“Remove a little from the container with your knife and spread it over the meat before you eat. That’s the custom in this region.”
She nodded and did as he instructed. In a short while she was able to do this quite handily. As she ate, her appetite increased so that by the time the landlord brought the cheese, she wished she had more capacity so that she could consume much more.
“The bath-house is almost ready,” the landlord announced. “The woman should go first. I will have my daughter accompany her. She’s almost through with her duties in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” said Ninianee, and had the uneasy suspicion that this man was not often thanked for his service, so she took two gaylings from her wallet and laid them on the table.
This time the landlord made a profound respect as he picked up the coins. “Too gracious,” he murmured, and withdrew to the kitchen.
“He’ll expect more gratuities, you know,” said Umver, scraping off a curl of the nutty-tasting cheese they had been brought.
“If he continues to do well by us, he shall have them, and welcome.”
“You don’t comprehend the people of the Cazboarth Range, do you?”
“Of course I do,” she snapped. “This region is my region, you will remember, and I have traveled through much of it.”
“No, Vildecaz is your region – the Cazboarth Range is a great deal more than a single Duzky.”
Ninianee felt her indignation rising. “You may be right, but you assume that I know nothing about what lies beyond Vildecaz’s borders, and that is certainly not the case.” She was shocked at how readily she succumbed to the urge to chastise him, but she had no desire to stop herself, not now. “I have spoken with travelers from all over the north of Theninzalk, as well as those from the Drowned World, and have profited by what they’ve told me. No matter what you assume, I am not an ignorant and arrogant fool, with no notion of what we face. Had you listened to anything I said yesterday, you would know better.”
“Good enough,” said Umver, unimpressed by her outburst. “You’ve made your point. I won’t assume you’re ignorant, just inexperienced, and inclined to think you are more prepared than you are.”
This was enough of a slight to make Ninianee want to box his ears, but she refused to be provoked. “I am not unprepared, Umver. You may want to think me incapable of – “
The landlord came in from the kitchen once more, made a respect and said, “My daughter is ready to take you to the bath-house. Follow her and you will have privacy.”
Ninianee recovered herself as well as she could. “I thank you,” she said, and got to her feet, looking back at Umver. “I will return before long, and I will want to go directly to my room.”
“Then you shall,” said the landlord before Umver could speak. “I’ll tell my daughter – her name is Heignith, a name of good omen – to attend to that when you’re through, and guide you to the chamber you are assigned. Then you, Umver, and I, will take our turn in the bath-house.”
“I appreciate your service and attention,” said Ninianee, and put her fork and knife next to her empty tankard, then rose and prepared to find her way to the bath-house.
“You’ll want your – “ Umver began.
“ – quansaj. I know,” she said as she took the garment from the rack near the fireplace.
Umver made a minor respect, and watched as she hastened out of the taproom, her quansaj flung around her shoulders. Only when she was out of the room did he say, “I ought to go supervise the moving of our chests. Which rooms will you assign to us?”
“The ones with the blue door and the orange door,” said Banorin. “You know where the keys are.”
“And I know which spells will serve to lock them securely,” said Umver, giving the landlord a direct stare. “In the morning, everything will be as it was when we retire tonight.”
“Of course it will,” said Banorin, sniffing to show his opinion. “We’re not like The Nard-Martin.”
“I wouldn’t take a woman like the one I’m guiding to The Nard-Martin, as you must know. Even if we had time enough to travel there.” He folded his arms. “But I won’t tolerate any mischief from you or your staff.”
“Never,” said Banorin.
Umver retrieved his barlo-cloak from the rack, and pulled it on, although it was damp enough to be unpleasant to wear. “I won’t be long. As soon as our chests are moved, I’ll be ready to bathe.”
“Yes, Umver,” said the landlord, shaking his head as he watched Umver stride out of the door. He began to gather up the remnants of the meal when a new figure appeared in the door. “You are welcome to The Ioraj,” he said without much emotion as he took stock of the pale-eyed man in the engulfing quansaj and broad-brimmed, low-pulled down on his brow.
“Thank you, landlord.”
The stillness of the newcomer struck Banorin as disturbing. He went on leerily,
“What do you want?”
The stranger respected him. “I seek a room for the night, a private one, very private, so that no one need know I am here. I will pay extra for that privacy. And the same for my animals. I will use back entrances if you have them, for my room and their stalls.” He smiled at Banorin even as he reached under his cloak for his wallet.
“A private room, servants’ entrances. There are only two other guests here.” He couldn’t keep the speculation out of his voice.
“Necessary precautions, I assure you,” said the stranger, handing over four golden damzejes. “This should cover any inconvenience my requests may cause you.”
“You are alone?”
“But for my animals, I am,” he answered.
The stranger no longer seemed sinister. “Then it will be my privilege to serve you, – ?“ Banorin left the new guest’s name hanging as he made his respect.
“Moncaz Guimar,” said Doms Guyon.
4. Revelations
The road was wider and in better repair now, and the towns were larger and closer together, so that in spite of the rain, travel was fairly quick and most nights were spent at inns between sheets. Even the winds had abated, benefitting from the range of the spells of the weather-witches in Tiumboj, who held all but the strongest tempests at bay throughout Porcaz.
“We are making good time,” said Erianthee as she sat down for the evening meal after the Meal Rite for Visitors.
“Tiumboj by noon day after tomorrow, assuming we travel at a reasonable pace. No need to hurry now, but we can’t dawdle, either,” Hajmindor Elet informed Erianthee as they looked over their sumptuous meal provided by the superior cooks at The Firnij, a large, handsome inn across from the Magistrates’ Court in the center of Gremilvee. The dining room was attractively appointed with a large number of tables, each accommodating six diners, made of polished wood in the style of Riast’s Court, and set with spoons and forks of Fahnine design. On the walls there were three fireplaces, each with a side of game turning on spits over the crackling flames, and manned by two scullions and a minor cook to serve the meat.
“Venison, pork, and lamb,” the Cook-Major announced from the doorway to the kitchen, very grand in a hupslan of heavy light-brown Fahnine-cotton and embroidered with the symbols of his art. He, himself, was a large man after the nature of his skill, and he spoke sonorously, as if every word had a taste as well as a sound to convey. “There are condiments in the rolling tray, and new bread just out of the oven. There are thimble-cabbages in milk, three kinds of fruit, a fish stew, and eight kinds of cheese. If you want something sweet, we have candied-flower buns with honey, merry-twists, and spiced berry wines. Whatever pleases the Duzeon, we will do our utmost to supply.”
“Thank you,” said Erianthee, her brown eyes shining as she looked at the spits. “Very fine fare.” She herself had honored the occasion by donning her banquet gaunel, a glorious, high-waisted garment of lavender tongue-satin that seemed as active as the flames. Her guin was of Mozh-cloth, and her honey-colored hair was dressed in an elaborate knot topped with a me
sh of gold thread.
“Most gracious,” said the Cook-Major.
“Just make sure the portions are large and the wine and beer don’t run out,” said Elet loudly, and was seconded by his men thumping the tops of their tables with their fists. Elet had made no concessions to the occasion aside from putting on a doga of don-colored drugh-ox wool and putting his best dagger in his belt-scabbard.
“I will order my staff to look to your needs,” said the Cook-Major, and respected the guests grandly before returning to his kitchen to supervise the meal.
“This is a most delightful place,” said Okeij ae-Dysin loudly, toasting Elet. “The best we’ve stayed in since we set out.”
“At least we have variety tonight,” muttered Romjai Vethcaz, the postilion for Elet’s largest carriage; long days in the saddle guiding four horses for the coachman had left him tired and sore. “Another night of cheese and pork and sour beer would have done me.”
“Then make the most of the venison and lamb,” recommended ae-Dysin, and laughed at his own cleverness.
“And don’t go to bed sober,” added Boriar Wiandoj.
Most of the men thumped the tables again, endorsing this plan.
“Do you think you’ll be satisfied with our meal?” Elet asked Erianthee, as if to shut out the enthusiasm of his men.
“I should hope so. The menu is a lavish one.” She saw three waiters emerge from the kitchen with baskets of bread, tubs of butter and a spread of herbs and roots for which Porcaz was famous.
“I’m sorry your maid and your cook won’t join us here, but I think you’re right in recommending they dine alone. They aren’t one of this company.”
“You have asked that they not join us for meals, Goriach,” Erianthee pointed out, still annoyed at this high-handed decision.
“It isn’t seemly to have such underlings attend a dinner like this. You give your servants too much liberty.”
There were a number of retorts that Erianthee stifled in her throat, vexed as much with herself as with Elet, for she was well-aware that Hajmindor Elet was truly an arrogant bully. Not for the first time she wondered why Emperor Riast had insisted on having him and his company escort her to Tiumboj. “It is the custom in Vildecaz to have the whole household dine together.”
“So you’ve told me – and for a remote place like Vildecaz it may make sense. But here, in the Imperial Province, it would hardly maintain the dignity of the Empire.” Elet favored her with a smug smile.
“Vildecaz isn’t in the Empire,” said Erianthee, puzzled why Elet was so determined to insult her.
“Perhaps not,” said Elet. “But it is dependent upon it. Vildecaz only exists because it is on our border. Otherwise the Kingdom of Waniat would have seized it long ago, and annexed it to their lands.”
Erianthee did her best not to become angry. She put all her attention on the meal, and at its conclusion, retired to her apartments in the inn for a bath and a time to summon her talents in preparation for her Shadowshows for Riast.
“They’ve been into your trunks again,” said Rygnee as Erianthee entered the bedroom of her three-room suite.
“Who’s been into my trunks?” Erianthee asked, feeling very tired. “What do you mean, in my trunks?”
“I think it must be Elet’s men. They have the opportunity, and it is the sort of thing they want to do.” Rygnee held up her hands in aggravation. “I wish I could box their ears for all they do.”
“You’re truly sure they’re doing it?” Erianthee knew she ran a risk of offending Elet if she should make an accusation that turned out to be erroneous. “Mightn’t it be the staff here?”
“It’s been going on since Elet took over your escort, so it can’t be the servants here, or any local magician. At first I thought it was because the road was so rough that all our belongings were bounced about, but then, when I tied down all the trunks, the clothes and other supplies continued to move. So far nothing appears to have been taken,” said Rygnee. “What am I supposed to do? I hate to think what they might have removed . . . or put there,” she added darkly.
“You mean spells?” Erianthee asked, her apprehension increasing.
“That at least. They could also put objects that would suggest alliances the Emperor would not approve.”
“Is that what Fithnoj says? Are you two in agreement?” Erianthee asked, not wanting to hear her answer.
“He says his tools have been rifled, but so far nothing appears to be missing,” said Rygnee. “You may ask him if you like.”
“I will, but tomorrow before we leave. Tonight I need to soak and then to take some time for myself and my talent. I’m not as composed as I should be.” She sighed, seeing the dismay in Rygnee. She made a compensatory gesture, saying, “I’m sorry this has been so difficult for you, Rygnee, and for Fithnoj.”
“Fithnoj is as temperamental as an Oofan without a horse,” said Rygnee, dismissing Erianthee’s concerns. “Let anyone touch so much as a ladle and he behaves as if someone has invaded his lands and sacked his towns.”
“All the nobles on Fah are like that about their horses, not just Oofans,” said Erianthee, smiling a little. “This must have been a hard time for him.”
“If it has been, he shouldn’t be a travel-cook, he should become a Cook-Major at an inn like this, and make the kitchen his fiefdom. Travel-cooks haven’t the luxury of authority in a kitchen.” Rygnee frowned. “I’m sorry, Duzeon. He and I have had a few disagreements in the last few days. He claims I am attempting to engage the attention of Elet’s men, and I say not.”
Erianthee began to loosen the under-arm lacing of her gaunel, preparing to undress for the evening. “I would agree with you – you have been most circumspect. He has no reason to complain.”
Rygnee brought Erianthee her jalai and helped her to squirm out of her gaunel, then eased her guin over her head. “I’ll attend to these, Duzeon.”
“Thank you, Rygnee.” She shrugged into the jalai, not bothering to belt it; the long, loose folds were comfortable and warm. “I hope Nininaee isn’t taking the brunt of the cold. Vildecaz is probably colder now than we are.”
“Maeshar of Otsinmohr will use it as an excuse to visit again,” said Rygnee, slipping the gaunel into its travel-sack.
“With more drunken companions, no doubt, and taking advantage of his position, not as Goriach, but as Riast’s cousin,” Erianthee added. “Last year he came to the Castle six times in three months, and not one time did he remain sober past mid-afternoon. He said he was there was to arrange for ships out of Valdihovee to carry Otsinmohrin goods. He’s established some exchanges with Aim Jornisailaj for Otsinmohrin dyes for Ymiljesin leathers and woods, with the promise of more trade in future. It gives him an excellent excuse to come to Vildecaz.”
“And that worries you,” said Rygnee.
“For my sister’s sake it does,” Erinanthee admitted.
“Because Maeshar seeks to be her Official Suitor?”
“She wouldn’t have him if he came with all the Boarthine Peninsula as a bride-gift,” said Erianthee with an angry burst of laughter. “Nor would I.” She dared not say anything about her fear that Maeshar would eventually discover what happened to Ninianee at the three nights of the full moon.
“Then why do you fret for her? She will not accept him.”
“Otsinmohr is a province of the Porzalk Empire, and Maeshar wants to enlarge it, as much to line his own pockets as to curry favor with Riast,” said Erianthee, feeling uneasy at admitting so much. “Pay no attention to me, Rygnee. We are almost at Tiumboj and I am becoming edgy at the nearness of the end of my travel, when I must perform for Riast’s Court.”
“Why should this trouble you? You’ve done it before, well enough to be summoned back,” said Rygnee.
“But each time the Emperor wants something grander than last time, and there is only so much I can do with the Spirits of the Outer Air. I can sustain a Shadowshow for up to two hours, but nothing longer, and nothing vastly magnifice
nt and complex for much more than an hour. Every time I perform for him, his expectations increase. One day I will be unable to show him more than I have done in the past, and he will be displeased.” She held up her hand to express her limitations. “Nothing I have said convinces him of this.”
“Nothing you have said could convince him, from what I have heard about Riast.” Rygnee looked over her shoulder toward the door. “Are we likely to be overheard?”
“I hope not,” said Erianthee. “The room should have privacy spells on it, or so the landlord has assured us.” She made sign in the air to reveal spells.
“What do you think?” said Rygnee when no spells were exposed.
“I think someone must be eavesdropping,” said Erianthee. “Whomever it is, you and I should watch what we say while we’re here.”
“I should have discovered the lack,” said Rygnee. “Given that I dined in the sitting room, I should have – “
”Why?” Erianthee interrupted her even as she performed the minor ritual to block the apartments from more eavesdropping. Feeling a bit safer, she went on levelly, “The rooms were said to be protected, and your talents don’t usually respond to absent spells.”
“But still,” said Rygnee. “Heijot Merinex warned me the day before we left Vildecaz that I should be alert to magical intrusions. This is why he warned me, and I should have been prepared. I thought he meant at Court, not on the road.”
“Perhaps he meant both,” said Erianthee, surprised that Merinex had taken so much upon himself.
“I’ll be more diligent, Duzeon, I promise you,” Rygnee said emotionally. “Just tell me when I’m not upholding Vildecaz’s reputation.”
“You needn’t bother to ask – it isn’t as important as you think. Servants are expected to gossip and to exaggerate.” She thought about how competitive servants could be, and added, “You exceed my expectations, and those of Merinex, as well, and I value your candor and your concern. But I would appreciate it if you could speak of other things now. I am weary of futility, and most of this seems futile.” She turned toward the door. “Where is Fithnoj?”
The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 28