The Builder tya-1

by P. S. Power

  It wasn't so much that he figured it out as that Varley had explained it to him the night before over dinner. The girl might be young, but she was a font of information that he desperately needed, and what was perhaps more important, she'd figured out that he actually would be required to know things like that. So, flashy gold covered rooms weren't as tasteful as simple polished wood? He'd have never guessed that without help. Not in time. What was more, wood cost a lot less. So when he built a house for Trice and himself to live in he wouldn't have to purchase gold leaf in bulk to try and cover every available surface. Good to know. He could save that money to buy nails. Not that he was going to ever marry the girl, but if they kept up the whole charade long enough, he'd have to make it look good, like he really meant for her to stay with him.

  Well, even after she broke things off, it would leave him with a house, right? He had to live somewhere after school.

  They all said goodbye publicly, which was fine, even if a little awkward at the end when Connie broke away from her family to say goodbye to him personally at the door of the carriage. She hit him with a lingering kiss no less warm than the ones Trice had been giving him, which made him blush. Everyone else chuckled for some reason, except for his… Tor stopped breathing for a second as it hit him again. Except for his fiancee. She just laughed joyfully for a few seconds.

  “Hey!” She said suddenly. “Aunt Connie, stop trying to molest my future husband! At least until after the honeymoon, you'll wear all the new and shiny off of him…”

  Tor suffered a bit, blushing as Rolph laughed at him and pushed him away from his mother slightly. Looking for a distraction Tor remembered the package sitting on the seat of the carriage and called Burks over and handed it to him without ceremony. It was wrapped in plain canvas, so it wouldn't look like a big deal or anything Tor hoped. After all the guy seemed a lot less into all the trappings of power and stuff than a lot of the others in the Capital were. Not for himself at least.

  It was just a set of flying gear, a shield and temperature plates for his house or room. Tor didn't know where the man lived or even if he had a wife and kids. He wasn't old, but at about thirty easily old enough for all those things. Today he was dressed really nicely, in a deep green outfit that looked very proper. Was he switching over to working in the dining room of the guest house now that Tor was out of his hair? If so he must be in charge, the clothing was rich looking. The man didn't open the package standing there, but smiled, so hopefully it wouldn't be too lame as gifts went. Not that Burks had ever mentioned wanting any of that stuff, but what else did Tor have to give?

  The carriage ride was fun, if a little awkward, because Sara kept staring at him with a slightly sad smile. He rode with Trice, Rolph and Sara, the other carriage holding Count Thomson and the Morgans. Behind them three more vehicles, all nice looking wagons, followed with the trunks and gear they had.

  The Count and Trice's parents wore nice clothing, silk shirts and leather trousers, which was becoming popular for flying clothing among the very few rich people that could afford to get their own flying stuff already. Most of that came, he was told, not from Debri house, which was selling almost exclusively to the military on those items, but from the black market. People actually stealing things from Debri house, or worse, the military, to sell at incredibly inflated prices. The clothes looked nice however, the new flying “uniform”.

  Tor wore his student browns and so, to everyone's amusement, did Rolph. The girls wore blacks that looked newer and softer than the heavy brown clothing did. It didn't just look softer Tor noticed, feeling the fabric as Patricia leaned against him. The material had an almost buttery feel to it, however that worked. It kind of made Tor want to run his hands all over her, which, of course, wouldn't be right. It would have been too much if they were really getting married, if he pushed it now, in this fake thing, she'd probably stop being his friend altogether. Who could blame her?

  Finally having his friends all together, and no one else listening, Tor felt safe enough to ask some questions that had been bothering him for a while, but that he hadn't wanted to bring up in the palace since he was pretty sure that everything there was listened to by someone. Probably just servants, but showing them all how stupid and ignorant he really was wouldn't help anything. But, if he was really going to be around people like Trice and Rolph for a long time, he needed to have some kind of handle on things, right? Taking a deep breath he jumped in, hitting what he hoped would be obvious stuff first.

  Trice didn't laugh at him, to his relief even Rolph didn't, which baffled him for a few seconds, because his large friend, never showing maliciousness in it, often at least chuckled when Tor let his lack of knowledge about royalty show. This time Rolph just sat quietly and waited for Trice to explain.

  “OK. That's actually a good question.” She said looking at him warmly. “The reason my mom is a Baroness and not a Duchess is because she's a Baroness in her own right. Meaning she holds the title herself, so it trumps a higher one by marriage. If she didn't have a real title of her own, say if Aunt Connie had been born first, instead of two years later, then she'd be the Baroness and mom would use the Duchess title, but it wouldn't count as much, because it's only by marriage. So, if, gods forbid, dad were to die, she wouldn't reign in the duchy, my older brother Mark would.” Leaning in to him she wiggled a little, probably on purpose, so that more of them ended up touching.

  If nothing else, Trice could sell an act pretty well. It was almost like she'd practiced it or something. Then again, she was a special school student, maybe that's what they had in place of morning meditations?

  “So mom will always be Baroness, no matter what. Even if dad won a greater title somehow, but that's so rare that no one ever counts on it. Your getting that Squire's position as a full Knight Esquire is… huge. Really I didn't think it would happen. Most knights are already titled, and it's kind of a side step promotion for them. I know that Rolph said… but still… Yeah, anyway, even if mom had married Uncle Richard like originally planned, she'd still be Baroness Thorgood too. That doesn't change with marriage.”

  Tor didn't know how to ask what had happened that caused the change of who married who. They all seemed friends now, Connie, Mercy and Richard, so maybe it was best left unasked? He didn't want to stir things up if they were resting quietly or anything, even with their kids. That kind of thing could cause feuds, and even wars, he guessed, if royalty was involved.

  So he was surprised when Trice said she just didn't know the story without his asking. Rolph sat up a little straighter and leaned forward as if getting ready to tell a big secret.

  “Alright, I wasn't forbidden from telling this story, it isn't a secret or anything, but there are some things… probably best kept quiet in general. Dad thought I needed to know, so he told me this the other day, the whole story intertwines with many others of course, like all good tales do.” The carriage shook, going over cobble stones, meaning they were nearing the outer wall, the gate drawing near.

  “When dad was a kid, he and his brother were sent off for special tutoring with Count Lairdgren, where our school is now actually. I mentioned the other day how dad virtually knelt before the man when they met? Unusual to say the least, because the guy's only a Count right? But it turns out he's not just a Count… He's an ancient.”

  Patricia gasped and stiffened under Tor's hand.

  “Seriously? They're real?” She looked baffled, searching Rolph's face for a hint that he was joking.

  “I know! That's what I said too and I'm sure that the look I gave him was at least as disbelieving. I mean, ancients? That's a tale for children right? But no, Lairdgren is one, the Green man, which is why his coming to sign mere Squire papers for Tor is big. Huge really. Like if dad went to Two Bends to witness a random wedding or something. I mean, we all know that Tor's a big deal, but…” This last was for Tor, at least if the significant look Rolph was giving him was any indication.

  “Back then they had their own little s
chool. Dad, mom, Uncle Kedrin, Aunt Mercy, Uncle Eric, some guy named Glost Serge, who's now some high muckity in Austra of all things and Lairdgren's daughter. Apparently at one time or another they all fell in love with each pairing in some kind of comedy of errors, and dad and mom just ended up being together when time came to marry. Grandfather was going to enforce the original marriage plans, but Lairdgren wouldn't let him. Apparently said that trying to force things never worked out well or something so Granddad relented, because who would argue with an ancient? Not much of a tale, except the whole ancient thing…”

  Tor looked at Sara, who shrugged at him. He got the whole marriage thing now, the two kids had fallen in love and arranged marriage or not, they went ahead with the love match. He'd heard of that at least, it was in some of the stories his sisters liked to hear at bedtime for instance. Really, wasn't it what he and Trice were pretending at right now? But ancients? Like old people or something? Tor nearly asked, but Sara did instead, clearly just as perplexed as he was.

  Trice answered. “Right, I didn't know that you wouldn't have them in your kid's stories too, but basically the ancients are people from the time of great change, thousands of years ago. Supposedly, or so the story goes, there were six to nine people, the number varies, that were there as the world started to fall apart. Some old society had nearly destroyed the world or something. Normal stuff… they made bad choices, got greedy and used things up instead of controlling themselves. Really I always figured those as instructional stories, you know, don't set your own house on fire if you're locked inside, waste not want not, prudence before greed, that kind of thing?

  “Anyway, these people all set out and started their own societies, based on different principles and technologies. Noram based on magic, Afrak on the manipulation of family lines, Austra on the old machines and science, Soam on harmony and love. But supposedly, for some reason the original six or so people are still alive. Some lost trick or something. We call them the ancients. Each has a color associated with them, White, Gray, Black, Brown, Red and Green.”

  That, apparently, was the heart of it. Tor almost laughed. Obviously these were just children's tales and the King was simply having one on with his son. Still, if the King wanted them to believe that the Count of Tor's county was some ancient fellow from a kiddie book, then who was he to gainsay the man? It didn't matter one way or the other, so he could go along with it. Why not? It was certainly more entertaining than the world just being what he'd always been told it was.

  Once they finally got up in the air, hours later, Tor found that the new flying rigs, which he hadn't gotten to test himself before, were more sensitive in the controls, but flew wonderfully once he got used to it. What had taken them all nearly seven hours to cover before they managed in less than four now. He had to pull into the front by a good ways and start slowing down waving his right hand to signal everyone to stop when he started recognizing landmarks on the ground.

  It was embarrassing, but he had to have them fly back about ten miles, because he'd overshot the tiny village without noticing it at all. It was in the forest, under a canopy of pine trees for the most part, except the outlying farms. They worked their way towards it much more slowly and landed in the center of the main street gently, dodging trees on the way down, luggage settling along the road, a beaten dirt path, but dry this time of year, since they all had to be spread out to keep from hitting each other.

  Count Thomson hadn't even landed all the way when Tom, the mayor of the village, ran out of his blacksmith shop and started greeting everyone.

  “Lairds! Swel'com ter Stewbens! Swel'com!” He gestured around the street at the few tiny buildings that lined it. “Ple'sure sars, 'an we halp you?”

  Everyone looked at Tor, baffled. Ah! They couldn't understand? He'd forgotten how thick the local accent could sound, almost like a foreign language unless you listened hard. It wasn't though, not really. Mainly at least. For one thing it was far more irregular than a language would have been, people making up their own variations of words on the fly. It was fast and changed from conversation to conversation. The root of the words were there though all the time, you just had to learn to listen for them.

  Tor smiled and translated for them.

  “He said; Lords, welcome to Two Bends, the pleasure of having you is ours. Can we help you?”

  Tom stared at him for a second, his eyes going huge.

  “Lil' Storence Baky? Wha'cher fly boutfer? Yer werk'en on fer great lairds now? Baky fer'm?”

  Torrence laughed and explained.

  “This is the village mayor, Tom, he wants to know why I'm flying about and if I'm working for you as a baker now.” He stepped closer to Tom, trying to figure out how to explain everything quickly in a way the man could understand.

  “Na'Tom, n'baky fer'm. Dis'be Laird Duke Morgan, h'wif an gel. Ehm… Goldy gel be high merchie kid an der redyboy's me frien an ower school. Gian'be Count Thomson. Dis'n here t'meet ma's fer to marry me!”

  Then he had to explain that he just introduced them all and told the man that they were here to see his mother. Everyone looked amazed as if speaking like this was special. If they wanted special they should realize how hard it was to speak like they did all the time. Enunciating every word carefully and hitting all the hard consonants took practice. Plus you always had to use each word exactly right to be understood.

  He managed to break off from Tom, the man obviously wanting to go and get the whole town out to meet the guests, which would be annoying at the moment, and walked the group over to the bakery to protect them from that fate. They resettled the trunks in front of the building, not that anyone would steal anything, he told them, but just so that if anyone came through with a horse or wagon they wouldn't be in the way. No need to make anyone else's day more stressful, right? Seeing the luggage, most of the people in Two Bends would just wait for the obviously important people to move it, without ever asking them to or anything pushy like that.

  Tor felt like he should have written ahead or something, even though there hadn't been time for it. He just hoped everyone would be alright with the sudden influx of strange people. His parents were great, but Two Bends got something like three visitors a year most of the time and as far as he knew none of them had ever been royals at all. Or flown in.

  Then again Tom hadn't seemed overly shocked by the flying, just a bit like he wondered why Tor was doing it, so possibly the village had at least heard of it. He walked to the un-porched front of the drab, unpainted bakery, the wood looking weathered and poor after the gleaming white walls of the Capital. He'd warned them all, but felt uneasy and embarrassed. Well, if they were going to pull out of the arrangement, this was the time to do it. He could almost bear it right now, if he was told he just wasn't good enough for a fine lady like Trice. After all, that was just the truth. If it had gone on longer, if they'd gotten even closer, then it would probably kill him to lose her.

  Tor wanted to kick himself as he thought that, because he knew, for a fact, that it would end sooner or later. He needed to grow up and adapt to the new world he was in and not let himself get too close to Trice. It was enough that she was his good friend, right? It was hard to remember with all the kissing, but that, really, was the important thing. If he could just keep that, it would all be worth it.

  He didn't even have his hand on the door when it burst open and three small projectiles hit him hard, taking him all the way to the ground in a heap of tiny bodies.

  “S'torence! S'torence!” The little voices squeaked at him as they climbed all over him for a few seconds, then the older two stopped, eyes going wide as they looked at the strangers. His sister Tara, who was only seven, hid behind him and pulled little Taman, the youngest, behind her protectively. His brother Terry looked at the newcomers with a tilt of the head.

  “S'whos des?”

  Tor explained who everyone was and asked if dad and mom were around. A few seconds later his father, wearing a buff colored heavy apron with more than a l
ittle flour on it walked out of the shop, clapping his son on the back heartily. He looked like a baker, but Tor just shrugged. If that wasn't impressive enough for his friends, then they shouldn't have come to a bakery, right?

  “Dad,” Tor used his home accent naturally with his father, who wouldn't have understood him if he hadn't, most likely. “These are my friends and, well, this…” He took Trice's hand and smiled. “This is Patricia Alyson Morgan. She's agreed to marry me, if you and mom say it's alright. They're really good people, even if a trifle over tall. These are her parents… Can I, do you think?”

  His father laughed and walked towards the Morgans, dwarfed by their great height but not overly intimidated for some reason. He held out his hand to Eric and shook with the man, patting his arm like they were old friends. Natural enough, he'd have done the same if Tor had come home with a girl from one village over and her parents. He also shook with Mercy who smiled at him and said hello.

  In his thick dialect he explained that Tor's mother would be out in a few moments, since she had some berry pies to watch in the oven. It wouldn't do to let them burn after all. He offered them all a drink, the local hard cider or water, since they hadn't been expecting any guests and that's what they had chilled in the spring house, well that and some fruit juice for the kids. But you didn't offer juice to adults, he mentioned to Tor with a sideways glance and a small smirk. His da always teased him a little about not drinking and had for years.

  Tor went with him to the small shack about a hundred yards from the back of the bakery, away from the house by twice that distance, where a natural spring burbled out of the ground.

  “Tor! So… well, I guess we'll get the story of how you managed to rope the poor girl into marrying some Two Bends kid later, what is she? Merchant from the city?”