by P. S. Power
After a few seconds there was a huge, booming laugh.
"Hobart Ross. Scott's my cousin. No offense taken though, the man has his less than perfect moments. I moved here about ten years ago and have a place down the path a ways. This is a treat though, you can get us caught up on the news from the Capital." There was a cheerfulness that rang from his whole being, if that was possible.
Or even if it wasn't.
"Oh, well, nothing that wonderful. We had to pull the Lairdgren Group out of the Capital earlier today. A group of City Guards beat up Sam Builder and Guide Eastgreen for looking like well dressed peasants with too much magic. They're both builders, but young. Fourteen... Maybe fifteen by now? I don't think so though." That part was for Barbara and Hobart, since the Count would probably know who they were.
The Ancient stopped him though and gave him a blank stare.
"Guide Eastgreen. Right. That's flattering. Did he pick it himself? The last I heard he only had the one name."
"Like it? I had to come up with something as I went, presentation to nobles, so... You know how it goes, you were there. If you don't have four names and at least two titles they think you're a perfect waste of space. That's part of why I'm here. We can talk about that later though. Maybe you can save me a flight to Vagus to grill Lyn?"
The food was on the table, cooling due to him being slightly late, so Barbara started dishing them each a plate. Hobart got about half the food, but he probably needed it. All the big people ate a lot. The chair he was in was a special one for the room, bigger even than what they used in the Palace by far. Sturdy too, but low.
The chicken was moist and they ate it with their fingers. It wasn't fowl properly, but mentioning that would be both rude and splitting hairs. Hobart Ross was as charming and polite as could be wanted, listening easily, and adding bits to the conversation when things died down.
"The Lairdgren Group... I think I missed that one. A string quartet?" It was clear he really didn't know, but was also teasing, since he knew at least two of them were builders.
The Count smiled at him and filled the man in.
"You have to be a builder to get in, or at least become one shortly. Many of them are no more than children, like Sam and Guide. Or Tor's wife, Alyssa. She's fifteen now, if I have that right. They push themselves to excellence however. To be a senior member you have to be able to make a minimum of a hundred copies inside two hours, without using a template, which is impressive. They aren't just promising builders however, but already some of the best in Noram. The City Guard attacking two of our people is... dire. Was there at least a reprimand for their actions?"
That got Tor to shrug again and look away, feeling more than a little guilty for what he'd done. It wasn't the good or adult thing, fighting the men in public like that. Worse, it wasn't even about Sam and Guide really. He was holding a personal grudge, and it had made him upset that Captain Curtis hadn't remembered him, even after he'd subdued and imprisoned a hundred of his men one time. That was insulting.
"I... thrashed them all. In public. Then I suggested to the King that he mention to the City Guard Commander that Captain Curtis might not be the person he wants representing them. It wasn't harsh enough, but they need to be out working, not sitting in a plush cell with Gerent bringing them playing cards and treats every four hours." He forced air out and made himself drop into a very deep state, feeling whatever might be coming off of the Count then. It was mainly a sense of surprise.
"Gerent has his own prison, I know that. Is it as comfortable as it sounds?" Green was making direct eye contact and avoiding the scolding that would probably come about the guardsmen. After all, Tor had accomplished exactly nothing by his actions toward them. They couldn't help but see those they thought of as peasants as less than human.
That was clear in the Ancient's mind though, he knew about all that and it was a major factor in their world, not just something that Tor had been imagining.
Forcing a grin Tor looked at the others and tilted his head, trying to look cute. Like a puppy or a small cat. Harmless and sweet. It was a defense mechanism that he used all the time, but that most thought of as him being manipulative. It wasn't a conscious thing at all and he wouldn't have gotten that others perceived it that way at all even now if Cordes wasn't leaking the information to him.
The fellow was trying to make himself useful, since the Ancient King didn't want to die, and wasn't at all certain that in a mental fight between himself and Tor that he'd be the winner in the end. That's what Tor took from the subtext at least. It was easier to read him, since he was already doing the same with these others, outside of himself.
It could also have been Cordes trying to lull him into a false sense of security, so he'd let his guard down.
He spoke about the cells though, since they were pretty nice, over all.
"They weren't designed to be a punishment. Just a place to store the war prisoners. We have the ability to make them comfortable, and the plan right now seems to be releasing them eventually. Brutalizing them or even being hard with them won't aid us. They were just people following orders after all. I actually did the first design, and set my friend Glaren to cooking for them. She can't help the fact that she's good." It made sense to him but Hobart bowed to him over the table, not bothering to stand up. The other two didn't though, being family.
"That speaks much of your heart, doesn't it?" The voice was a low grumble, which the man couldn't possibly help anymore than a horse could. There was too much size for him to have anything else. "Most would have executed them on the spot, or, if they were lucky, tossed them into a hole with no food for weeks. Why did you set Gerent Lairdgren to the task however? That speaks of... He and his girlfriend were recently imprisoned and brutalized, in Gala. Isn't it a bit mean to make him run a prison now?"
It was. Tor knew it, and had known it. In a way it was probably raping him over and over again, but it was also the best way of doing it. Even if it was unkind of him.
"There's no one else in this entire land that I can count on more to not allow excess or abuse there though. On the good side, it's very nearly as far away from the kind of place that he was in as possible. The Prince even mentioned bringing in some musicians to play for the prisoners the other day. Not that I can afford that now."
That made Hobart frown and look away. Nobles didn't talk about gold, except when they were pointing out how rich they were. It was a bit shameful to be poor, and left you open for all manner of bribes and coercion. Cordes leaked this to him, even though Tor didn't know how he'd know that at all. After all the man in his head should be nearly two and a half millennia out of date, right?
No one was going to speak on that, but the Count looked worried and actually patted his shoulder, which got him to explain.
"I'm putting everything into the war effort and rebuilding the Capital right now. I need to make some more too, which was unexpected. There's an issue at Wildlands Station..." He explained it quickly, afraid that the meal would be ruined by the words, but everyone just ate as they listened.
Hobart looked at him and then bowed over his plate again.
"You do a lot of good works, Tor. I think I can see what you need to do tomorrow though. Claim that the children are all employed by you as apprentices. You're paying for their upkeep and promising them the needed gear to go out and make their way, after their learning is done? That has to count."
The rumble made the center of Tor's chest vibrate a little, he noticed. It was strange, but not unpleasant. The man also had a good idea. Tor glanced at the Count, who nodded.
"I agree. That answers the whole thing very legally, without forcing you to have hundreds of adopted children. Good plan Hobart. A few hundred gold should cover the children's needs for a year or so. We should talk about how this came about. You giving over all your wealth to the King." That last bit was dark, and Burks looked ready to slap a certain ruler around a bit over it.
"Ali volunteered it. It's a good way to put t
he coin back into circulation. Of course inside a few months a big part of it will be back, since a lot of the new businesses in the kingdom are half mine. Collette and a few others have been investing for me, instead of sending the funds directly. It made sense at the time, but it means that I've created a giant money trap. If I don't spend it fast enough I'll destroy Noram." He looked at the others at the table and picked at his chicken. It was pretty good. Lots of rosemary. Who didn't like rosemary? "Oops?"
They laughed at his words, Barbara and Hobart, but Count Lairdgren held up a single finger.
"Ah. Very good then. That's been the major point of concern at the Council of Counts you know. Many parts of the kingdom are in a deep depression economically, due to the sudden lack of fluid currency. It's creating hard feelings already. Perhaps this will help however? Do you need to borrow some gold? I can arrange for a small loan, if you need." The words were funny sounding, almost as if he were joking, which, Tor got from his field after a moment, he was.
"Or I could make the rounds of the shops that handle my magics and see if increasing their stock will help. It will mean a long night for me, but I can do it. No reason to be lazy after all." Except that pesky sleep thing, but he'd live.
There was a chime from the far wall, a clock that had a bell, it rang eight times, marking the hour. For a few seconds Tor just sat and admired the work on it. It was big, and the bell wasn't quiet. He remembered it from his last visit, but had never had a chance to really notice how fine it was. If it had been in the King's Palace no one would have thought twice about it. Hobart saw where he was looking and let a pleasant look cross his face.
"My work. I did that one... Oh, seven years ago now?"
"About that." Barbara agreed, looking at the piece as well. "Hobart is a master craftsman. He made that coffin for you?"
That Tor remembered, only having occasion to ever need the one. It ended up being used too. For the burial of an evil man.
"Right! I paid you for that, didn't I? If not it will be a few days before I can..."
Hobart laughed and shook his head.
"I should tell you that you didn't and that it ran twenty gold, but you did, and it was five silvers. Now a clock like that would run twenty, possibly thirty gold, if you want one."
Tor just nodded.
"Can I get ten of them? It may be a while before I have the coin for you, so don't start work yet, but those would make very fine gifts." It was a plan after all, and the man chuckled and stuck his hand out, country fashion as he stood, looming over them all and bent so low that Tor realized he had to be the largest man he'd ever seen.
"Deal then! Good. I was getting tired of only making tables and desks. It will take a while, a year or so, since there's a lot of work needed for each one. I have the parts for two at present. I also hold the right to make them different if I want, based on what the wood tells me to do. You don't have to take them if you don't like the way it comes out." They shook, Tor's hand nearly disappearing in the man's grip. It was clear that the only reason it didn't was that Hobart was trying very hard to interact with him as an equal.
Tor agreed with those terms. You could hardly get better after all.
Then, not sitting again, the giant started to work himself toward the door, his vast hands on his knees, as he shuffled awkwardly. They all got up, and after he twisted through the door, actually having to crawl for part of it, he stood in the front, his feet very carefully on the path. It was an impressive feat, given how large his shoes were.
"Thank you for having me Barbara. I keep telling everyone that I should marry you, but I wouldn't want to make you feel awkward." Why that would be, Tor didn't know, but it seemed to him, from the feelings that came off his cousin that she liked the man. It wasn't love, but given that she probably liked women that way, for sex, it didn't seem a huge problem really.
She smiled about it and nodded.
"I know. It's why you left noble society after all." The feelings were so complex that Tor couldn't really track them. The two were friends and seemed to be attracted to each other, at least enough they could be married, but there was something keeping them apart. It wasn't his business though and he couldn't tell what that would be anyway. Neither focused on it enough to make it clear.
It could have something to do with the fact that Hobart was at least twelve feet tall though. Probably closer to thirteen. It was too hard to tell in the dark, even with the pink magical light still burning.
He waved and carefully made his way down the path vanishing behind a hill not too far away. Once they were inside his cousin frowned at him and looked ready to start hitting, which made no sense at all, even knowing how she was feeling.
"He's a good man. If you-" Then she stopped dead, since the Count was suddenly touching her shoulder gently.
"Tor knows that Barbara. I know you fear mocking on the topic, but he wouldn't do that." After a few seconds his cousin seemed mollified and wandered off, muttering something about the need for them to talk.
He and his grandfather.
The man sighed.
"They can't have sex. Hobart is so large in that way that even the biggest noble women would suffer extreme damage if she tried. It's the Four-ten line genetics. The Ross and Ford family both have it, but Hobart is the cleanest example I've seen in over a thousand years. A natural thing, I think. No one altered him. It happens that way at times. Things line up correctly, one of the parents holds a subconscious ideal for their children and manages to influence the fields into organizing in a certain fashion, that kind of thing. And gentle Hobart gets to live with the results of it."
They moved to the basement door, which was a strange place to take a guest, but the perfect spot for a secret conversation, not that Tor figured anything that special was going to be shared. It was the same thing that always happened in this kind of situation for him. He knew there were thousands of things to ask, but he drew a blank and had to fight to come up with something.
After the door was shut and they walked down the wooden steps, the place lit up, a magical light in the ceiling being the only thing that glowed at the moment. The space was filled with hundreds of things that Tor didn't understand, but they didn't move or do anything of note. Glass sheets on boxes, lenses and a lot of strange materials that seemed to be Austran in nature. There was a stone block with several horns and drums on the top, which looked a lot like the flying craft that Julie White used. Only about a tenth as large and hidden behind a shelf.
It was mainly forbidden technology, but the treaty had been suspended for the time being, so no one would bother him over having it. Until it went back into affect. That meant keeping it all hidden the whole time. Otherwise some of the other Ancients would have a problem with him, no doubt.
They settled at the focus stone table, the two chairs being made of the same slick looking black substance with its red highlights. That marked it as having been made at Wildlands, in the furniture shop there. Well, unless the man had gone in himself and made it, in that general location. The soil gave the concentrated dirt a distinctive color.
The older man, who looked very familiar, and attractive at the same time, that part having been built into him, tapped the table with a single finger.
"So, Tor, what did you want to speak with me about?"
It took a moment, but he finally spoke, tapping the table a few times himself.
"Everything that you haven't been telling me, of course."
"Ah. That could take a while then."
Chapter seventeen
Then, surprisingly, Burks laughed and held out both his hands, using the charm that he normally saved for other people. Nobles at court or women.
"First, Tor, I have to point something out to you. I know that I probably seem secretive, and like I'm keeping a lot back from you, but the fact is that I've only withheld a very few things that I thought might negatively impact your development. The rest... I simply forgot to tell you."
There was a stillness then
and a long period of silence, as the man tried to organize his thoughts. Tor didn't interrupt, since that would be rude, and rushing the man wasn't going to actually get the information out any faster.
"My mind holds thousands of years of information. Unlike most people, our brains don't forget things, they simply compress data, so that similar events fit together, to save space. For instance, my first wife was named Emily, and my third Felicia. Other than that though, I see the same face for both of them when I try to recall either. They were of a type, certainly, both blond and slightly round faced, but weren't relatives. They didn't even live in the same century. That isn't the problem here however. Not totally. The real fact is that there's too much to go over, unprompted."
Tor could see that, he thought. Thousands of years, crammed into one mind. It would be hard to know what to recall at any given moment.
"So, I should ask questions... Except that I don't know what to ask about in many cases, since it all happened hundreds or thousands of years before my birth? Not helpful." It wasn't an accusation though. After all, they had a problem, it was just a thing they had to move past, somehow. "I think I get the idea though. Alright. So, since I have limited time this evening, maybe I should start? I doubt I'll get it all, but maybe enough to start things off?"
There was no response, which was off-putting. Who just sat there and looked at you like that? At least it wasn't a frown.
"First, the horror that you wouldn't speak of before, that Cordes committed, did it have to do with him genetically altering the people of Noram into a ruling and slave class?" Tor wondered if it was a bad place to start, but Green didn't pause at all. Not even for a full second.