O Desdemonayama! Desdemonayama! dead!
Oh! Oh! Oh!”
This was the moment. Yustichisqua gave his master a push. Harris leaped across the stage, his getas impeding progress. But he was infused with the intensity of Arquebus’ craft. Harris rushed Arquebus, preventing the inevitable thrust.
“Hold thy hand from thy tender breast,
As your mistress yet breathes the evening air.”
Arquebus turned, and Hasamun heaved his chest, the silks rustling. The audience gasped collectively. Harris glided about the couch and raised his hands to frame his lily-white face.
“See the gentle mist of life arising from her lips;
The swell of her bosom ever gaining to combat the gates
Of the hell you would compel her to dwel inl.”
Arquebus turned, about to deliver his next line. But Harris moved, the moment captured by the action.
“Sweet friend and captain mine,
Who has taught me the spirit that moves a mortal soul to war,
And devises the boundaries sweeping a man to peace,
I implore thee by the love I bear thee to lower thy beauteous hand
And grieve no more for past offenses.”
Arquebus lowered his hand and began his lines. But Harris grasped his arm — passionately.
“If ever a sweet prince did rise upon the air of strife to guide me,
You, dear friend, have led me to all my understanding,
Like a father lost in the haze of time’s o’erbearing discipline.
Ah! Ah! Wondrous Othellohito, doubt never your dear son, for as a son I am,
And like he born from the world of war and peace
Shall settle this stern skirmish between thy conscience and his mistress.”
He turned to Hasamun, who had delicately raised himself to find a place to insert his lines, no doubt. Not finding it, he sat in wonder. Harris bowed, and then pulled Arquebus’ hand toward Hasamun’s.
“Like the moons in the wake of dawn, may you be reconciled,
For never was there a quarrel between you.
Good lady forgive my lord for his anxiety and acts,
For you have suffered, but he had suffered all the more for the love of you.
Pity be thy name, dear soul and take his hand in gentle c’ress,
Take it and find renewed love within the dawn.”
From where these words were born, Harris couldn’t tell. They exploded from him as he joined severed love, and then kissed their hands. Arquebus seemed at a complete loss, but no anger crossed his face. Instead, he clasped Hasamun about the shoulders and covered him with kisses. Harris spread his arms like an eagle, and looked toward the heaped body of Emiliasan.
“Good Lodovicomori, see that a medico attends to this faithful woman’s wounds,
For I can see they are not fatal unless the blood has seeped to the soil in full measure.”
Agrimentikos looked to Posan, who stirred. Then Tappiolus strode in from the wings. It looked as if he were about to engage in a bit of extempore himself. But Harris pointed at him.
“Away with him and place him at the bar.”
The audience burst into rapturous applause.
Adadooski. Adadooski. Adadooski.
Slowly, Harris bowed, keeping in character as the peacemaker instead of that deus ex machina, which had been scribbled for him. He had managed to end the play, although he suspected that Agrimentikos, whose final speech came next, would deliver it, because it was proper. However, Agrimentikos came forward and bowed deeply to Harris, and then raised his hands to signify the piece had been concluded.
4
“Boots,” Kuriakis shouted, his voice ringing from one end of the amphitheatre to the other. “Who would have thought such talent dwelled in one so young and within an actor from the flickersphere?” He applauded, amidst the continual cheering and Adadooskis. “Such a performance — such presence cannot go unrewarded.”
Harris bowed to the Elector, but had enough sense to reach for his brother consorts for a group bow.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Arquebus.
“Do not be,” Arquebus replied. “It was sheer genius. I have not seen such a performance in an age. It came from your lips like Athena born of Zeus.”
“Except the last line,” Harris admitted. “That was from The Pirates of Penzance.”
“The Pirates of what?”
Harris realized Gilbert and Sullivan had their run after Sir John’s slip into Farn.
“Never mind. Someday I’ll whistle some of it for you.”
While the cast preened, Harris observed Kuriakis, who conferred first with Charminus, and then with a wealthy Zecronisian, whom he later learned was Nikodemos, the chief of the Zocor sect — big wigs of the Wudayleegu. When the accolades diminished, Kuriakis raised his hand for silence.
“Boots,” he shouted again. “Come to me, son.”
Harris looked to Agrimentikos, who grinned and to Tappiolus, who didn’t. He jumped down awkwardly in his getas, and decided he’d be flat on his face if he continued to wear them — so he kicked them off. He knelt before the Elector, who raised him.
“Where is your Columbincus?” he asked.
“Under this mound of silk.”
“Show it here,” Kuriakis snapped, smiling broadly, glancing at Joella, and then to Charminus.
Harris tried his best to push aside the silks, but finally let the shoulder flairs fall, and the obi unhitch. Silk is impossible to obliterate. Slipping off his top jacket, he revealed his Columbincus. Kuriakis raised his staff, and then brought it down on Harris’ head — hard, if he didn’t know better. Kuriakis touched the Columbincus. It glowed its sapphire shine, but an amber stone appeared above the central gem. It flickered once, and shot a beam over the audience’s head. They reacted with Adadooskis.
“Lord Belmundus,” Kuriakis said. “Since you have expressed an interest to see Montjoy, I charge you with an important responsibility. From this moment, you are appointed the Provost of the Yuyutlu. The enforcement of market regulations and fair practices are under your stern eye. May you do me proud . . . Boots.”
Harris gasped, and then lowered his head.
“Father,” he said, “I’m speechless.”
Kuriakis laughed.
“Now, now, none of that. For a man who has just enraptured all Ayelli with a speech as long as the Forling is wide, I would not call you speechless.”
Everyone present could agree with that. Harris stood and noticed that everyone was bowing to him, even Tappiolus, who probably cringed in the gesture. Only two did not bow — Littafulchee, who appeared afraid of the act, and Yustichisqua, who had sworn an oath never to bow to Lord Belmundus again. The first puzzled Harris, but the second pleased him beyond measure — almost beyond being appointed as the Provost of the Yuyutlu.
Chapter Nine
Danuwa and Taleenay
1
In Brunting Day’s afterglow, activity swept Harris. Kuriakis had bestowed an honor on him. But Harris soon realized it wasn’t an empty show — a title without responsibilities. Evidently, there had not been a Provost — a Didaniyisgi appointed in Montjoy since Tappiolus’ captaincy of the Yunockers. Duties and obligations were attached to the title. Of course, he was obliged to both the Elector and Scepta Charminus. She had suggested this reward, most likely responding to Harris’ insistence on visiting Montjoy. Now he would go, not as a tourist, but as some mucky-muck Ayelli with his own entourage. His first act was to thank Charminus.
The Scepta remained unconcerned, regarding the thanks as excessive and, shortly thereafter, went into labor. The gestation period may have been brief in Farn, still birthing was painful. Harris didn’t stick around to see or hear it, although Charminus’ wails could be heard throughout Mortis House. Instead, Harris commiserated with Tappiolus, who appeared unconcerned.
“She will not die in the act,” he explained. “When it is born, send around a gift and nothing more will be said on the
matter.”
More to the point, Tappiolus had an interest in Harris’ choice of marshals. A Didaniyisgi was required to choose three marshals — the Danuwa, to aid him in his tasks — an entourage, if you will. These he would select from the Thirdlings. Harris’ own choice would have been from Soffira and Miracola’s established Thirdling pool, but the rules were firm. The Danuwa must represent each Scepta — thus, one Thirdling from each household. So, Harris chose Parnasus, Posan’s sixth son from Miracola’s brood and Elypticus from Soffira’s, in part to make amends to the lad for his treatment after the Cabriolin race. Still, Harris needed to select one of Tappiolus’ offspring — reluctantly. Tappiolus would certainly seed the selection with a spy. Who needed the Eye when a whole body would do fine if not better? To balance things, Harris decided upon Mihela, Tappiolus’ fourth daughter. She had many of Charminus’ traits, but Harris could live with those.
“Mihela is destined for Aolium,” Tappiolus explained. “Daughters are easy pieces in the political game, Boots. No, no, no. I insist you choose from among my sons. In fact, I have one who could benefit from the light touch of this experience and the easy tasks.”
And if this son needed to break out, Harris thought, why hadn’t Tappiolus employed him as Danuwa in his own captaincy?
“Yes, Boots, I insist you cast a favorable eye on Melonius.”
Harris found it curious that Melonius happened to be standing about ready to appear at a finger’s click. He was handsome enough and going on four years old — a bit short by Thirdling standards, perhaps five foot eight, but he grinned like a porcupine and had an inquisitive eye.
Yes, the Eye.
“Why, here he is, Boots.”
Melonius approached, bowing.
“Lord Belmundus,” he said, his voice squeaking and his manner ingratiating.
No wonder no female Thirdling from the other realms held an interest in this one. Still, Harris had to pick someone from Charminus’ brood. He wished he had cavorted with them, to judge them better.
“Your father tells me you have an adventuresome spirit,” Harris said, in his best interviewing voice.
“I might,” Melonius replied. “One needs to take adventures to know if the spirit favors them.”
Queer thought.
“Would you like to tag along with me to the Yuyutlu and see if adventure suits you?”
“Who else have you chosen?”
“Parnasus and Elypticus,” Harris replied.
“They still need to be confirmed,” Tappiolus chuffed.
“As would your son,” Harris countered. “Now that Brunting has finished and our lady has drawn her mother’s attention to the new baby, I believe our lord is free to evaluate my choices.”
“And who shall act as your Taleenay?” Melonius asked.
The Taleenay acted as the Provost’s right-hand — his second, and was usually appointed from the three Danuwa, but not always. Harris saw the game. Tappiolus was maneuvering his son into the Taleenay’s position. But Harris already had resolved the issue.
“Yustichisqua is my Taleenay.”
Tappiolus flinched, his lower jaw jittering. He turned away.
“Who is this Yustichisqua?” Melonius asked. “From which Scepta’s brood is he?”
“Enough,” Tappiolus snapped. “Yustichisqua is Lord Belmundus’ Trone.”
“His Trone?”
“My Noya Tludachi,” Harris replied. “If you join with me, Melonius, you must see things in a new light.”
Melonius glanced at his father, his expression clearly asking must I, father? Of course, he must. This Thirdling was useless as a pawn in the foreseeable future. His only use, besides singing witty songs to damsel Thirdlings or playing grusoker with his pals, was to be his father’s eyes and ears against this new light.
“I believe,” Tappiolus said to Melonius. “I believe my brother is an experimenter, commendable on some level. Our lord, Kuriakis might support experimentation within reason. So, Melonius, if Lord Belmundus decides on you, you must be thankful for the opportunity and accept your company as designed.”
No joy stood in the eyes of either father or son. Still, Melonius no more commanded his fate than any Thirdling. So he grinned dimly and bowed to Harris — a half-assed bow without conviction. When Parnasus had accepted the appointment, he performed a hand ceremony Posan had taught him — a tradition of Shantung province. Elypticus had accepted the appointment sprawled on his chest, weeping thanks to Lord Belmundus. Harris would need to be happy with Melonius’ nod, because no other ready choice was available in Charminus’ brood.
“Then, it’s decided,” Harris said. “Come to me tomorrow and we shall deck you out in a uniform.” He turned to Tappiolus. “Don’t fret, brother. Yustichisqua will not murder your son in his sleep. Even though I’m permitting him to retrieve his dagger from the holy display case.”
“Is that wise?”
“Wisdom has nothing to do with it, brother.”
“Will our lord approve?”
“We shall see.” Harris winked. “We shall see.”
2
As the season ripened and Harris prepared to leave for his post, Kuriakis stirred. When Kuriakis stirred, all creatures knew it.
“The sky is green today,” Yustichisqua noted. “The Elector stirs.”
Harris confirmed the unusual hue which wrapped the sky. He had expected it. Both Arquebus and Agrimentikos had warned him about anxieties brewing in other realms. Neither consort gave a precise explanation. However, political conflict had been looming for a few centuries and would not easily dissipate.
“It is a matter of the aniniya,” Agrimentikos noted.
Aniniya was that precious power source — the mineral Harris called the stuff. Mined in Terrastrium, it did not belong to that realm exclusively. The Terrastriums thrived on Aniniya, but seldom transformed it beyond its raw state, only shaping it for the bare requirements, crafting it into lamps and weapons and excavation tools. Otherwise they exported the stuff. Collective laws regulated aniniya’s application in Farn, or so Agrimentikos told Harris. However, Farn law went beyond everyone except Electors and their councils. Evidently, changes in aniniya production drew concern from Protractus and Aolium, Montjoy’s chief allies.
“The lord of Zin has been active lately,” Arquebus explained.
Harris remembered Zin from his orientation at the Cartisforium. Zin’s projection was so horrific, he had kept his eyes shut. The stench still lingered in recall. But neither Arquebus nor Agrimentikos offered specifics about Zin’s current activities, because consorts possessed no such detailed knowledge.
“We are not the arbitrators of realms,” Arquebus stated. “The less we understand the better.”
Harris was made of sterner stuff. He was curious — inquisitive, especially when others withheld information intentionally. Still, he had too much on his mind to undertake a study of Farn politics and metallurgical regulations. That was the Electors’ job. His was to mitigate disputes between local merchants and artisans, inlander cultures beyond his ken at the moment. He would depend upon Little Bird to give him a leg up.
Little Bird seemed to know much for one so young. Harris only hoped by appointing Yustichisqua as his second — the Taleenay, he hadn’t doomed him to punishment. Tappiolus might be a bastard, but had enough commonality to suggest that Kuriakis sometimes acted upon whim. Certainly, allowing a Trone free will was whimsical. Definitely, Harris’ appointment as Didaniyisgi had been novel too.
“Such a sky,” Yustichisqua repeated. “When it hangs like this, the Elector is anxious.”
“Like a mood ring?” Harris asked. “Where I come from there’s a stone that changes color with mood swings. Body temperature broadcasts change.”
“Ah,” Little Bird said. “The sky is like that sometimes. It tells us when rain is coming or dust storms — even snow. But when it is green, it tells us the Elector stirs about his palace. We should take care, oginali.”
We should, Harris thou
ght. A good time to get out of Dodge.
Then the three Danuwa arrived, accompanied by Buhippus and seven Yunockers.
“Lord Belmundus,” Buhippus said, nodding graciously. “Prepare to leave, if you will.”
“Is it wise under the circumstances?” Harris asked, pointing to the sky.
“It is,” came a voice from behind the squadron. Agrimentikos. “Your choices have been confirmed. We should leave immediately.”
“Brother,” Harris said. “I’m anxious to get going, but why the hurry; and why do I need this posse?”
Belmundus (The Farn Trilogy Book 1) Page 27