by P. S. Power
She didn't want to bring it up, and was starting to feel uneasy about it all, when Clarice smiled. They kept walking, and when they got to the dining room, it was nice, but not a vast waste of space. The table was big enough for six, but there were only four places set, and one of them was already taken, by a middle aged man, who had well groomed hair, a round face and a mustache that seemed to go with his nice suit jacket. He also had a ribbon around his neck, that was big and fat. Like the ones that Doctor Millis always liked to wear.
In the center of it was a small metal pendant of a bird. An eagle, Pran thought. The ribbon had diagonal red and blue stripes to it. That was new to her, since all she'd ever seen that way was solid colors. Realizing she was staring a bit, she smiled politely, the man looking at her in return.
He cleared his throat and stood, moving his chair back.
"Bard Clarice... miss." He smiled at her, as Kabrin gestured her way.
"This is Bard Pran. Clarice's new assistant. I tried to hire her away for the orchestra, but so far she seems to be holding firm and focusing on her civic duty instead of riches and fame. I don't see it, for myself, but it should mean that I get to have my lady around a bit more often, so I'll allow it, for now." There was a bit of play to the words, and the other man nodded.
His voice was rich and deep, for a man that wasn't all that tall.
"I'm Doctor Richard Soros, Bard Pran. So good to make your acquaintance. Our hosts have been kind enough to allow me to room here while I visit Lincoln. There are some minor political tasks to be seen to. It's less than fun, but I may well be seeing you, if you're going to be at the Capital house?"
Pran nearly answered that she didn't know what that was, but Clarice spoke first, providing the clue she needed.
"That's right. You two should meet and discuss what the Bards can do to aid the medical health system. No one ever thinks to seek us out for such things, but we're a major part of communicating facts directly to the people."
That was both true, and a thing she hadn't thought of before. People remembered songs and plays, didn't they? They had history songs, that went over the founding and cautioned people against becoming lazy with their use of energy and power, but almost nothing ever spoke of medicine.
Doctor Soros smiled at the High Bard.
"Oh? Do you think you could do something that would remind people to simply wash their hands? That alone could cut winter illness by a third. Cleanliness in general is incredibly important." He didn't look at her, but she suddenly felt a bit grubby. She'd been playing and hadn't had a chance to clean up before sitting down. It took an act of will not to look at her fingers, but thankfully the man kept talking. "We almost lost a whole town a month ago, to a flea infestation. Plague, but the fleas carried it. The situation was saved by copious washing, and a judicious use of antibiotics. Why..."
Kabrin cleared his throat, and looked away, pointedly.
The Doctor chuckled, "sorry. Sorry. I do get carried away with my passions. As Bards I'm certain you'd know nothing about that, of course." There was a bit of telling sarcasm in the words, which she took to mean that the man had more than a passing familiarity with their kind of person indeed. It was cute, in a way. Like he was trying to be inclusive and polite at the same time.
Pran smiled at him, her unmade-up face lean enough that the man should have thought of her as a boy, but that hadn't happened. That, plus the strange neck ribbon, probably meant he was a download. If that wasn't just a thing that old Doctors liked to do.
The man confirmed the truth of her suspicion with his next breath. It didn't even seem aimed at any of them, just like he'd forgotten where he was. In the house of the woman responsible for finding his people out. It was either an extreme lapse, or he just didn't think anyone would recognize things like that as odd. She certainly did.
"Well, we don't have the web, anymore, so I guess promoting that kind of thing using Bards would be a good plan. How would... Well, I'll set up a meeting with you, Bard Pran. Perhaps next week? Tuesday at nine?" He seemed surprised when she nodded, clearly knowing that the household schedule tended to run late.
"I'll make a note of it and try to have some things worked up for you to look at. I can't promise much, not knowing my current plans. I mean, I spent most of today working on setting up air shipments." That let her steer the conversation toward that topic for a while, which eventually got to the High Energy Councilor's daughter, which turned the discussion to what they were all doing for the holidays. Since the government essentially shut down for a month, around then.
That was news to her. Thankfully the others were carrying the conversation about then, so she was able to simply eat the salad that had been placed in front of her by a man in a nice outfit. A servant. They had several in the huge house, it seemed. He wasn't introduced to her or anything, but she tried to memorize the face.
Clarice shrugged.
"We only take a month here, since governing can't really be suspended for too long. Most will take all of the cold months off in smaller places. Here the shops tend to stay open however, in case you need to do some shopping. Most services are a bit spotty however, so it's best to do things in the fall, if possible. You mentioned needing some new clothing, Bard Pran? We should see to that. I have some costumes for the wedding you're playing at, since there won't be time to make anything." Then she explained how that was part of her shipping arrangements, which got her back into the conversation.
Then, about an hour into the meal, which came very slowly, Clarice mentioned that Pran was staying there, which got her to glance at Kabrin. The man actually smiled though, and brought his hands together in front of him.
"Ah! Excellent! I can introduce you to some friends of mine then. I was worried about that. Now... the High Airships' daughter is getting married? Did we get an invitation to that, love?"
They had, and Clarice pointed that out instantly, as the man discussed a fascinating array of things that she'd never even heard of. Like who had been left off that list, or likely had and why. Clarice mentioned Riley and Donal, but had to remind her husband who they were. He made a face, but then nodded.
"I can see that. No one wants a spy at the wedding, do they? Bad enough they live together as man and wife, they don't need to parade around in public that way, do they?"
There was a snort then and an eye roll, from the Doctor.
"Oh, come now, Kabrin. As long as what they do isn't harming you, or anyone else, why should it be our concern? Besides, it seems to me that having the Master of Spies at your wedding, to watch over your child on her special day is exactly the kind of thing one would want. If the man is there himself, then you know that no one too bad will be. They'll all stay away, to avoid him." That got a laugh, and Pran filed the idea away, since it seemed like one that was legitimate enough to get Jacques and Twyla to allow it. Even if only as a joke.
The meal took a very long time, and it was about ten when Pran was allowed to go to her room. Not that permission was given, but everyone else was retiring to discuss things, and they expected guests. At that time of night. It would have made sense if... No, traveling around at night in the cold and dark just didn't, if you had any choice at all. It seemed to be a normal thing, too, not just a one off occasion that she happened to be around for. It wasn't even a party, Clarice assured her, walking her to her room. Just what normally took place.
Pran didn't judge, but did grab the woman's arm before she could leave, so that the radio controls could be explained. There were special energy collectors on the roof, as well as an antenna of great size, as it turned out.
"You can hear people from all over the world if you listen long enough. Right now you can just keep it on channel eight. At this time of day nothing much will be happening. It's the emergency channel though, so if something does, come get me, even if it means waking me up. Just start yelling and a servant will see that I'm found. My rooms are on the other side of the house." Then she patted Pran on the arm, as the device was set
up. There was a gas lamp in the corner, tied into the house line, which made a clean blue glow, like what was used on The Lament.
Hydrogen gas. It had to be handled carefully, but was allowed, and even preferred, for use as a fuel by the Guardians. Mara had mentioned it to her once, in passing.
That got turned down, but not all the way off, in case she needed to hop up and answer the radio for some reason. True to what she'd been told that didn't happen. It meant that Pran just got to sleep for an entire night, in a giant and very soft bed. She didn't get up until light started to come through the window, which wasn't all that early given the time of year and the fact that she was on the north side of the place.
The water in the shower was warm, almost to the point of being too hot, but she was able to add some cool to the stream by turning a second faucet on. Not knowing how the tanks were set up, or if they had to ration water, she just did, meaning she didn't linger under the warm curtain, just getting wet and then soaping up fast. It didn't take long, so she was out the front door just as the big bell in the city chimed seven. That had to be early enough that no one would think she was lazy. If not, then she'd just point out that being a Bard meant keeping whatever hours she wanted. That wasn't really true, but it was close enough to be the legend everyone knew.
Pran didn't bring her back pack this time, but did carry both her lute and guitar, since she wanted to cover the musical arrangements with Twyla and Paul, if it was at all possible. If not she still needed to get things set up for it, as well as start work on a few songs for Doctor Soros. The download. Sometime that day she was going to have to find Guardian Clark too, since they were supposed to be working together.
Not that she thought he was off playing around. Guardians just didn't do that. Ever, as far as she could tell. It was the right way to live, if you wanted to make anything of yourself. She was thinking that after her half mile long walk, to find the same guardian on the door as the day before. Hopefully this time she'd get through without having a weapon pointed at her. Or at least a different one. Doing the same thing twice would be a bit too predictable for the man in black.
"Good morning Guardian Salle. How are you faring today?"
The man stared at her, then gave a single, if cold, nod.
"Nothing to report, in particular. About a third of the staff is in already. Why people keep waiting for daylight to come in, I don't understand. Even the Bards are starting to come in early now. It makes everyone else seem a bit lazy. You might need to watch that. You'll get a bad reputation. Hard working and diligent... Does that sound like a proper Bard to you?" There was a head shake to go along with it, but also a grin.
"Nope. But since when have I been proper about anything? Oh, say, have you seen Guardian Clark around? I don't know if you know him. Big, cute scar on his face? Sexy behind?" She drew a line on her left cheek, but the man rolled his eyes at her, like she was being silly.
"I once carried him seven miles in a wind storm, so yes, I know him. Haven't seen him yet today, but if he's in town, he'll be around. Why, looking for a date?" That wasn't said with the knowing look and smarm it should have been. It was just words. Blank, and a little bland, considering the rest of what he'd said to her. Like he really thought that might be the case.
"Possibly. I need to work on my fighting and meditation, and he's supposed to be helping me with that. If you see him first, remind him for me? I'll get all lazy otherwise."
The man blinked, then looked up, toward where someone else was coming from. This was an older gentleman, who stomped a bit, his heavy middle weighing him down. His clothing was rich, and dark colored, or at least the heavy coat he had on over it all was. He wore boots instead of shoes however, and he had a frown on his face. He glared at her, but just seemed to want to get inside, where it was warmer. His lips weren't blue, but his face was pale, except for two perfect rosy circles on his cheeks.
Salle straightened and got the door open.
"Good day, Councilor. Is all well?"
That got the Guardian a rough look too, but not for long, since the man was evidently not a moron, just upset.
"Other than having to get out of bed before the sun, and then come here to listen to reports from all over the place about how winter has come early? You can't tell from here, but there is snow on all of the major shipping routes. It's gutting our fall transport season. That means putting things on airships, which is fine, but they already have their normal winter routines. We can add a lot, but they also only take things directly to the port cities. If nothing can move into the countryside there's little point in getting it to the major hubs."
Salle seemed to be ignoring the man, but Pran thought about it and nodded.
"Do you have anything that needs to go from near Gladstone to O'Brien in about three days? Near that route I mean? The Sorrow is making a special trip, to take some dyeing chemicals, for High Councilor Times, but will need a full shipment to make it worth doing. The rates are a little higher than normal, but I can probably get you a deal, if you have something. Say ten percent over the standard rate?" It had worked the day before, but this man stopped dead and snorted at her.
"I don't pay standard. Seventy percent of that, at the most. I could see about that however, if they're willing to be flexible as to the route? Weather permitting of course."
She grinned.
"Ooh, that was good. Going way too low so that I'll have to meet you half way? I won't though, since this isn't up to me. Standard plus ten for this trip. If you have high value cargos or perishables, it's worth it. The Sorrow is a tight ship, too. I've only ever heard good things about them." Which was basically just a list of ships with someone mentioning that they were all good. Most of the crews weren't too bad. Some drunkenness, but as long as they got the job done, no one cared too much except their crewmates that had to work twice as hard to cover for the drunks.
The man, who had seemed a bit angry before, looked so ready to hit her that his fist, which had a nice leather glove on it, clenched. She could use a pair of those, or at least some mittens, to keep her fingers warm.
Then the man shook his head.
"Ninety percent of standard. I won't go higher than that. I never do. As it stands I should just have you arrested for robbery. Are you the new air shipping clerk then? Trying for a promotion already, in your first year?" He seemed a tiny bit snotty about it, but she nodded.
"Something like that, Councilor. How about this. I'll set that up for ninety percent of standard, but I want options to set up at least three more trips at the same rate. It sounds like you'll want the help anyway. They might be last minute, but we should have some things coming up." Then she stuck her hand out, as if the deal was already made. That had nearly worked on her once, after all. She'd caught it in time and so did this man, except that he actually seemed to think her offer was good enough.
"Done. Marty Climes, by the way. High Shipping Councilor."
She nodded, figuring that's who he'd almost have to be. That or in charge of the farmers. Which was someone else she needed to get with, she realized.
"Bard Pran. High Councilor Clarice's assistant."
There was a grunt that didn't even seem surprised, and the man moved into the building. As he did he spoke, however.
"Good. Get with me later today for specifics."
Then he stomped off, as if what had happened was just a regular thing for him.
Chapter seven
The screaming argument wasn't near her door at least. The office door that was, even if she did feel like she was claiming the space a bit, coming in first thing and getting a fire going, then putting on a pot for tea, in case anyone came by and wanted some. The fighting was annoying however, so Pran popped her head out into the walkway and looked up and down, finding it clear. That meant someone was really projecting well.
Sighing, she walked out, wondering if a weapon would be in order. The voices were really rough, and at least one of them sounded big. Both were male, but one had a sl
ight squeak when he spoke, which might have been the rage in his words, rather than being small. It took a moment, but she found them with a bit of wandering around, and nearly backed off, after stepping onto the second floor landing.
Over to the left of the first open space, stood the boy from the day before that had realized she was a girl, on the stairs. If her theory was right, that the old people from the past could see through the short hair and trousers better than the ones from her time, that meant he was likely someone to watch.
The two men that looked about ready to hit each other were both very different looking, but nicely dressed. Much more so than she was. After a second of listening, it was pretty clear that it was just a normal fight really. The large man, who was older, but not old, still having a mix of black in his hair and beard, was accusing the smaller, more gaily dressed one, of stealing his food.
No wonder someone was about to be knifed. Except that they were being better than that, and hadn't pulled a weapon yet. Neither of them. If it were her, she'd want something sharp. That, or a rifle. Then the argument would be over already, with no damage to one brand new Bard Apprentice.
Sighing, she stepped forward.
"All right, stop that now. Come along, back it off a bit, both of you." It was well done she thought, but the boy went wide eyed and looked scared. Instead of stepping away from the crazy girl, he... moved across the hallway and stood between her and the large man when he spun on her.
Clearly meaning he was insane, because the man was about to try and beat her for getting in the way, it was clear.
"Don't you tell me to calm myself! This bastard of a whore made off with twenty tons of flour! Half of the western coast will starve this winter because of that. Do you know who they're going to blame for it? That's right, the Farmers, that's who! When their children are crying in the cold with nothing to eat, everyone will curse the name of the people that grew the food they should have had, not some punter in charge of taxes."