by Sharon Green
And it would be nice to have another woman I could really talk to. As I settled myself on the seat beside Jovvi, I wondered if it would turn out to be possible for us to be friends. I’d never had a real friend, my parents had seen to that, and even my sisters and I had been discouraged from growing too close. We’d been like a group of strangers who happened to live in the same house, but now… Maybe freedom wasn’t the only priceless thing I’d finally have a chance at.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lorand stood outside the tailor shop with the other men, trying not to show how fascinated he’d been with the experience just past. He’d actually had clothes fitted to him, by a professional who did nothing but produce clothes. All his life his mother had made his clothes, and if they hadn’t fit quite right, well, at least they were too big rather than too small. During his growing years the clothes had usually become too small too fast, so his mother had gotten into the habit of making things too big to be outgrown before they were worn out. And the material that was supposed to be so cheap… He hadn’t the nerve to admit the clothes would be the best things he’d ever owned.
“Is thet whut you gotta go through if’n yore a rich man?” Pagin Holter asked everyone in general after letting out a very sharp, deep breath. “If’n so, I gotta think agin ’bout tryin’ t’be one. Don’t like bein’ mauled around like thet, I surely don’t.”
“Then you ought to make a very successful rich man,” Clarion Mardimil told him with the heavy annoyance that wasn’t aimed at their group. “Those people were quite impossible, treating us like so many cattle from a nearby field. My personal tailor would have screamed in horror had he been here to watch them.”
“Even my tailor would have been outraged, and he’s normally a very calm man,” Eskin Drowd agreed, his tone dry and almost as annoyed as Clarion’s. “Not to mention what they charged for the rags they’ll be delivering tomorrow. All I have left is a single pair of silver dins.”
“That’s all I have left as well,” Vallant Ro put in with a frown. “Did they leave any of us with more?”
Lorand shook his head along with everyone else, momentarily surprised, but then he understood.
“They must have had a clerk with Earth magic and metal affinity go over us,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. “I knew someone like that back home, and even learned the trick myself. I know how much silver, gold, or copper goes into a penny or din, so by feeling how much of each metal a man has on him, I can tell exactly what coins he’s carrying. Do they usually use that talent to rob people here in Gan Garee?”
“I have a feelin’ this was done especially for our benefit,” Valiant Ro said with a growl, glancing back at the tailor shop with an angry glare. “If I thought they were doin’ it on their own I’d go back in, but somethin’ tells me it has to do with those people runnin’ the tests. They don’t want us havin’ money, but that’s too bad about ’em. As soon as I get to the bank, I’ll have all I need.”
“And I,” Clarion agreed with matching satisfaction. “If today and tomorrow weren’t rest days I’d go straight there right now, but since they are I’ll simply have to wait until the day after. In the interim I’ll need to think of myself as penniless, for what can one do with just two silver dins?”
“Plenty, if’n y’know where t’spend ’em,” Pagin Holter said, interrupting the muttered agreement of Ro and Drowd. “I got th’ same two silver and nuthin’ more I gotta spend it on—’ceot a real good time. ’Pears t’me like I earned one.”
“As did the rest of us,” Drowd said firmly in support, finally dragging his attention from Lorand. The way he’d stared for a moment had been odd, as if he were trying to swallow down some kind of jealousy. “We all passed those wretched tests and I for one would enjoy celebrating rather than returning to the residence for another early night. Are we all in agreement about that?”
“I think I might be best off not joining you,” Lorand forced himself to say amid the general happy agreement. “Two silver dins are a lot better than none, and for me going to the bank would be useless. Why don’t I just walk back to the residence, and—”
“Nonsense, man, I won’t hear of it,” Mardimil interrupted, actually looking outraged. “Your efforts were no less than those of the rest of us, which means you’re entitled to the same good time. When I visit the bank I mean to withdraw gold, therefore allow me the privilege of pledging to replace your dins. That should allow you to spend your own now with an easy heart.”
The others all added their own words of encouragement, which quickly ruined Lorand’s resolve. He did want to celebrate with them, and Mardimil had seemed sincere about replacing the dins. It was even possible he might not need anyone else’s silver, since there would soon be bonus money in gold to earn…
“Thanks,” he said to them all with a smile. “I guess I’ll be going along after all.”
A half-teasing cheer went up, and then they were calling over the driver of their coach along with his vehicle. It turned out that the coach was theirs for the rest of the day, so another problem was neatly solved. Holter said he’d ride with the driver to direct him, but then turned back to those about to enter the coach.
“I knew we wus told t’wear these here idents all th’ time, but it might not go over so good where we’s goin’,” he told them in a low voice. “Mebbe it might be a good idear t’sorta slip ’em inside our shirts, like, after we leave this here place.”
Since Holter had become their guide and mentor, they all nodded agreement before continuing on into the coach. When they were settled the coach began to move, and once they left the tailor’s courtyard everyone began to look out eagerly for the first glimpse of where they were going.
“I must admit that this will be a new experience for me,” Drowd said, absently slipping his tag on its chain inside his shirt. “My friends and I often met to drink tea and discuss any number of fascinating ideas and facts, but never to … carouse. In my circle it simply wasn’t done, but I’ve always been curious.”
“Then let me give you a word of advice,” Ro said amiably, the only one of them simply enjoying the idea of what was ahead rather than brimming over with eagerness. “Carousin’ is a lot more fun if you keep one eye on your purse, one on what you’re drinkin’, and never agree to gamble with the friendly stranger sittin’ next to you. Especially if you think you can beat him at his own game. You can’t, and the lovely lady whisperin’ in your ear tellin’ you you can is most likely his partner. And be especially careful with all the lovely ladles. Get the price firmly set before you go with her, and don’t drink anythin’ she might offer includin’ tea.”
Lorand felt a slight warmth in his cheeks at the mention of lovely ladies, since he’d only been thinking in terms of drinking with the others. Drinking had usually been a pleasant pastime on the few occasions he’d indulged, because his talent was able to neutralize strong drink no matter what it was made of. The degree he neutralized it to depended on whether or not he needed to be completely sober, or could allow himself to be pleasantly relaxed. But getting involved with professional women… That wasn’t an approved undertaking with the people he’d grown up among…
“That’s another practice I’ve never indulged in,” Drowd said, nodding thoughtfully to what Ro had said. “Paying lovely ladies for their favor, I mean. The established courtesans were too expensive for a young man who had yet to make his mark, and Regisard is a city which discourages droves of street-strollers. Only the occasional amiable female acquaintance was available, the sort who indulged for her own pleasure and curiosity rather than for gain. That means I have no idea what a fair price would be.”
“Here in Gan Garee, I don’t either,” Ro said with a shrug. “There’s usually a big difference between what the traffic will bear and what the lady will settle for, so you’d do well to ask Holter. When you’re on another man’s stampin’ grounds always follow his lead.”
“I hadn’t expected to follow Holter’s advice about anyt
hing, and yet here I am,” Drowd said with a small laugh. “I feel like a small boy on holiday in a sweets shop, determined to enjoy myself until I’m too stuffed to move. It’s amazing what a strong sense of freedom one acquires when one first escapes strong parental restrictions.”
“That’s why my Momma and Daddy made sure my brothers and I weren’t restricted at home,” Ro said, now gazing sightlessly out the window. “They raised us to know right from wrong and how to make our own decisions, then turned us loose. When we first left home there was nothin’ out in the world that we were crazy to try because we couldn’t try it sooner, so we got into a lot less trouble.”
“Your parents sound like wise and wonderful people,” Lorand ventured when Drowd simply lifted one brow and remained silent. “You must miss them quite a lot.”
“Yes, it so happens I do,” Ro answered, his gaze still directed out the window. “I’m used to leavin’ home on voyages, but somethin’ tells me this won’t be any ordinary voyage. We’ll have to get past a lot of jagged rocks and sharp reefs before we reach clear sailin’ to home.”
That time no one commented, since even Lorand was thinking about home. It occurred to him to wonder how dedicated he would have been to making good during the tests if he’d had a home like Ro’s to return to. Possibly not having a pleasant fall-back position gave him an edge over most of those he would compete against, but it was an edge he would have preferred not to have. What must it be like, to know that there were people at home waiting to greet your return with love and laughter…?
“I believe I shall also admit that I have no experience with this thing called carousing,” Mardimil said abruptly into the thickened silence. “Those of my class never indulge in such things, of course, so I find myself curious to know what will be involved.”
“Surely you’re joking,” Drowd said, examining Mardimil where he sat beside Lorand in a way that suggested the young noble was an amusingly odd insect. “Those of the nobility indulge in carousing more often and more thoroughly than any of the so-called lower classes ever do. How is it you don’t know that?”
“It could be he and his group of friends don’t believe in that kind of behavior,” Lorand suggested when Mardimil simply colored and didn’t answer. He couldn’t help remembering Mardimil saying he’d never had any friends, which could well mean he lacked experience in other areas as well. But just how far did those lacks go…?
“I’ve never met a noble yet who didn’t believe in indulging himself,” Drowd said with a snort for Lorand’s suggestion. “They tend to believe that the world and all the people in it are theirs for the taking and using, and most often they can prove the contention. Not that I’m really complaining, of course. When I become one of them, I mean to do the same myself.”
“So you’ve decided the game is worth your full effort?” Ro asked, finally turning from the window to examine Drowd. “I thought you considered the life of an academician the best a man could strive for.”
“I believe I said I would have to find something of more interest to change my mind,” Drowd corrected with a cool smile for the man sitting beside him. “I’ve discovered that the very strong possibility of becoming a member of the new Blending provides that interest, at least for me. I take it the situation holds no attraction for the rest of you?”
He looked around at all of them then, and not even Ro spoke up to agree. Lorand realized they were all thinking the same, no matter how farfetched the prospect really was.
“What about Mardimil’s earlier objection?” Lorand found himself asking, just to hear Drowd’s view of the matter. “Every Blending I’ve heard about for the last century or so has come from the ranks of the nobility. What makes you believe that things will be different this time?”
“What can there be beyond a belief in your own ability?” Drowd countered with an easy wave of his hand. “If the competing Blendings from the nobility are less able this year, those from the lower classes will have their chance. And how do you think the people who call themselves noble got that way in the first place? At some point in time, their ancestors were just as common as everyone else—until they found it possible to prove otherwise. It was their efforts which gave their descendants the free ride they now enjoy, so why can’t I do the same for my descendants?”
“Now you’re the one who must be joking,” Mardimil said, looking downright scandalized. “Members of the nobility have nothing to do with commoners, not to mention starting out as one of them! Where could you possibly have gotten such a ridiculous idea?”
“The idea—and the indisputable facts—come from studying history,” Drowd replied with his own ridicule. “It’s possible to research every one of the noble families, and discover in what year they were ennobled. If that doesn’t mean they were commoners before that, I’d like to know what it does mean.”
Mardimil looked at Ro and then at Lorand, apparently waiting for one of them to say Drowd was either joking or lying. When Lorand shrugged to show that he’d been taught the same thing, Mardimil’s expression turned stunned.
“You can’t mean you’ve never heard that particular truth before?” Drowd said to him with a short laugh. “My dear boy, you have led a sheltered life, haven’t you?”
“Some people do,” Ro commented, looking out the window again. “And I think we’ve arrived.”
Lorand glanced around to see that they’d all put their identification into their shirts, and then he joined the others in looking at the destination they’d reached. The street was narrow and its cobblestones uneven, but there was a good deal less refuse than other neighborhoods had contained. They’d come to a stop in front of a dirty brick building on the left with a swinging sign showing a horse in front of it, a pair of unlit lanterns hanging to either side of the sign. A short way down the street was what looked like a stables, presumably where the coach would wait for them.
Holter had gotten down from the box and come around to open the door, but Lorand had to nudge Mardimil when it was the lord’s turn to leave the coach. Mardimil seemed really upset, and Lorand couldn’t understand that. No noble wanted to admit that his ancestors had been commoners at one time, but they certainly all knew it. All but Mardimil, apparently, who looked like the sky had fallen on his head.
When Lorand finally made it out of the coach, the others were already following Holter through the unpainted wooden door of the brick building. Inside it was a lot dimmer than the late-afternoon sunshine, and it took Lorand’s eyes a moment to adjust. Then he was able to look around to see a place that seemed little different from the posting house the men in his home district gathered in on rest days.
The area they’d come into was one large room, with hearths to both the left and the right separated by scattered tables and chairs. The hearth to the right was unlit and the benches near it unoccupied, but the one to the left had the usual workers preparing for the upcoming meal. A good-sized pig was spitted above the fire, and the way two of the workers kept glancing at it while they prepared salads and such said they were the ones turning the spit. Air magic was useful for that sort of thing, letting the workers turn the spit without actually touching it. And usually there was one with Fire magic, who oversaw the cooking fire to be sure the animal on the spit roasted evenly.
The pleasant, homey feel of the place told Lorand there was probably more than one worker with Spirit magic present, and the comfortable temperature of the room said both Water and Fire magic were being used to adjust the air. Near the back of the room, where the long bar stretched, a boy was using Earth magic to freshen and smooth the wood shavings covering the floor. Lorand could feel his efforts to separate clean shavings from fouled ones, a harder job than one might expect. The clean shavings “felt” different than the dirty ones, but you needed to pull in a good deal of the power to make the difference instantly obvious. The boy didn’t seem able to reach more of the power than any other ordinary user of Earth magic, which made the job both difficult and time consuming for him.<
br />
“Hey, Holter, you cur, where you been?” a deep voice boomed out from behind the bar. “We ain’t seen you in almost a week, an’ some been sayin’ yer too good now t’mix with yer old friends.”
“Too overworked an’ too tired’s more like it,” Holter answered with a laugh, now leading the way to the bar. “I done it, Ginge, I passed the first o’ them tests, an’ now I’m on my way to th’ big ’un. Wouldn’t stop now if’n I could, but I did bring sum friends by t’help me celebrate. Don’t know when I’ll be gettin’ back here, so I came t’say a proper g’bye jest in case.”
“Never goodbye, Pag, boy,” the big florid-faced man behind the bar corrected seriously. “Jest say till th’ next time we meet. An’ now I’d like t’meet these here gents.”
Holter introduced everyone to the tavern owner Ginge, but Lorand noticed that neither man went into details about who Holter’s friends were. Ginge looked to be a shrewd businessman behind the open friendliness of his facade, so it wasn’t likely that he’d missed guessing they were all there to test for High positions. But saying that out loud might have made all of Ginge’s tavern guests uncomfortable, especially the already-respectable number of ordinary customers scattered throughout the room. Best for everyone to say nothing, and just let them all enjoy themselves.
Ginge came out from behind the bar to personally lead them to a large table to the right, far enough away from the cooking and preparing that they wouldn’t be disturbed by it. He also gestured to a boy standing behind the bar, who then came out to take up a complex-looking stringed instrument.
The music the boy produced with the instrument was marvelous, but Lorand was willing to bet he used more than his two hands to do it. With all those strings, easily more than a dozen, the incredible chords had to have more than four or five fingers producing them.
Holter interrupted their appreciation of the music by demanding the silver dins each of them had been left with. Once he had them he went to the bar where his friend had already returned, and engaged in a brief, low-voiced conversation. At the end of it he handed over all the silver including his own, then returned to the table with a very satisfied smile.