillan takes after him, I’d say, but you, Warden, take after your mother.
“She was the most beautiful creature in the stewardship. She was twenty then and had every unmarried guide in Noram after her hand. At that ball there were two fistfights over who would be next to dance with her. Imagine! Fistfights at the high steward’s ball. It was unheard of.” Margaret repositioned her hat to better block the afternoon sun.
“Well, your father didn’t even try to dance with her. He’s smarter than that. No, he asked the Guide Alethea to dance instead. Do you know who she was?”
Leland nodded. “My grandmother.”
“That’s right.” Margaret chuckled. “Your mother’s mother. When they finished dancing, the Gentle Guide Alethea took him over to where all those knuckleheads were arguing over who had the next dance with your mother and said, ‘Lillian, I want you to meet this young guide, Dulan de Laal.’ Well, your mother smiled at him but he just bowed, no expression whatsoever on his face, like granite. ‘Honored,’ I think he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, ‘Do you dance as well as your mother, Gentle Guide?’ And she said, ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ And before any of those idiots with the loud voices could say a word, she was out on the floor with him.
“They announced the engagement the next month. Father was relieved. He wanted your mother married before some idiot killed another over her.”
Leland shook his head, unused to thinking of his father that way. “I wish I’d known her better.”
Marilyn and Sylvan, accompanied by four of the high steward’s officers, came galloping back to the road just then. Marilyn had been using some of her stifled energy to gallop across a stretch of wild prairie. While they were still some distance away, Leland half bowed in his saddle and said, “Thank you so much for the story, Gentle Guide. It means a great deal to me to hear about my mother. Perhaps later we can talk again?”
Margaret eyed the approaching riders and grimaced. “So, you’re going to do your disappearing act on us again, eh? Well, go. To tell the truth, I can’t stand to be around Guide Sylvan, either, but one must go through the proper motions.” She shooed him off with a wave of her hand.
Leland smiled and rode forward to his men at the head of the column.
Marilyn reined in beside her aunt Margaret. “Talking with the warden again? I imagine he has a great deal to say on many subjects.”
Margaret sniffed. “That may well be, child, but he keeps his council on them. As I’ve said before, he knows how and when to listen.” She glanced sideways at Guide Sylvan. “Such courtesy is not very common.”
Almost as if on cue, Sylvan Montrose broke in to talk about their gallop.
Margaret, still facing Marilyn, rolled her eyes to the heavens. Then she composed her face into a smiling mask and turned to listen.
Later, after Sylvan and the officers had left them in peace, Marilyn asked, “Well, Aunt Margaret, I’m still curious. What did you and the warden discuss?”
Margaret massaged the bridge of her nose. “Well, if you must know, we talked about young love.” And, though Marilyn pressed her, she wouldn’t say another word on the subject.
Noram City, seat of the Stewardship of Noram, Jewel of Noramland, the City Without Walls, sits on a mountain, albeit a small one, surrounded by the high veldt of Noramland. The travelers saw it rise steadily from the plain as they traveled closer and closer.
In fact, the large hill was an outcropping of granite, not unlike the Needle, though much wider. The city on top was blessed with security, climate, a magnificent view, and artesian springs that bubbled forth from the rock itself. The one wide road up into the city consisted of a series of switchbacks cut out of the least precipitous face. At three places gaps in the road were spanned by wooden drawbridges. The raising of any one of these rendered the road impassable, but there had never been an occasion for their use, though they were repaired and tested regularly.
Twenty years previously, Leland’s father had been given an estate by William, for his service to the stewardship. It lay some two kilometers from the city, off the trunk road from Laal. Leland and the Eight Hundred parted company with the high steward at the turnoff.
Arthur nodded curtly at the leavetaking, Marilyn gave him an uncertain smile, Sylvan took his hand with synthetic goodwill, and Margaret hugged him impulsively. “You’ve been good company, Leland. Come see me up at Noram House.”
Leland blushed at the attention. “Of course I will, Gentle Guide. Count on it.”
The Eight Hundred rode onto the estate in parade formation. Gahnfeld told the unit halvidars, “Laal’s factor will be in attendance. The formation will be perfect.” That was all he’d said, but such was his tone of voice that more than one of the unit leaders had broken into a sweat.
They managed it, too, except at the end when one of the Seventh rode off the road into a ditch, but he was out of it so quickly that Gahnfeld chose not to notice.
Leland and Gahnfeld reined up outside of the large, three-story house and watched all of them parade past and into the freshly harvested peanut fields. Then they dismounted and shook hands with Phillip Spruill.
“Leland, Halvidar Gahnfeld. Welcome to Lillian House.” Phillip was a tall, thin, and serious-looking man around thirty. He was a good friend of Leland’s oldest brother, Dillan. He wore a formal suit with the crest of Laal on a tablet hung from his neck on a chain.
Leland smiled as he greeted him. “Thank you, Phillip. Your father and mine send their respects. I hope things are well with you?”
“Very well.” He gestured and a servant came forward to take their horses. He led them into the house. “You’ve grown.”
Leland laughed. “It’s been four years!”
“Father suggested I put you in the family’s rooms on the top floor, which leaves the guest rooms for your halvidars. Will you be needing servants for the house? When your father stays he usually brings the personnel he needs. We can, of course, call on the farmhands and their families if needed.”
Leland shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary. We will continue to operate as a military unit for the duration of our stay here.” He turned his head toward Gahnfeld. “This includes sentries. Do you have any special needs, Senior Halvidar?”
Gahnfeld nodded. “Yes, sir. Fodder for the horses, plus hay for a target range. About two hundred bales. And of course provisions for the men. We’ve enough, the supply officer tells me, for two more days.”
Phillip nodded. “Give me a list and I’ll convey it to Grissom & Sons.”
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll see to that chore, then,” Gahnfeld said.
Leland nodded. “Certainly.”
Gahnfeld left and Leland followed Phillip up the stairs. “I remember sliding down these stairs on a kitchen tray,” Leland said. “I was only seven the last time I was here. Is there still a diving platform at the pond?”
“I’ve no idea. I stay in your father’s townhouse, to be near the council.” He took an envelope from his shirt. “Speaking of things ‘official’, this arrived at the house this morning.” He handed it to Leland. “It’s your invitation to a ball, to be held in honor of the betrothal of Gu
ide Sylvan Montrose and the Gentle Guide Marilyn de Noram. It takes place a week and a half from today. There was one for myself, as well.”
Leland fingered the paper silently, staring sightlessly at the wall. “Well, won’t that be interesting,” he finally said.
They resumed climbing the stairs and came out on the third-floor landing. The master bedroom was huge, much larger than the cubbyhole Leland had shared with Anthony the last time they were here. He went to the window and stared up at Noram City rising above a line of trees on its column of granite. “Won’t that be interesting, indeed.”
Chapter 10
HITORI WAZA: INVISIBLE PARTNER PRACTICE
Guide Cornelius de Moran was trying to look at the mountains when the disturbance came.
From the office window, provided the weather was clear enough, you could see the dark smudge of the Preean Alps, or at least a tiny portion of those mountains. You had to crane your neck to one side and stand on tiptoe to see through the gap between the bell tower and the barracks of the city guard. The gap was framed below by the guard’s stable, effectively blocking any view of the high plains that stretched between Noram City and the mountains.
But you could say that the office had a mountain view.
Guide Cornelius was having trouble stretching his neck as he aged. He wished to see the mountains through that window while he still could.
From outside the office Cornelius heard running footsteps echoing up the stairwell. He straightened his neck and thumped down onto his heels from tiptoe. He just managed to open the door before the running footsteps reached it.
Senior Librarian Potter, bent over, lungs heaving from his run up the stairway, leaned against the door frame, reached out, and knocked on Cornelius’s face.
“Dammit, man! Watch what you’re doing!” He put a hand to his forehead and winced.
Potter turned bright red. “Sorry! Oh, malnutrition! I didn’t see you open the door.”
“Idiot!” Cornelius said. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear you pounding up the steps?” He backed into his office, a hand still to his face. “Well, what is it? Has someone torn a page in one of your copies?”
Potter, still gasping half in embarrassment, half in exhaustion, shook his head. “No, Chancellor. Someone is reading from the shelf.”
Cornelius whirled, his head forgotten. “The shelf? The marked one?”
“Yes, Guide.”
“You’re sure he’s not just browsing, flipping through the pages?”
“Positive. He’s been reading the text on particle physics for the last hour and a half. He’s been scribbling many equations down on paper. I walked behind him to shelve a book and couldn’t make sense of them. There were several integral signs and some summations but I couldn’t comprehend the steps.”
Cornelius sat down in his desk chair and stared for a moment at the wall. “Well,” he finally said. “Who made the leap? Was it one of our professors or a student?”
“Neither,” Potter said, eyes wide. “It’s a stranger!”
“Calm yourself. Describe him.”
“He arrived this morning attended by four armed guards. He paid the fee to have their horses kept in the school’s stable during the day. He’s young, perhaps twenty-one, and very quiet. Lorenzo said he asked a few polite questions about the organization of the library, then spent the remainder of the time going from advanced text to advanced text.”
Cornelius shook his head and hobbled over to his cane, leaning against his desk.
“Must I do everything? Potter, you’re a fine librarian and as fine a hand at calculus as I’ve ever seen, but sometimes you distress me.”
Potter looked at the floor. “Yes, Guide.”
“Don’t look so pitiful. Send one of your assistants to ask the guards who our scholar is. When you know, come back and meet me at the bottom of the stairs. I want to meet this young man.”
Leland didn’t exist.
The books didn’t exist.
He was a fish immersed in water. He flowed, he glided, he twisted sinuously through concepts, ideas, formulas, and words. At midday rites he surfaced enough to send the guards out to feed themselves before he sank back into the current without a ripple.
In the middle of the afternoon he closed a book and, in the midst of rising to get another, found himself facing an old man, standing with the aid of a cane. He blinked, fought down sudden irrational annoyance at this intrusion. The feeling brought him further out of his immersion. He became Leland again and all the associated concerns of that person returned.
“Good morning,” he said, then remembered sending the guards out at midday. “I mean good afternoon.”
The old man smiled and stepped closer. “Good afternoon to you, Warden.” He half bowed. “I am Cornelius de Moran, Chancellor and Chief Archivist of the library.”
Leland bowed low. “I am honored beyond speech.”
“Oh, come now. Get up. I’m not the high steward.”
“No, Chancellor, to my mind you’re more important.”
Cornelius looked around to see if anyone was within hearing. “Don’t mouth nonsense, Warden. Besides, regardless of any truth or falsehood such a statement contains, speaking it can get you in serious trouble in this city.”
Leland frowned. “Surely the high steward realizes the importance of the Great Library?”
Cornelius shrugged. “The high steward is greatly concerned with, how should I put this…place and position. There are many here in the capital who use this preoccupation. Your statement would mutate in the retelling. Its meaning would shift from respect for learning and the customs to high treason.”
Leland shrugged. “I suppose, then, that I should keep my tongue still around here. The steward certainly doesn’t seem to care much for me as it is. No sense in causing more harm.” He motioned to the side. “May I fetch a chair for you, Chancellor?”
“Actually, Warden, I was about to take tea. I was hoping you would join me if you’re at a stopping point.”
“Gladly.”
Cornelius led Leland into another room where a tea service had been set up.
When Leland saw the nutcakes on the side, his stomach growled.
Cornelius lowered himself into a chair and waved Leland to another. He smiled and said, “Perhaps you could pour, Warden. My hands shake and tend to spill things.”
Leland poured two cups and offered the nutcakes. “I notice there are three cups. Are we expecting someone else?”
“Hopefully,” said Cornelius. “One of my favorite students has been gone from the city and has just returned. We usually have tea together when she’s in residence.”
Leland had just taken his first bite when he realized who Cornelius must be talking about. He continued chewing mechanically, the cake suddenly tasteless in his mouth. He took a swallow of the tea to wash it down. “That would be the Gentle Guide Marilyn de Noram?”
“Yes. I take it you had occasion to speak with her during her travels?”
Leland nodded. “Yes. She and her father spent time with us in Laal before and after the trip to Cotswold. She was collecting medical texts. My troops and I had the honor to escort the high steward’s party from Laal to here.”
Cornelius beamed. “Ah. We’re very pleased with the Gentle Guide Marilyn.” Leland nodded and drained his cup. He heard light footsteps in the distance that were heartrendingly familiar. “I’m afraid I must leave now, Chancellor. I promised our factor I would be at his office before midafternoon.” He stood. “I’m already late.”
Cornelius spoke quickly. “Surely you can send a message to your factor and spare an old man a few more minutes.”
Leland bowed low. “I’m sorry. If it were my own business I would gladly do it, but it is my father’s and hence Laal’s.”
Cornelius raised his eyebrows. “If you must, Warden.” He waved a hand in dismissal. As Leland walked out the door that led away from the footsteps, Cornelius called out softly, “She’s never here in the mornin
gs.”
Leland nodded without turning, then went on.
It hadn’t been a lie—Phillip really had been expecting Leland at Dulan de Laal’s townhouse. The urgency was a matter of interpretation.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Leland said when ushered into the main salon.
Phillip and another man stood when he entered. “That’s all right, Leland. Andre spent the time getting my measurements. We’d only just sat down.”
Leland spent the next half hour being thoroughly measured by the tailor.
“And what are we looking for in the way of fabrics, Guide?” Andre asked. He pointed to the samples strewn across a desk. “Something ornate, or do you prefer a more classical cut?”
Leland looked helplessly at Phillip. “I don’t know. Something comfortable, I hope.”
Phillip looked at Leland studiously. “Well, he’s got the figure to wear something simple. Slim hips, broad shoulders. Something dark, perhaps, with just a touch of gray trim at the collar and sleeves.”
Leland ran his fingers through the samples, musing. Something occurred to him and he began looking in earnest. “Andre,” he said.
“Yes, Warden.”
“Could I have these two samples, do you think?” He held up two small scraps of cloth—one sandy brown and the other a drab green.
“Surely you aren’t considering those colors for the ball?” Leland laughed. “Oh, no. Just a small project of my own.”
“Keep them, by all means,” said the tailor. He picked out a pair of cloth pieces in black and silver. “Perhaps this for the ball? It’s silk from Nouvelle France.”
When Leland didn’t say anything, Phillip nodded. “Yes, and maybe something stiff for the collar?”
“I know just what you mean, Guide. I’ll have both suits ready for fitting by Saturday.”
“Good,” said Phillip, and escorted the man out.
Leland stared out the window until Phillip returned. The view from the study was unobstructed by higher buildings. Leland saw a thunderstorm far out on the plain dropping rain kilometers away. Lightning played about its dark belly, barely visible through the bright afternoon sunlight. Still, he could imagine the force of the storm and its local winds.