Chapter 14
Mother and Son
A large wooden table lay before Winter, spread with a tremendous variety of food and drink. There were fruits of all shapes and colors, some whole, some diced, others pureed into drinks. Several haunches of different meats were spread throughout; smoked, sliced, steaming or chilled. Bread in almost every shape and form, from the palest white through nearly black were in baskets, with butter, oils, jellies, pastes and other spreads arranged around them. Threading through the bounty were vegetables; produce of the earth, the vine, the bush, and tree. Nuts, cheese, salads, stews – virtually every type of comestible was represented. Except for one. There was no seafood.
“Thanks Mom!” said Winter, appreciatively.
“Well”, said Devonshire, her voice much more rough than it had been in court, “you said the food was getting a bit monotonous underwater.”
“True”, he said, spreading a leaf with some intricately shaped dough in oil. “Cooking isn't exactly a skill prized in their culture. But... wow.” Winter ate at the royal table as befitted his position. But Atlantica favored quantity over quality. He liked what he liked and didn't have much interest in anything else. There were probably more different types of food on this one table then he had seen his whole life in Atlantica's court.
Devonshire smiled sadly at him, and helped herself to one of the many pitchers of beer. “Take your time. There are heat stones and chill stones and preserve spells over the lot. It should last the whole time you're here.” She sat on a nearby table, watching him closely. “Watch the red and black pastries there. They look sweet, but they're quite spicy. Imported from the Underground.”
He nodded, and walked around the table slowly, sampling gingerly. The room encompassed the entire upper floor of the building. Occasional tapestries formed temporary partitions. But mostly it was open from the dining area to the office to the beds. Through the open windows floated the sounds of revelry from the tavern downstairs.
It was quite like his mother. Making up for her lack of presence with overindulgence in their rare visits. There was no way he could even make a dent in this spread. Even given two weeks. What he would really want is to find some way to take it with him. Squirrel it away somewhere and work through it over the next year. But he didn't want to appear ungrateful. Or, worse, have her actually do it. It would be too much of an extravagance.
He knew she was watching him. Drinking him in, she would say. She was an Elf and he, well, wasn't. He had to assume he was a total open book to her and nothing was hidden. So he might as well get it over with.
“I'm sorry about messing with Balanoptera”, he said preemptively.
“Mmmm, Hmmmm”, said Devonshire, doubtless with many subtle undertones that Winter missed.
He shrugged and ate a small olive pickled in something blue. “I wanted to take him down a few pegs after giving him back the pearl.” His hand hovered over some grilled fowl, but passed on. He knew he should be more open, but he still was a bit squeamish about cooked food.
“So you did get the pearl”, said Devonshire. Winter nodded. He dug into his loincloth and handed her the crystal from his vault. She waved her hands over it a few times. A pattern of light appeared. She added some embellishments with a few gestures, and it tugged in a certain direction. Devonshire, nodded, satisfied, and dropped it into her cleavage. “Now we can track what the bastard is up to.”
“I know killing gods is kind of a hobby of yours”, started Winter, licking something black and sticky from his fingers. “But what if he's not up to anything?” He didn't think much of Atlantica, but he wasn't entirely unreasonable.
“Then he lives”, said Devonshire. “For now.” He looked up at her with what he hoped was a challenging intonation. He didn't like how black and white she saw things. “Look, kid. All the gods are parasites. No matter what they give back to us, how beneficent they seem, they are only returning a fraction of what was ours anyway. It's just an elaborate trap to enslave our Souls for all eternity.” Winter turned back to his food, unconvinced. Same old, same old. “I know you've probably made friends at court...” Winter snorted. He didn't even try to moderate his body language. Devonshire paused. “No one? Not even one?”
“Maybe one. Maybe two”, said Winter, reluctantly.
“Who?”
He sighed, and poured a small sample from one pitcher. “An old Triton called Charonia. He never liked Sel de Mar. She had been cruel to his people. He's one of my teachers.” The guy was a crusty old fellow, with little respect in court. But he very strictly treated Winter the same as his other pupils and, since Winter actually paid attention and seemed interested in the subject, he, equally strictly praised him for his work.
“History, yes?” Devonshire asked. Winter nodded. “And the other?”
“Some girl.” This time he did try to dampen his body language. It was so difficult being around his mother. Normally he could rely on being purely taken at his spoken word, since his gestures and intonation were alien to those he circulated with. Going from that to an Elf made him feel naked.
“A girl!” laughed Devonshire. “Are you chatting up the ladies already?” she slapped her thigh.
“Hardly”, he said, picking a pitcher and pouring a long draft. “If I so much as smile at her she'll be persecuted for the rest of her youth. Hardly a thanks for being the only person to actually be nice to me.”
Devonshire looked irritated, but not at Winter. “I'll rig up something. Some sort of device for passing messages. You can share it as a secret.”
He shook his head. It was not a large court. Nothing stayed secret forever. “It would be found out. Eventually. Life wouldn't be worth living after that.” Balanoptera was held back by Winter's position from making his life a complete misery. Cindarina had no such protection. And Balanoptera would do it if he knew that it would get to Winter.
“We've got to get you out of there”, said Devonshire grimly.
“Come on, Mom. I know why I'm there.” He looked up at her, no longer eating. “My foster ship is the price for 10,000 lives. That's probably more than I would save in a lifetime if I was free to fight next to you.”
“Don't sell yourself short, son”, said Devonshire.
“Besides”, continued Winter, “If you break the agreement the oceans will rise up against you. That's another front in your war.”
Devonshire hopped down, and paced the floor. “It would just be a distraction. You're losing too much. No friends, no decent food, no first love.” She stopped and held his chin. “You're growing up so quickly.” Sadness filled her eyes.
He pulled his chin away. She always did this. Every time. She's never adjusted to the fact that, for all intents and purposes, he was human. “It's alright Mom. I'll deal.” She went back to pacing. “So how is the war?” he asked conversationally after a while.
She grunted. “It's a mess.” She stopped in front of a map. “It's hard to fight an enemy who won't show his face. We have to wait, and react. But we have enough enemies who show their face enough times, to keep us reacting and reacting. We can never push our own agenda. Not that we can actually agree on an agenda. But woe to us if our enemies decide to actually work together and make us react into a corner.” She shook her head.
Winter padded over to the map and looked it up and down. It showed, more or less, the known world. The territory of Romitu was in the middle, with a periphery of nations around it that were once vassals of Romitu, some of which were now under Scioni's control. There were a few more outlying states, some oceans, and the outer waste. “The map's wrong” he said.
She looked at him, annoyed. “No, it's accurate. We've got magical surveying. Jacques was able to create a contagious spell to spread from seabird to seabird to send us back new information. This is updated as new information comes in.”
He wandered over and looked out the window. “It's wrong.” Just outside the large wooden sign for the pub swung. An improbable looking red creature sat on cushion
, sleeping. He turned back. “Do you know why they don't have maps underwater?”
“I didn't know they didn't have maps”, she said. “It hadn't occurred to me.”
“They don't convey enough information.” He turned back to her and hopped up onto the window ledge. “There's the surface and what's going on there. There are at least six layers between the sub-surface and the depths. And then the sea floor, wherever that intersects.” He shrugged. “Each is important and had its own territorial boundaries. Different creatures have different depths they care about. Then you've got currents, which are different in different levels, and even cross each other. You can't capture it in a flat map.”
“Must make writing treaties a pain”, said Devonshire wryly.
He gestured towards her map. “You've got your surface topography. But the gods all have their own extra-dimensional enclaves with their own geographies, and their own relation to the surface. Plus the Underground. Plus the oceans as I've described.” He shrugged. “How can you plot strategy on that?”
“OK wise guy”, said Devonshire testily. “What's your answer?”
“Dunno. I'm only fourteen. I can only point out the obvious”, he flashed her a smile which erased her irritation. “You're the head of the academy now.” He gestured at the table. “If you can make a self-heating/cooling smörgåsbord, surely you can make a better map.”
She laughed. “You may be on to something. I can always give it as a project to one of the students.”
Red Queen Page 14