Bound by Stone Circles
by Greg Howell
A chapter in the Life of Riley
It's what you don't say,
She said.
The way that you say it.
The meaning that lies inside.
Hidden in a feeling inside a word.
That, I can't understand.
Found carved on a windowsill in the New Trade Academy in Shattered Water.
Chapter 1
It wasn't a good time to run.
What was technically the first day of spring had finally arrived. Someone should have told it. Snow still covered the ground; icicles still hung from the eaves; sheets of ice still clattered along the lake shore. However, all that ice was melting. It was a slow process, but frozen crusts were slowly collapsing in warming sunlight. Water dripped from those icicles, burning holes in the drifts below. Rivulets of meltwater trickled away and — despite the slope down to the lake — turned the ground to a sloshing mess underfoot. My usual running track around the lake meadow would turn to a muddy morass within a few laps.
So, I had to make do. The conservatory was small and cold. Its multitude of little glass panes in white wooden frames looked north, out over a decidedly bleak garden beneath an equally gray sky. At that hour the sun was just a splinter of red on the eastern horizon, the world still cold and dark beneath a heavy cloud cover. No warmth from the sky, so the little greenhouse wasn't much warmer inside than outside the glass. Still, better than nothing. I couldn't run in there, but I could go through a basic morning workout lit by oil lamp-light while the household woke up.
The household. My home. At least, it was a house and I'd paid for it. So, I considered it a home, even though this place is further from my true home than it's possible to measure.
The house was far larger than anything I'd ever have been able to afford back... those years back: a literal mansion. In a poor light it might've had a touch of Queen Anne about it, with weatherboards and gables and fretwork and slate roof with sharp peaks, but look closer and the proportions and touches weren't right. It sprawled over the crest of a low hill near the lake, enough of a distance from town that it could be considered a country manor. There were meadows surrounding it. Beautiful in summer, a white expanse in the winter. There were more rooms than I needed, or had counted. There were rooms I'd never been in. There were wings, guest rooms. There were servants and servants'-quarters and stables and washhouses and rambling grounds. It wasn't precisely based on any architectural school I'd been familiar with. There might've been some Queen Anne influences in there, but that was just form following function.
Four years.
Four years since that day I'd been hiking in the New England wilderness and something had happened. Something... weird. I don't know what it was, but the short of the long was that I found myself... here. And here is... nowhere I'd ever imagined. Nowhere on Earth. Not on my Earth.
But it is still Earth. The atmosphere is a nitrogen-oxygen mix that I can breathe and the temperature means water exists as a liquid. Gravity is the same. The sun and moon are the same. The damn continents and oceans and rivers and hills and lakes are the same. Mostly. Those old, set-piece things remain the same. What're different are the small details, the incidentals, the late-comers, the locals.
One of those was watching me as I worked through my crunches. Squatting over by the door and running a whetstone over the edge of a black little crescent-shaped blade. She was shorter than me, standing a shade under five feet tall, wearing utilitarian breeches and gray padded vest. Stocky, solid build. Long legs, big feet. Big ears. Amber eyes. Whiskers, facial hair. Dark gray fur peppered with russet and tawny patches, and a long twitching tail.
No. They aren't human. Not remotely. Not physically or mentally.
Where one of the hominine family had learned to bang the rocks together and achieved sapience back home, here it was something in the Felidae family that'd made the leap to selfawareness, consciousness, intelligence — whatever it was that fanned that glimmer of cognition beyond simple sentience. They were feline: like cats, like something that in another world might've shared a common ancestor with bobcats, with the tufts on cheeks and ears, the dense tawny, grey-and-black peppered fur, the big feet and that weird, disjointed-looking digitigrade stance.
But they weren't cats. No more than I was an ape. The anthropoids shared distant ancestors, but that was all. The family tree branched sometime after a small rodent-like creature couldn't decide whether to come down from the trees. Here, the distant cousins of what had become cats had made the same sort of decision and begun to reason, to speak, to use tools, to write, to litigate, to build a society that was every bit as complex as anything humans had cobbled together.
But, they aren't humans.
I finished with the crunches and stood, stretched, steaming in the chill air. The makeshift towels were handy for wiping sweat away before it froze, then I wrapped my hands in the cloth and jumped to catch the freezing metal bar. Started the pull-ups.
"Morning meal will be ready shortly," my watcher said. I looked over to see her putting her lethal little toy away and crack her jaws in a sharp white yawn. Then she leaned back to openly stare at me. I did this to keep in shape. She didn't seem to need to: her natural shape appeared to be an annoyingly efficient killing machine.
Rris. That was their name for themselves. It could translate as 'people', I suppose. They used it to mean that. They'd never considered a usage in which they might have to refer to an individual who wasn't a Rris as a person. They'd evolved on the north-eastern seaboard of the continent I'd known as North America. They'd built towns and cities and countries — more than one of those. The continent east of the Rockies was divided into their countries, over a dozen of them. And they were old, established. Ruins of ancient Rris construction littered the countryside and became paving and bricks in newer settlements.
Why hadn't they spread further? I wasn't sure. Perhaps because they reproduced slower than humans so there wasn't a population pressure or resource. Perhaps because they weren't so keen on water, so seafaring wasn't a popular pastime. Perhaps because by spreading out they diluted their defenses and there was always somebody ready to take what wasn't being tightly held onto.
Perhaps because they just didn't see the need. It was a big country. Technologically speaking, their civilization was about on par with late-18th century Europe. Give or take here and there. They were starting to replace muscle-power with mechanical power, using more machinery in various industries and realizing just what that meant for all sort of things. When I'd first arrived, their boats had rudimentary steam engines — paddle wheels on toy harbor tugs. I'd made some suggestions and those suddenly advance incredibly rapidly. Now they had long-range river boats capable of carrying passengers and cargo.
So, they were very interested in what else I might have to say. Lots of people were. Some of those people very dangerous.
Which is why that furry and intense young lady was sitting staring at me.
A Mediator. A constable in that august organization that was the Mediator Guild, which meant she was something like judge and jury and SWAT team all in one. They had a reputation, a frightening amount of recognized legal power, and the muscle to back it up. When I'd arrived here no-one had quite known what to make of me. I was an aberration, an oddity. I'd been involved in some shenanigans in a little backwater town and accused of murder. The Guild was called in to judge me. I'd been taken away and eventually the Guild recognized I was something different, but not exactly what that entailed. I'd mostly slipped by beneath the Mediator Guild's attention. Until I helped with some updates to Land of Water steam engines, and — inadvertently — to their weapons. Those got loose. Those made their way to a civil disturbance in a neighboring country.
That got peoples' attention. Then countries started demanding control and accountability and access to me and the Mediator Guild had swung its own ponderous gaze my way. And debated what to do with me and the potential of my knowledge.
And that had triggered an internal schism in the Guild. Which was contractually impossible: the Guild was intended to be a monolithic entity whose power lay in its unabashed confidence in its decisions. Its charter depended on that. There could be no internal conflict, no disputes, or uncertainties about decisions.
Nevertheless, there had been. It'd been handled entirely internally and violently and bloodily. It'd been resolved, and then it'd been carefully buried. But, it had happened. One party in that incident had decided the Guild should use this newfound source of knowledge for their own purposes, to consolidate Guild authority. The others — who were ostensibly the good guys — they wanted this source of trouble removed. The permanent way.
Eventually, the latter faction ended winning the secret coup. The only reason I was still around was due to an abrupt change of circumstance, some intervention from an unlikely quarter, and a re-evaluation by the Guild after something happened to the leader of their opposition. Terrible accident. Quite tragic.
So, I survived on sufferance. The Guild wasn't convinced I wasn't a source of trouble it was quite obvious I was — but I'd never gone out of my way to cause it. The trouble came from other sources. Most of them Rris.
Those were all around us, but fighting them was like punching at shadows. Proxies were in play: mercenaries and assassins and hit-men, so there was little indication who the actual ringleaders were. The ones calling the shots were likely other powerful individuals, Guilds, and merchant houses. They'd heard some of my answers to their questions of what might be, what industries might live, and what might fall by the wayside. They'd gotten an idea of what could be.
That scared the hell out of some of them.
Some of them saw the bright side: new ways of doing things, new efficiencies, new markets, new opportunities, and profits. Others saw... other things. And they weren't as enthusiastic.
And can you blame them? I never came right out and said to someone's face that the elk-drawn wagon would disappear, or that coal would be outlawed, that blacksmiths would become redundant, but they weren't idiots. A lot of them were perfectly capable of seeing which way the wind was blowing. And too many of them were only capable of concluding that the best solution to the problem was to cut it off at the source.
I'd recently returned from a visit to a neighboring country. The journey had been a diplomatic maneuver, a combination of peace offering and technical and trade exchange; an olive branch signifying that Land-of-Water wasn't maintaining an exclusive monopoly on the new technologies. And throughout that trip — as well as dealing with the locals — I'd had to deal with attempts at kidnapping and assassination. The Guild had been trying to find out who was behind it all, but I'd had tip-offs from other concerned parties that the attempts were orchestrated by a broad swathe of old and powerful organizations. Not necessarily associated with one another, but aligned with a common interest in this case. That interest was me.
And they'd tried before. They'd try it again.
Technically I was under the protection and control of the Mediator Guild. That was a truly ancient organization, wielding great powers, both legal and physical. They garnered the respect and fear of Rris everywhere, from woodcutters in their huts to lords in their halls of power. They'd broken Guilds and toppled governments. Nobody was above their reach.
But... there were controls. They had a charter they had to adhere to. There were rules and regulations they had to follow. And they needed a target.
These old powers had co-existed with the Mediators for centuries. They knew that rules meant limits. They used those to their advantage. They knew the tricks: how to work outside Guild remits, how to avoid their restrictions, circumvent them, turn them against them. They used cut-outs and shadows and stand-ins to do their dirty work. Mercenaries were popular, hired by proxies so they had no idea who'd actually hired them.
They'd already been sent against me. People had died. Not humans, but people anyway. And the Guild was spinning its wheels trying to track down who was responsible. That Mediator was one of a pair assigned to watch me full-time. Jenes'ahn, a younger constable. But she was supposed to be very good. As was her older partner. They either were that, and recognized as that, or they had sponsors influential enough to make sure they were assigned. I suppose the other options were that this was a punishment detail, or that nobody hated them enough to veto their position. Yeah, stranger things have happened.
I was leaning toward the former option, as they took their duties incredibly seriously. They were efficient to a fault, annoyingly so, but they did their duty.
And Jenes'ahn certainly was, going above and beyond. As I eked out a last pull-up, then dropped back to the flagstone floor, she stood. "Done?"
I rolled my shoulders. The damaged one had healed and I'd warmed up enough that it was only just noticeable. But still stiff. "Yeah, done," I said.
"Go and wash. I'll tell them you will be ready."
Same as every morning. She didn't need to tell me that, but Mediators had their systems. I sighed. "A. And that I will be out the rest of the day."
"You think they don't know?"
I shrugged and grabbed my towel, head off to hit the shower.
Through a parlor, then along halls and upstairs to the master suite. The inside was polished wood and clean white plaster. I'd had some say in the interior, which meant having lintels raised, more lights and windows added, and insulation and double glazing worked in. The materials weren't quite up to modern standards, but wool as an insulator worked just fine, thank you. Expensive, but apparently I could afford it easily. I was getting paid handsomely, I'd been informed. I still wasn't quite sure on the exchange rate. How many Big Macs would a silver finger buy?
The shower was another alien feature. The locals weren't so keen on them. Their translation of ‘indoor rain’ had created some interesting takes on the concept, but I had something I was happy enough with. With the house's boilers going there was hot water enough. I scrubbed away half-frozen sweat and washed with the coarse local soap, then stood under a steaming hot deluge.
For too long. Eventually, it had to end. I shut the faucets off, raising a protesting clang from somewhere in the plumbing. I turned, and flinched violently when I found her standing there in her weather-beaten gray roadcoat. All a shocking contrast against the steam-softened white and green bathroom tiles. "Morning meal is being set out," she told me. Then more pointedly: "You realize it is important that you aren't late today."
"I know," I sighed. Jenes'ahn watched as I toweled off and trimmed at my beard in the vanity mirror. "Would it help if I assisted you with your grooming?"
I paused. Considered that for a very short time. "I think not, thank you," I said.
"The teacher did."
"A. But that was then. This is now," I said. "I'll be down shortly. Don't let me tie you up."
If she got the hint, she ignored it. She stood and watched until I was done. My clothes were already laid out on the bed. They weren't what I would have chosen.
"You should dress appropriately," Jenes'ahn said, and I thought I picked up a trace of satisfaction. "Aesh Casandi decided these would be so."
That would be Tichirik she was referring to, the household major domo. And her idea of ‘appropriatelys’ differed from mine. Jeans and a comfortable shirt would have done me; a well-tailored dark suit would've sufficed. This was Rris finery. There were local pants — dark blue, blousy and loose, with fancy silver ties around the weird ankles to stop hems dragging. A dark blue tunic was plain enough, and was covered by a gray embroidered swallow-tailed jacket trimmed with more silver filigree. Granted, it was the local idea of subdued formal wear, and was a diplomatic choice, but it still felt like frippery to me. I guess I'd worn worse.
So I dressed. Then carefully took the laptop from its cabinet, slung it, and headed down to breakfast, trying to straighten cuffs and adjust the fitting of clothes that didn't have elastic and had too many damn buttons. "You look better," Jenes'ahn assured me as she followed down the main stairs.
"Than what?" I grumbled.
"Your collar is... hold still," she growled and fiddled with something behind my neck. "There."
Breakfast was waiting. More than I could eat. Meat and protein, there was plenty of that. Rris are predominantly carnivorous — a Rris smile is an excellent reminder of that. The other elements added to their diet are mostly due to taste. They grow grains, but most goes to animal feed. They have orchards — how else would you make brandy, wine, ale, or any of the other products of fermentation? They bake — you need that for meat pies, and bread is cheap and filling and pads out a stew. No sugar, though. And a lot of the seasonings I was familiar with don't either exist here, or are toxic to Rris.
And theirs can be toxic to me.
But our cook was good. Very good. He'd managed to avoid poisoning me and always provided meals I'd found to be excellent, even under conditions of considerable privation. His raise had been substantial, and his cooking had seemed to reach new heights. Which just proves that looking after your people is an investment.
So, that morning there were strips of bacon and grilled slices of bison and something like a Spanish omelet with everything you can imagine thrown in. The fruits were most certainly out of season, probably grown in hothouses not filled with exercise equipment. No coffee, though. The drink was wine, but so watered down as to be almost a fruit drink. It was still believed to be safer than the local water, which was something I was in a position to do something about.
So, I sat in that elegantly appointed dining room, on an expensive cushion at that kneehigh wooden tennis-court of a dining table, and ate. And Jenes'ahn sat opposite and broke her fast, enjoying stratified cubes of rare bison meat and smoked salmon.
That was a... recent development.
Tich was there to see us off. Tichirik aesh Casandi, the major domo of the house, in her tidy breeches and brilliantly-polished leather vest. I called her Tich. It'd started as a minor act of rebellion against the overwhelming formality so many of the high-born Rris wore like cloaks. She showed no signs of irritation with it, even if some others did call me ‘namebreaker’. Then it'd become habit. But she was unflappable, and ran the household with a decorous efficiency.
It wasn't a small household. I lived there. I'd lived there with... someone else. She was gone, now, but the place was still the same size. And without modern conveniences it took some keeping. Rugs had to be hauled outside and beaten. There was a scullery, with tubs of water where washing was done by hand. And then had to be hung outside to dry. Dust never sleeps, nor does soot and crap in the air from burning lamps and stoves and fireplaces, so dusting was an ongoing battle. There was an ice-cellar, but no refrigerators, so for most of the year keeping fresh food in stock was a concern. There were stables, with animals that needed tending. And the grounds needed maintenance, with painting and roofing and trimming and raking. So, we had a staff. And they in turn needed looking after and feeding and management.
So, she was the interface.
If there were any problems, I never heard of them, unless I hunted them out. Oh, she was doubtless a spy for the palace, and perhaps other sources also, but she seemed to be damn good at both jobs.
At the front door she had my boots ready and helped me into the weight of my winter coat. Jenes'ahn strapped on her bandolier of matchlock pistols, then slipped eight inches of darkened steel into an internal sheath in her coat. Tich brushed a speck of something off my own coat, a little pointless considering the patched bullet-holes in the thing, then she asked, "And you have no update on your return time, sir?"
"Sorry, but no. Unless you've heard differently?" I asked Jenes'ahn.
"It will be as long as it takes," she said. "Quite possibly not today."
"I'll try and get word to you," I said.
"Very good, sir," Tich said. "Dinner will be prepared, just in case."
"If we're not back, staff are welcome to it," I said.
"There will be no waste, sir," she said and ducked her head. "A successful endeavor to you."
A good sentiment. "Thanks," I smiled back, carefully, and she pulled the door open for us.
The sun had almost cleared the horizon, painting the clouds' underbellies in a pink-gold extravagance. Our carriage was waiting on the drive. It was a palace whip, with the gold trim and Land-of-Water colors on placards on the doors, all looking luridly saturated in the early light. There was a driver up on her bench and elk in their harnesses. The troop of armored palace guards mounted on their own elk were just a courtesy. And that whole scene had actually stopped looking weird to me.
It was a comfortable coach, as far as those things go. Enough legroom, glass in the windows, overstuffed seats to compensate for iron-bound wheels and a rudimentary springleaf suspension system that wouldn't be out of place on a GM product. I flopped back into the upholstery, set the laptop beside me and watched as Jenes'ahn latched the door and settled herself on the bench opposite. Two knocks on the roof and the carriage jolted into motion.
Not as fast as a car by any means. A brisk jog would keep pace, but that wouldn't be seemly.
"You didn't sleep very well last night," Jenes'ahn eventually said. "Shouting out, again."
"You don't have to sleep there," I said.
"It's not that. Are they getting worse again? After the teacher... left?"
"No."
"Really." She didn't look convinced.
I sighed. "Since Bluebetter, coming back from there. About the same."
PTSD? Something like that. Possibly not post-traumatic, since I was still living it. Whatever it was, my subconscious was trying to deal with something it'd never been designed for. At moments it was difficult to tell the nightmares from the waking moments.
I'd had the dreams before — the night-terrors — when I'd wake up in the small hours, along with everyone within earshot. I'd been told I was screaming. For a period of time things had seemed more settled — the dreams had calmed down and I seemed to be getting a handle on my new life. For a while. But, recently — after that diplomatic jaunt to Bluebetter — they'd flared up again.
That tour had been something of a disaster. Oh, we'd accomplished what we'd set out to do. Agreements had been made and policies settled, but... people had died. They weren't human people, but they were still people. They'd died. I'd seen them die. And sometimes, I'd been the one who'd killed them.
And the threat hadn't been levelled entirely at me. There was a woman — a Rris woman — and one of the first people I'd met here. She'd helped me. She'd been my savior and my protector and my teacher. She'd given up a familiar and comfortable life for me. And I'd loved her. And I'd dragged her into my orbit and she'd become a target.
Rris knew she was important to me. They thought they knew how and why and they thought she could be leverage. They thought that a threat to her might bring me under control. So, attempts were made to take her. She'd been in dangerous hands once before, so she knew what that meant. She was terrified of that happening again, and she'd grown increasingly miserable.
But, she couldn't leave. The Guild wouldn't let her. They knew she was important to me, so they ensured she would stay to keep me under control. And, tangentially, as long as she was involved with me, she was under their protection. If she left, they'd simply withdraw that and leave her hanging. She'd be something of value to me, out in the world and vulnerable. She fully understood what that would mean. That was the Guild's threat to her.
And it took me too damn long to understand that. Because of me she couldn't leave. And because of me she was a target, and if she left, she'd be a bigger target because the Rris just didn't or couldn't understand how I worked.
Obsession and obligation.
Two sides of an emotion. Or two different emotions with one side. Same result.
I loved her. Still do. I wanted to be with her, would do anything for her, would give her anything, without reserve. And the Rris who knew that called it insanity. They simply didn't feel the same thing in the same way I did. It just didn't register. In their world obsession was the closest term their experience could apply. People who did that kind of thing were regarded as a sort of insane. There were stories about them. Not many happy endings.
And from my side, the best word I could use to interpret what Rris told me about their experience would be obligation. And I know that's not right, but when I try to get someone to explain it to me, that's the best I can come up with. They say it's what they give you in return for what you give them; it's what they owe you; it's what they can offer you. And you choose to repay that debt. And then they go and explain that debt is the wrong word, but it's still an obligation and... yeah, I know.
That all makes as much sense as trying to describe love to them. It's a single word used to describe too much: I love you; I love this color; I love this song... A human knows what that means — they can feel what it means without any other words necessary. The Rris however... that's utterly meaningless to them. You may as well try and describe the tour de France to a flounder. They've questioned and puzzled and in the end they compare it to old stories of Rris eccentrics and lunatics and outcasts. And conversely, to me their sentiments sound disturbingly like the self-entitled thought processes of a stalker.
It doesn't help that their sex lives are weird, driven by seasons and chemistry. Their males are generally uninterested, except for a certain time of year when their females smell right, and then they're in with a grin. That seasonal filter has trickled down throughout their history and civilization, reflecting in cultural aspects ranging from their lower population growth to their sexual equality. With less sexual dimorphism their men and women are on an equal footing. Neither sex is stronger, larger, faster. There's no concept of jobs for men or jobs for women. The only serious difference is with childbirth and rearing children, but they have their way of dealing with that. Their system for that seems... harsh to me. It's not what I grew up with. It's not a nuclear family unit and loving parents, but for them it's perfectly normal.
And that's the point. For them, it's all normal. It works. It's worked for millions of years. Evolution has just created another road that gets to the same scenic views. But when you try to mix the two together you end up with confusion and misunderstandings and assumptions on both sides that can be hilarious or tragic or some terrible mashup of both. In my doomed relationship little thing compounded on little thing: gestures of affection were completely misconstrued, promises meant the wrong thing, gifts were taken as tokens of... something else. And the fact that she would've been gone long ago if the Guild hadn't kept her there didn't help.
So, in the end I kicked her out.
Well, that was what I wanted it to look like. Like my weird alien mind had sudden switched focus and she wasn't it. There'd been an argument over something trivially stupid. That was an excuse for the shouting to start, and then I'd kicked her out.
I'd made arrangements for my cunning plan. I'd provided money and jewelry; I'd arranged shelter with someone else I trusted. Well, I thought I trusted him. I'd been wrong about that sort of thing before, but there wasn't much choice. I was banking on the fact that even if he betrayed me, he'd still help her. The pair of them had had something together some time ago, so they knew each other, they got along together. And he could offer her a hell of a lot more than I could: protection, security, shelter from the political game, a future, a chance to build a semi-normal life, perhaps children. All the things I never could.
In that regard, I succeeded. Otherwise, my cunning plan backfired quite spectacularly.
I'd hoped Rris would assume I'd lost interest in her and that was why I kicked her out. However, the Guild didn't fall for it. My Guild minders had been around me long enough that they knew I wouldn't just dump her like that. Jenes'ahn told me no one would buy that story: everyone knew that I didn't work like that. I would only replace one woman for another.
It didn't help that that was ridiculous. It had happened before, and it was what everyone knew was true, so therefore it must be right.
And she stepped up to bat.
Fuck.
Now, I was stuck with her. I had to let people think she was my latest infatuation. That I'd grown tired of the teacher and now the Mediator was my latest object of affection. Only problem was, I didn't feel all that affectionate towards her. She'd saved my life — true. She'd was diligent and forthright and honest to a fault. She was also damaged goods.
She slept with a knife under her pillow. Literally. And she knew how to use it. Had used it. She had as many scars as I did. Her sense of humor was as well developed as her sense of fun, and that seemed to be restricted to polishing her armor. I'd tried to scare her off, playing the angry monster, trying to frighten her off.
She'd called my bluff. All the way. If it'd been some kind of rape, I still wasn't sure who the victim was. She'd liked it.
So, yes, we slept together. We had to, to keep up the ruse. We slept together, and sex happened. It was still weird, for both parties. There were anatomical and practical differences. For me, it was like putting a sock on the wrong way around, if you want to try and mangle analogies. And for her... I wasn't built like a Rris male, and she wasn't anything like a human woman down there. It could be uncomfortable. So, I was careful. Unless she dug her claws in and growled, ‘harder’.
My back was still sore. And she was sitting opposite. Watching me. All the time. Getting a few seconds when I wasn't under a Mediator's surveillance was even more difficult now.
At least my original objective might have worked. Attention did appear to have shifted away from my old teacher, from Chihirae. If I could keep this up she might have a chance at a normal life. So, for her sake, for her life, I'd have to maintain this charade.
And hopefully my other plans might work out a little better.
"They're getting worse then," Jenes'ahn said. "There are the medications."
"No." I shook my head. They tended to be opiates and I didn't need to deal with an addiction on top of everything else. "None of that."
"Then what? You hope they will just go away?"
"They did before."
"They didn't," she said, sank back into her corner and crossed her arms. "They never went away. Slept for a while, perhaps, but they were always there."
I didn't say anything.
"You aren't going to do anything, are you?"
"You mean, try and kill myself?" I forced myself not to react.
"You have tried before," she observed.
"I have," I said, trying to see where she was going with this. "Your point?"
"I was told about the time you tried in the palace. That doctor, Maithris, had warned you might do something severe. She warned you seemed... brittle."
"Brittle?" I echoed. This was news to me. Maithris was a... she was similar to Chihirae and yet not like her in any way. She was a doctor. She'd said she was a doctor. She'd saved my life and she'd almost killed me. I'd been told that her warning about my mental health was the reason she'd been given access to me after my suicide attempt, but not much beyond that.
"A. I believe those were her words. And that you may do something unexpected. An escape attempt was considered most likely."
"Really?" That was funny.
"A. That's so hard to believe?"
I gestured at the window. "I think so. Where would I go?"
Outside, the scenery was slowly changing as we rattled along country lanes and boulevards, through their version of suburbia. The lands here were old and established: estates and manors tucked in behind towering hedges and snow-topped walls and wroughtiron fences. Insular and sheltered, away from prying eyes. They weren't a gregarious people, and their architecture reflected that. McMansions would be unthinkable and intolerable to them.
And beyond those mansions and walls there was a whole world filled with Rris. I didn't have many illusions about how far I'd get.
"Hunhn," Jenes'ahn snorted. "She observed that solitude was difficult for you. That's what led to your incident. I find myself wondering if that is likely to happen again, now that the teacher is gone."
That was it. Goading me. Trying to make me admit that my eviction of Chihirae wasn't sincere; that it was all an act; that I wanted her back; that her absence was a hole in my heart that I felt every day. I would have been so easy to do. And the rational part of me knew she was safer where she was. She could be happy there. It was better for everyone.
But Jenes'ahn was right. Goddamn her.
All I could do was flash a careful mask of a smile. "But I'm not alone."
"A?"
"I've got you, don't I?"
She bared teeth. That wasn't a smile. "You keep playing these games and you will get bitten."
"Yeah, I've warned you about that."
A hard glare. "All you have to do is ask and we can bring her back."
I tried to remain calm, relaxed. "Stop saying that. I got rid of her for a reason."
And she slowly tilted her head and I had a horrible feeling she could read me better than I realized. "We are aware. We are less sure of the precise nature of that reason."
"I'll make it easy: I don't want her back."
"So you have said," she replied. "Mikah, the Guild is trying to help you. If you aren't honest with us, that does make it difficult."
No, they weren't trying to help me. They were pissed off because Chihirae had been a piece they could use to keep me in line. There'd never been any explicit threat made, but the implication had been there and the Guild was not nice in those matters. Now that she was gone they'd lost some leverage. They wanted it back.
"I've told you everything, and you insist on misconstruing it. You invite yourself into my life because you say that everyone thinks that I have to replace one woman with another. That's not how it works, yet here we are." I waved a hand vaguely toward life, the universe and everything. "As for helping, what about these threats against me? Any progress there?"
She must've recognized the blatant change of subject, but she didn't fight it. "That is still Guild business."
"Really. I kind of thought that because I was involved it might be my business too. My mistake, a?"
"Quite," she said.
"And since this meeting this morning involves the Guild, is it also your business?"
"I will be surprised if any agree to any part of your proposal. If they do, then the Guild will look at its options."
"You've already agreed to the requests."
"Pending their decision."
I took a deep breath. It was damn cold. "And if they agree?"
"That will change a lot of things."
"Such as?"
"The disposition of various nations towards Land-of-Water and yourself. If they are getting the access they require, they may change their minds regarding other initiatives. This could be beneficial to our investigations."
"You mean, if they are talking to me, they're less likely to want to kill or kidnap me."
"That was what I said."
It was an aspect I hadn't considered. "And how does that help... oh, they may alter assistance or other payments to various factions or hirelings. If you've been monitoring those, the changes might stand out."
She tipped her head again. "Sometimes, you're not as foolish as you try and appear."
"Yeah, I should probably be more careful about that."
"With the ones you'll be dealing with I would advise it. Simple and honest, that it what they expect. If they knew you like I do, they wouldn't agree to your proposal without checking its teeth."
"We've met before," I reminded her.
"I am aware. They formed opinions of you then."
"All good, I hope."
"You live, you dream. They consider you everything from bestial and dangerous to naive and manipulable."
"Well, that covers pretty much everything, a?"
A sigh. "They won't be attending so much as to listen as to see what they can get out of you."
"And that's the whole point, isn't it," I said. "If this works, then hopefully everyone will be drinking from the same well. That's the expression, isn't it?"
"The same bowl," she corrected. "You should prepare for disappointment."
"Don't worry. Since I met you I've never been more prepared."
She opened her mouth, paused, then glowered at me. I smiled warmly.
"You're not as clever as you think you are. I know you don't want to do this. I can smell your nervousness."
"A. Of course I'm nervous. This kind of thing always scares the daylights out of me. But," I shrugged, "it has to be done."
"You could have sent proclamations."
"How did his lordship take that suggestion?"
She glowered at me.
"I thought so. This has really got to be done in person."
"With you, that is not such a wise move."
"Hah. You'll be there. Your sparkling charm will win them over, I'm sure."
She hissed at me.
Shattered Water is an old city.
Not old as in ‘a hundred years old’, but really old. Historically old. Rris evolved on the continent — there are time-worn carved stones around that were probably ancient when humans first came to the Americas. There are walls that would have stood when Rome did. Foundations that would have been laid during the Renaissance. Shattered Water was built on those foundations, and of those foundations.
We entered the city proper, passing through the outer ring of fortifications, the newest, which were already, quite frankly, obsolete. Massive earthen and stone berms wrapped around the city, designed to try and provide protection against infantry assault and artillery fire. I understood that in these enlightened times they'd never been tested. Up on the crenellated parapet the covered snouts of canons protruded from embrasures. Solid gatehouses pierced the walls at strategic locations, the traffic entering and exiting passing over bridges spanning a moat that really didn't look anything like the things you saw in movies.
Of course, the walls meant that space inside was at a premium. There were open ways cutting through the city, wide boulevards with trees. Where they intersected there were large plazas. The blocks between were packed with buildings, the size and quality depended on where you were in the city. Wealthier districts were fitted stone and tile roofs, some standing three stories tall. Less affluent areas, such as the Cracks, were cheaper, the buildings wooden frames, or perhaps cheap brick. Walls were whitewashed plaster, crooked and cracked, leaning out. The streets turning to lanes turning to noisome alleyways above which second floors bumped into each other.
Seen from high above the city's thoroughfares and buildings might've resembled breaking ice, cracks radiating out from the central plazas. From ground level one lost that overview. The view from the carriage was winter streets, bare trees, and buildings with frosted windows. Smoke curled from chimneys, hanging over the rooftops until a breeze eventually came up to blow it away and provide a little more early-spring chill. That didn't worry the locals, though.
The streets here were made for people. Not humans, but people anyway. There were no sidewalks, or crosswalks or traffic signals or traffic islands. The roads were flagstone or cobble or — in places — mud. And in those streets Rris were everywhere; walking or hawking their wares or shopping or running or playing or spectating. Young or old, rich and poor, short and tall. Tufted ears standing up and twitching like tall grass in wind, dappled earthentoned fur contrasting with the bright colors of clothing off all descriptions. A multihued throng of hairy bodies going about their business while the occasional animal-drawn vehicle plodded through, their drivers resigned to the fact that they weren't going anywhere fast.
There were stands and stalls along the roadsides, displaying all manner of knickknacks: cheap pots and pans, knives and spoons, washboards and jars and tops and toys and other household goods. Tinkers plied their trades, their tatty coats hung with little tools and parts to fix whatever might need fixing. Dyed cloth and leather hung from racks. Traders shouted offers and waved goods to our passing troupe until guards nudged them aside with their mounts. Meat grilled over banked coals, and even Jenes'ahn's nostrils twitched as we passed by. A bustling and busy city.
And the sun was barely up.
There were layers to the city. The outer walls were the newest, but there'd been others over the centuries, built out in concentric circles. I suppose one could estimate the ages of the districts by counting them, like the rings on a tree. Not much left of those old fortification. They'd been torn down, worn away and cannibalized for building material and now bits and pieces remained. Here a section of wall, there an old gatehouse. There was an old keep in the of heart of the city; a ruin now, but it had great views.
At first glance the buildings were familiar. They were built with the same purpose: to keep the weather out and the warmth in, so there was a form to the function. Take a closer look and the differences crept in. There were oddities in proportion, in scale. And the Rris propensity to privacy was reflected in the layout and construction of a lot of the residences. Those buildings tended to look inward, rather than out, as if they were turning their backs to the world. They could occupy an entire city block, the outsides plain and unadorned, nothing but bland walls. Windows and entrances that did face the street tended to be storefronts, presenting a business face to the world. Elsewhere, deep and gated passages through the outer walls led to central atriums and courtyards with the residences arranged around those. Not as dark or claustrophobic as it sounds, really — they weren't tall enough to block the sun and there were fountains or gardens or sometimes small markets in those courts. People lived there, looking out into that private space and taking a form of pride in their personal places.
Moving northwards, you hit the river. It was different from back home in that it wasn't a small waterway, little more than a creek in places. This river was large enough for river traffic to travel a fair way up past the city, into the surrounding farmlands, finally branching into tributaries in the interior hills. It cut through the center of the city east to west. From the river gate in the eastern walls it wound through to the sheltered harbor on the west, then on to the lake I'd known as Eerie and here was Lake Windswept. We crossed on the Falling bridge, one of the four spanning the river. And no-one really seemed to know why it was named that. It appeared solid enough, with the big flagstones rumbling under the wheels as we crossed.
The central area around the river was geared toward commerce and industry. All along the bank of the river was heavily built up, packed with docks and piers and boatyards, along with workshops and foundries and factories. They spread upstream as far as they could within the walls, then overflowed out into the wider space beyond the walls. Buildings were decidedly utilitarian, tending toward brick and stone behind high walls. Smokestacks poked up along the skyline, spilling out black smoke and ash which sprinkled down like grey snow. There were lumberyards and turpentine factories and tanneries and abattoirs making noise and burning things. There were smells. It's not surprising that the poorest and roughest parts of town — the Cracks — abutted the district. Downwind, of course.
All of that was simply part of the rich tapestry of Rris society. They're a monarchy. Not necessarily a hereditary monarchy, or anything precisely like a human society would evolve. There are complicated issues with the Mediator's Guild involvement in the monarchy which go way back to even before they had towns and cities — rules that are imprinted in their psyche like cults of personality and religion are in humans. But those rules meant there were strata in their society: haves and have-nots. Not necessarily by class with claims to a bloodline, but they were there, and the haves always played with a loaded deck. That ensured they maintained their status and were in a position to pass that along.
The north of the city was everything the Cracks weren't. We rumbled along a boulevard called Swamp Way, still buried in winter snow, northward bound, passing through Smither Square and past Guild halls, the offices of officials, past elegant stores and small specialized industries. Through the bones of an old gatehouse; a marker beyond which the city changed, the buildings tapering away to parks and estates. The really expensive places, the residences of Guild leaders, of heads of industry and merchant houses, of local lords. They were walled and fenced off from prying eyes, but still protected by the city walls. Behind those massive hedgerows were gardens like small forests, with huge old trees like those that'd once covered the eastern seaboard. I'd once asked why they wasted all that valuable space and was told it was because they were rich and they paid what was demanded. And, incidentally, because if an outright siege ever occurred there would be a supply of wood and space to grow food.
Well, in the old way of warfare there might've been.
We trundled along for a time, following a paved road surrounded by what looked like old forest. Until you saw the wrought-iron fence back in the trees. Then there was a big gatehouse of pale stone that didn't come from anywhere around here, the iron-bound gates set in a tunnel passing through the center. The guards there spoke with our guards, examined passes, looked in, then waved us on. We clattered through, the sound of animal hooves and iron-rimmed wheels reverberating.
A far cry from the first time I'd passed this way. That'd been four years ago and that had been... terrifying. And I'd been walked the final distance up the drive under armed guard, below the arching boughs of the old trees lining it. Beyond those trees the estate spread off in all directions: white winter meadows stretching away to dark forests. All so carefully tended so as to look wild, untended, untamed. In the summer the meadows were long golden grasses and wildflowers, alive with insects and birdlife; the woods deep and green and cool and filled with unexpected things.
And the palace sat in the midst of that curated wilderness like a gem in a birds nest. It wasn't a product of vanity by a single ruler — it was a symbol of the country, built over generations and embodying the skills of artists and craftsmen, the taste of aesthetes, and the wealth of kings and queens. Comparable to the White House symbolically, I suppose. Although, this house was built on a scale and elegance that would make Versailles look tawdry.
A cathedral-like central hall loomed beyond the massive iron-reinforced oaken doors. Above those were fanlights of stained glass splaying out in geometric patterns. Above those, verdigris washed across the copper roofs, turning them the same blue-green color of the Statue of Liberty, covering the wings spread away to either side. Walls and columns were constructed from dressed granite as pale as the gatehouse had been. Tall glazed windows gleamed in the morning light, three stories of them, their lintels carved and baroquely ornate.
It wasn't a defensible building. It wasn't designed as one. Other Rris countries I'd visited had similar edifices in their capitols. And since the monarchs and rulers of the Rris lands didn't own these residences, they appeared to be advertising the capability and affluence of the land. The culture of a country can be weighed by the art they produce, so these were statements, saying to visitors and the world, ‘This is the center of our land. This is what we can do. This is our worth’.
Not just a palace, but a gallery and museum. Which became apparent as you walked through the front doors.
A vaulted ceiling spanned the hall two stories overhead, vibrant murals of unarmed combat painted across it. Panels of old, polished covered the walls, carved so deeply the figures on them were three dimensional, actually standing proud of the background. Floors were polished and inlaid marble, the rugs on them worth more than most people here would make in years.
Kilometers of halls, over a thousand rooms filled with artworks and artefacts that'd make any museum back home offer up their firstborn for a chance to exhibit them. There were galleries of artworks. Not just paintings, but carvings and ceramics and sculptures and ancient pieces of wood and tincture and scents and stranger things. I'd spent months here as what could euphemistically be called a guest. More time since then meeting with various officials and being given tours of the grounds. I'd still not come close to seeing everything.
Interior guards relieved the exterior escorts with their mud and snow matted feet. An attendant with a new-looking clipboard approached. Nervously and not too closely, I noted. Must be new. But we were on the schedule, so he, or she, led us onwards into the depths of the palace.
And this was a route I'd walked before, so I was familiar with the paintings and frescoes, with their odd subjects and perspectives, proportions and colors. Almost used to them. But there were still the moments when I came across a lion-like profile and it took a second to sink in: it wasn't an abstract motif or symbol, but rather an actual portrait.
The scheduled meeting room was also familiar — it was the one with the big, low table and almost oppressively-low coffered ceiling, but we bypassed that and went on to an antechamber. Guards took up station in the hall and at the unobtrusive door, but Jenes'ahn and I were ushered in. The attendant held the door and kept a careful distance from me as I entered a fug of low-hanging smoke. The other Rris in the room all looked around as we entered.
"Mikah," a middle-aged Rris woman greeted me cheerfully, standing from the table where she'd been seated. "A promising morning, a?"
"Good morning, Rraerch," I said. "Chaeitch, that is you?" I waved a hand in front of my face, peering through the definitely-not-tobacco smoke. "I can't quite tell."
"Ah, you and that famous not-humor," Chaeitch ah Ties retorted, gesturing with his carved pipe. "Good of you both to join us."
"Hey, Don't talk about Jenes'ahn like that," I said.
He snorted. "As I said."
"And you can put that out now," Rraerch told him. "We need Mikah lucid for this."
Chaeitch snorted. "Would anyone notice?" But he did take his pipe and damp it down with a little silver cap over the bowl.
"Have a seat," Rraerch invited me. "We should have a talk before the others arrive."
I settled myself at an empty cushion, sitting down cross-legged to try and emulate the Rris. Jenes'ahn took up station by the door. Chaeitch glanced at her while tapping the ashes in his pipe out into a pouch, then he eyed me. Didn't say anything.
Packages were spread out over the table. There were wooden boxes of varying sizes and shapes and quality, objects wrapped in cloth and brown paper. Over by Chaeitch was a stack of finely polished redwood boxes, each about the size of a half-height shoebox. I knew what they held.
"You're alright with this, Mikah?" Rraerch asked me.
"Why is everyone asking me that?"
"Because you smell nervous. And you're going into a room with some very dangerous people who might be trying to kill you. I thought you may have some reservations."
"Well, yes," I said. "But perhaps at least some of them might be less likely to want to kill me before they've heard what's being offered. It should at least prevent accusations that not everyone is receiving the same information."
"Huhn," Chaeitch snorted. "If someone is profiting you can be sure that someone else somewhere is feeling that they've been cheated."
I thought about that. "And that would be the Guilds?"
"At the least," he said.
"How much influence do they have? They can control governments?"
"Rot, no. Commercial interference in government? No. Well, not overt, in any case."
"The Guild watches for such," Jenes'ahn said.
And the Guild made their governments. They had the final say in the selection of a king or queen. Hell, they molded the candidates. They raised them and trained them and tutored them and then chose... the best candidate.
I suppose there're so many ways to interpret the word ‘best’.
But — again — it worked. For them, it worked. I'd met kings and queens and they'd all been sane, stable, conscientious, highly intelligent individuals who wanted what was best for their people. Any of them would be duty-bound to try and remove an unknown that had the power to disrupt, or endanger, their lands. By their lights it would be the right thing to do.
My plan might put a hold on that sort of thinking for a while. But, as Chaeitch said, there were other players in the game.
I looked at the offerings on the table. "These are all ready?"
"A. We've tested them. Don't worry — they work. They won't make you look bad."
"Some time to rehearse would have been good."
"Time was not our friend," Chaeitch said. "We were hard pressed to get them finished. The varnish is still wet on some of those."
"They're still the same as the first models?"
"Absolutely. Same operations, they just look more... presentable. You won't have trouble."
"Thank you," I said. He tended to be good to his word. "Good to hear."
"And what about you," Rraerch said. "You're ready? You've studied?"
"I know names, countries, governments, their total national products, and their favorite colors."
"I have notes if you..." Rraerch started pulling a handful of papers from a valise.
"You know I can't read those," I sighed.
"Oh. A. Right. We really must do something about that," she said.
Yeah, it seemed I was functionally dyslexic in Rris writing. Everything I did seemed correct, it just didn't work. My reading of Rris script was poor, with tenses and adjectives and even proper nouns seeming to trade places. The glyphs of the Rris alphabet were remarkably difficult to follow and certainly didn't do for me what they did for the Rris. My writing didn't bear writing about.
"You're welcome to try," I said. "But I've got this. Really. It's a simple presentation."
"Not such a simple proposition," Chaeitch observed.
"No, but it's a good one. It makes sense. Doesn't it?"
A snort from Rraerch. "You will need to sound more sure than that."
"Yeah, I know. I know. But I think it makes sense. Do you?"
"It seems perfectly reasonable to me," Chaeitch said. "But then I'm biased. We all are. And as I said, they may not be considering this from an entirely logical state of mind."
I looked around at the silent one standing guard by the door. "And the Guild still has no opinion on this?"
Jenes'ahn stirred slightly. "This is a matter for the lands to sort out. Our concern commences when international concerns do."
I tried to parse that. "What does that mean?"
Rraerch flicked an ear back. "She means that this is a normal diplomatic offering, which the Guild has no purvey in. But they do take an interest when such fails and nations engage in other activities."
Chaeitch looked at Jenes'ahn. "I thought Mikah was under Guild protection."
"He is," she said. "But this meeting, while about him, isn't a threat in itself. A threat may arise, but that will depend upon how the parties comport themselves, a?"
Rraerch's other ear went back and she looked at me, but whatever she thought about that was forestalled when a scratch at the door interrupted. A palace herald carefully sidled in. "His lordship requests Ah Rihey's presence."
"Ah. Well," Rraerch shook her head. "Nearly time, then. Mikah, you go. Everything will be ready."
"You're sure you don't..."
"No. We don't. We can manage. And it will be smooth trails, a? Now, go."
So, I went. Not far, to another room among many. This one was more elegantly appointed than the conference green room, with polished tile floor, dark blue lacquered wainscotting, and sky-blue velvet wallpaper. The Rris king was standing, reading from a folio while a tailor fiddled with a detail on the brocade on the back of the long tan coat he was wearing.
"Mikah," Hirht said as I entered. "A moment, if you will. Just an adjustment to my wardrobe. You are nearly finished?"
"Yes, sir," the tailor said and snipped off a thread. "That's done."
"Thank you," Hirht said. "That will be all."
"Sir." The tailor turned to leave, saw me and froze. I stepped aside, letting the nervous Rris hurry out and nearly running into Jenes'ahn on the way. She closed the door behind him.
The Rris king wasn't an old, imposing graybeard. Young, trim, utterly self-controlled and razor-sharp. He wore his position around him like an aura that even I could feel. Or perhaps it was that human tendency to respond to someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. It was something I had to keep reminding myself about.
But he was certainly competent. I call him a king because that was what the position he held most closely resembled. But he wasn't a hereditary monarch, or assigned the position by democratic elections or a senate or parliament. The Mediator Guild selected the Kings and Queens of the Rris lands. Candidates are raised and trained and groomed from childhood for the position. And when the time is right, the Mediator Guild chooses the one they deem best.
I've had discussions about this with Rris. They find it all perfectly normal. Letting random, unqualified people decide on a system of government, now that they find unsettling.
So this young man was in exactly his element, doing what he'd been doing all his life. He skimmed something in his paperwork, then snapped the folio shut and dropped it on a sideboard. "Now, Mikah, you are ready?"
"Yes. I think so. Aesh Smither and the others have everything else in hand. Everything seems to be there and working."
"Excellent. And yourself? You are sure you want to go ahead with this?"
"Yes, sir. I know you aren't enthusiastic about parts, but I think it's the best path. For everyone involved."
He gave me a level look that was just pure evaluation. "They may not take this in the way you are expecting."
"I know. But... I started this. I should finish it, a? As long as they behave themselves."
Hirht tipped his head back and regarded me for a second, actually sniffing the air, then slowly waved an affirmative. "Guarantees have been given. Openly. Anything untoward would be a serious breach of decorum."
‘A breach of decorum’. I might be dead. Then they'd just have to apologize, and I'd still be dead.
I just smiled politely and carefully. "Ah, of course. If we can't trust the word of diplomats, then who can we trust, a? Did they all agree?"
He glanced past me, at Jenes'ahn. I didn't turn to see what she was doing. Hirht decided to just answer my question. "A couple tried to plead disinterest to the initial request," he said. "They wanted to set their own schedules. Once they understood you were involved, they suddenly started biting at the same bone. They will listen."
"That's all I can ask," I said.
"Quite," he said. "Now, they will have gathered. They will have had time to confer and discover they were all given exactly the same information. We should proceed."
Proceed we did. Hirht set the schedule and everyone else waited on him. He subscribed to the ‘let them wait’ school of management and wasn't in any hurry, just strolling back to the conference chambers. Jenes'ahn followed behind, and somewhere along the way, Rohinia had joined her. Aides and heralds scurried on ahead. Kh'hitch, the king's portly personal secretary, emerged from a nearby office and fell in alongside, handing over some more papers. Hirht glanced over them as we walked, then flicked an ear and passed them back without a word. Kh'hitch just faded back and was gone.
The exterior of the double doors to the meeting room were glossy white lacquer. Embossed on each door was a head. Two feline profiles, one on each side, facing each another. In the few seconds we waited outside I stared at them, noticing subtle differences that said they weren't just stylized designs. Then the doors swung open and I followed the Rris king in.
The conference room was elegantly appointed: carpeted wall to wall in dark brown embroidered with gold geometries of circles and striations, white walls lined with expensive artwork in some places, bookshelves fronted with tiny, latticed glass panes in others. An intricately-cast heavy iron wall heater filled the center of a wall at the end of the room, looking like a tall black-iron door doubtless heated to a dangerous temperature by a fire tended in the room on the far side of the wall. Expansive windows provided enough light. The whole room was broad and wide, yet not very tall. In fact, the ceiling was not much higher than you might find in a normal house. If I reached up, I could touch the dark wooden grid carved into multitudes of approximately meter-wide squares, like a chessboard writ across the ceiling, themselves carved with complicated wooden arabesques. And in the center of each recessed square nestled a little acorn-like glyph that wasn't quite a word in the Rris writing I knew.
The focus of the room, though, was the table. It was a statement in polished dark wood, teardrop-shaped and big and set low, in the Rris fashion. No chairs — the attendees sat on elegant floor cushions. Twelve of them were gathered around one end of the table, and I knew almost all of the ambassadors of the other Rris lands. Any conversation that'd been taking place was forestalled. And they were all looking at us: at me.
I'd met almost all of them before, at one time or another. They looked to be taking this seriously, dressed in their court clothes. There were bloused sleeves and vests and waistcoats and lace brocade and ruffs and gold piping in a confusing palette of colors varying from somber ensembles of muted earth tones to brilliant and glaring primaries. And one of them was also wearing an expression I'd seen before, when Rris first saw me.
"Good folk, greetings on this morning," Hirht said as he crossed the room and seated himself at the head of the table. The others' eyes tracked me as I followed and sat myself on the spare cushion to one side. A pair of aides or scribes positioned themselves behind, notepads and pens at the ready. Jenes'ahn and Rohinia took positions by the wall and I noticed another couple of Mediators take position. The ambassador who'd looked so shocked at the sight of me leaned toward the neighbor from Wandering and I heard something like, "Is that seriously..."
"Shutupshutupshutup," the Wandering ambassador literally hissed back from the side of his muzzle without looking away from Hirht.
"Thank you all for coming," Hirht said, ignoring that sideshow. "I appreciate your forbearance and cooperation in agreeing to attend this meeting. I am aware there have been tensions of late, but we are hoping that we may have an initiative that will go some way to smoothing waters and benefit all."
The ambassadors were watching, quietly and respectfully. Except for that one who was still staring at me.
"Ah Rihey is the one who has requested this. He has some observations on the current agreement which in many ways mirror your own. Therefore he has a proposal that he would like to put forth. Perhaps it is best he does this in his own words."
That was my cue.
"Thank you, sir," I opened with. "And thank you all for attending today. I know most of you, but, I do see a new face. I don't believe we've been introduced. I would be guessing... Serimuthi?"
Heads turned to stare at that one individual who was still looking shellshocked: Dark fur, shorter cheek tufts than normal.
"And, yes," I sighed, a little exasperated. "I talk." Didn't someone brief this guy?
"A," that one finally exhaled. "A. yes. Yes... sir. Serimuthi. I am aesh Hai'seth, from Boiling Stones. Sir, I... an honor to meet you."
This lady, in point of fact. "New in town?" I asked.
"I... yes, sir."
"Well, welcome. I'm sure you'll fit right in," I said and she blinked, looking around at other staring faces.
"Again," I continued. "Thank you for coming. I know your schedules are busy, but I think this is something you should be part of so your lands have a say in what happens.
"For the past year there's been an agreement with Land-of-Water. A working arrangement. I've been part of it, and have worked with you on more than a few occasions. I have assisted you with information and what knowledge I have been able to, depending upon Guild approval. I have also made a couple of journeys to neighboring lands..."
"This has not been..."
"We insist upon our chance to..."
At that point I had to hold up a hand as a few ambassadors leaned forward tried to get some sort of word in. Eventually, they simmered down, but I saw tails lashing. "I am aware that that has caused concern. You all feel that you may be missing out on something or that realms further away are feeling they will be neglected. I think these are valid points, and have a few observations of my own to add.
"These journeys to Cover-My-Tail and Bluebetter were successful. Mostly. I mean we achieved the objectives of both parties. However, we also left a trail of bodies across three countries. In the course of these journeys, I have been shot at, blown up, stabbed, abducted, poisoned, and had a chandelier dropped on me."
Two ambassadors' ears were going down flat. No prizes for guessing whose.
"Please, I have to be clear that I place no blame on the governments of these lands. It has been made clear that all these acts were committed by third parties. Exactly who, that is a matter for the Guild. But, I have serious doubts that I would survive another such journey."
Another twitching back of ears. They were expecting me to say the visits were off.
"I've also considered the time these visits have taken and what was achieved during them. It has not been an efficient use of time. Quite the opposite, in fact. Weeks travelling for just a handful of days of dialogue. That isn't much time to cover, well, anything really. And what information I can convey is effectively confidential. Because of that I won't reveal what was discussed in these countries, but perhaps they each asked for exactly the same information that the other did. That would be months of time spent jaunting around the continent, just to repeat myself.
"So, I would respectfully decline to do any more of these journeys. Instead, my proposal would be that each country looks within. Finds some people. Good people. Find your best and brightest, smartest and most capable, and then send them here.
"A designated number of students from each land to come to Shattered Water and learn here. All nations would be represented at the same time. All would learn the same information at the same time; no-one would get ahead of others. The Guild would authorize subjects and monitor what is said and done."
I spread my hands in a gesture that wasn't exactly Rris. "So, there you are. Is that an acceptable suggestion?"
A semicircle of alien faces stared at me. Hirht was a statue, sitting impassively. Finally, it was aesh Haekira from Overburdened who said, "A school. That is what you are suggesting? A school?"
"Perhaps not so simple," I said. "His lordship suggested [academy] might suit better. You are not children."
"Even though some might treat us as such," snorted aesh Mita, the Night-in-Wonder ambassador. "We should send supplicants to beg scraps from Land-of-Water's table? Why should this place be in Shattered Water? No doubt there would be a price?"
"A," I said. "My services are not free. Also, there will be expenses involved. But for the worth of what is received, this will be an inconsequential amount."
"And is Land-of-Water paying anything?" she asked.
"Absolutely," I said. "My price is this offer."
The response to that wasn't immediate. There was calculation there, but no one wanted to be the first to ask what the hell I was talking about. I sighed. "Perhaps his lordship can explain it better than I. Sir?"
Hirht's face was impassive as he said, "Land-of-Water has agreed to support this proposition, and to provide the necessary premises for the venture, on the condition that Mikah remain with us for the term of the program. We will agree to accept students from all interested parties and provide them accommodation and status accorded diplomatic visitors."
"Huhn." Aesh Shahi from Hunting Well leaned forward. "Yet this academy would be in Shattered Water. In the heart of your lands."
"Technically, the academy would be on Guild land," I said. "Under Guild jurisdiction. That should mean it is neutral, a? The fact that it is in Shattered Water is simply because it has to be somewhere."
"Then why could it not be somewhere like First Last Shore?" aesh Mita demanded.
I met her gaze. "Because Land of Water has agreed," I said levelly. "And why Shattered Water? Because it is centrally located on the lakes. Because I know they aren't trying to kill me. But more importantly; they are used to me so they don't do things like giving me poisonous food, or attacking me when I walk in the room. I've been there, and I don't want to go through all that again!"
That last bit had perhaps a bit too much emotion and history behind it. Perhaps they could read that because some of them looked like a hot wind had gusted into their faces. I subsided a bit, my point made.
"So, his lordship has graciously agreed to my request. Land of Water will provide facilities for the representatives. I will provide material for the program, which will be overseen by the Mediator Guild. A yearly fee will cover the costs of the program. It will be expensive, but not prohibitive."
"So, if someone were to offer you more..." That was from ah Rika, from Kechri Mas, down on the northern Gulf shore.
"Not interested," I interjected, stomping on that before it got out of control. "I am not interested in a bidding war. Anywhere I go the same thing would happen, so I may as well remain here. All countries would be contributing the same, and they would be receiving the same."
No reaction from the table, this time. They were expressionless, keeping their personal opinions to themselves. There were — however — questions.
"And what of the Guilds?" This time it was from Hunting Well. Aesh Shahi, sitting stolid and respectable with her grey fur and dark, earthy wardrobe. "They will also demand access."
"And they will have it," Hirht stepped in. "They will petition as usual. And they will be allocated time that doesn't interfere with the program. Of course, other lands can always onsell information they've acquired. Guild branches can petition those kingdoms who can set whatever price they wish."
They considered this. Not precisely cheerfully — that end of the table was a wall of studiedly blank faces. Obviously, the Guilds would go for the lower prices, so if the kingdoms chose to sell their knowledge, they would have to make their pricing attractive. But, as the guilds all functioned as semi-independent entities, they could still end up trading with or buying from one another even within a guild. That would go some way toward price controls. And those ambassadors were working that out.
"And the Mediator Guild is agreeing to this?" That came from the ambassador from Mi'itchi's Trail. Of course, he'd ask that. The oldest Guild Hall was in Endless Circle, up there on the northern shores of Lake Endless, and the center of Guild power. He wasn't Guild, the Rris governments and the Mediator Guild were supposed to be separate states, but you had to wonder how much influence they had on each other, especially there.
"The Guild is observing, but hasn't had cause to become involved." That was Rohinia, standing off to the side. "We have received a request from Land-of-Water to officiate if this offer is accepted. The request is for the Guild to monitor the program and the contents delivered. This is much the same procedure as is presently done for the information being shared. Additionally, there is also a request to that the Guild declare authority over the site where these sessions are hosted."
"Is that in accordance?" ah Kenth from Lost Sun asked.
"Completely. Any incident would likely cause an international event. The Guild sees oversight as a bare minimum of responsibility. Again, this will only proceed if this proposal is accepted."
"And if it isn't?" That came from Ah R'rhist, from Broken Spine. He was a dour character, his country not usually wanting much to do with the central lands. Just the suggestion that Broken Spine was actually on the peripheries of the Rris world would not please him.
Hirht leaned forward. "This offering is being made. It can be accepted, or not. Those who accept it are welcome. Those who do not will have their reasons, but any petitions to meet with Mikah on an individual basis will be declined."
"You are saying you will be withholding this resource," aesh Shahi said.
"No. All participants will be welcome. Those who decline will be free to purchase any information from willing participants."
"And petitioning Mikah directly?"
"No. That is the point of this: what one gets, all get."
The Overburdened ambassador aesh Eyroi tapped a claw on the table. "And what about the information he has already imparted? There were journeys to Cover-my-Tail and Bluebetter. We know information was exchanged. Artefacts were handed over. Agreements were made. Will such be made available to us?"
"That is quite correct," Hirht said and made a small gesture. A staffer opened a door and a trolley was wheeled in.
"What is this?" aesh Eyroi asked.
The staffer moved around that end of the table and familiar little boxes of polished wood ended up in front of the ambassadors. As experienced diplomats they didn't immediately move to open them.
"This is what Bluebetter and Cover-my-tail were given," Hirht said. "Please, open them. They're quite safe."
They did so, hinging the cases open. Nestled into padded niches inside were polished pieces of metal: screws, nuts, cylinders, graduated markers along with folded envelopes and manuals. The ambassadors eyes them curiously, except for those from Bluebetter and Covermy-Tail who doubtless had a good idea.
"These are measurements," Hirht said. "They are part of a standardized system based on — I believe — water at a specific temperature. That is correct? Excellent. Now, all of these have been created and given out for a reason."
He continued. He explained how the shapes were weights and measures in a new system that Land-of-Water, Bluebetter, and Cover-my-Tail had agreed to adopt. They were necessary for the rail system that was being planned, necessary for any sort of industrialized development. The existing mish-mash of measures based on anything from strides, to tail lengths, to buckets of sand were hopelessly arbitrary. They were vague and very often didn't translate well from one measure to another. He had figures with estimates of how much was being lost in the conversion of some of these systems at borders and tariff stations. Hunting Well and Kechri Mas went stone-faced when he mentioned numbers related to tolls on the Muddy River route.
"Land-of-Water is adopting these systems as well," Hirht said. "It's as costly for us, but we have reason to expect it will pay for itself."
"How is that possible?" the Serimuthi ambassador asked. "All these measurements are as we have always done. Fathers and daughters and grands, for generations back. You would be changing everything from merchant scales to architects' rulers. The costs... what could warrant that?"
"A," Hirht said. "As an undertaking it is deceptively daunting. Initially, all measurements coming from the academy will use the new measure, as will new factories and tools and machines. That is simple proclamation. It is straightforward and sensible and yet it will only touch the surface. To actually seep into the consciousness, that will take more than government decrees. The farmers in the markets won't change because we tell them to, we know that."
"Then why press this water-pushing on the rest of the world?" ah Rika asked. "Is it really so necessary?"
"I asked the same question." Hirht replied. "The lords of Cover-my-Tail and Bluebetter were also dubious. But they were persuaded. Mikah can do that, especially when you hear and see what he has to say."
Heads swiveled toward me.
"This," the Serimuthi ambassador ventured, "this is really what we have to listen to?"
Eyes widened. You could almost hear spines stiffening around the table. I had to knock my grin back to a polite smile. "Don't look so shocked," I said. "Wasn't so long ago I heard that from all of you. An example of why I don't particularly want to have to settle into somewhere new again."
They weren't sure if that was funny or not. But one of them twitched an ear and looked to Hirht. "Apologies, sir, but what do you mean by ‘see what he has to say’?"
"In good time, honored ma'am," Hirht replied. "First, though, we will break for a short time. There are drinks and small foods available next door. Honored guests, if you would."
He gestured to the stewards who came forward. The ambassadors got the message and stood, following the staff who led the procession back out to the room across the hall. There was a buffet there, and they'd have some time to feed their faces and stew a while. When the last of them had gone, Hirht stretched and climbed to his feet.
"They will have some time," he said. "They will talk a little. Perhaps drink a lot. A single hour. You will be ready?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
He seemed to consider that for a moment, then turned and stalked off. His entourage precipitated around him at the door as he left. And at the same moment the smaller door in the end wall opened and Chaeitch was busy ushering in staff with hand carts and trolleys loaded with the other equipment.
An hour was just enough time to set up, to make sure everything was working as it should, and then to make sure it was all presented correctly. Wooden shutters were unfolded over the windows, dropping the room into twilight splintered by the few sunbeams filtering through cracks. Just in time for the ambassadors to return.
Light spilled in when the doors were opened. The first ambassadors hesitated when they saw the room was dark. Then there was a click as a switch was thrown, a circuit closed, and a dozen light bulbs lit the way to the table.
Feeble by modern standard. Glass bulbs with the filaments glowing just bright enough to put a candle to shame. But they were silent and steady and I saw the ambassadors staring.
"Please, come in," I said to get them moving. The batteries wouldn't last long.
They did so, walking down the lane marked out by the lamps to the table. They sat, still looking at the lamps, the new polished wooden boxes sitting on the table, me, and what was behind me. Until the return of the king.
Hirht entered alone, backlit against the brighter hall until the doors were closed behind him. Then he walked down the path lit by the electric lamps without glancing at them. He settled himself at the table. "Good folk, I hope the refreshments were to your taste."
"Very nice," aesh Haekira from Overburdened said dryly. "Not nearly as interesting as these lights, though. Or why we're sitting in the dark. Or what that is."
Hirht didn't look around. "That is why Mikah is here. He will explain that and those to you. Ah Rihey, your time now."
"Thank you, sir," I said. Then a little louder, "Lights, please."
The electric lamps clicked off. All of them, all at once. The ambassadors stirred in the sudden darkness. I turned to the device set up just behind me and hit the laptop's keyboard. All eyes were drawn to the screen that flicked to life. Not the laptop screen, but the big glass panel above it. At least twice the size of the laptop screen, the Fresnel lens magnified the screen enough that all could see it. No increase in resolution, of course, but with the UHD display that wasn't so much of an issue.
Up on the screen was a video similar to the one I'd shown Hirht a couple of years ago, back when I'd first been hauled before the king; back when the Land-of-Water government was still debating amongst themselves whether or not I was some sort of joke. The Mediator Guild had been at this one, and the edits were vicious, but there was enough left to impress.
"This is really just a lantern show. A complicated lantern show that can show moving images. What you are seeing are moving images of the things that have been made where I come from."
Trains and ships and busy ports. Black and white archival stuff of steam locomotives. Modern footage of automated shipping terminals, the vast cargo haulers with their giant mills lazily turning. Steam cranes and gantries. City lights.
"You should recognize all these things. You have variations of them, or know of them. These are what these things can grow into and how effective they can become. We built them through time and effort and learning. A lot of learning. Mistakes were made, and we learned from those. So, what I am suggesting to you is influenced in part by these lessons."
The screen showed a derailed train, an industrial fire, the Hindenburg, a toxic wasteland created by oil extraction, a coastline after and oil spill, wildfires turning the skies red and black above a city. Yeah, it was cliched stock footage, but these people had never seen any of it. And I'd seen plenty. That'd been my job, back in another world — creating visual support for spiels and presentations surprisingly similar to this one. If someone was trying to sell a new luxury yacht, then I'd be tasked with making it look good. I'd done work for shipping consortiums and port authorities, so I had stock footage of big machines on hand. Stunningly ordinary StockRoom stuff, but it was stunningly extraordinary to these people.
"I'm not saying you'd make the same mistakes. Some of ours' were incredibly foolish, and looking back from the heights of now, one would wonder how anybody could make them. But at the time we only had the trail that we could see, so we followed it. And we learned. And we built.
"These things grow together. When one part needs more, other parts have to develop to keep up. If that demand isn't there, then there's no need for the growth. The balance is a delicate one, like a farmer growing crops: too much of one crop will flood the market. What can he grow that will bring the best return? What's in demand? What will the soil support?
"You could make ships like that. A country could devote an extraordinary amount of time and effort and money and make one. But, then what. Where would it moor? What harbors could it use? Filling it would empty a city of goods and delivering them would flood other markets. And there are none of the invisible, yet vital, supports a vessel like that relies on: navigation, communication, fueling, and maintenance.
"That's what this offer is trying to address. It will give you a foundation to build upon. It will provide materials and techniques that will help you grow while hopefully avoiding these."
Old pictures of ancient cities choked with smokestacks, drab streets covered with soot, marching rows of identical roofs under a toxic sky, urban wastelands of concrete and rusting steel, mountains of trash and gulls.
"The rail lines will be smaller to start with, but they will grow. The ships will be smaller than those you saw, but they will grow. Communications systems can be developed that will vastly reduce the distance issue for those more distant regions. There are medicines and medical practices that reduce epidemics, diseases, and outbreaks. New metals and processes, they are all possible.
"However," I said, "all this require communication. These lights and this device use electricity. I can say that, but it's not such a good word for Rris. You will make your own words for these new things, I've no doubt of that. But for one entity to talk to another about these things, they both have to know what those words mean. If you write home about this electricity, if you write about measurements and plans, it does no good if nobody there knows precisely what you mean. They have to understand what you mean; they need a common ground to reference, a thing that you've both measured and comprehended."
At that moment a dozen pairs of eyes were locked on me, like holes in the darkness, shimmering abalone shades as the light on the screen fluxed.
"And that's the point of this measuring system. It will mean that people can actually share information about their world. What is said or written in one place is understood in another. And it is understood precisely. Screws and bolts will be the correct size; pipes will have the correct flow; tracks will have the correct gauge; containers will hold the correct amount. It means parts built in one workshop will match those in another. Goods purchased in one place can be transported, taxed, and sold and everyone will understand and agree what their value is.
"And that would help provide a solid base — a foundation — for this school to build on. The people you send, they would learn this system and work with it. Any information they send back home would be written using it. Yes, you could convert it, which would add time and plenty of scope for potential error.
"There would have to be limits to the number who could be sent, and costs incurred per attendee. Apart from that, I would intend this to be a place where all types of people can attend and where everyone is treated equally. If you send lords or if you send farmers, they would all be in the same assembly; they would all receive the same information. I would not — could not — involve preferences. The Guild would oversee the precise subjects permitted and any differences of opinion would have to be directed their way."
I paused, taking a carefully timed sip from a glass while the support started playing videos of cargo ships unloading cities of containers; fields of wind turbines the size of cathedrals; a human figure walking in front of a moving black wall which turned out to be the front tire of a mining truck. And the camera pulled out again to show that truck dwarfed by the tracks of a kilometer-long rotary-scooped mining monster.
"You see," I said to the silent and staring ambassadors, "those things are possible, a? Now, you ask me to give you knowledge and new tools and new machines to build things like this. I can do this. I will do this. But, I do ask you to give me a foundation on which to start this. A level foundation where everyone is exposed to the same knowledge and nobody can be accused of favoritism.
"As a start, Cover-my-Tail and Bluebetter have been gifted these measurements and weights, along with the formulae for a superior steel to make them. The small boxes before you contain these. Those larger boxes contain a sample of what is possible at the moment. If you would care to open them. Just undo the catch on the front and the lid hinges back."
I gave them a minute. The boxes were polished, glossy rosewood, about the size of a head and heavier than they looked. Opening them didn't require any sort of advanced degree in anything beyond Rational Thinking, and presently all the ambassadors had them open. A single, small milky-white globe was exposed, perched on the base of the box.
"There is a mechanism on the top there," I said. "That small lever. Move it from the left to the right."
One at a time, the globes in front of each them lit up, underlighting the crescent of ambassadors in glowing incandescent light, each of them staring at the ornate bulb in front of them in a scene that's difficult to forget.
"What is this?" someone asked.
"A demonstration," I said. "A sample. A gift. Something you can take and study. It's also something that can be built now, although it's not easy. There are principles there that you will find are either new, or new perspectives on existing ideas. All those are something this initiative would seek to explain."
"You would show how these are made?" That came from the ambassador from Broken Spine.
"Yes. And how they actually work. And how those principles can be used for other things."
"Such as?"
I smiled. Carefully. "That would be discussed in the forum. For now, it would be interesting to see what you can make of them. I'm sure your nations will all be extremely interested. By the way, I would caution you that the lamp is fragile, and the fuel that lights them will run out after a few hours, so you might not want to waste it. That lever will turn them off again. Lights, please."
The room lights came up as the ambassadors figured out how to turn their own lamps off.
"Now," I said. "This academy will proceed. Your attendance in this academy will be entirely up to you. The number of positions available will be limited — we don't want individual organizations flooding the available positions. But your nations are being given advanced notice and are cordially invited to attend. More details will be provided in palace documents that will be handed out. You can read those and forward them to your respective employers. There will be some time before anything starts, so you will have time to consider. As I said before: send us your best and your brightest. I look forward to working with them." I looked around at my audience. "Thank you for your time."
The Serimuthi Ambassador leaned forward and slapped a hand on the table: "Just what the rot is going on here?!"
Heads turned to stare. Hirht intercepted the moment by saying, "Thank you all. Mikah must take a short break now, but there will be a short reception next door. Your staff can collect your gifts and information folios. We will join you presently to answer a few questions. This is acceptable? Excellent."
They went. There was some grumbling and growling, but they went. Hirht looked at me as I drank from a pitcher.
"You're alright?"
I rubbed my throat. "That is almost painful after a while."
"You chose."
"A."
"It was as you expected?"
"Pretty much. All but Serimuthi — didn't anybody tell them anything?"
"They have always been uninterested in what the rest of the world is doing. Now, they deign to send us an ambassador. They want to see what the fuss is about and haven't even listened to their agents."
I hesitated, my drink hovering halfway to my mouth, "They knew what is going on?"
"We made sure they did," he said. "It would appear they didn't believe them."
"Looks like they still don't," I noted.
The Rris king looked at the laptop and the Fresnel lens. "I still wonder if that was a good idea."
"It got the point across better than just words could have."
"A. It was a shock to them. They will remember that."
"A lantern show, that's all it was."
"Huhn. I hope so. I think there may be questions about that later." He didn't frown, but was obviously thinking about something. Presently, he flicked his ears back. "Now, you get yourself prepared," he said as he stood. "They will be expecting you. And they will have questions. And Mikah?"
"Sir?"
The Rris king didn't look at me. "Be polite, a?" he said. "And careful."
Standard advice, but not bad.
Chaeitch was already moving in with staff to pack the gear up, bundle the lamps up so the ambassadors' escorts could load them into their coaches. "You need help?" I asked him.
"You've got enough problems," he growled and made a curt gesture. "Go. Do what you have to. Get."
I got. There was time for water in and water out. That was in a damned chamber pot with a Mediator lurking outside the door. Then she fell in extremely close behind as I headed for the reception.
There was a gallery room, with big windows and fine artworks and a buffet of intricately prepared, bite-sized food. Jenes'ahn was almost touching as I entered. I knew what she was trying to do; what she was trying to appear as. I didn't like it. I never had. I'd tried to help a friend and at the same time remove a threat the Guild had been holding over me, but I'd misjudged Rris interpretation of my relationships. The Mediator Guild had pounced on that error and used the vacancy as an excuse to move one of their people closer to me. Now it was either accept that deceit or someone innocent would suffer.
So Jenes'ahn stayed close enough to brush against my arm as I entered. The ambassadors saw, and noted. Ears twitched back and voices lowered in whispers.
I circulated and talked. As did the ambassadors and their staff. There were associations there. There were also enmities. There were groups that mingled, and those that were oil and water. They pointedly ignored one another even when they were spearing canape-analogs off the same piece of fine silverware at the buffet. They didn't, however, ignore me.
I wasn't aiming to engage with anyone in particular, but I could be certain they'd all try and meet with me. Possibly an order had already been pre-arranged. They'd done that before. I'd encountered almost all of them before and knew them in a business sense. And they knew me enough to be able to carry on a civilized conversation. Mostly.
"We will be able to build lights like those?" ah Ch'thrit was asking. The country of Wandering further west, along the western shore of Lake Endless. Prosperous and part of the Central Trio including Hunting-Well and Cover-My-Tail, it was well-positioned on some very lucrative trade routes.
"You are quite welcome to take them apart and inspect them," I said, holding a plate with one hand and stabbing a silver fork through a round of something like salami garnished with flaked salted curds. "If you can, go ahead, but we're not giving any hints or explanations."
"Ah, those would be in the classes you are proposing."
"Exactly. Those will explain how and why they work. And some more impressive applications."
"Such as that moving lantern show of yours? I must say, that was more impressive than anything else I've seen. Raises many questions."
"Such as, what are you?!" another voice demanded. I turned to find myself face-to-ear tips with the indignant dignitary that was Serimuthi. Rather, their ambassador, aesh Hai'seth. All four-and-a-half feet of bristle and bluster, standing her ground and glaring up at me. There was white around the rim of her eyes. The three Rris behind her probably had positions that were described as something like cultural attaches, but they were twitchy and their fingers kept flexing. I kept an eye on them.
"I thought introductions had been made," I said.
"What?" It was more of a hiss and she looked me up and down. I tried to look unthreatening. "We were informed that Land-of-Water had a new advisor," she said in a tone that was as taut and brittle as rusty iron. "We were informed that it wasn't a Rris. We thought the messages were wrong; we had doubts in our sources' veracity, but... the innovations continued. I came here to find the truth. I find ... this?! What are you?!"
"Smiling politely," I said.
She froze, then once again grated out, "What?"
"How long have you been here?"
She took a breath, glanced around, then drew herself up again. "I arrived three days ago. My credentials have been received and approved by Land-of-Water and the Mediator Guild. I am a legitimate and sole representative of Serimuthi and aesh Shari."
"Very nice," I said. "Well, previously when I smiled at a member of a foreign government, I nearly caused a diplomatic incident. Most of these fine people," I gestured at the interested crowd of diplomats gathered around watching the show, "were similarly dubious when they first met me."
"True," aesh Shahi from Hunting Well put forward. "Joke or fraud or deception or insanity, we couldn't decide. The truth was more alarming."
"You believe this is the truth?" Hai'seth retorted. Her ears were twitching, as if she were fighting to keep them upright.
"You haven't met with him yet," the Cover-my-Tail ambassador said.
"I saw what was shown back there. I don't believe any of you know what that was. So it hasn't been entirely forthcoming, has it." Her eyes flicked past me. "And the Guild knows of this?"
"The guild is aware," Jenes'ahn said. "And the Guild believes that this initiative could be a very favorable one. Depending upon the responses of involved nations, of course."
"And the Guild is aware of what this thing is?"
"We've been studying him for some time."
"And that is no answer" Hai'seth replied in a flat tone. "And the Guild is impartial, a? Huhn, I wonder how he's influenced the Guild?"
She took a single step toward me and Jenes'ahn was there, standing between us. "Ma'am, Mikah is under Guild protection and direction. And the Guild is quite aware of external interference."
"Then you know there's more to this thing."
"Ma'am. I would most sincerely urge you to ask his lordship for an audience with Mikah at the earliest opportunity. There is a good deal that these other honored have learned that perhaps you have not had time to."
Hai'seth looked around at the other diplomats and their retinues. "Ah Chokisti," she addressed the ambassador from Seas-of-Grass. "You've had such a meeting?"
"I have."
"You didn't notify us about this? I have to... There are treaties!"
Seas-of-Grass was Serimuthi's northern neighbor, also out at the edge of the known world. Neither were fond of dealing with the central nations, but at least Seas-of-Grass had a finger on the pulse.
"We notified you," the Seas-of-Grass ambassador replied. "We sent reports. Evidently, those reports were... not believed."
Hai'seth opened her mouth. Closed it again. Repeated. Then glared at me. "Why have we not been offered such a meeting?!"
"Perhaps because you arrived two days ago and haven't requested one," another voice interjected and the audience of ambassadors and their retinues hastily parted as Hirht strolled through. Any other conversations died completely as the show in the main ring took over.
"Sir," Hai'seth leapt into the breach, "I must strongly protest my countries exclusion in this matter. There have been previous meetings with this thing. We have not been notified of this or any of this other... insanity."
Hirht just stared at her until she ran down. Finally, he said, "It's been my understanding you were notified. We dispatched notices. So did your agents. And agents of other nations. The replies we did receive were formulaic dismissals. Some, I believe, did mention insanity, but that was not us."
Hai'seth looked around at the watching faces. There was little sympathy there. She drew herself up, not quite baring teeth as she faced the king. "Sir, I demand..."
Hirht cocked his head, almost imperceptibly.
"...would request a meeting with this..." her eyes darted to me, a flicker of white around the rims, "with this at your earliest convenience."
"Huhn," Hirht just calmly regarded her for a few seconds again. "You think this is necessary?"
"All the others here have had such meetings. They are apparently party to things I am not. I feel this is detrimental to good communication between our nations."
"Really?" Hirht looked at me. "Mikah, what do you think?"
Hai'seth's ears went back as I shrugged, human-style. "If this is going to work, it'd help if everyone were reading from the same page... so to speak. Can't have her slowing everyone down."
She inhaled, but Hirht simply said, "Very good. Tomorrow then. First thing. Mikah, you will meet with the ambassador. Constable, the Guild Hall would be best ground, I think."
"Yes, sir," Jenes'ahn said.
"I'll clear my schedule," I sighed.
"Very good," Hirht said. "Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters that are less annoying but no less important to take care of. You will speak with my adjutant, Kh'hitch ah Ki. He will ensure this happens. Aesh Hai'seth, I would advise some [decorum] on your side. Mikah is not dangerous, but others have their limits. Good day."
Jenes'ahn inclined her head and we watched him stalk off.
"You will answer questions," Hai'seth growled at me. It wasn't a question.
"Apparently," I said. "Don't say I never do anything for you."
She glared, then spun and stalked off after the Rris king, her bristling tail the last I saw of her.
"She always like that?" I asked in general.
A cough from ah Ch'thrit. "She is... not accustomed to having people speak against her. Less so..." he trailed off.
"One such as myself?" I finished for him. "I get that a lot."
"I assure you; we are not all like that."
"Of course not," I smiled carefully. "Not anymore."
Ch'thrit briefly wrinkled his muzzle and elsewhere around us other listeners suddenly found other conversations to engage in. "Huhn," he rumbled into his drink. "Perhaps we will see if she can learn. Of course, a single meeting might not do that. It might take... time. A?"
"A. She has connections with Seas-of-Grass?"
"Their lands have interests in common." He looked over to where the other ambassador was engaged in conversation. "Beyond that, I couldn't say. I believe most parties here were only notified of her assignment when Land-of-Water informed our embassies."
"Difficult to do business with someone like that," I noted.
"A? Perhaps your meeting will mollify her somewhat. Speaking of which, perhaps we could also negotiate some more time..."
"Nope. Sorry. Nice try," I said. "That's the reason for this initiative. If it can work, then you don't have to get appointments and meetings. You don't have to wonder about what other countries have said or heard or learned."
"All reading from the same page, a?" he offered.
"A. I couldn't have put it better myself."
"I would question that if everyone has the same knowledge, then is there any profit in it?"
"That would depend on how you use it," I said. "The principles behind those demonstration devices I gave you, they have other applications beyond just light."
"Such as?"
"Oh, I don't think I can say. Anyway, it'll be interesting to see what you come up with, a?"
"You think we can?"
"I know a lot of you are smarter than I am. I think you can. Now, I had better go and talk and eat so people don't say I'm playing favorites, a?"
He was looking a little surprised, but still said, "Quite. Your proposal will be... considered."
And that was the ritual for the afternoon, and then the early evening. There were quiet conversations of varying civility, surrounded by the eyes and ears of others. Words were spoken, but any promises made were insubstantial and ephemeral. That's not to say there wasn't interest: it was there, and most of it appeared genuine. It was just that being diplomats, they wouldn't — couldn't — commit to anything. Those decisions were made way over the tops of their pointy ears. More of the conversations came down to answering questions and clarifying various points.
It was hours before we were through.
We stepped out the front doors to meet an evening sky that was utterly still and clear — not a breath of wind, not a cloud in sight from horizon to horizon. To the west the sunset was a fading golden glow on the horizon; golds and pinks arching up to a vault of a blue so deep it was bottomless. Breath frosted in the last light, curling around the muzzles of my companions. I paused, took a deep breath of air that didn't smell of stressed Rris. "What time is it?" I asked.
"Night, apparently," Chaeitch growled. "You had to take questions, didn't you. But you didn't have to attend that reception."
"I think I had to," I said. "They wanted... ah... informal assurances that it wasn't some Land-of-Water ploy. Besides, I didn't see you complaining about the food."
"Bird bites," he said. "I could eat something more substantial."
Actually, so could I, I reflected as we headed for the waiting carriages. "And Rraerch is...?" I asked.
"Indisposed," he said. "She has a life, you know."
"Must be nice," I grumbled.
In the cab I settled in the plush button-back leather. Closed my eyes and exhaled, long and deep. I was exhausted, sweaty, and aching. My throat was raw from fighting with the Rris language. I was shivering from cold and the stress of dealing with unfamiliar Rris. I was hungry — Chaeitch was right: those canapes didn't touch the sides.
The carriage swayed on its springs as he climbed in. Jenes'ahn was right behind him, latching the door and sitting beside him. "We are heading back to your residence?" she asked.
I looked at the shadow in the gloom that was Chaeitch. "It will take an hour to get there," he said. "And you have to return tomorrow. And I could eat."
"Of course you could." I sighed again. "To the Barn, I think," I said to Jenes'ahn. She hesitated, then snorted and reached up to flip a small hatch open and relay the directions to the driver up on his bench. Then the hatch clacked shut and she sat back. The carriage rolled into motion.
The days were getting longer, but night still came quickly. Before we made it back through the fallen gate to the city the sun was gone. Coach lamps were dim, not much more than hazard lights, but the drivers didn't need more than that. Nor did the other Rris. For me, though, the landscape outside was nothing but hedgerows and forests of dark and shadows that shifted as the feeble light flitted past them. Occasionally, through the trees, I caught a glimpse of lights in a distant manor window, or the monochrome wash of a meadow or lawn.
And high overhead, the stars were spectacular.
"Do you really think this will work?" Chaeitch asked me from the darkness of his seat.
"You think it won't?" I retorted.
"Huhn, I don't know," he said. "I'd usually say there would be no chance of Land-ofWater accepting the idea. But this is...unusual."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because his lordship seems willing to go through with it," he explained and then vented a slow hiss. "Mikah, understand: an enterprise of the sort you are proposing is... throwing away a huge advantage."
I considered that. "You mean economically."
"Economically, politically, socially. Mikah, the things you know could... would put Land-of-Water at the center of the world for a long time to come. His lordship knows this. He can't let that slip away. But he is still letting you make this offer."
"A," I said. "Any idea why?"
"Huhn. Perhaps because he knows the other lands won't accept it. They won't agree to your terms. They will bicker and demand more concessions and the entire proposal will collapse. Then... well, you wouldn't be able to say he hadn't tried, a?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps he knows something we don't," I suggested.
"Such as?"
"He would have an excellent understanding of Land-of-Water's industrial capability. Also, the population available to run that, wouldn't he?"
"Ah," he said.
"A. You remember a while back you said you could build things I showed you, but not easily or cheaply?"
"I do."
"My kind achieved a lot of industrial works by throwing a huge number of people at them. I'm not sure you can do that. You're not as populous as my kind are."
"Huhn, I wonder why that is."
I glared at the shadowy figure, unable to see the smirk. "Anyway," I said, "we had excess population. Entire cities sprang up around industry. One country like Land-of-Water might have trouble doing that."
"And you think his highness realizes that."
I turned to the silent partner in the conversation. "Does he?"
"I'm not at liberty to say," Jenes'ahn said. "And why would you think I would know?"
"Guild. I'm sure he discussed this with you."
"I wasn't invited to those discussions. There's nothing in this offering to involve the Guild." A pause before she added, "Quite the opposite. If it works."
"I'd have thought there'd be all sorts of trouble," Chaeitch said. "Countries gathered together and Mikah in the middle. You just need one party to feel slighted and there's bloodshed."
"But until then it's casting oil on water. I'm sure the Hall in Endless Circle is grateful that this initiative might prevent some of the more extreme actions some states might take."
"That bad?" he asked.
"They still aren't entirely sure of the extent of what Mikah might have to offer. Well, they weren't. That display today has shaken them. Perhaps some fruit will fall down, or perhaps they will crack. There was a reason we didn't want you making that box of yours public knowledge."
I sighed. It had been a risk, but it was done to emphasize a point that I don't think had been getting through. I hoped. Their reactions to that little show had given me the impression that their eyes were making promises their capabilities couldn't cash. I wanted to grab their attention, and I guess giant steel ships and cities that stretched to the horizon would certainly do that, but it might also have been somewhat of a distraction.
"The hope is they'll be more interested in the possibilities," I said. "They should cooperate, at least, at first. Right?"
"I've seldom heard of two countries agreeing what color the sky is," Chaeitch sighed. "But you attracted Serimuthi here. They've been utterly ignoring central countries for as long as any can remember. Now, they send an ambassador."
"Ah, my sparkling personality."
He chittered, then hissed. "She didn't seem so impressed. I wonder how much she'd been told. Just that Land-of-Water had a source of new knowledge and she was to access it. You didn't hear what she said in the reception, did you."
"I'm not sure I want to."
"Probably for the best. I believe tomorrow there will be a formal introduction. At least she has some warning now. Still, I think you should be careful how you behave around her."
I sighed again.
"But," he continued, "even if she is fractious, an agreement with this project would settle things for a while. There would be a period during which they would be feeling things out and seeing what they're really getting out of it. I'm sure there will be snapping and swiping as some demand more, or think others are getting more, but that's preferable to armies taking bites out of border towns."
I felt my heart lurch. "That's likely to happen?"
A pause. Then from Jenes'ahn's side came, "There was concern. Someone pushes. Land-of-Water pushes back with those new weapons. That would frighten others. Balances would shift and Land-of-Water would be overpowered. It wouldn't be unlikely to happen."
Fuck.
Aloud, I said, "That does seem a more likely reason as to why he agreed to this. He also knew that grand tour idea wasn't working."
"Likely."
"So this is the road now," Chaeitch said and I think he sighed — a curl of breath ghosted across the moonlight from the window. "I suppose now we walk it and see where it takes us."
Outside, the road was taking us back into the city. The sounds of the iron-rimmed wheels changed as they rolled over different surfaces: rumbling over the flagstones paving the squares, clattering against the rounded cobbles of narrow old streets and setts of broader avenues. There was traffic on the moonlit street: pedestrians and animal-drawn carts. I caught glimpses of lamplighters going around lighting streetlights with tapers on poles. Those puddles of light were mostly at intersections, the rest of the time the streets and buildings were jigsaws of sharp-edged moonlight and shadows.
We clattered to a halt in a square off the Fallen Bridge Road, just before the river. A few late stalls were open, selling cheap food. Lights burned in buildings. People were out and about, finishing late business and getting late meals. Most residences in the city had minimal cooking facilities and nothing like fridges for storing food, so the small stalls and hole-in-thewall eateries did a good trade. The stables along the way also looked busy, with the doors open, lights on and people and their animals coming and going. Maybe because the Barn looked busy.
The building our little convoy had stopped in front of was four stories of old stone, green-painted trim, and a mansard copper roof with garrets behind dormer windows. A small, terraced, and fenced patio pushed the street back a couple of meters from the frontage. The windows fronting the place above that were large and glazed and expensive for this land. Lights inside were burning, glowing warm and inviting in the cold night. The slate hanging above the door bore an illustration of a rickety old barn.
It was a very private joke. The full name of the inn was The Broken Barn and I was a part-owner and very silent partner. It'd started as a venture by someone I owed and I'd covered most of the costs, but it'd also turned into an opportunity of sorts, as well as a handy place to crash on nights like that. Guards fell in around us, but Jenes'ahn made sure I was behind her as she led the way to the front door. It opened before we got there, a pair of patrons exiting. She snarled something and they jumped aside, then stared openly as I passed them and through the door.
And into a wall of smoke and heat and the co-mingled smells of cooking food and unwashed Rris and things that weren't tobacco and the rocky surf sound of Rris talking. "Da fug?" I murmured, surprised at the sight.
The main room was big, spacious, stretching across the front of the building and back into it. The floor was polished wood, gouged and scratched from furniture and clawed feet. There were heavy rafters overhead, old and as hard as granite, supported by massive old wooden columns strapped with iron and as weathered as the floor. A counter built along similar proportions ran along the back, complete with stools that played well with Rris tails, just like a real diner. Behind that, a broad serving hatch, and the kitchen beyond that barely visible through the smokey haze in the air. Good kerosene lamps hung from rafters and wall brackets — enough light for the Rris crowd, but dark for me. Strata of smoke twining around below the ceiling added to that gloom; the by-products of pipes and braziers and hookahs and combustion lamps and whatever escaped from the kitchen despite the ventilation.
And it was busy in there.
Rris patrons were everywhere. Servers bearing trays and mugs wove serpentines through the throng, and I couldn't see any empty tables. That wasn't surprising: there were waist-high partitions, dividing the main hall into smaller areas. The low tables favored by the local Rris had the inherent problem of people tripping over them if they weren't paying attention. So, partitions of various sizes and materials broke the room up, providing nooks and eddies where tables and seated patrons lurked out of the way of through traffic. Larger and deeper booths along the windows and hugging the walls offered more privacy.
That surf-on-shale sound of Rris conversation hiccupped as I entered. Heads turned, accompanied by that eerie ripple of eyeshine. But regulars knew what was what, and the servers didn't even blink. So, some neophyte Rris stared openly while others went back to their meals. Perhaps it was the novelty factor that explained why the place suddenly seemed popular. Or perhaps it was word getting around that I was often seen there. The food was certainly good. And fast and clean and fresh. So that might've been a draw.
One of the servers hurried over to Chaeitch, who probably seemed the most approachable. He said something, the server replied, gestured at the room, and then we were ushered toward the back hallway, toward the private rooms there.
Heads turned. Conversations stuttered out, then picked up again when we were past. Jenes'ahn kept her head on a swivel and hand on weapons, trying to project an air of don't-fuck-with-me. But patrons just watched the show. Not too different from other taverns I'd been in. Superficially, at least: the front-of-house was based around short-order diners from back home. And there were a few things behind the scenes that were less conventional.
The private rooms were toward the back. Down the hall, past the stairs and the kitchen. One was reserved — the good one. Jenes'ahn pushed in first while guards took position in the hall. I followed and made a gesture that was an old reflex for me — reach out and flick the switch.
We'd been doing some fields trials to see how some ideas held up for practical use. There was the diner-template for service. The iron range and oven out in the kitchen was another. The double-glazing, insulation, boiler, turbine generator, heating and hot water system were others. So, the rooms were warm, and there was indoor plumbing with hot and cold running water, which outclassed a lot of other inns in the city.
The trickier stuff was tucked away, out of sight and sealed away under guard. That was part commerce speaking: The boiler and hot-water system was something that Smither Industries was interested in developing commercially. It was also part prudence: those things were still being tested. I'd seen what a boiler explosion could do, and it was violently unpleasant. Until everyone involved was convinced of its reliability, it was relegated to a heavily reinforced shed-cum-bunker out back. Then there was the refrigerated room tucked away downstairs, with the heat exchanger contributing to the heating.
That generator, now...
The lights in the room came on at the flick of the switch. You noticed something like that. Then you noticed the lack of smoke and smell. Electric bulbs.
They weren't bright. They were in bulbs that looked a lot like bottles because they were. They were a little ungainly, but they were cheap and they worked and they were better than candles. Like the demos we'd given the ambassadors. The hardest part had been the tungsten for the filaments — it's easy to say ‘we need tungsten’, but how the hell do you convey exactly what that is to people who're still filling in the blanks on a periodic table? Fortunately, Smither Works had been experimenting with something that sounded like tungsten and looked like tungsten and, hey, whadya know. Not that the other bits were easy — copper wire isn't cheap or easy to make or insulate in the required amounts. Nor are magnets, even the basic non-rare-earth types.
Still, they worked. And the generator worked. And hadn't failed catastrophically yet, which was a Good Thing. The current was DC, and regulated by something I also hadn't been sure would work. So, as long as the boiler was going, there was power and heat and refrigeration and light.
The room was... cozy, and red. The wallpaper below a picture rail was a garnet color, only marginally throttled by cream pinstriping. To Rris eyes it was a dark, subtle red; to mine, it was a little too strong for comfort — if the lights had been brighter, it'd have been painful. Upper walls and ceiling were paneled with dark wood. There was a sideboard and drinks cabinet. Front and center stood a large, low table and some perfectly serviceable cushions which we settled ourselves on.
"Well," Chaeitch sighed after a while. "An entertaining day."
"Do you think it will work?"
He plucked his pipe from a pocket and fiddled with it. "I think they are interested, but there are still a lot of wrong turns on the trail."
Another hunting analogy. I thought I got that one.
The other door opened, admitting kitchen sounds and smells and a Rris who was a familiar sight. Ea'rest was a friend. Someone who'd helped me when she needn't have. I owed her. Upon my invitation she'd followed me to this city, along with her son, and found trouble. I'd been able to help her out of difficulties, which had ultimately been my own fault. I owed her again.
So, I helped her with her request to run an inn. Now, she had one. It was perhaps a little larger, a little more of a handful than she'd expected, but she was coping admirably. She'd had something of a military background and she ran the staff like that, and it worked. Now she seemed happier, if a little portlier than she'd been since I last saw her. She wiped her hands on a hand towel as she entered. "Sir! Ah Rihey. So good to see you again. I offer you welcome, hearth, and food, fine guests —"
"Our gratitude to our host," I responded. "Long time no see, a? Almost a week."
"Hah! That long? You're working late again?"
"Pretty normal hours, I thought."
"Not if you were wanting to get home before tomorrow. I would guess you're hungry?"
"Hungry, thirsty, and tired," I said. "We could certainly eat." I looked around the table. "Any preferences?"
"Some real food," Chaeitch growled and waved his pipe toward Ea'rest. "You know what's good, and I fully trust your judgement."
"Very good, sir," Ea'rest said. "And your guards?"
"I'm sure they'd appreciate something," I said. "It seems quite busy out there."
"Getting busier," she said. "More customers. Mostly local. The quick kitchen idea is working well. Although, there are some strange types coming in. Not dangerous, I think. They just spend a long time sitting and looking."
"Huhn," Chaeitch actually grinned. "That will be the competition. Yours and mine. They want to see how you do things."
"Then they'll copy it," I said. "And try and do it cheaper. Did they go to Harvard?"
"I had wondered," Ea'rest growled. "Should I turn them out?"
"No point," Chaeitch said, waving his pipe dismissively. "They'd just come up with some other scheme. Just keep an eye on them and make sure they pay full price, a?"
"Very good, sir. Now, I'd better see to your meals."
She hurried off and I looked at Chaeitch. "You're not concerned about that?"
"If they are what I think they are, they will watch; they will poke their noses where they shouldn't; they will try to bribe the guards, but no more than that, I think."
"Some of those lurkers might be Mediator Guild?" I asked, eyeing Jenes'ahn.
She waved a shrug. "We have a presence, but minimal. I'd say Ah Ties would be correct in his surmise."
"What about foreign agents?" Chaeitch asked. "Someone has probably noticed Mikah has in interest in this place. It's an easier target than the workshops."
"Possible," she said. "Not yet, I would think. More likely to be the gossip-mongers. Something new is here, so they are looking for something to sell. Those agents will likely come later."
"Oh, wonderful," I grumped.
"A," Chaeitch agreed. "And not something I want to think about at the moment." He clambered to his feet to inspect the cabinet and the bottles therein. "Good Haisa, Old Hills, Hohas'atil Range, Shinsi... Someone knows their refreshments. Your choices?"
I trusted an expert opinion, so under his advice I accepted what I tentatively identified as a cranberry schnapps. Jenes'ahn surprised me by taking a glass of something dark and smokey. She sat and delicately lapped at it.
The food arrived shortly. Meat; a lot of that. Hot iron griddle of seared steak cubes and venison meatballs, strips of salmon served with mixed berries compote and cream and cheese and Pâté and a kind of cornbread fresh from the oven. And the pies were served alongside: venison and cranberry, smoked buffalo mince and cheese and chili, potato and steak and pimento and nuts. She wasn't afraid to experiment and the results were usually excellent.
I had to consider that those lurkers out there were just there to steal the recipes.
Good food and strong drink in a warm room. It was a pleasant end to an evening. When we were finished, Ea'rest informed us that my room was ready. Chaeitch bade us a good night and good luck with my appointment at the Mediator Guild Hall the next morning.
Way to deflate a good mood.
I had a private suite on the first floor, living from the inn like some old-time writer. When you don't have lifts, then the lower floors are more appealing for the well-heeled. Visit Europe some time and you'll find all the grandest old apartments are on the first floor. Same in older cities in the US. The Rris world was the same, and I wondered what would happen when lifts were introduced. Would all these servants end up being turfed out of their attic garret rooms?
That was a problem for future me.
The room was one of several high-end rooms in their own little new wing, behind a door where guards stationed themselves. It was where I usually stayed when I was working late. As far as inns went in this world, this was luxurious: there was central heating; the windows were double glazed and there was woolen insulation behind the wall paneling. There was a private bath, with hot and cold running water and an indoor toilet.
I stepped inside, onto soft rugs, closed the door behind me, and just sagged. I was exhausted. Utterly drained. It's not so much the hours as the constant, never-ending watch on everything I did: Smile carefully, properly. Don't get too close. Don't make sudden moves. Don't laugh out loud. Be careful. Watch your body language. Watch their body language even more carefully — it's not saying what your instincts keep telling you it is.
An early encounter with a Rris king nearly left me with concussion when I grew careless with a toothy smile and his guards did what they were paid to do. Even with Rris I trust, I have to be careful with both my own actions and my interpretations of their actions.
Because I'm a product of my environment, and my environment was several hundred thousand years of evolving amongst other humans. Living with them, watching them, reading them, absorbing messages and cues you never realized were there. My most ingrained instincts were hardwired to interpret body language at a subliminal level. Human body language.
Rris had an evolution all their own. Their own languages and subtleties. And they had nothing to do with my own.
Yet my instincts anthropomorphized them: a flash of teeth became smiles, close attention became curiosity, a nod turned into agreement, wide eyes were interest and none of those interpretations were correct.
That was dangerous.
Every moment with Rris I had to second-guess myself. Watch every move, every gesture that I made and that they made. And it was exhausting.
So, away from alien eyes and misunderstanding I could just... stop. Relax. Breathe.
The colors in that room were green and blue and a lot of dark, polished wood. Heavy ceiling-to-floor drapes hung over the windows. There was a desk and a cushion. There was a bed that was more comfortable than one might expect, even if it was of a size more suited for the Rris stature. There was a cabinet I could lock the laptop in. There were some decorations: small paintings of somewhere bright, a bookshelf with a few spare books that needed a home. And through in the ornately tiled ensuite, there was a bath.
It was a sculptured, heavy thing of copper. It wasn't huge, but it was large enough that I didn't have to wash in installments. I soaked for a while. It was something you tended to take for granted, but a system that could heat water for a building this size and then deliver it through pipes at a temperature that was useful but not dangerous, that took some doing. Mostly Chaeitch and his team's doing, to be brutally honest. I knew some things; my laptop had more specific technical information. However, he was the one who knew how to hammer bits of metal together and make them do what they were supposed to do. Half of it was engineering, the rest was physics, chemistry, and metallurgy. A complicated application of science and industry which culminated in me being able to have a hot bath.
Eventually, time was up. I had to haul my carcass out. I toweled off, headed back to the bedroom. The few lamps there weren't electric and I damped them one at a time. That was too dark, so I opened a drape and that left just enough moonlight in for me to see my hand in front of my face and climb into bed. Unlike many of the inns I'd stayed at in this world, this one was clean enough that I could be certain I was alone in bed. As I closed my eyes...
...and there was someone there. I came fully awake again with a spike of adrenaline, flinching away from the sound that'd woken me. There was someone there, an intimation of a figure in the moonlight. "Who...?!"
"Calm," a voice growled. "It's me."
"Jenes'ahn?" I ventured.
"Who else?"
"I thought I locked the door."
"You did," she said and there was a movement in the dimness, more faint metallic clinking, fabric on fabric, clothes and tools of mayhem being set aside.
I asked the stupid question. "What're you doing here?"
"What I have to," she said.
"Now?"
She turned. Barely visible. A chiaroscuro of a dark, inhuman figure, fur haloed by phosphorescent moonlight, the scars that I knew were there invisible. That ancient feeling clutched at me: the monster at the end of the bed, turning toward me, face hidden in the darkness. Then the mattress shifted. A rangy, hairy body slipped in beside me, hot under the covers. Naked as a Rris could be.
"Now," she rumbled and an inhuman hand laid on my chest, leathery pads contrasting with fur.
"You choose your moments," I retorted.
"You have somewhere else to be?" she growled. Claws flexed, pricked. I flinched. "Why these games? If the teacher were here, you wouldn't be so reluctant, a?"
I caught her hand, lifted it away. "You're not her."
"Then what would she do?"
"Leave her out of this."
"Why?" Her hand came back, stroking down to press on my belly. "What do you care? You cast her out. She means nothing to you, a?"
"Exactly," I growled.
"But you want to protect her."
"We're not involved. There's no reason she should be involved in this."
"She already is. You threw her to ah Ties..."
"I did no such thing!"
She shifted. Her fingers flexed, claws expressed, pricked. "You wanted the world to think you discarded her. Why would they think that? The world knows you stay attached to a woman until you accept another."
"That's not how..."
"Doesn't matter," Jenes'ahn hissed. "That's what they know. She's not safe until you do." Her hand crept lower. Caught and squeezed.
"Goddamn it! Stop that," I growled and tried to pull away. "You've always just wanted her to control me," I retorted.
"Possibly," she rumbled back. "Now, you try to protect her even as you throw her into the lake. You need to do more." She squeezed again and flesh responded. She actually chittered — she usually had the sense of humor of a doorknob, but she found that aspect of me hilarious. "Feels like you could. Use this like you did with her."
"You have no idea what we had together."
Jenes'ahn knew me, knew the ploys, the ways to get under my skin. And she used them. "We could bring her back to ask her."
I grabbed her hand, yanked it over her head and rolled over, onto her, leaning on her chest and pinning her to the bed. She was wiry, strong, muscles flexing to taut cables under the fur. "Rot you! Leave her out of this!"
I couldn't see clearly, but in the dimness beneath me her tongue flickered, quite literally licking her chops. I could feel her body, inhumanly hot, trembling with a tension that wasn't fear. Her groin pressed against mine, the short fur there scratchy where it hadn't fully grown back yet. She was a Mediator; she lived a life entangled with the darkest places in Rris society and had nearly as many scars as I did, both outside and in. I didn't know details, but there were moments that the knots in her psyche came to the surface, and it'd become clear that losing control was something that got her going.
I stared down at her dark features. Eyes caught a spark of light, burning up at me and she hissed, "You can't protect her."
I wasn't entirely gentle. I know Jenes'ahn didn't expect me to be. She made a small noise as I did what she demanded, then turned that to a snarl and a snap of teeth near my neck. I pinned her hands hard and she wrapped legs around me and nearly crushed my hips. Noisy, aggressive, harsh breath growling up at me as she rode as hard as I did, racing each other.
She won. I came in second. And shortly after she'd collected her breath, she rolled out of bed and went to use the bathroom. Stunningly mundane.
I lay there in the dark, listening to water running and the radiators gurgling. And kept doing so for some time after she'd finished and returned to curl up next to me without a word.
The end of just another day.
I'd loved a woman once.
I'd loved her and we'd been happy together. We'd had a life and it was good. We were getting by and were thinking about the next step. Then, something happened. I ended up here — wherever here is — and she was gone forever. I think of her occasionally, when my guard slips. It's a wedge into a tightly suppressed cluster of neuroses that would probably kill me if I let them run rampant.
So, my memories of another life are things I bring out carefully, examining them like faded postcards from a long-ago holiday. A life where we could have made a life. What happened to Jackie afterwards? Confused? Upset? Did she blame me? Did she think I'd run off and hated me for leaving her? And my family. And my friends. And my entire life...
Enough. Poke a hole in those suppressed could-have-beens and the stream becomes a flood that will drown you. I know that I can't go back, I can't change what has happened, but I always know that I'd loved a woman once.
And then I'd come here and met someone else.
Initially, it'd been like something out of a fever-dream; a nightmare I couldn't wake from. She wasn't human. She had fur and a tail and tufted ears and weird legs and claws and sharp teeth. She'd been a winter teacher in a small town and I'd crashed into her life as an unpleasant shock. But, she'd looked after me, she'd protected me and stood up for me in the face of xenophobia and murder accusations. And I'd come to realize that she was one of the most selfless people I'd ever known.
And, because of that, she got dragged into a situation she never deserved.
I'd turned out to be valuable. Enough so that various factions were looking for ways to influence me. Sometimes it was money, or goods, or promises, other times it was through what they thought I considered valuable. And I valued her. I loved that woman.
The Mediator Guild had decided that was useful, and they used her. She would stay around and keep me under control, or they would rescind their protection of her. With all the other interests looking to get their hooks into me, she wouldn't last long without that. So, she stayed. Through thick and thin she stayed. Through abduction and assassination attempts. And the Guild wouldn't let her leave.
So, I tried to make it look like I wasn't interested in her. I kicked her out of the house in a dramatic spectacle that was probably on every spymaster's desk within a day.
My cunning plan was only partially successful. The Mediator Guild informed me that it was open knowledge that my personal relationships were weird by Rris standards. I ‘fixated’ on a partner, something almost diametrically opposite to a Rris relationship. The terms obsession and obligation were bandied about; translations of alien emotions into another language. Those words described them, but carried none of the real meaning. Rris said I obsessed — that I fixated on a single person, that I made irrational decisions based on that fixation. I would risk my life for someone to whom I owed nothing.
I called it love.
In turn I found their relationships... different. I'd tried to ask, and what I'd come away from those conversations with was that they owed the other. Each partner in a relationship owed the other something, so they tried to repay that obligation. And that grew as the relationship progresses. And none of that translated properly.
A deaf man in discussion with a blind man about concerts and art galleries. For each of us, what we had worked. It was when we tried to understand what the other felt, that was where we fell down hard.
According to the Guild, as far as the Rris were concerned, I was an insane serial monogamist who would go to extraordinary lengths to cling to and protect someone to whom — in their eyes — I had no obligations towards. And I would only leave such a partner when I found a new one. The Guild claimed that by kicking the teacher out, she would be vulnerable until I was perceived to have chosen someone else. And — o fortunate me — they had a replacement standing by.
So, that was how I ended up in a bed with my Mediator minder, who had some hidden kinks in her own peccadilloes. That had been somewhat of an awkward surprise, as they tended toward being a bit more restraining than I was really used to. But, overall, I was more concerned with the fact that I was saddled with her as a stand-in, a decoy playing on the Rris misinterpretation of my personal life. If I corrected that mistake, it would put someone I actually cared about in danger. On the other hand, going along with it meant I was saddled with a full-time minder, which was going to put a serious crimp in my life style. Not to mention some of the other plans I'd been formulating.
And, after all those Guild machinations and manipulations and veiled threats, I still loved a woman.
It was still dark when I woke. Not because of any alarm, but because someone was poking me. I groaned and flinched away. It was dark, but the drapes had been pulled back revealing a sky with no trace of dawn. I rolled over and pulled the comforter closer. The next jab had a claw attached.
"Up," Jenes'ahn snapped. "Get food. The carriage will be ready soon."
I mumbled something about where the carriage could go.
She just grabbed the comforter and yanked it off. "Up. Or I'll start opening windows."
I capitulated, under extreme duress.
No shower, and Jenes'ahn told me there was no time for a bath, but there was hot water. I polished around the edges with a washcloth and scrubbed with a scratchy towel. There were clothes available: it wasn't the first time I'd used the Barn, and it wouldn't be the last. Keeping a room and change of clothes handy just made sense.
Breakfast was downstairs in the private room. The public bar would have been a bit more enjoyable, but the early crowd was already coming in and I wouldn't want to put them off their meals. There was fresh bread and mince and eggs and grilled fish. I've been literally starving before, so I can appreciate a good meal. And was in the middle of it, when Jenes'ahn had excused herself, Ea'rest brought in a carafe of watered wine and used the pour as an excuse to lean close.
"That item you enquired about — I've received word. An associate believes it's here."
I froze. "You're sure?"
"They believe so. They are trying to verify."
"Okay. They should be careful. It's tricky. Do you need resources?"
"What you provided is sufficient for another few weeks," Ea'rest said.
"Good. When you need more, just ask. I'll make it worth your while," I promised.
"Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else?"
"Can I get some sandwiches to go, please," I said just as Jenes'ahn walked back in. "I suspect lunch will be... lacking today."
"Very good, sir," Ea'rest said, without missing a beat.
The carriage ride to the Mediator Guild hall in Shattered Water didn't take long. We rattled through morning streets already busy beneath a pale gauze of smoke from early fires.
"Remember," Jenes'ahn said. "She's going to be angry, or appearing to be so. It will be a blind for frustration and fear. She's been handed something she didn't believe. She doesn't want to wear that, so she's looking for a scapegoat. Far better if you turn out to be an elaborate hoax or plot, because it will be easier for her if she can find a way through without making her superiors look like fools."
I sighed. "I'll bear that in mind."
Her ears went back. "This is serious. You are sure you're up to this?"
"What? I've done this before, you know."
"With varying degrees of success."
I stared. "All right. If you've got some advice, could you share it?"
She narrowed her eyes, then snorted. "To elaborate: the ambassador is nervous and uncertain. She is covering that with bluster. She doesn't want to be seen as uncertain, and she certainly doesn't want to have to make a report essentially says her nation was entirely wrong about its interpretation of the situation here. There is a good chance her frustration may cause irrational decisions."
"To try and make the problem go away?" I suggested. She looked up at me and I shrugged. "Hey, it's been tried before."
"Perhaps not so drastic, especially not with the Guild involved. But to cause a scene; to try and demark you from normal people. That's possible."
"Not normal?" I said sarcastically. "Who would ever believe that?"
A level stare. "Someone thousands of kilometers away receiving a report written by someone who does not have your best interests in mind. It's not her you have to convince, it's her employers. And they only know what she tells them."
"Huh. So, I have to impress her then."
"Just don't be a complete fool. She will be running around tonight trying to find out everything she can about you. She's got meetings with Kechri Mas and Hunting Well embassies. They will tell what they feel she should know."
"Or what they think they know."
"Huhn, now you start to understand," she said. "Just try and use that understanding."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't just snap at her prods. Think for once. Why is she saying things? Those words will be related to what she wants. Listen to them. Understand them. You can do that?"
"I can try."
She sighed. "I have no great expectations," she said and went back to watching out the window.
The hall was in one of the well-heeled, established parts of the city. An old part. The compound occupied a city block and was surrounded by walls; parts made of new brick, older parts of hewn stone. The buildings inside were big, three-story wooden constructions. None of them shared precisely the same architectural style of the others — they'd been built and added to as required over the ages. And I had no idea how long that was. While the paint on the trim was bright and fresh and the premises meticulously maintained, there were still details that hinted at the age of the place: flagstones in the front courtyard had grooves worn in them where carriages had circled the huge old white oak tree growing there; windows were small, the glass in them bubbled and warped; doorways and stairs were narrow and cramped; wooden parts in high-traffic areas were worn to a glossy smoothness by uncounted years of people brushing past them. It all added up to a subtle air of antiquity, hinting at a history much older than the newer brick constructions nearby.
Our palace guards had to wait outside the main gates. In the courtyard out front, apprentices were busy brushing away at the courtyard with ratty brooms, as they'd been the last few times I'd had cause to visit. They still stared as Jenes'ahn and I followed our escort in, but there was none of the boisterousness, the running and curious questions that'd been present in youngsters in other places.
"That was you once?" I asked Jenes'ahn.
She didn't reply. The meeting was in a room on the second floor, one of those generic rooms that the Mediator Guild seem to keep for such occasions: small, unadorned, with bare plaster walls and a single glazed window and the absolute minimum of furniture required. There was a metal slab on the wall throwing out some warmth, heated by a stove in the next room. There was a low table with a silver pitcher and some cups. The chairs that were even lower platforms of carved wood with stumpy legs and much-patched padded tops. I understood they'd been fashionable many decades ago, but the Guild cared little for fashion and never threw anything out.
The Serimuthi ambassador — aesh Hai'seth — was already sitting. Waiting. That hadn't done anything for her mood.
"You make me wait for this?!" she spat to the Mediator who ushered us in.
The Mediator ignored that. "Constable aesh Ehrasai and myself will be witness for ah Rihey and ambassador aesh Hai'seth in this instance. The Guild will oversee this meeting. There will be civility and honesty."
Hai'seth simmered and didn't say anything. Her nostrils were working.
I sat at the table opposite her, tucking my legs in in imitation of the Rris. Jenes'ahn and our guide sat themselves off to the side, where they could see both participants. A Mediator scribe settled in the corner, writing board at the ready.
"You have questions," Jenes'ahn opened.
"I do," Hai'seth retorted. "But first, I should note that the Guild is supposed to be impartial. Yet, you smell like..." Her ears went back. Flat. "Moldy bones! You get that close to this?" she slashed a gestured at me.
"That is irrelevant," Jenes'ahn said.
"I disagree."
"It is an emotional thing with him," Jenes'ahn said. "He tends to fixate on a person."
Goddamn it. That explained last night.
Hai'seth was looking as if someone had offered her a nice cup of cold sick. "Constable, I have heard too much that is utterly preposterous. Now you expect me to believe you don't have a conflict of interest with this thing you have an overly intimate relationship with?!"
"You would prefer another witness?"
"I would!"
So Jenes'ahn simply inclined her head, then stood and left, closing the door behind her. When it opened, a minute later, another Mediator entered. Rohinia.
"Ambassador, I'm Constable ah Hechir," he said to Hai'seth. "I understand you were dissatisfied with our previous witness. I trust I will suffice?"
She glowered, sniffed. "You will have to do. And I trust there will be no more Guild interference."
"Ambassador, I assure you that any slight was unintentional."
Yeah, right.
Apparently Hai'seth felt the same way. She just wrinkled her muzzle and turned her attention to me. "You have some sort of relationship with that constable?"
I shrugged. "We're just good friends."
She blinked. "All right, now what are you?"
"My name is Michael Riley. I am an adult male human. I'm a sort of artist. And I'm completely lost."
"That tells me nothing. Why are you here? In Shattered Water."
"As I said, I am lost. The last thing I know before I came here is that I was walking in a place in my home land. Nowhere special, nowhere dangerous. Something happened. I don't know what it was, just that the next thing I knew I was waking up somewhere completely different. I stumbled across a small town. It was full of Rris. Things got confusing. The Guild was called in. They brought me to Shattered Water. Things sort of went on from there."
She stared. "Your story is that you were in your own country, then you were here."
"A bit more... complicated than that."
Wrinkles marched up her muzzle. "Then explain it to me in such a way that doesn't make me think you are simply lying! A story like that, what sort of child would believe anything like that?!"
I stared back, watching the hackles literally rise on her neck. Then I shrugged. "Alright. Where I come from my kind is everywhere. We are like Rris are here. We have towns and cities and roads and civilization. From sea to shining sea. All over the planet."
"And yet no-one has ever heard of anything like you. How can there be so many and yet no-one has ever heard tell of anything like you. There are explorers."
"Because it's not this world, but it's the same as this world. The oceans and continents and big rivers and mountains are all the same. The animals and sky are the same, but the people are different. Rris here, my kind there."
"That makes no sense."
"It is difficult to explain. Look, imagine a point in time when a decision was made. At that point where a choice was made, things — the universe... branches. You sent Jenes'ahn out of the room and he came back in. Perhaps there are worlds now where you didn't send her out. Or where someone else came back in.
"At some point in history there was a moment where something happened to our kinds. Here, on this world, Rris learned to think and talk and build. On my world, my kind did. Both worlds are there, but separate. Existing in different universes. Somehow, I went from one universe to another."
She stared. "And you believe that," she said flatly.
"My kind have considered this, but only as a theory. There's never been any way to prove it, but it's the best I have been able to make. Other ideas I had were that I've gone insane, or that I've died and this is what happens to you after death, or I was simply stored until the universe ended and another one started. Over and over until this one formed."
She was still staring. I sighed. "None of that can be proven. The one I lean toward is my best attempt at explaining it. I can vaguely understand it. I don't know if it is correct or not. Doesn't really matter if it is — I have no way of getting back there, or even knowing where there is."
I had to pause — talking like that was hard on my voice. I reached for the pitcher, pouring myself a glass of water. She kept staring while I sipped.
"People actually believe that?" she finally asked again.
"Some do. Others say it's a load of dishwater. You have a better suggestion?"
"You are an agent from a foreign nation over the seas or from the south."
I snorted. "A spy. Yeah, heard that before. Blending right in, aren't I? And you saw those moving pictures yesterday?"
"I did."
"Those were of my home. Now, would you want a people with ships and cities like that on the continent next door? Or would you prefer them to be far away on some other, inaccessible world?"
There was a flicker there. "That is completely ..."
"Unbelievable, right?" I finished for her. "Exactly. You don't think I couldn't have come up with a better story? Something that people would believe? I could, but this is the truth as I know it. Even if others just don't believe it and it gets bent and hammered into all these other stories and falsehoods that just contradict each other. There are kings and queens who didn't believe reports and came here to see for themselves."
"They wouldn't be so foolish as to believe that."
"I don't know that they do. Certainly, some don't. Some say I'm an animal performing tricks, or that I am a ploy or a plot or a spy. Not many, but still a few."
"And what do you say to them?" she asked, the same sort of flat, calm voice the Mediators used.
And I carefully waved a shrug. "They have a right to be wrong. It just means that I won't deal with them. You may not believe my story, but the knowledge and information I offer is... solid. The things that Land of Water has built, you can touch those things and see that they work."
Her ears turned back. It was something she didn't want to hear, but also a point she couldn't ignore or dodge around: whatever else I might be, those technologies were undeniable evidence that at least part of my story was true.
"And we don't know that you aren't just a blind for some other central plot, a?"
That caught me by surprise. "Central plot?"
"This knowledge, it came from somewhere. We should just believe it's you? That Land of Water and the central countries don't have some other source? A link with that place in your pictures, perhaps?"
I shook my head. "Afraid not. I wish they did."
"What was that head movement?"
"Ah, it means something like this," I waved a negative. "My kind does that head thing. It's an old habit that's hard to break."
"So, you're denying this."
"A. I am," I sighed. "What you see is what you get. There're no plots or insidious ploys. Not beyond the usual, at least."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what would those be?"
"The usual — all the plots and schemes that go on behind the scenes. All about power or money or both. I know that some want to take me or what I know. Some want me dead. Some want to support me — but I'm not sure if that's a good thing."
"And why would it not be?"
"Because I don't know why they want to support me. Is it for a good reason? Or just for their own reason. And everybody seems to have one of those. So, they plot and scheme and lie to everyone they can. You already found that out, a?"
Not a twitch. "What do you mean?"
"You just arrived in the city. You don't have an embassy or established staff. You probably spent the last days trying to track down various agents and informants listed on your country's payroll to try and get an idea of what's going on. Assuming they exist and you haven't been paying one individual with ten different names. Now you've been told... everything. All kinds of stories. Agents who've been paid to provide information have been telling you stories and rumors and things they just made up, a? Now you don't know what's true."
She was silent for a while, just staring at me. Her muzzle twitched. Eventually, she said, "Perhaps."
I sipped at my drink.
"How many of you are there?" she asked.
"Only myself..."
"I mean where you come from, wherever that is. How many?"
"Oh. About nine billion, I think. Last I heard."
Her muzzle wrinkled again and she growled, "You are making light of this?"
"You asked. I answered," I said. "It's the truth."
That didn't mollify her. "That is too many of anything! Why would you lie? You are trying to frighten me? Impress me?"
"It's true. But it'll never be a problem for you. Another world, remember?"
"And why do you know things we don't?"
"We learned about them before you, that's all. You would discover them eventually."
"And because of that you have a right to tell us what we can and can't use? How to live our lives?"
"No," I said and nodded toward the watching Mediators. "They do that."
She looked. "And you don't? Can they know what you know?"
"They know how Rris think," I said. "I... don't. Not completely. Not properly. Not well enough. Your way of thinking is strange to me."
"Because you are insane?"
I froze momentarily. She watched me with utterly impassive amber eyes. I sighed. "Possibly." I shrugged. "I can't be myself and I can't be Rris. What do you think?"
She didn't flinch. "I think most of everything I've heard of you sounds insane."
"Well, there you are, then."
"Yet everyone listens to you. Everyone wants to talk to you. Now there are Mediators coupling with you. Is this insanity catching?"
"That, or there's something you don't know."
"I don't doubt that. You have met with representatives from many lands. I expect to know what was discussed."
"Can't do that," I said. "Client confidentiality and all that. You are welcome to ask them, but I can't tell you."
She bristled, turned to the Mediators to snap, "This has been in conference with other nations while we were excluded! We know information was exchanged, potentially to our detriment! We demand the Guild honor the charter and ensure a fair and equitable trade of goods among all members!"
"Weren't you the ones who chose not to have an embassy here?" I asked.
"That is not your concern!"
"The others just asked. You weren't here."
She drew herself up, those bristles never subsiding. "The concerns of the central lands are not ours," she said.
"Except for now?" I asked.
"Now," she enunciated, "you are here. You have upset the balance. You have interfered and now you have the temerity to accuse us?"
"I really didn't have much choice," I said. "But how did Serimuthi keep up with what was happening in the rest of the world? If something serious had happened in the central lands — and it seemed something did — how were you expecting to know about it? Your agents?"
"We have allies," she said. "They forwarded what was relevant and important."
"And they forwarded information about me?"
She sat up straight. Brushed the fur on her forearms flat. "We were informed of your presence," she said primly. "Eventually."
"Ah. Eventually. But not precisely what I was or what they asked of me, a?"
She didn't answer that. Which was answer enough.
"Yeah," I said. "Moments like that you find out who your friends are.
She hissed, then took a breath. "And you have been visiting other lands."
"A couple of them. A."
"We would invite you to Serimuthi. We can assure your safety and the utmost comfort and civility. You would be the guest to our hearth, our lives would be yours. The invitation is from her lordship herself; a personal invitation to the hall in Boiling Stones. I can show you..."
I had to sigh. "No. I can't do that."
Hai'seth's ears went back. "You accepted the invitation from others."
"Unfortunately, yes. And I nearly died," I said. "Many times. And too many others did."
"We assure your personal comfort and safety."
"So did they. It's precisely one of the reasons for what I talked about yesterday. I can't go to a country without all the others taking umbrage. Then there's the question of time: how long did it take you to get here?"
"Forty-three days. But this was winter," she said.
"Forty-three days on the road. One way. That is a long time. Please understand: I would delight in seeing your land. I really do want to see more of Rris nations and people and your cities, but that amount of time spent travelling is time lost. And all that time other lands are growing more impatient. They start to do impatient things. And then the Guild has to step in and everyone loses."
She glanced towards the Mediators, who didn't say a word.
"There are good reasons for that proposal I offered," I said. "Everyone will get the same information at the same time. How you use that will be up to you. You might see possibilities others miss."
She glowered. "All words that don't change the fact that other lands have had meetings with you. Private meetings. After which there were changes in those lands. Sudden changes. New things and ideas and attitudes and no-one will tell us anything we can stand on."
"So, you want what they had."
"A meeting with you. As they did. Is that so difficult?"
I looked at the Mediators. "Is it?"
Rohinia tilted his head. "Any meeting with you would be noticed. There would be questions asked and his lordship would have to answer. You yourself said there weren't to be any more private conferences with nations."
"It is against the [something] of the accords that Serimuthi is excluded from these meetings!"
"You cite the accords now? Your nation elected to have no embassy here," Rohinia calmly replied. "Now that there is something that catches your eye, you claim you were excluded? No, this was your choice. You know that no Guild decision would weigh in your favor. And until his lordship and the Guild accept your [exequatur] and recognizes your presence, your embassy exists with you and your staff alone."
Her ears flicked back, then trembled upright again. "There will be protests lodged. Against this and Guild... relations with this principal."
"As you will." Rohinia didn't seem particularly perturbed.
"I wouldn't get too upset," I said to Hai'seth.
"I am not upset," Hai'seth growled back. The black pools that were her eyes sort of belied that statement.
"Of course not," I said. "Look, this academy proposition; it has a curriculum. It requires the content be structured. Start small, build on from earlier concepts."
"And what does that mean?"
"That I will probably have to review early material again."
For a few more heartbeats she just stared at me. Her ears pricked up. "You are saying you will be sharing what you have already told them with everyone."
"I'll simply be stating facts and knowledge for students to make of what they will," I said. "It's usual to start with the basics and work onwards. You have no need to know if they've already learned of it. I did agree to confidentiality, not exclusivity. And we've already discussed the same subjects with several of them. Is that satisfactory for you? Of course, for this to be effective this academy program would need to proceed."
The Mediators were staring at me like I'd sprouted another head. The Ambassador did also, then coughed and sat up a little straighter, deadpan. "It is sounding more like an intriguing proposition."
"I thought it might. It would put all nations on an even footing, so I don't believe the Guild would have any objections?"
Rohinia considered quietly, then said, "We reserve judgement at this time."
"So, in that case, we would just require support from interested parties."
Hai'seth seemed to understand something was expected of her. She carefully said, "I believe my land would have an interest in supporting it."
"That is good to hear," I said.
She kept staring at me, then finally said, "I will consider this further. Her lordship will be advised and formal documents and requests will be lodged. I will expect to be kept appraised of the progress of this undertaking. I also extend an invitation to the inauguration of the first Serimuthi embassy in Land-of-Water, when it occurs."
"I will try and keep my schedule free," I said.
"Excellent," she said and clasped her hands together. "And now, I suddenly have a good deal more work to do. I will leave you to your own business, and your Mediator." She looked at Rohinia. "She really chooses to be with... with him?"
"Apparently so," Rohinia said.
She stared again. Then waved a shrug. "Bizarre. I thank you for your time."
And she stood, bowed once to the Mediators, and was gone. The scribe in the corner dried off the last sheet, dropped a glob from a waxjack, then stamped a seal on it with a finalistic flourish.
I waited in the carriage. I didn't have much choice. Eventually, Jenes'ahn hopped in and we started to move.
We were out the gate before she asked, "That was clever, was it?"
"What?"
"What you told her. That you will be telling everyone what they've already brought."
"Nothing clever about it. It would happen that way anyway. These things have to be taught this way — one knowledge builds on another. Wheel leads to axle leads to spokes leads to tyres and suspension and so on. If she thinks it's a favor to her, then that works too, a? Anyway, the Guild has cleared those items."
"Not much choice, since you released them without Guild oversight. And they'll realize the truth of the matter. They aren't fools."
"Still get the result they want."
"There's nothing else you could have given them?"
That woman was from a country down south in a region where, in another world, they'd pumped the black stuff that'd fueled a planet-wide cartel that'd held the world hostage. "Not that you would've approved of," I said. "And what was that business this morning about? You didn't let me wash this morning just so she could smell... us."
"And now she will gossip about it," she said. "She will say I'm your new favor."
"How is that supposed to work?"
"She'll talk. She's had meetings with Kechri Mas and Hunting Well embassies, so she will be seeking any sort of credit to use in local politics. She will think this is such. Her conviction will go some way to convincing others."
"I can't see that working."
"There seems to be a great deal you can't see," she huffed, fluffed her fur up and settled back for the ride.
Still morning, and there were things to do. Traffic did as traffic does and made a mockery of all schedules. No cars here. No trucks or busses. Plenty of carts and wagons and carriages, though. All drawn by bison or elk or even llamas, and all trying to work their way through narrow streets and alleys. No traffic lights here. No road-code or sidewalks here, the streets were for pedestrians and vehicular traffic was a significant minority and there under sufferance. Rris pedestrians wandered and worked their way past draft animals that didn't travel much faster anyway. Drivers tried to keep their beasts calm and under control. But animals did what they do and that mess mixed with melting snow and ice.
It was every bit as pleasant as you might imagine.
The boulevards were better. Looking down the broad avenues with their bare trees just starting to bud, there was room for traffic to spread out. It was still surprising how little there was, but then I was still accustomed to cities that were continuous streams of colored metal.
Here, the carts and wagons and occasional carriage were spread out amidst a stippling of pedestrians. Even so, it still took the better part of an hour to get back to the palace.
The meeting with Hirht was scheduled for about eleven o'clock. We barely made it.
"I hear your meeting with aesh Hai'seth was productive." The Rris king placed a sheet of paper onto a stack as I sat myself down opposite him at his desk.
"News travel fast," I noted. "A. I think she has calmed down. And it sounds like she might support the project, sir."
"Might?"
"I think she will recommend it, but in the end, it's not her decision to make."
"Huhn," he studied a paper before him. "Likely they will support the initiative. It will give them a lot information others already have. And provide some convenient excuses."
Such as why they were late to the party. That would save them some face.
I asked, "How many will have to agree?"
"A majority," he said. "Preferably all."
"How likely is that?"
"The more agree, the more will join. Cover-my-Tail, Bluebetter, and now Serimuthi. They are a good start. It is likely Kechri Mas and Hunting Well will follow. Likewise Mi'itchi's Trail. Overburdened, Lost Sun, and Wandering are less certain. Seas-of-Grass and Broken Spine have always been outliers, walking their own trails. They won't be coerced; they will make their own minds."
"And will they?"
"Obviously they will do what will profit them. In all likelihood they will agree simply not to get left behind by others."
I looked at the Rris King, at the stack of paperwork on the desk. There weren't any guards in the room, besides Jenes'ahn standing by the door listening to everything we said. There was that much trust, at least. "What do you think about this plan, sir?"
His expression didn't flicker. "I have reservations. Land-of-Water loses out: on the initiative, on the sales of ideas, on the exclusive rights to these new ideas and machines. If it weren't for the Guild, I could not allow it."
"Could not."
"It is my duty to do what's best for the land. On the surface, it would appear that giving away this information to other nations slashes that in the face. However, the issues that withholding it would cause... they would eventually outweigh any benefits the land might gain in the short term. I would be remiss in my duties and my rights to not do this."
"They will be paying, though."
"A. They will. So will we. This initiative of yours will require funding. There will be premises, personnel, equipment, security, food and transport and all the ancillary costs associated. We will be paying for that, and they will be expected to contribute. How much, that remains to be seen. How willing they are, that also."
He tapped a claw on a single patch of the paper before him.
"You know," I ventured, "You will have something they don't."
"And that would be?"
"Ah Ties. And the Smither works."
"Important. How?"
"They'll be necessary. Most of the things I know about, I know about them, not how to make them. Or how to make them out of... other materials. There will be need to make things, to experiment, to build... tests and first-types."
"Huhn," he said. Tapped a claw on the papers again. "And that will be on Guild sufferance, of course. There will be observers."
"Of course there will be," I said. "And speaking of; what about other Guilds? I don't think it will be as straightforward as the delegates were told."
"You might be right," he said. "They could be problematic."
"They will claim jurisdiction?"
"If the information relates to their fields, they will want it."
"There won't be any of that stuff the Artists Guild tried in Bluebetter?" They'd tried to claim that due to my background and training, I was affiliated with their Guild and doing unlicensed Guild business in the city. It'd been something done by someone who just wanted to put a spanner in the works, and it was annoying.
"Likely not. But every Guild will want to have access to information related to their skills."
"So, we will need a program set up. And be able to advise interested parties beforehand. They can choose pay admission like everyone else."
"Ideally, yes," he said.
"But?" I prompted.
"But," he said and his tail lashed, "how are the different guild interests to be reconciled with those of the different lands? Each guild will consider aspects of this knowledge to be their own domain. They will not want this information passed to various governments. Their charters stipulate such."
"Ah," I said. I'd seen that before. The guilds were... possessive. Their skills were wealth, and they hoarded that. And their charters enforced that in law. And those charters were amazingly old and ingrained.
"Nevertheless," he said, "the guilds will have to be included. They will have specialized knowledge, expertise, facilities, and resources that will be required. I am anticipating issues when those resources are required as a part of larger projects. Your rail road, for example."
And I was anticipating a real pain-in-the-ass. I spread my hands in a gesture that might have been interpreted as a Rris shrug. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help there. I don't know enough about Rris laws, less about relations between Guilds and governments."
"You don't have Guilds, do you."
"Not as such, no."
"At times that sounds very convenient."
"Oh, we have things that are every bit as troublesome, believe me. But, I can't tell you how to run your countries or business. It's become quite apparent that I don't have the... method of thinking that Rris have. I would likely suggest something that seems normal to me, but ridiculous to you."
His ears flicked back, just for a second. "Ah. I think we could do without any further disruptions at this time. Then it will likely resolve to contracts and [something] and guild integrity. The guilds will have to be informed. As you said, a syllabus will have to be established so they can know in advance what subjects will be explained and [express an interest] if it involves their areas."
He looked up, past me at where Jenes'ahn was standing. "Constable, I believe Mediator liaisons will be required, beyond the basic subject content."
"You are referring to [something] records?"
"Yes. Updating and reviewing those, registering new ones. Also, actively mediating with the other Guilds. There will be scavenging."
"Umm," I ventured. "What was that word? What records?"
Yeah, I'd been speaking Rris for several years, but my vocabulary was still horribly limited in specialized technical areas. The obscure antecedents of Rris property law being just one of them.
And the Rris king was looking a little surprised. "Sometimes," he said, "I almost forget. Mikah, it refers to the records of who lays claim to an item or technique."
"You mean, who owns it?"
"Who laid claim to the ownership, to be precise. So, a little more nuanced. Usually granted to a guild. But it can, at times, be implemented by an individual or a co-operative, provided it doesn't fall under a guild's expertise. Does that make sense?"
"I think so," I said. Copyright or a patent? Perhaps, but there may have been an interpretation I wasn't familiar with. "On the surface, at least, but there are still a lot of questions."
"I believe aesh Smither would be better suited to tutor you in business matters like that. And it might be advisable, given the reports I've received about your latest venture."
"Venture?" I asked.
"That inn," he elaborated.
"Oh. That. Not exactly mine."
"I would be interested to hear how you came to meet an ex-royal guard sometime, but beside that, you would seem to be heavily involved. There are innovations there, I hear."
I sighed. "There are some items being tested. Too see if they can be reliably and effectively manufactured and used."
"You have doubts?"
"There are issues with materials and techniques. These are tests for that. Incidentally, they do benefit the inn. Provided they don't explode, that is."
"That is likely?"
I waggled a hand. "A non-zero chance. But not a high one." I hoped. "And these are just... tests. They're not intended to be widely used as they are."
"Why not? From what I have gathered they would be of great utility."
"They are simply not ready. We are already finding issues and improvements. But the larger issue is the power source. We are using a test of something that is intended to be a lot larger and more efficient."
"I heard it was a small steam engine."
"Yes. To start with. They will have to be larger. And these early ones burn coal. Now picture a thousand of those all over the city."
He did. "Ah. Indeed. Not desirable at all."
"No, sir."
"And you have a solution in mind."
"Yes. Maybe. Sort of. We just have to work up to it. It's not a small idea."
"Like your rail roads."
"Perhaps not that ambitious, sir. But it wouldn't be a small undertaking. And it'd would be good to get it right."
He stared at me. Two alien minds each trying to figure out what the other was thinking. At least, that's what I was doing. He might've been wondering what to have for lunch. Projecting can be dangerous.
"And you believe this is the best way to do."
"I do. So does ah Ties, and I would listen to his thoughts on the matter, sir. I know about these things, but I'm only remembering them. Badly, sometimes. He's the one who's actually constructing them."
"Very well," he said and scratched a note down on a paper. "I will consult with ah Ties and follow your recommendations. Meantime, the academy curriculum will have to be planned. This will affect the property required, personnel, fees and costs, security. You will have to give some consideration to that. Again, aesh Smither would be best to assist with a written summation."
"Yes, sir," I sighed. That was still a sore point with me: I was functionally dyslexic in written Rris. There was something in the way they interpreted their written script that just didn't work for me.
"I believe you've got an appointment at Smither Industries next. She will be receiving a packet, but it would be a good time to remind her."
"Yes, sir."
Smither Industries had grown.
When I'd first arrived in the city, they'd been the local government's preferred engineering house. So, the government had gone to them and their head engineer, Chaeitch ah Ties, to see if any of the weird things I'd talked about were practical. Before the Mediator Guild had intervened, I'd helped them with improved steam engines and metallurgy and some other engineering challenges.
And they'd snuck around behind my back. Gotten into the laptop and got some ideas they shouldn't have. Those ideas leaked and made their way to a civil conflict in a neighboring country. Breech loaders met muskets in a nasty little civil war. Little wonder the Mediator Guild started paying attention.
So, Smither Industries was constrained. What they knew couldn't be put back in the bottle, but they could still work with what they knew. They experimented. They tested and refined. The yards that'd been present when I arrived had spread outside their walls. New compounds with their red brick workshops and warehouses and factories had sprouted up remarkably quickly. And what went on behind those walls was cutting edge in this world, and closely watched by the Mediator Guild.
Chaeitch led the way through labyrinthine hallways and echoing workshops where furnaces spat sparks and metal was cut and hammered. The boilers being manufactured there were the newest types, the peak of Rris industrial capability. We were trying to improve on that.
The part of the R&D wing we ended up in was a long, dimly-lit brick hallway. There were doors and guards at either end. Along its length heavy columns were interspaced with more solid wooden doors. Behind those were rooms where development work was done. The one we were in was typical of their layout: drawing boards and filing cabinets, work benches and tables, shelves and racks filled with measures and gauge blocks and calipers. Overhead, the old and extraordinarily dangerous mechanical drive shafts and belts had been replaced with compressed air lines for the newer pneumatic tools. No windows, but mantled gas lamps threw pools of light over the equipment.
"These are the latest," Chaeitch was saying as we walked the length of the long bench. The items on it were cylinders and disks and vanes and pipes of brass and gleaming steel. Some assembled, others in a decidedly opposite state.
Chaeitch himself didn't look like someone who should be messing around in an engineering workshop. He was dressed for business: dark green-striped knee-breeches trimmed with copper, a clean tan linen shirt and a dark brown waistcoat also trimmed with copper. He wore several belts, his ubiquitous pipe and tobacco pouch slung from one of them.
The pieces he was referring to were at the end of the bench: a cylindrical construct of thick steel exploded to reveal a central shaft laced with discs with fans of stepped grooves. "The fans with individual blades kept failing. They simply fly apart under the strain. Quite spectacularly, I might add."
I picked up a piece of metal further back. It was a flat, steel rectangle, one end twisted and ripped to jagged shreds. "You don't say."
"Until new materials are available, these perform far more reliably. Not as light, but they don't turn to razor snow."
That would be stainless or chromalloy, or else try and come up with a carbon-fiber analog. I set the piece back and looked at the items he was referring to.
"Scale models," he said, "but they perform well. Using multiple rotors and inputs provides better control than simply throttling a single input."
The turbine housing was a hollow cobb of black oiled heavy cast iron over a meter long, one end unscrewed and opened up. In the core was a central shaft of milled steel. The disks mounted along that shaft had the angled grooves around their diameter. Jets of high-pressure steam from rows of jets would set them spinning. Further back there were brass throttle linkages and a gearbox outputting to a connection shaft.
"The one at the inn seems to be performing," I noted.
"A. But I intend to swap it out for an updated version and take a look inside. Measure wear on the moving parts. The boiler is a greater concern."
"Dangerous?"
"If someone plays with the safeties, then yes. But I'm more concerned with fuel consumption. It doesn't scale well."
"A. I don't think you want thousands of those springing up over the city."
"There are already a thousand chimneys and fireplaces."
"You want a thousand more? They wouldn't replace them, you know."
"Huhn. No. That would be most unpleasant. His lordship wouldn't stand for it. The Guild wouldn't stand for it. So, you're thinking of a centralized location? One large plant running burned coal/coke?"
"Perhaps."
He snorted and lowered his muzzle to glare at me. "Your humor again? So, there's another option, is there?"
"Well, no. But I'm undecided."
"That is the way your kind did it, isn't it? Central points for the engines?"
"Initially, yes. Because it was cheaper and more convenient. And because we used that other sort of electricity distribution system. The three-wire one. It was more efficient for long distances."
"It does make sense."
"A. And has drawbacks later on. Each system has advantages and disadvantages, but for all of them, not using... burning fuels is highly desirable. We can make the boilers more efficient. There are filters that help, but they just mean that people get comfortable with the problem. Short term good; long term bad."
"So, you want to make the eserity without fire. How will that work?"
"I've been shown some interesting river mills while I've been here."
He cocked his head as that point clicked into place quickly enough. "Will that work?"
The shadows behind us moved as Jenes'ahn stirred, stepping forward with ears pricked and a meaningful look.
I sighed. "I'm sure you can figure that out for yourself, a?"
"Who was it who said, ‘force is energy’?" he asked.
"For some reason I never read the classics," I said.
He flicked an ear. "We are capable of doing some things for ourselves."
"Never doubted it. The boiler is behaving?"
"A. Still hungry. Uses more coal than I would like. But it holds its heat well, even under full load. The casing is a safe temperature. The indicators never get into the yellow. That it can handle the requirements for a building that size is impressive. If the efficiency can be improved, I wonder if a larger version could handle the needs of city a block. Or several."
"For a while, maybe. But big burning things in the middle of a city is not the best idea. That's where electricity does work — you can put a generator outside the city and send the energy in. And it's easier to improve it as time goes on."
"We are still trying to understand that stuff," he said. "You haven't been a great deal of help. You tell us about it, then not much more. It's invisible and has extraordinary properties and best of all, it can kill you."
"Not extraordinary. Very ordinary. You just have to... figure out what they are. Carefully. There are a lot of aspects where it doesn't do as expected. It obeys laws, but they are... those of different scales."
"And you think that helps?" he asked.
"You could always ask them," I jerked a thumb back towards our chaperone.
"A. True," he snorted. "Your academy will certainly have classes I would be interested in sitting in on. Most of our engineers also. If the Guild allows such."
"Should do," I said. "It'll be everyone learning the same thing at the same time. No advantages."
"You think so?"
"I hope so. You know, I wish the other way would have worked."
"What? You traipsing from nation to nation to talk to them for a while? You know how that would turn out."
"I know. But... it means I'd be able to see more of your world. Despite... all that happened, it was interesting."
An outright chitter. "It was at that."
"I mean, I saw Open Fields and Red Leaves and they're like Shattered Water here, but each different in their own way. The palace in Open Fields had artwork that just felt different from the stuff here. I wonder how different Serimuthi would be."
"Hot and dry, except when it's cold and raining, is what I've heard," he said. "Desert and scrub and snakes."
"I know what the land is like. Been there once, but not there... you know. I was wondering how the Rris there are different. The ambassador and her people all look a little different from you. Does that also apply to their buildings? Their art?"
"I'm sure they'd relish the chance to talk with you," he said. "I did hear they've got a cultural [something] with them."
"Attaché? Seriously?" I groaned.
"What?" he cocked his head.
"Just that back home that was a really cliched term for a spy. Probably doesn't mean the same here. Right?"
"Well..." He looked as if he were trying to find a polite way to say something.
"Oh, for fucks sake, I'll just label them as spy and move on, okay? Now, you also wanted to show me the generator?"
"A. That's next door."
That took the rest of the day. We went over the technology that'd been put into the inn. The heating and hot-water system and steam turbine running from the boiler; the electrical generator, the refrigeration pump, both being powered by the turbine. Then there was the double glazing and insulation, and the electrical distribution system. That was tricky.
"You do tend to put a higher priority on heating and lighting than most people would," Chaeitch noted as we looked over some of the solutions for electrical insulation. Varnish on solid copper rods wasn't a viable long-term solution. "So much lighting in a room is unnecessary. The heating is pleasant, but also not needed."
"There are other devices," I said. "Heating, cooling, cleaning, communications... you don't have them yet, but you might want them later. My nation chose a simpler system. At the time it was adequate. Later on, it wasn't. And it'd become so... everywhere that it was difficult to change."
"Do it right the first time, a?"
"My father used to say that. He was an air machine engineer, so it was probably a good idea."
He gave me one of those looks. "It sounds like it might be."
"There was another saying he had, ‘if a doctor makes a mistake, a person might die: if an engineer makes a mistake, many people might die’."
"Sounds like something an engineer would say. Not entirely wrong, though," he said. "Now, the other thing was the water pump, a? I was wondering if it could be run off the turbine."
"Enough power?"
"That would depend on the draw on the generator, a?"
"True."
"Huhn," he growled and chewed the end of his pipe. Then a few seconds later he said, "A thought."
"What?"
"Let's get something to eat, drink."
"That was your thought? Deep."
"No, no, no. It's a butterfly I'm trying to catch."
"You what?" Now I was confused.
"A figure of speech," he said and waved his pipe. "Come along."
We left those warrens of new ideas made real and returned to his offices in the administration building. The old building had been an expensive edifice once, with shaped stone walls and tall windows and marble and brass trim. Then it was absorbed by Smither Industries and turned into central offices. Lots of them. With more business they needed more staff. No computers meant paper. Lots of it. And more of that required more staff just to move the stuff around. There were rooms of filing cabinets and accountants and clerks. Others with drafting tables and engineers working out details.
Chaeitch's offices were upstairs, down a tiled hallway lined with windows on one side and outer offices on the other, past his strikingly efficient secretary who informed him that new messages were on his desk, Aesh Smither was on her way, and a brunch was prepared. Our palace guards took stations outside. I took the package of sandwiches from the trooper given the sacred duty of carrying them, and followed Chaeitch in, with Jenes'ahn bringing up the rear.
With the doors of his office closed behind us, Chaeitch gestured for me to take a seat. I looked around, then moved a stack of document folios off a cushion.
"Rot, just put them anywhere," he said as he took his own seat at the desk. Jenes'ahn just leaned herself up against a wall where she could watch the door, and us.
The office was cluttered. The sort of clutter that comes from a curious and expansive mind. There were tall windows for plenty of light. There was a drafting board littered with designs. A cabinet of pigeon-holes was filled with dog-eared papers. There were tall, glassfronted shelves and cabinets filled with bits of machinery, lumps of melted materials, wooden and metal models, dusty books, lenses and sprockets and hinges and other paraphernalia. A smaller cabinet opened to reveal some bottles and glasses.
"So, catch your butterfly?" I asked as he poured.
"Huhn, hard to tell," he said, placed a glass on the desk and gestured to it. I picked it up, just swirling the clear liquid, as oily as gin but more palatable. "A thought about your power system," he said and lapped from his own glass. Then asked, "Why not both?"
"Both?"
"Three-wire from main stations," he said, marking out an imaginary supply chain. "Send it long-distance to block converters where it becomes two-wire. Far more efficient for local distribution."
AC to DC, in other words. "I would have to see if my library says any more on that," I said hesitantly. "That does sound like it could work, but there might be a reason we didn't do that. I mean..." I trailed off. Most smaller devices and motor-based devices were DC. Practically every household device needed a transformer of some sort. And microgrids were certainly a thing, where long-distance AC step-ups were impractical or not required. So, power stations outside the city feeding to distribution centers should be feasible.
Why hadn't we done that back home? Was there a technical reason? Or was it more financial? After all, if a block is running their own generation, they probably won't need ConEd and power piped in from half a continent away.
I sighed. "Look. I don't know enough about this. My library has some information, but not nearly enough. Our system has been around for about two hundred years. I know it started as a two-wire system, then the three-wire took over. It was supposed to be because it could send over long distances more efficiently. That worked when the generators were huge plants dotted around the country. But the system has grown a lot. And changed a lot. It spread across the country. It was so... unwieldy that if a part failed in one part, then excess pressure would cause failures in other places. Huge areas could be affected."
"That was solved?" he asked.
"Yes, but again, I don't know the details. The system was too well established to rebuild from the ground up. But it was continually refined. Made... smarter? Last I knew, there were hundreds of thousands of smaller systems added in. Taking power from sunlight, wind, water, heat in the earth... A home or business could make its own power cleanly. They were all linked into small systems as well as the larger one. It is an extraordinarily complex system."
I took a drink. Rris liquor can be rough as guts. Knowing Chaeitch, I could be certain that this wasn't. "Another thing," I added. "I don't know how much of the design was due to necessity, and how much was due to money. People being able to make their own power with small, local generators does not sound good to a...a business trying to make sure people buy from them."
"So, some of that complexity was unnecessarily added because it made people money?" he said.
I nodded. He understood that. "Quite a lot of that. But, also just that they built very quickly, while the technology was still new. Technical constraints meant they were limited in some aspects. Then solutions to those problems came along and instead of rebuilding — which would have saved money in the long run — they just... stuck bits on."
"So, shortly: yes," he interpreted.
A scratch sounded at the door a moment before it opened, the secretary holding it while Rraerch aesh Smither strode in, then closing it behind her. Rraerch had the right to barge in like she owned the place: she did. Smither Industries. Her name's over the door.
"Apologies for the delay. You didn't get too far without me?" She looked around. "Rot, is there a cushion somewhere under this lot?"
I hauled a stack of papers off a likely-looking lump and stacked them on top of the last lot.
"Thank you, Mikah," Rraerch said as she seated herself, then eyed me. "You're alright? I heard Serimuthi was demanding answers."
"We sorted that out," I said, then scratched my neck. "I think. At least, she seemed to calm down a bit. I hope."
"Seemed to," she echoed. "That's not entirely promising."
"We clarified something. She accepted it. She said she will recommend supporting the proposal. But," I sighed, "she really does seem like the type who will come back for more."
"Huhn," Rraerch rumbled. "Yes. Yes, she does. And how did your meeting with his lordship go?"
"Really just reporting on my meeting with Serimuthi. And we have some more challenges to figure out. Your name was mentioned."
"Not always a good thing," she noted.
"It's mostly organization. If this proposal goes ahead, it will need resources: a location will be important."
"That is possible. What sort of premises? A house or a warehouse? In the city? Outside?"
"It'll have to be large. Secure. Probably in the city for ease of access. It'll be a... a university and a workshop in one. So, room for expansion and machinery."
"Huhn, there are some places that may suit," she said.
"Also, accommodation," I continued. "Staff. Equipment and materials. Security. Also, a curriculum and lesson plans."
"Not my areas of expertise, those last. Perhaps if we had a teach..." she stopped herself. Looked from me to Chaeitch. Back again. "Apologies. Out of line."
I unclenched my jaw and nodded, stiffly. "But we don't, a?"
"University might be able to help there," Chaeitch offered. "They've got the experience in that."
"True," Rraerch leapt on the change of subject. "And there's also the issue of rates; what to charge."
"And there's something I'm wondering about," I said. "The Guilds."
"What about them?"
"Well, I'm not entirely sure how the guilds are arranged and their relationships between and with nations."
"What're you unsure of?" Rraerch asked.
"Who we will to talk to. We extended an invitation to these other countries, but who will they send? My kind would send government experts. But I'm not sure that's the way you do things."
Chaeitch cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
I sighed and tried to word it. "As an example, I give information on a new type of steam engine. Who would I be talking to? Government clerks or experts? Engineers like yourself? Or the Metal Workers Guild? Or the Transport Guild? Or someone else who feels that it's encroaching upon their domain. Remember the Artists Guild? Would it be like that?"
"I think that's an extreme example."
"But it happened," I said. "Are other guilds going to do that? Should we expect an influx of representatives from the Metal Workers Guild for that one example? Then for the next it might be Weavers Guild, then the Stonemasons Guild, the Printers, Jewelers. There would be a line of Guilds queued up outside, each waiting to be handed a little piece of a puzzle that they think only they are entitled to."
"Your kind has different structures. What would you do?"
Jenes'ahn stirred. "Mikah! That's a dangerous question."
"They already know most of it," I said over my shoulder. "It would be different, because, as you say, we have different structures."
"You don't have guilds," Chaeitch offered. "Your companies deal with the product, not just the parts and skills for making them."
"Pretty much."
"So, if we could get rid of the Guilds..." he mused.
"Hai!" Jenes'ahn barked out. "That is not something to say so lightly!"
"Indeed, that might be a bit drastic," Rraerch said. "Even though we've all thought it. Apologies, Constable. The Guilds do have their places. They are a voice for their members when nobility doesn't wasn't to listen. They stand up for them in difficult times. Injured and elderly members who can't work are afforded a stipend that can be lifesaving."
I held my hands out. "I really can't advise you on that. The Guilds are part of your... structure, and I'm am not the right person to tell you how that should work. And, I just don't know enough about them."
"So, you have questions?" Rraerch asked me.
"A few," I said. "Do the same Guilds in different cities or countries operate separately from one another? Does the Metal Workers Guild in Shattered Water share knowledge with the one in Open Fields?"
"For the most part, yes. But it does depend on what's involved," she replied. "For apprenticeships and [journeymen] guildmembers, they have an open exchange policy. A journeyman with recommendations can move to another city or nation for training or experience. They will trade information vital to the guild, but skills can be localized — one city may produce excellent knives while another specializes in cast iron hinges, but they are both part of the same guild."
I nodded. "So, if the Metal workers Guild here were to attend the academy, what they learn would be distributed through all branches?"
"In time, yes."
"Okay," I nodded again. That was something I'd covered before — the mercantile Guilds were affiliated, but they weren't amalgamated.
"And their relations with the government and with companies like yours, how do those work? I mean, you use metal workers here. And shipwrights and carpenters and all the rest. They are all guild members?"
"They have to be," Chaeitch said, then flicked his ears. "Rather, the dues are better than the penalties for dealing in Guild business. And the guilds make sure the pay is equitable and fair. They set rates that are good for the crafters and good for the employers."
"And they learn what you're doing."
"There are confidentiality agreements."
"And they work as advertised?" I asked.
Rraerch flicked an ear back. "Usually. A."
"Except for when a skilled craftsman has a few extra drinks one night and gets chatty with the generous folk who bought them," Chaeitch muttered. "Or they just forego the drink and offer the money."
Rraerch laid her ears back. "Any guild would sanction them."
"Not if it's not their skills they're dealing in," Chaeitch said. "The guilds have rights over processes in their fields of expertise. It's in their charters."
I'd heard all about that. "You paying them, or their guild?"
"Coins in their hand," he said, mimicking the gesture. "They deal the guild dues, but we deal with the guilds. They provide the crafters. You understand that?"
Yeah, if you want to employ workers with skills, you go through the guild. A real union shop. "I understand that."
"It works, for the most part," he said and gestured at the clutter on his desk; the papers there. "Confidentiality agreements are made, but people still talk. The guilds say they disapprove of it, but..." he waved a shrug.
"They might get something new for free," I finished. "How many different guilds do you have to deal with?"
"Several handfuls," he growled. "Thankfully, aesh Smither has clerks with experience. Although, they're guild also."
"There are also records and letters of patent," Rraerch said. "Guilds, individuals, and companies can register them. They're issued by the palace, who are very concerned with security of the realm. So is a lot of our business, so they do try to enforce them. And if an innovation should turn up in two remote places, then questions are asked."
"You have a better way?" Chaeitch asked me.
I sighed, leaned back and looked over at Jenes'ahn. She slowly tipped her head and flashed teeth. "We have a different way," I said. "But it sort of does the same thing. I... really don't think that would work for you. It's one of those things that really would cause problems."
Yeah, dissolution of the guilds and a societal upheaval turning their world on its nose and possibly fomenting revolution would probably do that.
"Serious problems?" Rraerch asked, seeming interested.
"Yes," I nodded carefully. "Yes, I really think they would be."
There was a moment of silence.
Broken when Chaeitch said, "Which is something we don't need. So, the Mediator Guild can deal with that, and welcome to it, a, Constable?"
Jenes'ahn was watching everything. If she'd been human, she'd have been glowering.
"But," Rraerch said, "We're going to have to rewrite contracts. So will the governments. And the guilds."
"You think they'll pay?" Chaeitch mused.
"I think they'll fight like fish on a line," she growled. "And we will have to play them. They will all claim that Mikah's knowledge is, by contract, owned by them."
"Then they can explain it," I said.
"They may not be able to do that. However, they will be in the best positions to take advantage of the knowledge."
"So," Chaeitch leaned forward. "The nations may gain the information, but they can't use it without the guilds' assistance."
"A," Rraerch hissed thoughtfully. "That may be something." She was quiet for a while.
"You think it could work?" Chaeitch ventured.
"I'm not sure," she said. "I'll have to do some research; ask some people who know more about it than I do. All I can say is, perhaps."
"Huhn," Chaeitch growled. Then took out his smoking kit and began packing his pipe. He growled again, then said, "That is good enough to work with. Now, Mikah, you brought some sandwiches, a?"
"That's what you're thinking about?" I asked, incredulously. "What about those problems with the guilds and other nations? Lunch is more important?"
"We can't do anything abut those at this time," he said. "Aesh Smither hunts in those woods, so best we leave those decisions her and her people, a? For now, we do what we can, which is have some mid meal."
"He's right, Mikah," Rraerch offered. "It's going to take time and preparation. I will investigate the legality and contractual obligations. This will take some while. For now, there are some other items to discuss: the rail road project, the others at the inn, a potential syllabus for your school. And, I could certainly eat."
Faster metabolisms, I guess. Also, I was still accustomed to a world where things were done in seconds. Throw off a text or email to your people and they'll get it going. You can't do that here. Things, especially information, took time to flow. An irritatingly long time. And they were used to that and dealt with it in practical and patient ways. I wasn't.
I deflated. "Okay. Lunch it is."
We ate. And it was good. There were sandwiches and other things in the hamper. Much of it was meat-heavy, as you'd expect, but Ea'rest had tried something like a salad: a bowl with walnuts and sunflower seeds and artichoke and onions and squashes and assorted berries. It didn't look like something you'd find on the menu back home, but it wasn't terrible. And as we ate the discussions continued about the various projects, all growing and spreading in demands and complexity like some kind of runaway weed. And there were difficult questions about what was feasible, convenient, and vital. Some pruning would have to be done.
Progress was made, however. Chaeitch and Rraerch each possessed considerable resources. They had staff and contacts to whom they could delegate and outsource. Lists were drawn up, plans made, a schedule penciled in, and we finally finished up with a sense of some achievement.
It was still barely light as Jenes'ahn and I climbed back into the carriage. I flopped back into the upholstery and heaved a breath. Then I rapped on the little hatch and told the driver, "Back to the inn, please."
"Sir," that one said and clicked the hatch shut again. The carriage rolled into motion, the exterior coach lights throwing feeble light against the encroaching night.
"You're sure?" Jenes'ahn asked after a short while, from across the shadows of the cab. "It's busier. Louder."
"I really don't feel like riding for an hour tonight."
"Very well," she said.
We rode for a while. She was watching me. I caught the occasional flash of eyeshine from her seat.
After a while she said, "You didn't ask him about her."
"What? Who?"
"You know well. The teacher."
I stared at a face I couldn't really see. "Why should I care? There's nothing worth knowing."
"That's not fooling me," she said. "I know."
"Oh, really? You got a special...."
"You say her name in your sleep," she interjected.
I swallowed. "That's all I say?"
A pause. "There are... other things. In your words."
"Yeah. There're things I don't want to remember or dream about," I said, clenching my maimed hand. "She might be one."
"Huhnnn," the coughing growl rumbled in the cab, then she was quiet.
We rattled on through twilight streets, the sounds of the wheels and our escorts' mounts ringing from surrounding buildings. We passed by stores and shops and places of business; occasionally the stone edifice of a guild or merchant hall. Evening markets were in swing in several squares. Slower traffic was moved out of the way by our escorts. I saw a lamplighter doing the rounds, lighting the occasional street lamp with a long taper. A group stopped by a steam-shrouded street stall watched us pass by.
This was the largest city in Land-of-Water, and you could walk across the Intramuros part in little over half an hour. Another couple of hours out to the edge of the surrounding conglomeration of farms and villages and industry, where the city petered out into farmland and then wilderness. Yeah, it might be small compared with cities back home. It might be dark for me; it might be cold; it might have animal shit in the streets and host some remarkably varied smells, but it was all on a far more personal scale. The whole city was built for people, built for the Rris who lived there.
We pulled up outside the Broken Barn and stopped with a jerk. She got out. I followed, stretching in the chill evening air. The elk drawing the carriage were steaming in the chill air.
One pissed on the cobbles, releasing another cloud of animal warmth. Not as quaint and charming as they might seem. The inn was looking more attractive; lights were burning in the windows and there was the muted sound of Rris voices. I could smell cooking on the air. Royal guard fell in around us as we headed to the front door.
Inside seemed usual for that time of night: dim and warm and smokey. Again, there was a lull in the noise as I entered, a pause in conversation that rebounded in a few seconds. I started for the bar with my escort close behind. Halfway there, we were intercepted by another figure in a dark road coat who fell in alongside Jenes'ahn.
"Calm day?" I heard Rohinia ask her.
"A. A few thorns and notes," she said. "Yourself?"
"Some interest. Upcoming appointments. I'll brief you. Meantime, there's been an incident here."
They dropped back, lowered their voices conspiratorially.
The base of the counter was made from big pieces of age-smoothed timbers fitted together. They'd previously been roofing beams and joists somewhere, now they were cleaned and polished until they gleamed and joined together with iron straps and copper bolts. It looked solid because it was. The top was a single massive slab of wood from northern forests, hewn to shape, smoothed, and buffed to a sheen. There were stools there, and they were all occupied — Rris sitting in them with tails hanging down the back. And one of the diners just got up and left.
I know heads turned when I sat, but I tried to ignore them. Not quite like a diner. There was food available, but also bottles behind the counter. I could see through the service hatch into the kitchen, which was the usual factory of steam and smoke and smells with staff clattering pots and pans and calling out a stream of requests. Out front a steady stream of servers grabbed loaded trays and brought empty ones back.
I'd never expected it to be this busy.
Behind the counter a Rris in an apron stepped up, wide-eyed and shredding a dishcloth while wringing it anxiously. They knew me here, but still... "Ah, sir? Welcome, sir. Your order, please?"
"What's good?" I asked.
"The turkey and cranberry pie is certainly worth it," the Rris beside me offered.
"Well, one of those, please," I said and clicked a silver down on the counter. "And a glass of Haisi. You have that?"
"Yes, sir. It will be ready shortly," the waiter said, took the coin, and hurried off.
I leaned on the counter, then looked at the Rris who'd spoken. "They do make good pies and..." I started saying and then focused and actually recognized who I was sitting next to. "And what the hell are you doing here?"
Hai'seth gestured with her half-eaten hand-pie. "Sit down," she growled. "I did say I was looking for a place to stay for a time. This inn was mentioned. It sounded interesting."
"Interesting," I echoed.
"A," the Serimuthi ambassador huffed. "There were some interesting innovations. Some interesting ideas. And, it turned out, an interesting investor."
I thought back to how conveniently a seat at the counter had become available. "You were waiting for me. Your people?"
"Remarkably busy, this place," she said casually, picking up her own drink. "Difficult to get a good seat, a?"
"Depends who you know, a?"
"Exactly. And this establishment should fit our needs admirably. Good location, rooms, facilities. We have secured indefinite use of a suite upstairs."
"Good to hear," I said. Inside, I was banging my head on the counter.
"A. A few oddities, but overall, we are quite satisfied."
"I'm sure Ea'rest will be pleased to hear that," I said.
"It's coin into your pocket also, a? And I would be interested in hearing how a wanderer from Cover My Tail came to have such an unusual patron."
"Right place at the right time, I suppose," I said and looked around as a presence appeared at my shoulder.
"Ma'am," Rohinia said, "I must remind you that..."
"I know, Constable," Hai'seth said, flicking an ear. "The conversation is purely social. A, ah Rihey?"
"It has been so far," I said.
"You hear?" she said to Rohinia. "And I can't help but notice you are associated with ah Rihey's sexual partner. That was a neutral interview, was it?"
"Absolutely. You were asked. You agreed to the conditions."
She growled slowly. "A. I did. What else was uphill?"
"Nothing. You simply made an issue out of something that wasn't."
"That true, ah Rihey?" she asked. "The guild maintains impartiality in those circumstances?"
"I don't know," I said. "But I do prefer to keep my personal life personal."
"Mikah," Rohinia said and lowered his voice. The last time I'd heard him use that tone I'd just blown up a building, "It would probably be best if you weren't here."
"We just got..."
"I mean sitting here. Like this. We will leave. Now."
"You..." I started to say, then looked around at him. His expression could best be described as stony. "Ah," I said. "I see."
I nodded to Hai'seth, "I apologize. It seems I'm required to be elsewhere."
"Huhn," she growled. "The Guild frightens you so much?"
"Not as much as what frightens the Guild," I replied as I got up. The server was returning, a drink in hand. I intercepted the glass as it was placed on the counter. "Can you please send the rest upstairs? Thank you. Aesh Hai'seth, please enjoy your stay. I'm sure I will see you later."
She gestured with her glass and an annoyed expression. "Until later then."
We were up the stairs before Rohinia spoke again. "That one is trouble."
"And annoying," I said. "Was that a timely rescue? Or is there a reason?"
"A few reasons," he said as we reached the door to the suite. "There are movements and private meetings between certain parties. There have also been movements of various characters of interest in and around the city. All good reasons not to sit with your back to a room full of strangers."
"Ah," I sighed. And then waited and sipped at my cold Haisi while he checked the rooms.
There were no assassins in the cistern or hit men in the hallway. I put the glass down on a table. "Tomorrow night, back home then."
"A good precaution," Rohinia said. "The Guild is watching several avenues, but crowds are difficult."
"And they seem to know how the Guild works, a?" I offered.
"How would you know that?"
"Because I was told they do. You're a big target. They've had a lot of experience working around the way you work."
"We got some names. A few. They came through from Summer Breaks."
I paused. "They got something? Finally?"
"They are still verifying details," Rohinia said as I went around the room, lighting lamps and closing the drapes. "Mikah, accuracy in this is important. You feel it's taking a long time. It is. Because this is vital. To make false accusations would be worse than not doing anything at all."
I nodded. "These names... anyone I know?"
"Some go back to guilds, but defining exactly who in those guilds, that is murkier. We can't level a blanket accusation at a guild if a few individuals in its ranks have acted without the awareness of others."
"There are cut-outs, a? I mean, agents who don't know who their orders came from? Payment in an envelope or something?"
"Like that, a. We've already found too many of those."
"As I said, they know how you work."
"Your doctor associate told you this? Huhn, I would like to meet her someday."
"I don't think she feels the same way."
"Huhn. You said she's acted against the Guild."
"I said no such thing. I said she's been working with these agents, but sabotaging them. They found out and tried to kill her. Now, she's her own boss."
Rohinia lowered his muzzle slightly to stare at me. He wasn't a young Rris, not as energetic as Jenes'ahn, but he had experience, patience, and a grizzled, stoic air. He'd been around, and had a ragged hide and a few scars to show for it. He was also less temperamental than his partner. He listened, and he weighed his choices deliberately. That's not to say he didn't have a temper. It just simmered longer before coming to a boil, but it was there all right.
"But you won't tell us where she might be."
I shrugged, "I don't know."
"And if you did."
I paused, then said, "I don't know."
"Huhn," he made that noncommittal cough-growl that sounded like a big cat's rumble. "That doesn't inspire confidence. Why would you not? I can't understand that."
"She's... important to me."
"She betrayed you. She left you to die. Or worse."
"She came back."
"That was business." He cocked his head. "This is like the teacher, isn't it."
I opened my mouth, to try to explain. Then sighed. "It's complicated."
"It always is," he rumbled, then headed for the door. "There will be guards in the hall. No-one enters. Not even that Serimuthi ambassador," he said as he opened the door. "Especially not that Serimuthi ambassador. Oh, and your food has arrived."
I sat at the small table and ate and drank. The food and drink were good. Better than a lot of other places around. Which was due in part to the unfair advantage that the refrigerated room in the basement provided. The refrigerator itself was extremely basic, not much more than a test-of-proof heat exchanger using copper coils and compressed air. That wouldn't be good for the system in the long run, but in the short term, it worked. The heat exchanger system could get the air temperature down below zero. In fact, because we didn't have an entirely accurate automatic thermostat, staff had to regularly check the freezer temperature and shut it down for a while if things were getting too cold. But it potentially meant clean ice and frozen goods all year round.
A production version of that was certainly feasible. The problem lay in the power supply. Which was something Chaeitch and I were trying to figure out.
Along with an industrial revolution's worth of other things.
And personal issues.
So, while I was alone, I took the little black rectangle out of my pocket where I'd stashed it after Chaeitch had slipped it to me. Here, in this world, without a network to connect to it was almost useless, the software-as-a-service apps moaning that their servers couldn't be reached. That was sort of handy — since it couldn't do anything, it tended to be overlooked or forgotten. Something I didn't mention too often was that it could still record.
Chaeitch's head was in frame, but too close, looking up his leathery nostrils. "This is working?" He pulled back a bit. I turned the volume down. "I've told you this is risky," he continued. "If someone finds this, you'll endanger her. But... I think... I don't pretend to understand this, but, very well.
"She's all right. She was upset, of course. She was furious and hurt and confused. But she's had some time now. She calmed down. Got quiet. Started thinking. Not a fool. I think she may have guessed."
He was drifting out of frame. The camera twitched to corrected it. "She asked why I showed up at that precise moment. She asked if it was a ploy. I denied it, of course. But, she's no fool. She stopped asking. I think she understands what has to be done."
I clenched the phone tighter. Feeling that ache inside.
"I'm doing what I can for her," he continued. "Mikah, I like her. I really do. I enjoy being with her; I relish her happiness and owe her a return for that. This spring, if it works between us... we'll see what happens. I thank you. On her behalf, I thank you. I don't really understand exactly how your feelings work, but I believe I understand sacrifice. I... won't waste it."
A scrabbling of claws on metal and glass and the recording ended. Yeah, I knew he liked her. I'd walked in on him liking her. But I was the one who'd end up hurting her, so I had to let her go. It hurt me; it might save her.
Yeah, lesser of two evils and all that.
Didn't make it any easier.
I re-enabled the biometrics, shut the phone off, and set it aside. Now, a part of me was saying to go downstairs, find Ea'rest and see if there was any more news. Rohinia had said no-one could enter, nothing about me leaving. So, I could probably bluff my way downstairs.
Probably being the key word. And, using that little loophole would spoil any chances of using it in a more pressing time. And I was being anxious and impatient. It was too soon. If she had any news, she'd let me know.
So, I finished my dinner and my drink. I made some notes about the day. I ran a bath.
As I soaked, I mulled that Chaeitch had been right in his surmise about other nations noticing that I had a stake in this place. So now the Serimuthi embassy was settling in until they got permanent premises arranged. And they had every right. It's an inn; if they pay their rent, they can rent rooms. And, of course, they'd snoop around. I was just a little concerned that they'd poke their noses somewhere and singe their whiskers.
The shed out the back housing the boiler had a guard. As well as attendants and watchers and stokers. It ate through a wagonload of coal every few days, so there were those deliveries. There were a lot of eyes on that place, so they would probably try bribery first. I considered leaving standing orders that guards weren't to take any bribes. Unless they were excessive. Then take the money and tell the purchaser anything they thought they wanted to know.
And the next day was a visit to the Cartographers and Surveyors' Guild. Then a quick jaunt up the river. That would mean I should be able to spend the next night at home. Quiet, out there. I could still hear the distant sound of the inn through the floor. And a shower would be good. Rris didn't really like them, but perhaps Ea'rest would put one in here. Maybe start a trend.
I pondered on that as I clambered out and grabbed a towel. Dried off as I headed back to the bedroom.
Jenes'ahn was there. Sat at the desk, working away with pen and ink. A crosshatch of Rris script covered the paper in front of her, the pen darting back and forth over it adjusting tenses... clauses. There was a folio of other papers.
"You never knock?" I asked.
"Why should I?" She didn't look up. "I'm your preferred woman, aren't I?"
"You are certainly something," I sighed. "What's with the paperwork?"
"Reports," she said and kept working.
I waited for further exposition, but nothing was forthcoming. "You're going to be long?" I prodded?
"Until I'm done."
"Uh-huh." I shook my head and finished drying. When I climbed into bed there was a single lamp burning at the desk, a furry figure sitting there working away. That was a... familiar scene.
I rolled over, away from the light. Listened to pen scratching on paper. And for a second I was somewhere else in memory:
A generic little airport hotel near a generic southern airport. Soundproofed, but the rumble of the jets occasionally seeped through the walls. I woke in the early hours, laying in the climate-controlled coolness. Over at the desk there was a pool of light where Jackie was typing away.
‘I had an idea.’
That was what she'd said to my querulous noise.
That moment rolled over me in a great wash of nostalgia, a memory so vivid I could smell the sheets and feel the chill of the AC, then it was receding. I was once again in an alien inn, watching a strange alien woman in a pool of light scratching away with a fountain pen.
"Did you want to do this?" I asked the silence.
A pause. She looked up. "What?"
"Did you want to be a Mediator?"
A longer pause. "Why would you ask that?"
"Well, you have been with the Guild all your life? You were raised by them. You were trained all your life? Yes?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you have a choice?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "I could work for the Guild, who raised and trained me, or I could be out on the streets to starve! What sort of a question is that?!"
"You never wanted to do something else?" I asked.
"Such as what?" she retorted. "Become a farmer? A fisher? A tinker, a tailor? An innkeeper, perhaps?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Huhn, it isn't. They are all worthwhile professions. But none of them are Mediators."
"That was sort of the point," I said.
She was glaring at me. "A Mediator is not an innkeeper or a farmer. One doesn't choose to become a Mediator; one is chosen. I was raised as such. I was taught. I was trained. I studied long and hard and through my efforts I succeeded. It is not something I want to throw away."
"And you're happy?"
Her ears went back. "Why would I not be? It's a position of responsibility. To be accepted is a [compliment/praise]."
Not honor. That word didn't translate as anything like that.
"When was the last time you had time off?"
"I said this is a position of responsibility. You really know nothing of the Guild, do you."
I lay back under the comforter, crossed arms behind my head and sighed up at the rafters. "People tell me bits and pieces. About your guild and your charters and laws, but why it all holds together, that I can't understand. They pay you well?"
"Mikah. The Guild provides everything I require. If I required gold, I could take it. If I required a mansion by the lake, I could just take one. Anything I require, I can have. That is payment enough?"
"But, is that yours? Or the Guilds? And how do you save? Put money aside? What about when you retire?"
"Retire?"
"You know, when you're no longer a Mediator? How long you got to go?"
"I don't know. How long are you going to live?"
For a few seconds I didn't get it. When I did, it was a dose of ice water. I sat up. "You serious? You're on me for the rest of your life?"
"The rest of yours."
"I've got about another seventy-five years. How about you?"
"I don't have powerful people trying to kill me."
I sat there amidst rumpled sheets and stared at her staring at me. Eyeshine gleamed like molten metal. "You," I said, "are intending to watch me for the rest of my life?"
"Or mine. And now I need to finish these reports."
I bit down a string of my own retorts, hissed a breath through my teeth, and flopped back onto the sheets. Then rolled over, curled up, facing away from her. I could hear the pen scratching, the rustle of paper for a long while.
I'd tried to... what had I tried to do? Embarrass her? Mock her? Tease her? I'd asked about her life. And she'd answered me. She'd been straight and honest and made me stumble over my own ignorance, then fall face-first into it.
The sounds of writing ended. Eventually. Then the lamp was extinguished. Then there were other noises: rustling cloth, sharp metallic clinks. Then the bed shifted and a hairy body burning like a banked fire slid in beside me.
After an indeterminable time, I just said, "I'm sorry."
"Huhn," came the rumble. "About what?"
"Those questions. I didn't mean... I just wanted to know about you; why you do this."
A pause. Then, "Perhaps someday I might tell you."
That was all.
Next morning dawned clear and cool. A few mare's tails sketched high wisps, but otherwise the early sky was a pale blue vault.
First thing that morning was a meeting with the Cartographers and Surveyors Guild. Rraerch was waiting, all polished and expensive-looking in a carriage, waiting to collect me and my Mediator shadow.
The Cartographers' Guild Hall wasn't far from the inn, in a wealthy old district where every other building seemed to be an established guild hall. On the outside the hall wasn't impressive: old wood and older stone covered with budding ivy, a small courtyard with some dilapidated stables that'd been converted to servants' quarters, nothing that said anything special. But inside was surprisingly spacious and airy, feeling more like a cloister than a place of business. We were shown to the upper floor, where a dozen big desks were set out under rows of skylights set in wrought iron, each desk covered with maps and charts of all shapes and sizes. Some were artistic masterpieces, redolent with bright inks and metallic leaf, while others were purely functional line works.
The guild's works were vital to the ongoing railroad construction project, and new tools for surveying the proposed route were top of their list. Their existing equipment was rudimentary, ranging from measuring chains and wheels to plumb rules, plane tables and basic theodolites. Those theodolites were perfectly serviceable in concept, and the Rris could certainly use them, they were just needing some refinements. Rraerch was there on a goodwill visit, one of several to see what would be of use to them. I was along as an advisor.
The theodolite was the obvious candidate for improvements. Smither Works could improve on their simple models with better optics, including magnification capabilities, and scaling and ranging reticles. The scaling of the gauges providing readings for horizontal and vertical axis could be improved, using vernier gearing and multiple rings that gave far greater detail of readings and therefore accuracy for the user.
They also wanted a better method to measure height. They could use standard measures and calculate for height, but that introduced creeping errors. Rris knew about barometers. With some finessing they could be made a little more precise. They'd need regular recalibration, differential levelling to average out differentials due to weather, and some basic math, but I had an idea for that.
When we left, it was with another future appointment with the guild, and a copy of a survey map covering a specific area west of the city. As the carriages started out of the guild's little front court, Rraerch was eyeing me.
"You have an idea," she said.
"I thought we could talk to the Clockworkers guild," I replied. I'd met with the guild in Red Leaves. They were working with rudimentary analog calculating devices. Called them Johis gears. They weren't universal computing devices by any stretch of the imagination, but they could do one-off calculations perfectly well. Vernier gearing, air pressure and altitude calculations, those were well within their capabilities.
"You think they'd be willing to help?" she asked. "It would cost."
"I think they'd be willing to get a new product that would probably be in high demand," I replied.
"Hmmm. Perhaps. They'd be necessary?"
"They've got the skill to make something that would be extremely useful to the Cartographers."
She chittered. "They would still charge. You understand that?"
"Perhaps not as much if we could make a few suggestions. And there's the glass working required."
"You would also want the glassworkers guild?"
"We could do it ourselves. In-house, so to speak. It would involve grinding lenses. But, I don't know how they would react to that."
"Not very well, I would imagine," she said. "That's a guild you don't want to fall foul of."
Probably not. After a trade deal with their hall in Open Fields, back before the continuous Guild surveillance, they were positively disposed toward me. They'd provided glass panes for the double glazing at home and at the inn, bumping me in ahead of some important clients. And it was amazing how often experienced glass workers were required in any undertaking. So, irritating them wasn't something I wanted to do.
"So, we might need to have a talk with them, as well," I said.
"Oh, is that all," she said. "Anyone else you'd like to invite?"
"If they all think they're getting something, they should be quite amenable."
Rraerch put her head back and snorted. "Mikah, you're becoming an optimist."
I sighed. "A. Sorry. Don't know what came over me."
She had work to do. We swung by the Smither Works to drop her off and collect Chaeitch for the afternoon's jaunt, which was a bit more technical and a bit more out of town.
The city of Shattered Water lay along the eastern-most shore of a broad and shallow lake, approximately where Buffalo was in another world. Further eastwards of the outermost city walls were outlaying reaches of the city, stretching further inland. They tended toward industrial and distribution, with factories and warehouses and yards specializing in everything from stock to stone. Those yards tended to clustered along the banks of the river where barges hauling goods from upstream could unload easily.
I'd known that river as the Buffalo River, and it'd been little more than a creek. Here it was the Followed River. A name that went back a long, long way from what I understood. And it was larger than the Buffalo had been: it ended at the lake, but its headwaters were way up in the hinterlands, up near the lakes a hundred kilometers away It remained a full river for much of that distance. Down near the river mouth it had been expanded by Rris hands: widening and digging and dredging, but further upstream it was still wide enough, deep enough, that small boats and barges brought goods and produce down from inland.
Our little convoy of mounted troopers escorting the single carriage headed out the eastern gate. The guards there stopped traffic and waved us through with no interruption. We passed through the gatehouse, over the old moat, and followed the road eastwards. Through industrial lands at first: past rows of warehouses and stores and lumber and stone yards and their attending piers and wharves and jetties. There were boat and shipyards of various sizes, roperies, sailyards. Raw granite blocks were heaped in one yard, while in another kiln were belching out smoke and stacks of fresh-fired bricks. We rumbled over several bridges spanning small canals branching off into the smells and smoke of industrial areas. After an hour or so the suburbs slowly transitioned into farmland, winter fields, fields of cattle. Most of the world was drab browns and grays, splashed with dirty white where last patches of snow and ice were melting away. But more and more of it was sprayed with specks of green. They appeared in the trees and bushes, across the scrubby fields, poking through the melt. Those splashes of spring color the warming sunlight made the world seem a little brighter after a long winter.
Farmhouses were dotted here and there over the landscape, surrounded by their fields and lands. Occasionally, windmills stood sentinel amongst fields of grains. Through it all wound the river, through flat land under a big sky, twisting and following the rolling plains. Dark water gurgled past dirty lumps of melting ice still caked along the banks. Tow paths followed both banks, paralleling the higher road, pushing back copses of maples and birch and hickory that were just starting to bud.
Occasional vehicular traffic trundled past. Wagons and carts hauled goods to and from the city. There was considerably more foot traffic: just Rris walking with bundles or haversacks. We slowed while a herder drove a raucous bunch of geese past us. Once, we passed by a brightly painted barge laden with some sort of lumpy covered cargo making its way downstream, a crewman sitting at the prow and occasionally lazily poking at the bank with a bargepole, just to remind it of where it was supposed to be.
It would be a peaceful, monotonous life, I supposed. Then wondered if I envied that.
We passed through a few riverside settlements. Just hamlets consisting of a few small old stone houses and farm buildings gathered around a small jetty where barges could be loaded. Rris children ran to watch us pass by, clambering onto walls to sit in the sun and shout as we passed by. A couple of times we passed by ruins: vague piles of tumbled structures overgrown by undergrowth.
Our destination was about ten kilometers upstream. According to the survey charts there was a serpentine in the river and a tributary creek coming down from higher bluffs, a kilometer of difference in distance. And in height.
We stopped on a low, weather-worn bluff overlooking that bend in the river. Chaeitch strolled to the top of a knoll there and looked around, shading his eyes against the afternoon sunlight. His breeches and vest were a woven wool something like tweed, and in that scene, he looked like a parody of an English gentleman survey his domain. Jenes'ahn stood back, also keeping an eye on the surroundings, but for completely different reasons.
"This is what you wanted to look at?" Chaeitch asked me.
"A," I said, wandering up to stand beside him, hands in pockets. The sun was out, it was warm, but the breeze still had a touch of winter in it. I was glad of my heavy coat. "To see if their charts are right."
He stared a bit longer. "Would it work?"
"I should ask you that," I said.
He studied the scene, then waved a hand, gesturing to an area off to the north of the bend where a creek was spilling down into the river, filtering through wetland and under a low bridge — almost a culvert — that accommodated the tow path. "Construct a reservoir up over there on the creek," he said. "Has to be big. Too small and it won't provide an adequate seasonal head, and will freeze. Shouldn't be difficult to dam the gully though, but it should be done right.
"From there the race would be about a kilometer," he pointed in the direction of the other bend downstream. "Maybe eighty thousand liters a second. At least a ten-meter drop to the receiving pool. That would be more power than any mill would require."
I shrugged. "Say that again when it isn't enough. Which will happen. We could run it further, which would increase the drop."
"And the complaints from farmers and everyone along the river," he mused, scratching his muzzle. "Draw too much and the river might drop. We'll need flow rates and accurate height differences. So, more surveying. What about the run? Pipes? I would think a [something] might be preferable."
"That word?"
"Huhn, a sort of passage for water raised on columns."
Aqueduct? "I think that could work. Pipes would have better flow, though."
"Perhaps some testing," he said. "What size are you thinking?"
"A hundred times the one in the inn."
"Huhn, ambitious."
Jenes'ahn stepped forward, ears back. "What are you two talking about?"
"Moving water," Chaeitch offered and pointed. "From there, to over there."
"Why?"
"To move other things," I said. "Which will then move other things. It's still an idea, but it might be better than some other options."
"Well, if you're done, we should be heading back to beat nightfall."
"You don't mind the dark," I pointed out.
"But the animals do," she growled. "Now move along. Something doesn't feel right."
I hadn't noticed anything. But Chaeitch swatted my arm and I reluctantly climbed back in. It was pleasant out — warm sun and no city smell, just a nice day in the countryside — and I didn't really want to give up on this little bit of freedom. Still, I listened to my minder and sat back as she stalked off to snap directions to the squad leader.
"You see any problems?" I asked Chaeitch.
He waved a negative. "No. This was supposed to be quiet. No-one else knew."
"So, she's just being twitchy?"
"That's what she's supposed to do," he shrugged.
I sighed and listened to orders being snarled out. Then Jens'ahn clambered in, pulled the door shut, and banged on the roof. The carriage jerked into motion and she dropped back into the rear-facing bench. "Neither of you has noticed anything?"
A tip of the hand a shake of the head. "No. Seems quiet," Chaeitch said.
"What's got your back up?" I asked.
She glared, then said, "I don't know. And I don't like that."
"Over-reacting maybe?"
She snorted. "Not reacting enough. There were supposed to be Mediators following us. I haven't seen them yet. Rot! If we weren't liable to miss them, I'd be advocating returning by different route."
Chaeitch's ears flicked back. "That would take a lot longer."
"A," she growled. "So, we return the same way, meet with the others, then hurry back."
He settled himself, adjusting his waistcoat. "All right. But this trip was kept very quiet. No-one else should have known about it."
"I hope that it worked out like that," she said.
The coach rocked along. The road was decent, as those things go around here, with a bed of crushed gravel to provide some drainage. But there were also bumps and wheel ruts, every one of which was translated into swaying of the cab. Trying to make haste could also make for sea-sickness. Until we hit the paved road closer to the city, we weren't going to be breaking any land speed records.
I kept my eyes out the window, trying to focus on something that didn't sway around too much. The coach was musty-warm from the sun, smelling of leather upholstery and Rris fur. It was too easy to doze, wondering if Jenes'ahn had finally gone off the deep end. Where was the point where practical precautions ended and paranoia started? So, I watched the countryside scroll by outside and any attempted alertness gradually ebbed to anxious boredom.
"How far behind were your associates supposed to be?" Chaeitch asked Jenes'ahn after a good twenty minutes.
"Not this far," she said.
"Do you think," he started to say and the shots cracked out.
I froze. He did. Jenes'ahn threw herself across the cab and grabbed me, "Get down!"
"Ahh!" I yelled in pain as she grabbed with claws that dug hard into my leg, trying to haul my greater bulk to the floor. I had to move or get shredded and discovered the floor could've been cleaner. More shots cracked out, pops and roars of muskets. Rris yowled. More gunfire. But nothing hit the carriage.
"Are they shooting at us?" I asked.
Jenes'ahn was trying to look out a widow. There was a hollow thock sound and a hole appeared in a high corner, then the opposite window collapsed into shards.
Claws snagged my hair and yanked my head closer to hers. I could feel her breath when she snarled, "The door will open. There's a low wall about twenty paces to the right. Run to it. Stay low. Understand."
"Yes."
The door opened. I went. There was a tumbled ruin, one we'd passed before. It was just a few stones, mounded dirt, and small, barren trees growing from the remains, but there was a tumbled wall. I scrambled over to it while gunfire popped, hunkered down among the scratching branches of bushes in an overgrown corner there. Chaeitch was right behind me.
"What's going on?!" he snarled with ears flat. He didn't need another perforation.
Gunfire was being exchanged. Judging from the sound, dozens of weapons were being discharged. Our troops had dismounted and were firing at a copse of winter-bare trees along the crest of a bank off to the right of the road. There was return fire coming from there, but there also seemed to be more gunfire going on behind the bank. Clouds of gun smoke were drifting up from everywhere. I heard Rris screams. Jenes'ahn skidded to crouch beside us, literally snarled, "Stay here!"
She scrambled over to the rear guard who were reining their elk around and snapped some words up to their leader, gesturing toward the enemy positions. They dismounted, two taking positions behind the carriage and readying their muskets. The others formed up into a skirmish line, readying their muskets and backup sidearms, and Jenes'ahn joined them. The guards already engaged blasted off another fusillade of gunfire. Uphill, chips of wood sprayed from treetrunks and Jenes'ahn and her commandeered troops raced forward, flanking around to the right. There was a pistol that wasn't her matchlock in one hand, knife in the other. She fired. Then fire twice more and charged out of sight. More gunfire rang out.
I sat back down, the cold wall against my back. Chaeitch sat beside me. Gunfire rattled from behind the hill, a sudden burst that died out apart from a series of quick pops. Muzzle loaders, and something else.
"What just happened?" he asked.
"Don't ask me," I said. "I just work here."
"An ambush like that and they hit the carriage once." He craned and took another look. Ducked back. "Were they fighting someone else?"
"Sounded like it," I said. "Perhaps it was those Mediators she was expecting?"
He exhaled a white cloud. "That would make sense."
There hadn't been any shots for a while. Rris were shouting orders. I peeked: a skirmish line of guards advanced up the hill, their muskets ready with bayonets fixed.
"Shall we go?" I asked.
"I'm perfectly happy where I am, thank you," he said.
"Really?"
"Then you can explain to her when she gets back."
"Point," I said and rubbed my leg. Hissed at a stab of pain. There was blood welling through my pants. "And that was when she was trying to protect me."
"Hope she's not like that all the time."
"Only when she's awake," I said. Then hesitated. "I saw your note. Thank you. For everything. You said you think she knows."
"Why would... oh. Aesh Hiasamra'this? A. She's not a fool. And she knows you. A lot of people have been saying ‘it's about time’ and think you finally did something normal, but she can dig a little deeper."
"She's not talking about it? That would be dangerous. This is a pretty good example why."
"No. I said she's no fool."
"And nothing strange happening? People watching her?"
"Nothing that myself or our guards have noticed."
That made me feel better, but I wasn't sure it was a good thing. If one of us got complacent it could ruin everything.
"Would you like me to say something to her?" he whispered. Yeah, there were those two guards there. How much could they hear?
I opened my mouth, then swallowed hard. "No. No, thank you. You've done more than enough. She just needs to... move on with her life. Make her happy, a?"
He twitched a hand — a small nod. "She wants to teach. She had classes, but since your... separation, some highborns have been less accommodating."
"That's... not really very surprising. How's she taking it?"
"She liked the children. Having them removed because of something she can't control hurts. But, she's a good teacher. Her students like and respect her. People know that. She has enough private lessons to keep her busy."
"Good to hear."
"And she still has some stories to tell about you."
Aw, crap. "That might not be a good idea. If people think she..."
"They're not all good," he interjected.
"Well... "I said eventually. "That might help, then. And at least she's not getting dragged into situations like... like this."
"A," he sighed, then craned to peek over the broken wall again. "They've stopped shooting."
"I hope that's good."
I looked: some guards were advancing up the hillside. Others were holding their positions, reloading their cumbersome weapons or holding them ready to fire. Rris shouted out and more guards were at the top of the bank, waving a signal down to their compatriots. The ones holding their positions didn't move and kept watch. The ones heading up moved a little faster.
"Shall we go?" I asked.
"What? Where?"
"Up there. See what happened."
"You did hear what she said, a?" he asked, cocking his head. "I, for one, don't need to be dragged back down by my tail."
"You just want to sit here and wait?"
"I don't see why not," Chaeitch said as he rummaged around in his vest and produced his little smoking kit and started filling his pipe. "It's a sunny day. Your shadow is gone. We've some time to sit and talk."
So, we did.
Guards were marching back over the hill and down to their animals. Jenes'ahn was there, stalking alongside the guard commander like a little stormcloud. Her tail was lashing, her roadcoat flapping around her peculiar ankles, blending in with the gray spring terrain. She growled something to the guards and headed our way.
As she got closer, I hissed. "You alright?"
There was blood on her. On her face and on her coat.
"We're leaving," she said. "Now."
"Are you alright?" I repeated "What happened?"
She gestured curtly to the carriage. "Get in. We're moving. Now."
We did. Chaeitch tossed splinters of glass out the broken window and sat by the opening. The carriage lurched off, fast enough to set every fixture rattling. I had to grab a handhold to stop from sliding around on the bench. Jenes'ahn just looked perturbed.
"Once again," I said, "Are you alright? There's..." I gestured vaguely, "blood."
She glared. "It's not mine."
"Great. That's good. Then whose is it?"
She glared. "Mediators."
It took me a second to get it. "The ones who were supposed to be following us?"
"The same."
"They were the ones shooting?"
"No. They were dead." She nearly snarled the word. "Murdered. By the ones who tried to ambush us. Then they were ambushed in turn."
"By whom?"
"Should I ask you that?" she growled.
"What? How should I know?"
"Because someone was watching our attackers. They followed them. Then they hit them just before they hit us. Someone was protecting you. I thought you might have some idea who that was." She looked at me expectantly.
And I looked back, bewildered. "You're the one with the list of who's naughty and nice. And just because they interfered with the ambush doesn't mean they were protecting me."
"You have a better explanation?"
"They were protecting someone's interests?" I suggested. "They had a grudge? Infighting? Someone betrayed them?"
"They've done this before," she growled. "They were professional."
"Ah, so you do know who they are."
"I thought you would, too."
"What?"
Chaeitch made an exasperated noise. "Your doctor, Mikah. Your doctor. She's done this before, hasn't she."
"That was..." I was about to say different, but...
"Mikah," Jenes'ahn sighed, "these people are dangerous. Very dangerous. They could've alerted the guard or the Guild. They didn't. They just elected to handle matters themselves. They got three Guild members killed. Murdered."
I had a thought. "Rohinia wasn't..."
"No. He wasn't," she snapped. "Just ordinary constables, a? That doesn't matter as much, a?"
There was a cold silence.
"It matters," I grated, forcing some sound into that void. "It's always mattered. That's why I hate this. That's why I hate that you're using that repeater pistol: not because you took the idea from me, but because you need to use it in the first place.
"And I hate that it's just a few who feel that they can kill with impunity just because they're not getting what they want."
"You don't have to do what you're doing," Jenes'ahn said.
"If I stop, then what?" I asked the Rris. "Everyone else will? Or will the sides just switch around?" I leaned my head back against the upholstery, closing my eyes. "Looking back, I should have kept my mouth shut, a? Maybe just start a paperclip factory? Or would the paperclip Guild try to stop me?"
Chaeitch looked confused. "I don't think there is a...."
"Or ballpoint pens? They're really useful. But, the penmakers Guild might not like it."
"The Writers Guild might be interested, but..."
"I mean, there's nothing I haven't been asked to do, but it always seems to piss someone somewhere off. If I simply stop, the same thing will happen for precisely the opposite reasons, won't it."
"Likely."
"And people will fight over it and die over it. I know that, and it does matter." I glared at her. "And I hate it."
"Yet you do things like this. You didn't have to come out here, you know that. Surveyors can do that."
"Well, I'm sorry if I got all above myself and thought I could perhaps go ten kilometers without someone trying to kill me. Foolish me, a?"
"A, and got four Mediators killed."
"And what about the others?" I asked.
"What?"
"Other people have died. A lot. Not just Mediators."
"A," she said. "But now four Mediators are dead. Executed. For anyone to do this is foolhardy in the extreme. The Guild will burn anything and everything to flush them out."
I closed my eyes, thumped by head back against the upholstery. "And up to now you've just been... what? Evaluating, was it?"
Another cold silence before she said, "Precisely."
I don't know if she was aware of it, but her hand was twitching — continually rubbing at the blood smeared on the thigh of her breeches. Carefully, I asked, "So, what now?"
"Now, we return to the city. You will return to the estate. The guard will be increased. You will not go anywhere without Guild approval and planning."
I sighed. "So, same as usual, a?"
I paused with my hand on the door and looked up at Chaeitch sitting in the carriage. He looked tired. "You'll be okay?" I asked.
"A," he said and waved his pipe, setting smoke swirling in the cab. "It's an easy ride."
"There're spare rooms and a hot meal here," I offered.
He waved a polite decline. "I'll have to get back. I'll have to write this up, while I still remember things."
"Be careful," I said.
"As long as I'm not around you, I should be fine," he said cheerfully.
"Fuck off," I replied just as cheerfully and shoved the door shut. The driver flicked the reigns and the carriage swung around the loop and headed off back down the drive with a few guards riding escort. I waved, then adjusted the laptop case and turned back to the house and Jenes'ahn.
She was waiting on the steps. In the dusk the lights were coming on, staff hurrying from room to room and lighting lamps. For my sake, more than anything, but it still made the sprawling edifice look welcoming and instilled that relieved ‘home again’ feeling.
Tich opened the door exactly as I reached to top step and bowed respectfully. "Welcome home, sir. I'm most distressed to hear there was an incident. You are all right, I trust."
"I'm fine," I said and then her ears twitched. So did Jenes'ahn. I looked around, down the drive to where a handful of elk riders were hastening up the hill, road coats blending with the dusk but their eyes catching the house light. That was creepy.
"Guild," Jenes'ahn said, relaxing.
Messengers had gone out to all points of the compass: The Mediator Guild, the palace, the inn, back here. So, Tich knew something had happened. The house guards at the gate had been alert and reinforced by the royal guards who'd been with us. Patrols were increased. The staff had been alerted and would make sure windows and doors were secure.
I looked at the approaching Guild. "The study is private. There's paper and pens if you need."
She flinched, looking up at me, then snorted. "A. Thank you."
I headed inside. Tich was there to take my coat and boots. "Thank you," I said to her. "The Guild will be... touchy. They lost people."
She looked shocked.
"If there're any cold cuts or sandwiches, they would be appreciated," I said.
"Cook was told you were returning. A proper meal is being prepared," she replied. "I believe marinated elk steak tails, marrow fingers, and fried potato cubes are cooked. They will be ready presently."
"They may be busy for a while," I noted.
"If they require anything, we will accommodate them," she assured me.
I had some time. I used it to change out of my road clothes and check the scratch on my leg. It'd stopped bleeding, but was a clotting mess. I cleaned it with water and alcohol, hissing at the sting. Clean pressure bandages and some fresh clothes and then I was informed that evening meal was ready.
The dining room was large, so was the dining table. I felt out of the pace eating there, rattling around in that dimly-lit empty space. Even though Rris don't use meals as an excuse to socialize, Chihirae and I used to sit there together to eat. Without her, it was... lacking.
The food was excellent. It usually was. The household cook was accustomed to me and my eccentric tastes and could produce good food that, most importantly, didn't use any opioid spices. Some of the recipes he came up with weren't anything that a western restaurant was likely to try, but they could certainly become epicurean adventures. Marrow is salty, but properly prepared can become a surprising offset to balance a plum sauce.
I was partway through my meal when I realized I wasn't alone. A staff member cleared some dishes away. I thanked her as she left and flinched when I saw gray figure standing against the wall by the door. "How long have you been there?"
"Since the beginning of your second course," Rohinia said.
"You could've said something," I grumped. "Have a seat?"
"Better if I don't."
"Hmm. You heard what happened."
"Not the details. Not yet."
"I thought you'd be in there with them."
"Someone has to watch you," he said, then cocked his head. "What can you say happened?"
I stabbed a piece of mat with a fork. "We were ambushed. Then someone hit the attackers from the back. Beyond that, nothing that I actually saw. Spent the time hiding behind a wall."
"What did you see?"
"We were in the carriage. There were gunshots, a volley of them. Then a pause and another volley. That was when a shot went through the carriage. Only one. Then... there was more gunfire, but I don't know who was shooting. Jenes'ahn got us out and sheltered behind a wall. There was gunsmoke in the trees at the top of the hill and more gunfire from our guards and behind the hill."
"Huhn."
"And no, I don't know who was involved. Your partner has a theory, but I can't add anything to it. Just that the enemy of my enemy isn't always my friend."
"I'll bear that in mind," he said.
"And what about us? Did you get something? Information? Papers? Identification? Prisoners? Uniforms? Weapon makes and models? Training and tactics? Personal items? Phone numbers? Anything?"
He just blinked placidly. "Bodies and weapons. Nothing new or immediately identifiable."
"Mercenaries?"
"Perhaps."
"There seem to be a lot of those around recently."
"There are those who see it as an easy way to earn. There's always some who're willing to risk a lot for a lot."
A few mouthfuls later I said, "They killed Mediators."
"A. I heard."
"That happens a lot?"
"Not like that, no."
No. It didn't. From the reactions, it was something that just didn't happen. It was the nuclear option for the crime world here: the Guild would come down on everyone like a ton of rusty swords, whether they were involved or not. And it scared the hell out of me because the Guild was still watching me and evaluating. I'd been told that if I caused to much trouble, the most efficient solution might be just to remove the source of the problem. Like taking away a troublesome child's toy.
No-one ever asked the toy's opinion.
I poked at the rest of the meal, finding I didn't have enough of an appetite for the whole thing. An insult to the cook, but there was always more than required — perks for the staff.
The study door was still shut as I passed. It was a heavy door, padded on the inside, designed to keep sound out. Or in. So there was no hint of what was going on in there. Not that I could've eavesdropped with that other Mediator shadowing me upstairs.
The drapes had been drawn, the heaters were running, the bedroom was warm and the drinks in the cabinet were looking inviting. I poured a finger of something that was the same color as whisky, but tasted of apples. Took a couple of sips, then left it to retreat to the bathroom.
The shower wasn't a Rris innovation — they prefer soaking in hot tubs. Something about water getting into their ears. For myself, however, it was something that I'd long ago decided I really needed, especially after days like that. I turned the water on, cranked the temp up until it was almost painful, then leaned my head against the tiles and just let it drum away at my neck and shoulders.
And now we were back to where we were in Bluebetter: in the crosshairs of unknown assailants. We'd winnowed down their agents and mercenaries, found their lines of communication, read their mail, and come up with...
... whatever we'd come up with, the Guild wasn't talking. Like any investigation, the details should be kept confidential. They were that professional, at least. But it always seemed that no matter how many of these attempts were thwarted, there were always more. They had prisoners, they had informants and intelligence, but they still hadn't stopped this.
I had to wonder about that. Were there entire guilds involved? or just individuals from within those guilds forming their own little councils? From what we'd seen, the forces behind the attacks had influence and money, and they knew how the Mediator Guild worked. There also seemed to be communication and cooperation, which here probably implied meetings in smokey back rooms.
I'd been in one of those. It was how the business behind businesses was done here.
Would these proposed new interactions with other nations relieve some of the pressure, or was it all coming from Guilds and private sources? How many conspirators were there? A central cadre? Or dozens of splintered little cells?
A single shower wasn't long enough to solve all my problems.
The bathroom was full of condensing water when I finally finished. I grabbed a towel, drying away the worst of the water before wandering back to the bedroom, scrubbing at my hair and beard.
Jenes'ahn was there.
Asleep on the bed, sprawled out in her armor and padded tunic, complete with blood and mud. Roadcoat draped over the foot of the bed. Pistols over there on the table.
I stared down at her. Possibilities. I could just pitch her out, or get creative; perhaps shave some strategic patches; perhaps dye some fur; ribbons on her tail; how do you write ‘kick me’ in Rris? Did the warm water trick work?
And she was out of it, snoring away in that growly way she had. She'd obviously come in. Put her gear down. Saw I was in the shower. Sat down to wait, then flaked out. That exhausted?
I dried off while she snored quietly. It'd be really easy to paint a smiley face on the back of her head...
"Dammit."
I eased her padded tunic off, along with kilos of bits of metal. Next were the mud-andslush-spattered breeches and some more hardware. I stood over her in her light undertunic. They didn't have underwear, or a real need for clothes. Hell, an unclothed Rris was about as naked as a polar bear. And this unclothed Rris was also utterly out to everything. A trained killer and she never woke. I looked over to the drink cabinet, wondering if she'd had a few of the harder stuff.
And I wasn't interested in anything but sleep that night. I damped the lights, then crawled under the covers.
Alongside me, the constable muttered something unintelligible in her sleep and rolled over, snoring in my ear. She reeked of anxious Rris, smoke, gunpowder and blood.
"Dammit," I sighed again.
Running through a forest. Black sky, bone-white trees. Breath burning in my chest. I was being chased. Hunted. I couldn't see them, but they were there.
And I was bleeding. The arrow in me hurthurthurt.
Pushing through branches that scratched and tore. Clambering over rocks. Down a hillside. A snarling face that lunged and ripped at my own and I was on a stone, a fallen slab of rock. Up on the hill above me there were faceless faces and guns levelled. Voices shouted. Guns flared fire and smoke and I fell...
Awake to darkness. Breathing as hard as if I'd been running for my life, my throat sore.
I lay there in the warm silence, just breathing, listening to the blood hammering in my ears slowly calming down. Old wounds twitched and ached.
Deep breaths. Not real. Not real. Not... not recent. God, not that bad. Not for a while. It was a while before I realized I was alone in the bed. Alone in the darkness. Had I kicked her out?
When I heard the door open, I flinched, felt my heart beating faster.
"It's me," said an anonymous Rris voice in the blackness. "Jenes'ahn," she added. "You were... restless."
Then closer, "Here. Water."
I hesitated before holding out my hand. An inhuman hand guided mine to a cup. It was cold.
"There's something in it," she said as I took hold of it. "Not much. It'll help you sleep."
Automatically, I looked toward the sound of her voice. There was a darker patch of night there, but otherwise I was blind.
"You've had it before, in the Guild in Open Fields."
There weren't many people who knew that. I drank. There was a familiar, faintly-bitter taste.
"Thank you," I grated, holding up the empty cup.
There was a hesitation, then a snort. The cup was plucked from my hand. The next thing I heard was the door again.
I lay back. The stuff didn't work fast, but it worked. I'm not quite sure what came first, Jenes'ahn's return or sleep.
My schedule for the next few days was pretty much shot. All the planned appointments were out the window. All the business meetings and social visits were cancelled until further notice.
It didn't make much of a difference to my routine: I was up early, head feeling foggy and dull. An hour of exercise and a shower dealt to that. Breakfast could be taken slower and enjoyed. I had my scrambled eggs and bison-kebabs in the living room, looking out over the meadow.
It continually strikes me as ridiculous how mundane it can all be. Here I am, catapulted into an alien world, the target of killers and merchants and lords and ladies, all of whom want to either exploit me or kill me; someone with the chance to affect the course of an entire planet, and it can be all so... mundane. Days, weeks of repetitive nothing; meetings that were nothing but protocol and paperwork without any definable outcome; late nights trying to explain something I didn't have words for; poring over plans trying to find where something went wrong. Just...life.
If Hollywood had been telling this story, it'd fail focus group testing. Not enough explosions; more action; invent the car so we can have car chases; more catchphrases and less breakfasts on misty spring mornings.
I speared a slice of grilled yellow tomato off my plate and chewed, watching the mist. And after the reek of gunsmoke and blood and screaming, heart-pounding terror, I was fine with it.
Later, I used the time to try and practice my reading and writing skills. I had Rris books. They were expensive and I still couldn't read them. After three years and I simply couldn't read complex Rris script. Or write it. I could recognize individual words, but every time I tried to use them in sentences, I failed. Hilariously, according to various people who'd read my attempts.
That didn't do a whole lot for my self-esteem.
I persevered. I may have been banging my head against a brick wall, but it was something to do and helped with my vocabulary. Besides, some of the Rris books I'd been gifted by well-meaning petitioners were literal works of art, in everything from the immaculate bindings to the rich paper, the interior illumination, and the illustrations. If I couldn't get out to see Rris art, at least some of could come to me.
Or, perhaps the brick wall would fall down.
A polite cough interrupted my frustrating studies. Tich was at the study door. "A visitor, sir. His lordship's secretary."
Kh'hitch ah Ki. I had not been expecting him. "I don't think I have to guess what this is about," I said. "I'll meet him in the parlor. Don't often get to use it."
"Very good, sir."
The room wasn't precisely called the parlor in Rris. But the name fit: it was a comfortable room, not quite in the house proper, where guests could be received and talked at.
Kh'hitch was studying one of the paintings on the wall when I entered.
"Ah Ki," I said. "Long way from the palace."
"Ah Rihey," he replied. "Constable," as Rohinia entered to take station in the corner. "I am most distressed to hear about your people. I am sorry for your loss. Know that the resources of the palace are entirely at your disposal."
Rohinia just inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
Then Kh'hitch turned back to me and nodded toward the painting: dark, snowy mountains wrapped in brooding clouds. In the foreground, two fighting Rris were eviscerating each other with sickle-like blades. "I didn't expect to see a Fashir here."
"A gift," I sighed. "It's very nice, but I wish they wouldn't. I can't play favorites over things like that."
"The burdens we bear," Kh'hitch huffed and turned away. He was a hefty Rris. Quite hefty. Tending toward fat on the far side of the line. And with his penchant for brightly colored attire, there was a feel of overstuffed foppish plushy toy about him. Yet he was personal secretary to the Rris King, which bespoke capability, intelligence, and a considerable amount of power tucked away. There was nothing foppish about his eyes.
"Have a seat," I said, gesturing to the cushions over on the rug by the bay window. He lowered himself to sit like a furry buddah.
"Drink?" I asked, to be hospitable.
"It would be appreciated," he said, and considered for a second. "Loosen Long Hills?"
I looked to Tich waiting in the doorway. "There is a bottle, sir," she said.
"That will do, then."
"Yes, sir," she said and was gone.
"Expensive, I take it," I said.
"Quite," he said. "From Overburdened. It was recommended to me. I thought I might take the opportunity."
"You knew I had it?"
"It's a rare bottle. I thought it might be something like that Fashir."
"And that's rare, I take it."
"Oh, quite," he said.
"And quite a waste, isn't it, throwing this treasure in front of someone who can't fully appreciate it."
He spread his hands. "I couldn't possibly comment."
Tich returned at that moment with a tray holding two small tumblers filled with dark amber liquid and a plate with small strips of fresh salted salmon. She set the tray down on the low table between us.
"Thank you," I said. "The door, please." She silently withdrew, closing the door after her.
"Now," I said taking a glass and gestured for him to do the same. "Now, I take it this is about yesterday."
"Among other things," Kh'hitch said and waved his glass under his nose. "Of course, that incident has caused ripples."
"Embassies?"
"A. Every one of them has come to us with assurances they weren't involved."
"That's not really a surprise, is it," I noted.
"No. But it is interesting." He lapped delicately at his drink, then licked his chops and held up the glass appraisingly. "My. A genuine Long Hills. And you didn't know you had it?"
"I can't say I did," I said and sipped. I'd been expecting whisky, but this was different. It was... light, similar to vodka, with a texture that was almost coolly refreshing at first, and then came back and slow-burned on the back of the tongue. "That is," I took a breath. "That is quite subtle. And strong."
"I know they use apples," Kh'hitch said. "It is made in winter. Some say they put some winter ice into it to give it it's taste. That's preposterous, but it does sound interesting."
"A," I said and sipped again.
"You would have some idea how they do it?" he asked me.
Fractional freezing distillation was probably involved somewhere, but the drink seemed a little more than just that. I said, "No idea."
"Huhn, really."
"A. Now the Long Hill assassins have no reason to come after me, a?" I raised my shot glass, sipped again. Not big glasses, but with that drink a little would go a long way. Straight to the head, probably.
He squinted at me, then said, "Quite. But someone else's do. Some rescheduling has been done. Several guild meetings have been postponed. The venue for another few meetings has been changed. A reception at the Palace for embassies is continuing, but the date has been postponed a few days."
I thought that list over, turning the glass around in my hands. "You're still dealing with the embassies?"
"A," he said.
"So, you trust them, but not the local guilds? You've a reason for that?"
"Just that incident yesterday, of course," he said with a twitch of an ear. "You had only just put forth your proposal. One would have thought that they would wait to hear from their own superiors before they made any moves."
I nodded. "You think someone just didn't know about the offer. They weren't involved so they didn't know what was happening."
"Or the precise nature of it," he said. "Possibly someone who wasn't party to the proceedings saw something was happening, and being unsure exactly what, decided to act first and think later."
"So, not one of the other nations."
He snorted. "Not this time. They may have been involved before, but this time, based on what information the Guild has provided, I don't think so. It feels like a trap."
"Which didn't work very well."
"Didn't it?" he asked. "It does seem a great deal like last time."
"Last time?" I asked.
He blinked. "You should recall. She used you as bait that last time as well."
The bottom dropped out of the room. I realized that I was staring.
"You didn't notice?" he asked, sipping his drink. "This incident was remarkably similar to that: use you as bait to remove a troublemaker."
I found my voice. "You're the second person to bring that up. And what would make you think she's involved?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, there's no proof. It's just a very similar technique. And we have learned that some of those bodies on the hill were guns for hire."
"Mercenaries?"
"Of a low sort. Unaffiliated. Offal-pickers," he said and actually sniffed. "Dock-rats. They were known in places around the cracks."
"Sir," Rohinia spoke up. "If I may, sir, some of those details are part of an ongoing investigation and are still to be verified."
"Of course, constable," Kh'hitch said and waved a shrug to me. "And, of course, there's no solid evidence that the good doctor is involved. Just an interesting coincidence."
"Those seem to happen," I sighed and tossed back the remainder of the drink. "But you don't think they were affiliated with other nations."
"It seems unlikely. And maintaining their favor and good gracious is advantageous at this time. We're also interested in gauging their reactions now they've had some time to consider. The reception will be postponed, but will be going ahead."
"Oh, good," I didn't smile.
We spoke for some time, and it was all business. There were more meetings scheduled with Smither Industries. The plans with the rail-lines were moving ahead. There were requisitions for work crews and materials. There were questions about the quantity and quality of iron required and the amount of coke for making steel. The surveyors were working on the route, trying to find the gentlest gradients, and failing that, the places where tunnels or bridges could be made.
"Incidentally," Kh'hitch said, "that does bring up a question about yesterday's events: what, precisely, were you doing there in the first place? Ah Ties has explained, but I confess I am not a technical man."
"Hoping to turn height into force," I said.
"That is... not enlightening."
I had to think for a bit, to put my words in order. "A motive force is needed to operate machinery. At this time steam is.... convenient. This requires an engine and coal and a lot of smoke. But, because it is convenient, people might overlook that. I want to try and avoid that, so I am hoping water can be used instead. Like a water mill. It has to have more force behind it, like a waterfall. The higher the better. This force is changed to another force that can be used to do work. Does that make sense?"
He took a breath. "Something like a mill?"
"Something like."
"Huhn," he said, studying me. "This doesn't affect the water?"
"Only if too much is taken. That might reduce the river's flow. Otherwise, nothing. We wanted to see if the lay of the land is suitable. It seems to be. It'd allow a small-scale mill to start. Learn from that."
"Your kind had larger ones?"
"A. There were some by the falls down river." I nodded in the direction of the Niagara Falls. "There was an attempt about two hundred years ago, which was not very successful. Another about a hundred years ago was. A tunnel was driven several miles upstream, where water was diverted. That flowed down to a reservoir which fed the mill. That could provide heat and light to, I think, about twenty-thousand homes."
He blinked, then leaned back a bit and cocked his head. "That is a considerable number. You are not aiming for that with your mill?"
"Not quite. It's complicated."
"Ah," he said. "That word again. I get the same feeling when Aesh Smither tries to explain the complexities of a steam engine. This is worse?"
"Different," I started to say, then thought about it. "No... No, it actually is more complicated. But it has more applications. And doesn't explode or burn coal."
"Huhn. His lordship mentioned you were concerned about that."
"There are reasons."
"Undoubtably. He would like to discuss it with you tomorrow evening."
"At the palace, I take it."
"A. A carriage and guards will be sent. There will be some other guests of his. However, it will be a subdued event, not a formal occasion."
"Who are these others?"
"Lords and ladies and counts. Some delegates. Some candidates. Associates of his lordship."
"And it's not formal?" I found that surprising.
"It's a gathering of old associates with similarly-aligned interests. You are one. Please dress... respectfully."
"So, pants on, then."
"If you would," he said implacably, picking a strip of salmon. "He also requests you bring your library."
"Uh-huh," I nodded. "Did he say why?"
"I believe it has something to do with your thoughts toward steam power, but I was not informed as to the precise reason."
"Okay," I sighed. "Tomorrow night?"
"Yes."
"I'll clear my schedule."
"The Guild has permitted it, but it wasn't on our schedule," Jenes'ahn frowned.
"Plans seem to have changed a bit," I said. "Other things got cancelled, so they moved this in?"
She was seated at the desk in my bedroom. Feet up, cross-legged on the chair and glowering at me. Or perhaps just watching intently — it could be difficult to tell in the dim lamp light. "I was told the Guild permitted the meeting, and his Lordship's requests were approved."
"You sound disappointed," I said as I unbuttoned the jerkin. No zips, no elastic, no convenience.
Her eyes slitted. "It was unexpected. I don't particularly like surprises. Especially ones like this that smell of political machinations."
"They're supporters of his, are they?" She huffed and seemed to think about answering that. "In various ways, a."
"So, this will be a... what? Party fund raiser?" I asked as I hung my shirt up.
"A what?"
"Never mind," I sighed and turned and headed through to the bathroom. It hadn't been a busy day, but a hot shower was still welcome. The pipes rattled and ticked as the water heated up. I shucked the rest of my clothes, hanging the pants on the rack.
"I mind," Jenes'ahn said from behind. "What were you talking about?"
"I was saying," I said as I stepped under the shower, "that they are his supporters. They fund him? Help him gain his position?"
"What? Rot, no!" she snorted. "You have that bizarre system, but don't tar us with it. How can any choice be fair if money is permitted to influence it?"
"So, yours is fair then? A farmer or merchant can become a candidate?" She leaned against the wall just outside the shower. "They can't. That's the point. They can support a candidate. The candidate is trained and evaluated. Ultimately, the Guild selects on the basis of merit."
"So, a normal person..."
"Should not be in that position in the first place," she said. "You could put a farmer into his lordship's position. That farmer would know how to raise crops or tend cattle. That's their experience. And every decision made would be based on that experience. Merchants do the same. So do industrialists and money lenders. The candidates learn how to run a country. Does this make sense?"
I turned my face up to the water. Closed my eyes and let it wash over me. Did it? We'd had politicians who were... everything. We had some good ones, and some disastrous ones. There were those who'd tried to run the country as a business, ignoring experienced advisors.
But, we'd loved the everyman; the politician who'd projected as one of the people, whether they had been or not. I don't know if they were good leaders, but they were popular leaders. And if we tried something like the Rris — teaching and coaching children for decades for the position — then you could guarantee anybody with money, be they individuals or corporations, would make sure their hats were in the ring.
And who the hell would make the final selection? We didn't have anyone who could be guaranteed to be neutral.
"Well?" Jenes'ahn prodded my silence.
I wiped water from my face. "I've told you before: we don't have anything like the Guild. There've been organizations formed to try to oversee nations, but they've never been trusted."
"Why not?"
"Because they're things made by governments and treaties. And, of course, they were never been given too much power."
"Huhn," she growled. "Not independent?"
"What do you think?" I said, grabbing a squishy lump of what passed for soap here. "These supporters of his lordship's... they don't think they control him, do they? They don't feel they... made him?"
"They support him because his interests align with their own."
"Because they made sure of that while training him? Don't get mad! I'm just trying to get an idea of what's going on here; what they're after; what he's going to want to show them. Are they worried about the decisions he's making?"
She mused for time. I lathered up.
"That is difficult," she finally said.
"How so?"
"These are uncharted times. You and that entire world that you've got there in your head, you've have seen to that."
"None of it's been my decision."
"I know," she growled. "Couldn't you have just..." She trailed off. Coughed derisively.
"What?" I prompted.
"Stayed where you came from," she finished, fleering lips back to flash teeth. "People still wonder if you chose to come here."
I felt my jaw clench. "As wonderful as your world is, I would much rather be home."
"You don't talk about it often."
I swallowed. "No, I don't. It's easier if I don't think about it."
"What's easier?"
"Coping with this. Managing this. All this," I said, standing under the hot deluge and gesturing at the her, that feline alien in her uniform of quilted tunic and breeches, her knives and armor, the world beyond the door. "Not going any more insane."
She looked at me and her ears folded back. "You think you're insane?"
I grinned into the water. "We just went through a firefight and... I don't feel anything. Like it was normal. People died and I'm not sure I feel anything."
"You do," she said.
"You sound sure of that."
"I'm sure you were screaming last night. You haven't done that for a while."
I didn't say anything.
"It was related, a?" she said, tilting her head to one side to study me. "Perhaps you're not as hollow as you think."
I stared at her, then shut the water off. I grabbed a towel. She watched as I dried myself.
"You're shivering," she noted.
I was. Shaking, actually. "It's..." I clenched my fist, trying to force stillness by will. "It's nothing."
"Of course," Jenes'ahn waved an affirmative. Then she asked, "Do you want another sedative tonight?"
Oblivion. Dreams that were obscurely weird, but not the nightmares. It was horribly tempting. But I also knew what poppy milk could do. "I... don't want that."
"You're sure? It's..."
"Addictive," I said.
"Ah," she said. "We could bring the teacher back."
I glared. She didn't flinch. "Would you suggest an alternative?"
"Stop shooting at me? Stop using me in political games? Trying to manipulate me? Accusing me of being a spy? Poisoning me? Locking me away?"
She considered, then said. "The Guild no longer believes you are a spy. You are too inept for that."
"Oh. Great."
She peered at me, closely. "Does that help?"
I stared back, wondering if she was serious. "Yeah. That's just... great."
Her eyes narrowed. "You need grooming again," she proclaimed, and then she turned and left. I shook my head, flexed my hand a few times. My shoulder ached, like it does when it's cold. The twinges made drying off a bit more difficult. And I wasn't quite done when music started playing, from through in the bedroom.
"What the..." I started, before I realized what it was. It was time to change the password on the laptop. Still scrubbing at my hair, I headed on through to see what she was up to.
That turned out to be difficult. It was dark in there. The lamps were out. The drapes were still open, but the sun was past the horizon, the sky was cloudy, and the twilight was a glow like an almost-dead fire. The only real light came from the laptop screen: a synthetic glow that turned the room to phosphorescent glow and shadow. That was enough to see Jenes'ahn standing there, a glass in each hand. I couldn't immediately see where her clothes were.
I sighed. "What's this?"
"You find this relaxing?" It was more of a suggestion.
"This?" I needed some clarification.
"Low light. A drink and some music." She came closer to hand me a glass. It was full of an expensive gift of something like whiskey that you normally poured by the finger.
"Music," I said. "And you choose Disco Inferno?"
She cocked her head. "It's not suitable?"
"Hard liquor and disco. What sort of party you trying to start here?"
She looked at the drinks in her hand. "The Teacher suggested this. She said it helped you to relax."
"She told you that?" I asked.
I could see her head went back. Defensive. "She said you liked it. I thought you might need it."
I started to retort, to laugh, to do something. But... I stopped myself. And I had to take another look at this, at her effort to do something that really didn't make sense to her: the darkness that rendered her an electric-eyed grotesque, the excessive liquor, the ridiculous music. It was ludicrous and missed so many points, but she was trying. She'd made an effort.
"It's a nice gesture," I said.
"But it's not right, is it?"
I waved a shrug. "Close, but..."
"Then what's wrong?"
At the desk, I struck a single lamp, turned it down to a warm glow that was enough for me to see by. I stopped the audio assault; I selected new parameters. Another old piece started.
"That sounds... different," Jenes'ahn noted.
"Called ‘I'm on Fire’," I said as I walked back to her. Took a glass from her hand. "It is different." I sipped. It was smokey and spicy and cold and incredibly alcoholic.
"What are the words?"
I told her. Her ears went back. Flat. She raised her own glass and bolted a gulp. Her eyes screwed closed and she sneezed.
"You okay?"
"This is... strong."
"A."
"Why did you choose that music?"
Something had struck a chord. "It just seemed appropriate?"
"I thought that had more character."
I stared. "Riiight."
She drank again. Winced again and licked her tongue around her chops. "You did well the other day."
"I did?"
"Taking orders. Staying put."
"Oh. That." I sipped from my own drink. Set it down on the desk. "People running around with guns. They see me and things happen. That was the safest place. And I didn't want to spoil your fun. New pistol, a? A repeater?"
I think she sighed. "They are... necessary now."
"Don't thank me. That was your own initiative." A touch of espionage by my hosts and they went from muzzle-loaders to cartridges and breach-loaders. That had come back to bite me.
"Huhn," she growled and her tail lashed, once. "Is this what it's going to be like?"
"What?" I asked.
"The world," she waved a hand toward the window facing the lake, then threw back the last of her drink, grimaced, put the tumbler aside. Her figure rippled with inhuman shadows as she stalked over to stand in front of the glass. "Everything," she said. "A single year, and everything changes. Now there are big steam ships. I have a gun that fires a handful of times in as many breaths. There are changes in communications and codes. Practices and training that have served us for as long as anyone can remember are suddenly insufficient. Is this going to keep going?"
I stood at her shoulder, her head barely at the height of my shoulders. Both of us looking out at darkness. "Probably," I said quietly.
"You know? It happened to your people?"
"A. Knowledge builds knowledge. It happened to us; it will happen to you."
"How much of a problem is it?"
I thought about that. Finally, I said, "It's change. It always happens, and it always frightens people. But, it's normal: people grow; things come into their lives, and leave them. They deal with them. It's called life.
"This is similar, but perhaps harder to handle. There was a term, ‘future shock’ which I think translates: too much change too quickly. It is... confusing and disorientating. It causes problems, but... it also brings new opportunities and chances.
"Back home, every year there were new things that didn't exist when I was a child. Every year there were changes. Some, never entered your life at all. Others, you needed to learn new things. Overall, they were improvements. Not huge, perhaps. Not continuous, but things tended to get a little better. And that's not a bad thing."
She hadn't said anything. The music changed to the delicate instrumental of Say Shells' Alhambra Waiting. And I realized I had a hand up, was scratching her behind her ears. I pulled it back. "Oh. Sorry."
"Why? It's something you're good at." There was a hairy tickling on my leg as she curled her tail around it.
"It's polite to ask."
"Why? You did it with her ladyship. And I'm supposed to be your interest now."
I sighed. "That's not how it works."
"Yet that's what everybody sees. Draws the interest away from your Teacher, a?"
I shook my head. Off on the horizon, out on the lake, light flashed. "Lightning."
"Where?"
"Out on the lake."
"Better eyes than me," she said. "But it will rain."
"How do you know?"
"I can smell it."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes," she said and turned and then she was pressed against me, looking up at me. Her fur was cool on the outside, warmer on the inner layers, almost tickling against me. Her ears twitched. "Ah, there's the thunder."
A distant roll of sound. About 20 kilometers off, then. I was aware of my heart beating. And hers, faster than mine.
"And I can smell other things," she said, and her hand moved, gripped. "You are interested, I can tell that."
"Do you need a nose to tell that?"
She looked down and chittered laughter; a completely incongruous sound from her.
"You find it funny?" She gaped her jaw in a grin: a mockery of my smile. "With normal men it's such a yearly thing. But with you, it's whenever I just do this." Her point was proven with a squeeze.
"And why would you do something like that?" I growled back down to her. "Is there something you want?"
"The Guild doesn't want," she said. "If it requires something, it takes it."
"Really?" I said and she actually squeaked aloud when I caught her furry rear with both hands, lifted her. Even naked, she wasn't unarmed. Beneath that hide she was wiry sinew and muscle; she could've kicked, clawed, bitten — my neck was near her teeth. But, she rumbled a growl once as she rubbed up closer against me, wrapped legs around my hips, looped arms around my neck. A half-dozen hard little nubs poked through her fur to press against me.
"You are handling a Guild officer," she said quietly.
"You got some identification on you?"
"Rot you," she snorted a hot breath against my neck. Then she paused, then sounded a little apprehensive when she asked, "Are you going to put me... down?"
I was pressing against her. Hard, so to speak. We weren't entirely... compatible like that. Such gymnastics could be uncomfortable, for either of us. So, when I did put her down, it was onto the bed. And I was pinning her arms and I was looking down on her and I could see her eyes slit and her mouth gape and tongue lick at her chops when I moved up and there was a token struggle when I very carefully tied her arms, and then her legs and she was splayed out in sacrifice on the bed and panting like she'd run a race.
And then that Mediator — my guard, my bodyguard, who was always in control of everything around her, for that time, for that evening, she wasn't.
And much later, I half-woke from weird dreams about Rris in a shower to a vaguely familiar sound. Over by the window was a slightly more solid form in the darkness, an inhuman form backlit against the ever-so-slightly brighter twilight from outside, wavering from the water running down the panes. The figure turned, eyes flashing as she returned to bed. "Just rain," she said as she slid in beside me. "Go back to sleep."
No argument. I just sank back into warm dreaming.
Yeah, like I said: it's a weird and complicated relationship.
Next morning, it was still raining.
And it kept raining all day. Steadily, from a heavy gray sky. Water splatted down. Gutters overflowed. Rivulets merged into streams and flowed down paths. The conservatory leaked like a glass sieve. Occasional lighting stalked the far reaches of the lake and thunder grumbled in the distance, rattling the windows. The grubby remnants of snow, the last dribblings of ice, all that was washed away, dissolving, and melting into spring.
With the schedule shot to hell, I had some time. There was time to stand at a window and watch the storm rolling across the lake, driving sheets of water before it. There was time to do stretch my drawing skills again. Quick and dirty still life pieces in charcoal: some books and a lantern, some folds of cloth, a potted plant, a glowering Mediator. That was difficult. I suggested she try smiling, then found that the default state was preferable.
And, it was still raining later that afternoon when we departed for the palace.
The ride through the sodden city was long and cold and damp. The driver huddled up on his bench, buried in a waxed cloak. Rohinia was my chaperone for the night, and he sat in his own rain cloak in his corner of the cab, smelling of wet fur. Rain spattered on the roof, ran down the windows and made the view even waterier than usual. Streets that had started to become familiar were turned strange again as they faded into rain haze and growing darkness. Out on the park road to the palace you might believe there wasn't a city there at all, just a darkening wilderness of trees and dampness.
But there were lights on in the palace. The building emerged from the rain like a cruise liner from a squall: high and imposing and with lights burning in the windows. Not as many as on the nights of the extravagant formal receptions, but enough to make a statement.
There was no portico for the carriage — the architects here didn't consider vehicles very highly in their works. The carriage drew to a halt on the gravel of the driveway and we relied on our rain capes to keep the worst of the weather off on the short walk up the steps. Inside, through the huge doors, staff took the dripping things off to a cloak room somewhere. I kept my grip on the laptop case.
"Ah Rihey. Constable." Another high-ranking Palace staffer in Land-of-Water livery greeted us with a polite duck of the head. "His lordship welcomes you. His hearth and home he opens to you. Please, allow me to escort you."
Rohinia padded along behind me as I followed. He wasn't entirely relaxed — we'd had problems in the center of a supposedly-secure palace before. His hands were always near his blades.
Through hallways and galleries and enfilades. Up stairs, down corridors. The Palace was big. Versailles big. History museum big. It sprawled over a vast area. There were wings I'd never visited; rooms I'd never seen and probably never would. Over three thousand of them according to someone I'd asked, but I'd never got an exact number. We headed further in, towards the private areas of the palace, past the outer wings where guests were accommodated. The area we were in, I thought I'd been there before, but wasn't quite sure.
I wished I'd had someone I could rely on there with me. Rohinia was... solid, but he was a Mediator. They didn't always register as people, rather as presences to ensure good behavior. There were others who knew me and whom I considered friends. God knew what their real opinion of me was, but I'd have liked to have some support with what might happen that night. I was afraid it'd be like the bad old days all over again.
So, I was apprehensive as we approached a closed door. It wasn't obtrusive — just a white-painted door in a small corridor in a wing somewhere. But there were Palace guards stationed outside. We were ushered through into a small antechamber and asked to wait. It was a plain little room with several doors, grey and blue satin wallpaper, and no cushions or chairs. There was art on the walls and that was a good sign — in my experience there's usually a dearth of that in most holding cells.
Rohinia and I cooled our heels for a few minutes. No more than that before another door opened and Kh'hitch bustled in, all red and gold and violet eye-searing in his finery. Close on his heels strode the king of Land of Water, adjusting the fit of his tooled leather waistcoat.
"Ah Rihey," Kh'hitch greeted me. "Welcome. On time for a change. Excellent. You know why you're here."
"Sir," I greeted the Rris king. "I'm afraid there wasn't a lot of detail about that."
The King's advisor paused, then turned, sniffing in his haughty way. "No? Hah! Tonight, his Lordship's supporters have gathered. It's a regular meeting to share knowledge and possibilities. His lordship wants you here to answer some questions about the course of the nation."
"Not advice," I reminded them. "That doesn't work."
"No, Mikah," Hirht said, securing a final button. "Not exactly advice. More... examples. And thank you for attending tonight. I understand things have been a little tense the past couple of days."
"After being shot at again, sir?" I asked. "I was almost starting to miss it."
Hirht didn't blink. "We anticipate tracking the perpetrators down," he said. "A considerable number of people find their actions most deplorable. Quite a few of them are here tonight."
"I hope they're who they say they are."
"And I'm quite sure they are," he said. "They're people who've supported my candidacy and my policies. They understand me, and they understand what you mean to us and to the world. You've met most of them already. I understand you may not remember faces, but it means it means they are at least familiar with you. They will behave; will you?"
I felt my jaw tense. "Yes, sir. If no-one tries to stab, shoot, or poison me, I will."
There was a hard look for a few seconds, then he rumbled, "I suppose that's the best we can hope for. Come along."
Kh'hitch held another door open for the Rris king and Rohinia and I followed him through.
It wasn't an extravagant reception in a huge ballroom, and for that I was grateful. The large, dimly lit room had a closer feel. Not cozy, but more personal. A few lamps glowed here and there. One wall was mostly glass, with French doors opening onto a terrace. They were closed, with rain pattering against them. Other walls were dark-paneled wainscoting interspaced with columns. Paintings hung between them, and in the dim light the wallpaper behind them was... red velvet? It was deep enough that perhaps Rris eyes saw it as black.
The Rris in there were an assorted crowd — perhaps a couple of dozen individuals scattered here and there through the room. Some were sitting at low tables, others standing in small groups. The atmosphere in the room was one I'd felt at receptions — more business than pleasure, and looking at the people there reinforced that. Over half of them were dressed well, in quality clothing that spoke of wealth, even what looked like a pair of blue-jeans, but nothing glamorous or extravagant. They were there for business, not just make an impression. And the rest of the crowd were bodyguards, lurking individuals and pairs in their various house or guild uniforms and light armors, their weapons peace-tied with yellow ribbons.
I looked around, over heads and ears. More than a few eye flashes indicated that Rris were looking back. I felt the skin on my back prickle. There was a momentary sense of discontinuity, a feeling of numb remoteness, and for that split-second I was seeing human faces where there were none. I took a breath that smelled of wet dog and alien and tried to focus on the now.
Interested faces stared at me. Hirht was right in that I had trouble with Rris faces, but I thought I recognized some of them from other receptions and meetings. There were lords and wealthy individuals there, Guild leaders, merchants and traders. I recognized Rraerch lapping from a glass and looking uncommonly serious. And there was someone else I hadn't expected to meet that night.
"What's Makepeace doing here?" I muttered.
"She's here in in her role as the University's resident expert on you," Hirht replied.
"Ah." And as I was the one who'd saddled her with that position, I wasn't going to make a scene of it.
I stayed a step behind Hirht as we approached the nearest Rris. They inclined their heads and he spread his hands. "Friends, I thank you for your accommodations and offer you welcome, hearth and home."
There were polite responses, guests holding their drinks in their broad glasses as they watched him. But more eyes were on me.
"I know you have your questions. Tonight, I'd like to answer those. You all know of Mikah here. Some of you have met him. The reasons for the decisions I've made lie with him."
They did?
"Mikah, you've met Achir ah Ner, from the university," he introduced the elderly scholar and then continued around the group: "Aesh Shiastara of the Mathematicians Association; Aesh Hetharar of the Miners Guild; Ah Chothes'asri of the Engineering Guild. Ah Rrescharchi, Aesh Mrishth of Hrichi, Aesh Shri'tha, and Ah Shahi. These are all trusted associates going back many years."
"Good evening," I said, trying to be polite and non-threatening. No smiling, no teeth, no sudden moves. "I am pleased to assist you, but have to say you would know more about what's going on now than I do."
Expressions ranged from thoughtful to amused. Hirht didn't looked concerned at all. "That's for the best. He hasn't been coached or told what to say," he said to his audience in general. Then in my general direction: "For now, just walk and talk. They'll have questions. Answer to the best of your ability. I'll leave you be, but, Constable, you're welcome to oversee."
Rohinia didn't look impressed by the invitation. He blanky watched the Rris king as he went to walk amongst his supporters.
"Ah Rihey," the first petitioner walked up to me and raised a glass. I took it gratefully.
"Aesh Smither," I greeted her. "Nice to see a friendly face. And an elegantly attired one."
Rraerch smiled politely. She was dressed up that night. None of the usual practical work clothes: she wearing an elegant blue and tan doublet, the bloused sleeves laced with silver thread. The breeches flared about her furry calves, the finely-woven linen — as supple as silk — almost looking like a dress.
"And you seem to have found clothes that suit the occasion," she said.
"Yes, well... " I sipped from the drink: hesi, with lime. "Tich helped. A bit."
A snort. "I can imagine. And you should consider most of these people friendly. At least for as long as your intentions align with his lordships."
"Ah, sponsors, is it?" I asked. "To do with the Candidacy."
"A. That's a short of it, but it'll do. They can be trusted tonight." I looked at her and then at surrounding Rris, who were engaged in their own conversations, filling the room with a sea-on-shale hiss of background noise. But ears were canted our way.
I sighed. "If you say so."
"I do say. Now, I can't monopolize your time. Come here. You have met Achir ah Ner, of the University."
"It's been a while, sir," I said, bowing to the elderly Rris leaning on a gnarled walking stick. His gray-tufted ears twitched and he snorted. "Hai, ah Rihey, it has been. Aesh Smither, a pleasure. Obtaining a meeting with you is exceedingly difficult. Yet you did give us a gift."
"I did?"
"The... liaison." He gestured.
I turned. Makepeace was there, looking up at me, looking worried. "Oh, that," I said. "You're quite welcome."
He huffed. "‘We're welcome’? It wasn't exactly [orthodox], to make a student faculty."
"I thought you already did that." I gave him a tight, polite smile. "She was the University's official representative to Bluebetter, wasn't she? Your expert on me. Sent off without pay or funding or even letter of marque."
His ears flicked sideways; his tail lashed. "That was regrettable. Events moved too fast for our institution. She was called away before the necessary paperwork was completed."
"Well, now you've got a dedicated liaison, that won't happen again, a?" I replied. "And I'm sure she's been able to answer a lot of your questions."
"A few, yes," he conceded. "Aesh Hiasamra'this has also assisted. Although, I understand you two are..."
"No longer together," I finished for him.
"She did seem rather angry with you," he said. "Ah, but I hear you are now indebted to another. A Mediator?"
"Something like that," I sighed. "It's complicated."
"A?" he replied. "I confess I was never able to get a straightforward answer from Makepeace about that. She said there were personal peculiarities involved. It all sounded... complicated, as you say. She isn't here tonight?"
"She's tired," I said. "She was working all day yesterday, then there was the wild sex all night. She quite exhausted."
A blink. "Really?"
No. Not really. But they kept spreading rumors about my private life, so I'd drop a few little white lies about hers.
"Oh, yes. And she has to go back on duty later. Still a Mediator, you know. Anyway, sir, can you at least tell me why I've been brought here tonight? There were questions?"
"What? Oh, a, yes. Some queries about his Lordship's actions."
"His actions? Not mine?"
"Yours? Oh, no," he waved that aside. "But he says you have reasons for his decisions."
"I have reasons?" I tried to wedge that into a workable framework and only confused myself. "Rraerch, does that make sense?"
She looked thoughtful. "You have mentioned that not all of your kinds' innovations are beneficial. Would that have something to do with it?"
I looked to the University administrator. "Would it?"
"He feels the same. He says there are some items and social attitudes that would be undesirable. He seeks support in their sanction."
"I see," I said hesitantly. "And I take it the sanctions aren't popular with everyone?"
He gestured toward the room and flashed teeth. "I'm sure you'll find out, a?"
That did tend to be the theme of the night: Hirht was about to announce a decision about some technologies he wanted controls on. Some of his staunchest supporters thought that might be a wasted opportunity; that they should take everything they could. They were there that night to listen to his case for prescription on certain technologies. Which didn't surprise me in the slightest.
I circulated. I walked and talked with Rris, some of whom I'd met before, others who were strangers. There must've been a predetermined order sorted out. It was very civilized and nobody tried to interrupt another speaker, but they did keep their times brief. The reception was mixed: some Rris were openly friendly; some friendly in a way that hinted they wanted something; others were perfectly civil, but not much beyond that. And others were wary. Not hostile, just wary.
And they asked me questions. Nothing that was dangerous, or proscribed by the guild, but there were questions about how I thought various information might benefit their nation. There were questions about investments, about the benefits of this over that, and whether I thought Hirht was making best use of what I had to offer and if the inn's owner could provide the recipe for her buffalo buffalo pie.
Yeah, I wasn't picking any real pattern, but a lot of the questions involved the Rris king and the use the new technologies were being put to.
The evening progressed. The room warmed up. I found food on the buffet that was palatable.
"Ah Rihey," a voice said.
"Mmf?" I replied through a surprising mouthful of spiced turkey and loganberry wrap.
She was she, I was pretty sure. An older Rris with a half-full glass in her hand, salty white edging her muzzle and ears. Her kilt and long-sleeved tunic were a sandy khaki threaded with silver, the waistcoat worn over that a dark purple, checkered with lighter purple panels pinned by silver studs. Her tail clinked against the wooden floor: there was a silver band around the end.
"Ah Rihey," she repeated. "You're eating. Apologies."
I swallowed my mouthful. "It's fine. It's just been a while since lunch."
"I quite understand," she said. "His lordship does set a good table."
She had an escort — a single guard lurking behind her in dark, quilted armor that I'd seen before. I swallowed again. Then I forced my attention back to her. "Ah, it can be difficult to find things to my taste. They tend to differ from Rris."
"So I have heard tell," she said. "And a hot press from a night market is difficult to come by, a?"
"A," I said, trying not to react. "Those are quite memorable."
"And lady aesh Sieathsae sends her regards."
"Oh, we never really had a chance to talk. Just some cautions."
"Probably sound ones," she said.
And it was all like some cheap spy thriller. Each of us reciting those phrases that meant something to us, but hopefully not to the others listening in.
"So, you're in touch with her?" I asked.
She smiled. "A small circle. A few of us exchange correspondence. Nothing official, of course. But interesting news does get around."
Of course nothing official. Just gossip. And back-channel news.
"Who's ‘us’," I asked.
"Some lords and ladies with more time on their hands. And vested interests. In her latest missive aesh Sieathsae mentioned she had some questions she never had the opportunity to ask. It was a rushed occasion."
I remembered the clandestine cloak-and-dagger stuff in Red Leaves, the night that people I knew were put in danger so lady Sieathsae could have a few minutes alone with me. "It was," I said. "Lot of things left unsaid. How do you know her, anyway?"
"Oh, affairs like these. We have similar relations with our principals."
"Principals?"
"Their lordships," she said, then cocked her head. "You don't know?"
"If it's about candidates and selection, there's a lot I don't know," I said. "How do you know him?"
"Hah," she smiled and sipped from her drink. "From a long time ago. He's the son of the previous lord. Natural candidate from a young age."
Well, he had the resources of the last king to educate and train him. Not entirely a surprise. "So, you supported him."
"Certainly. Through nomination and selection."
"Then you are not without some influence yourself. You haven't put forward your own candidate?"
A slitted glance of amber eyes over the rim of her glass. "Sometimes better to steer from the back of the boat, a? My line has done quite well without having to juggle a nation at the same time."
"Sometimes enough is enough?" I ventured. "Precisely," she smiled. "And, in truth, our own organization would be an issue if we took on the burden of governing."
"And what is your business?"
"Oh, it varies. We own more than a few warehouses and grain storage offices here and in various towns. There're also interests in trade caravans and shipping. And some of your innovations look quite intriguing, from an investment perspective."
"I hope so. They aren't cheap."
"But they should be profitable," she smiled again, and then looked around. "Hah, and now I have to stop monopolizing you. If you could make the time, I would welcome a chance to speak with you some more. Perhaps you could assist with some of aesh Sieathsae's questions. Our correspondence circle certainly some of their own."
"I have no problems with that," I said, quite aware of the Mediator ear lurking behind me. "You would have to make an appointment, though."
"Through his lordship?" She looked amused as she turned away. "I see no problem with that."
There was more walking and talking. More hors d'oeuvre and vol-au-vents of dubious heritage. The room warmed up from a combination of combustion lights and many hairy bodies. A distinctive aroma of heated Rris permeated everything, mixing with the smells of food and lamp oil and fragments of shedding winter pelts. I kept going for at least another hour of polite but reserved chatting with dignitaries, until I reached the far end of the room, the end of the gauntlet where a pair of double doors stood. I stopped, turned to survey the room I'd just walked through: a red-velvet mélange of alien influencers, dim-lit by flickering lamps in a low ambience that was shades of art-house horror film.
"Ah, Mikah," Hirht materialized from the crowd. "Finally done?"
"I didn't know there was an objective."
"In these situations, there usually is. Now, we can proceed."
The double doors opened and Kh'hitch stepped out with a small bell in hand. He rang it. The sound wasn't loud, but it travelled and conversations hissed to silence. K'hitch's voice rose. "Good people, would you please follow his lordship through to the next room and we can finish what you came here for."
Hirht led the way, with me in tow. It didn't take any great leap of intellect to figure out what I was that night: a trophy, a showpiece, the thing that he had that no-one else in the world did. Oh, he was cordial and polite and treated me decently, but if it came down to it, I knew where his priorities lay. Now, he was showing his supporters what they were supporting.
The adjoining room was darker. There were ceiling lamps turned down to a ruddy glow, providing just enough light for me to see tables and cushions set out. A lot of them, all facing towards a high table and the clunky enlarging glass for the laptop.
"Mikah," Hirht said, "Please make your device ready."
I did so, while Rris dignitaries entered and took their seats at the tables. When they looked at me their eyes caught the light: dozens of pairs of tiny disks burning in shades of abalone. I concentrated on setting up the laptop, signing in and settling it in place and angling the screen right, making sure the mirrors were correctly positioned. Points of eyelight blinked out as attentions shifted.
"Thank you all for being here tonight," Hirht said to the crowd from his seat at the high table. "Your forbearance is greatly appreciated. This evening you have all had a chance to talk with our guest. He has not been coached in these discussions, but his information has been most helpful in helping shape these policies."
It had?
"The Mediator Guild has announced its proscriptions. With some examination, these make sense. I have decided I must add to this list. As an explanation, Mikah will show you some scenes of his home. This device can record moving pictures, so what you see in the glass is a direct representation of what that is like. Mikah, would you kindly show that demonstration."
I knew what he was referring to. I played the video I'd put together as a basic introduction. There was nothing in it that was specifically proscribed, but some of the scenes weren't scenes Rris were familiar with. High-altitude shots of wilderness, astronauts working in orbit, modern ships at sea, skiers slaloming down a slope, cities stretching away to the horizon and gleaming with lights as the sun set, machines building other machines, manufactories printing integrated appliances... they showed things without providing too much detail. At least, that was what I thought.
They watched. There were some hissing murmurs at points, ripples of movement amongst the audience at scenes that perhaps they had no reference for. And I watched them, a nervous knot tight in my belly: Why was I there? What were they supposed to see? Was I about to take the fall for something?
And it was still such a bizarre tableau that tugged and fidgeted at ancient instincts. In one instant I saw a room of people watching a presentation, the perception shifted and it was feline predators seated at low tables lit by the light from a flickering screen. The feeling raised goosebumps.
When it was done, there was silence. Then a voice from the audience demanded, "Why haven't we seen this before?"
"Some of you have," Hirht responded. "Where it was necessary, some of you have seen some of these items before. Otherwise, open knowledge of all this was deemed to be risky by myself, by the Guild, and by Mikah here."
"So, he is determining what we should do with this knowledge?" someone else growled.
"No," Hirht said. "That's something he has specifically not done. For reasons of his own, and for reasons myself and the Guild fully agree with."
"And what are his reasons?" someone asked.
"That he isn't Rris and therefore isn't capable of properly understanding us."
There was a hiss of conversation.
Hirht continued: "What he has related to me is that there are innovations that seem beneficial on the surface; that promise convenience and growth. And they often do, but the long-term cost — when it becomes apparent — is something that ends up biting them hard. More than a few of them were shown in that picture."
I thought I saw where this was heading.
"He has mentioned chemical formulae that made some businesses very rich. They neglected to disclose that the waste from manufacturing these products was poisonous, and remained so for a very long time. These poisons were dumped into rivers.
"Of course, we have laws controlling such. Usually because such waste smells foul. Tanneries, foundries, abattoirs, night-soil dumps, anything that offends the common nose will find royal commissioners paying them a visit. However, it seems that Mikah's kind are more [something] than we are, and have very poor noses. They tolerate crowding and smells normal people wouldn't, and some of these innovations encourage that.
"You see the vehicles in these pictures. Mikah, can you show such a scene?"
As the delegated impromptu projectionist, I did as he requested. There were scenes of motorways, eight lanes wide; gleaming chassis and taillights stretching off to a smokey horizon; sleek machines racing through mountains; roads through suburbia. Stock footage stuff.
Hirht continued while the images ran. "I understand that these devices were initially made popular by an engine. It was small, powerful, and could move these machines at remarkable speeds. That engine is certainly a very useful device, but the use it was put to have cause problems. You can see them in these scenes.
"The popularity of these machines was used by their government. It's quite a remarkable political system, in that the governing body is in fact governed by the people. They wanted these machines, the machines required these roads, so roads were built. You can see them there, enough of them that the maintenance would bankrupt a nation."
And they almost had. When the infrastructure repair and maintenance costs couldn't be ignored anymore, and the gas tax caught up to inflation, that was almost a civil war.
"And the more the cities spread, the more they cost. Just laying drains down Petty Dealers' Heights here costs a fortune, but their cities and outlying regions cover distances that would take days to walk. This is because they built their cities for these vehicles. You notice how people are relegated to the verges of the roads, and there are no markets or walkers. Providing room for these machines would require evicting the population, something that would make the city all but uninhabitable."
A hissing murmur from the audience. I was struggling to keep up. He wasn't speaking slowly for my benefit — it was fluent Rris, spoken for native speakers; fast and fluid with words blending together and no time to consult my mental dictionary and puzzle out meanings. It was all I could to straggle along and try and pick meaning out of the torrent.
"And the engines themselves are an issue," Hirht continued. "They have further applications in industrial and transportation and military and civilian areas. They are compact and powerful, but also noisy and wasteful. In effect, they are another form of steam engine, burning a fuel to provide the strength of a bison. The issue is this city already has chimneys on dwelling. There are chimneys on factories. The new ships and rail machine have smoke stacks and chimneys. They all smoke and reek, and on the cold nights you can't escape that choking smoke that hangs around the streets. Especially in the low, poorer areas. We have legislation trying to control that, and that is hard-pressed to deal with new constructions. What would another ten thousand smoking machines be like?
"There are arguments that the benefits would outweigh the harm, that they would bring improvements in commerce and communication and transportation. There are merits to those positions, but ultimately, unregulated use of these engines and machines in cities and towns is something that we do not desire and simply cannot afford. Therefore, by declaration, no government or civil entity will facilitate or provide funding for industry producing private vehicles like these. Nor will we contribute toward public infrastructure for them. Roads and highways will be constructed to usual standards and requirements and use. If vehicles are produced and used in a private capacity, it is entirely upon the manufacturers and users to pay their own way. There will be severe restrictions upon usage and upon any impositions or hazards they impose upon the safety, health, and rights of others users of the public way.
"Now, there are alternative solutions. We understand they are not as... convenient as these burning engines, but they are a considerable advancement over what we have available currently. And I understand that while they have disadvantages, they have advantages in other areas that we consider vital. They are currently being investigated in regards to feasibility and practicality and we hope to have some more information shortly.
"Meantime, legislation is being written as amendments around the edicts regarding new technologies. The Guild assures me it adheres to necessary regulations. Copies will be made available." Hirht paused, huffed a breath, then continued: "I am quite aware that some will consider this an opportunity lost; that others will take advantage of it. However, I chose to learn from what I can see here and my decision stands."
Okay. From what I'd been able to follow, he'd essentially stomped on an entire technology tree because it smells bad. A low rumble of conversation sounded from the room.
"Sir," a voice spoke up. "This isn't a moratorium on these engines, is it? These machines can still be built?"
"They can be," Hirht said. "However, there will be strict controls on where the engines can be used around towns and cities. Heavy industrial or commercial and military seems likely, depending on certain factors."
A pause, then he gestured at another in the audience, responding to something I didn't see.
"Does your guest have anything to say about this policy?" a Rris I couldn't identify asked.
Hirht cocked his head. "What would you have him say?"
"Were these devices beneficial or not?" the other Rris asked. "Is this policy necessary? Tell us in his own words what these devices were; how they were used, how they turned out." Now Hirht looked at me. And I realized this was a setup. That was an expected question. And I was expected to give an expected answer. "Mikah," he said. "Can you do that?" I took a breath and tried.
It was still raining when we left at some ungodly early hour. My throat felt like I'd been gargling glass. I was exhausted, wrung out like an old washcloth.
We passed by the last lights of the gatehouse and the cab fell into rattling darkness. I could feel Rohinia watching me.
"Was that true?" he asked. "What you told them?"
"It was true," I said. "It was... shortened, but true."
What I'd told them was a history of the automobile and how it shaped the new world to suit its needs. From early people-scale towns in the east that changed as you progressed westwards through geography and time, growing into inhuman sprawls. The battle between electric and steam and petroleum engines. Entire industries and fortunes and interests built around the engine and the fuel and the automobile. Fortunes turned to protecting those interests with lobbying, protectionism, gerrymandering, propaganda and just plain lies. And for a hundred years, cities were built around the requirements of the engine and the automobile. Until the great mid-21st Deficit and dustbowls and the climate backlashes leading into the Age of Consequences. When fees were levied on private vehicles to recover the actual cost of their use, there was violent pushback. Until people found you didn't have so much automotive freedom on disintegrating roads and collapsing bridges. Cars needed roads to do just about anything, and roads cost.
New-gen batteries helped clean things up — now you could go further, faster, and cheaper on a charge than a tank. The regulation process was similar to what the Rris king was organizing: cities were for people to live in, and if you were using one of the state highways, you paid for the wear and tear your vehicle did to state-funded infrastructure and environs. User pays. Capitalism working for the common good.
The history of a hundred-year globe-dominating industry crammed into an hour.
"So, you omitted details?" Rohinia asked.
"Possibly," I said, shook my head to clear the muzziness of exhaustion. I smelled of stress and sweat, of smoke and overheated Rris and weird food. "Probably. A hundred years... there's stuff that nobody remembers. Stuff that was ignored or erased or forgotten. Deliberately, sometimes."
"You make it sound as if the industries of your people are incapable of operating without committing crimes of some kind."
I sighed and considered. "That's... I suppose it does. That type break the rules. Then they make the rules. To suit themselves."
"There are those who try that here," Rohinia said.
"What stops them?"
"We do," said the Mediator.
I blinked at the darkness across the cab. Perhaps there was a silhouette watching me; perhaps I was imagining it. "Do they ever get around you? Bribery or threats or... holding secrets over you?"
"A. Some try. Examples are made. They learn that anything they create, we can take from them. One way or another."
And that could mean anything. The Mediator Guild operated predominately in a world of legal and civic legislature, in which it was formidable. And if required, the Guild could call upon enough military strength to fight wars with.
"So," he rumbled, "What do you think of his lordship's policy? You didn't know he was planning that?""
"Surprise to me," I said. "As to if it'll work; you'd know better than I."
"I'm interested to hear your opinion."
I looked out the window while considering. There was a faint glimmer of lights from an estate off in the trees, otherwise just forest and rain running down the glass. "They're useful," I said, "both the engines and vehicles. But, I think he's making the right move regulating before they become ubiquitous."
"That ‘created demand’ you talked about."
The was a translation for ‘induced demand’ "A. That sneaks up on you. Set rules now, and make sure they don't try to... what is the phrase?"
"Take the haunch when offered a bite?"
"I suppose that works too. But he's right in that other nations might not see things the same way."
"Would it give them an advantage?"
"A. If you are in a competition with someone and they ignore any rules, they will have an advantage."
"Then it would be foolish to limit yourself with rules."
"Perhaps those rules are for a reason. If you burn your forests and poison the land and your people for an advantage, you will get it. For a while."
"And then?"
"It traps you. The guilds that controlled those engines and fuel grew incredibly powerful, but they couldn't change."
"Explain."
"Their strength was their product. If they changed that, it'd destroy them. So, they did everything they could to keep them. They made them smaller, cheaper, more reliable. They lied about the effects. They removed competition. All the usual."
"They stopped competitors? They could do that?"
"Sometimes, things happened to the competition. Accidents. But usually, they would buy the rights to alternative systems. Then those devices would be forgotten or be found to be not-practical."
The carriage rattled on for a bit longer. "Are these devices going to be more trouble than they're worth?"
I sighed. Again. "They're going to be trouble, but they're worth a lot. The burning engines need to be controlled for city use, but the electric ones we're working on are quieter and cleaner."
"Animals seem to work well enough."
"Except for the waste. And the care and watering and feeding. And the running off and the broken legs. And they don't smell so good either."
"So, you will be making these vehicles?"
I shook my head, tired. "Maybe test versions? We've got the rail line being worked on. There are a dozen other large projects and ever more smaller ones. We just don't have the capacity."
A pause. "Therefore, your academy idea."
"A. Partly," I said. We were turning, through the arch leading back to the city proper. "When I was a child," I said, "back in school, our teacher would set tasks. Projects. Competitions. We were given paper and glue... bits and pieces of scrap; different stuff for everyone. The best construct would get a prize."
The darkness listened.
"There were no rules about collaboration," I continued. "We could make whatever we wanted.
"It turned out that the ones who did cooperate and pooled their resources usually made the most impressive work. They were the winners. It was a test and a lesson."
Now there was a snort. "You would treat the nations of the world like children?"
"Don't you? They misbehave, the Guild corrects them?"
Another pause. "I think... there is a difference in the way we view them."
"And who's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm not sure either of us are," he said. "You may want to keep that child analogy to yourself."
"Probably a good idea," I agreed, then closed my eyes and yawned.
"You could have taken a room at the palace," Rohinia noted.
"I spent enough time there."
"A, but I still rate their security above that of the inn," he said.
"I'll take my chances."
When I opened my eyes again there were more buildings outside. We passed a streetlamp, glowing feebly in the rain, just a smear of warm light through the watery glass and mist. A few more avenues, a few more turns, and we were crossing the rain-slicked square and drawing up in front of the inn.
Perhaps an awning at the front door. I made a note of that as we walked through a persisting drizzle to the front door. The bar area was still busy, warm and full of Rris patrons and the permeating aroma of wet fur. There was a performance going on down near the fireplace: a stringed instrument was playing, another Rris singing an accompaniment. That was something I hadn't heard a lot of, and while parts did sound like a caterwaul, it leveled into something quite plaintive and lyrical that I hadn't expected. There was a fair audience watching, but we hurried past. The night manager bade us welcome, assuring us my suite was ready, and then ushering us upstairs.
But, Rohinia still gave the rooms a once-over before I could enter. He examined the windows and closed the drapes as he went, checking for assassins in the architraves or murderers in the moldings, I guessed. He can't have found anything because he gave the all clear.
Having your own apartments in town is handy if the alternative is a two-hour commute in a rattling box. It would've been good to get back to the estate, but this was so much closer. And it was warm and familiar, with a bed and my own clothes and food I could understand, even if it did come with hot-and-cold running Mediators.
"Get some rest," Rohinia told me. "Jenes'ahn will be here in the morning."
"Where's she been?"
"Guild Hall. Report and update on various nations' reactions to your plans."
"She has all the fun."
"Rest," he growled. "I'll be next door."
So, he went off to his room and I was finally alone for a while. I managed to extract my feet from my boots, loosened the ridiculous clothing, and flopped back on the bed. I just lay there in the dim light, staring up at subtly-patterned wallpaper and plaster reliefs on the ceiling. It wasn't a luxury hotel, but the rooms were calming, the bed was soft and I was tired.
Of course there was a scratch at the door.
Ea'rest was standing there with arms full of linen and a condensation-dewed carafe dangling from a free finger. The door next door was open, Rohinia asking her something.
"Towels and cloths for the bathing room, constable," she was saying. "The laundry wasn't quite finished before you arrived. Also, a pitcher of clean water and ice from the cold room."
Rohinia looked at me. I shrugged, "I could do with something that isn't wine. Come in."
Ea'rest entered and Rohinia watched until I closed the door between us.
"Apologies for the interruption at this hour, sir," she said as she put the bottle down on a small table, then bustled on through to the bathroom.
"How are things going?" I asked.
"Busy, sir," she said through the doorway. "A lot of customers. If the rooms aren't full, then the bar downstairs is."
"Not terrible news," I noted. "People behaving themselves?"
"Oh, we've had spies. Other inns are copying the menus. People keep getting `lost' and end up around the boiler house or kitchen. No real trouble though."
"And how's Rothi doing?"
"He's enjoying himself. The teacher you suggested is interesting. He says her classes are fun. She doesn't ridicule his ideas. And he's been offered an apprenticeship at Smither Industries." I heard a cupboard door close and she came back to the bedroom. "Just for that, I can't thank you enough."
"Least I could do," I said.
"I think far from it," she said and sketched a bow, then stood with hands clasped behind her back, looking like a trooper reporting in. "Thank you. And you should know that an appointment with the groomers across the square has been scheduled, as per directions by your minders. Also, we are entering into an arrangement with the local bakers — there will be more fresh bread available in the mornings. We have been running short. And there is some news on that book."
"That's..." I caught up with what she was saying. "What?"
"That book you were looking for," she said. "There's some news: one of my associates found where they're printed in Shattered Water."
"Where?" I almost whispered.
"A printing house," she said. "Not a large one — a back-street place. They usually deal in leaflets, booklets and sometimes documents of a less salubrious nature. Not illegal, but not a widely-known house. They found this place and reported it. Nothing else. That is satisfactory?"
"Very," I said. "It's most satisfactory. Thank you. Does this place have a name?"
"It's on the northern edge of the cracks. Off a lane called Tin Alley Riverward. The placard depicts three black squares. The shop deals in all sort of odds and ends and businesses of various natures. The printing is a small part. No Guild affiliation. Sir, it is not a very civil area. You aren't intending on visiting?"
"Remains to be seen," I said. "But I've never had much trouble with cutpurses, for some reason. Meantime, please keep the place under observation. See if you can obtain a copy of the book. Quietly, please. Unobtrusively."
"Yes, sir. I believe we can just buy one."
"That might just work," I said. "And warn them to watch for other watchers — they might turn up. Take notes on them. And if someone turns up to collect money, anything to do with that book, please track them. This is clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"If you need any extra people or budget, let me know."
"Of course, sir," she said and her ears twitched. "And ah Ties was saying there are some concerns with the energy creator."
"Serious?"
The door behind me opened.
"It could be if left, sir. He was saying some parts in it might break loose. Something he wants to talk to you about."
"What would that be?" Jenes'ahn asked as she entered.
"The machinery downstairs," I said. "Chaeitch has some concerns. I think I know what they might be. Got a meeting with him soon?"
"A," Jenes'ahn said. "Later tomorrow. After doing something about the shag on your head."
"Yeah, I heard about that, too," I said.
"And your breakfast, sir?"
I thought. "Fresh bread would be good. And some fruit spreads. And is there any juice?"
"Blueberry I believe, sir."
Jenes'ahn's ears were back. "Quite done?"
"I think so."
She looked at Ea'rest. "Then, that will be all."
"Yes, ma'am," Ea'rest said. The Mediator watched her leave, then closed the door and turned to stare at me.
"What?" I said after a few seconds of that treatment.
"What? What was that about?"
"She was dropping off some towels and water and said Chaeitch was concerned about the generator. Which is something to worry about. Did you know?"
"I did not. Was that all?"
I gave her a hard look. "And she also mentioned I was going to have my hair cut tomorrow. Do you know this place? Strange Rris with sharp objects is a favorite past-time of mine, you know that."
"Don't be childish. You need it, and the shop is well-regarded."
"Well, you know what's going to happen, don't you?" I grumbled.
"Your concerns are completely unfounded," she said. "It is a professional establishment."
"What in pestilence is that?!" the proprietor of the parlor yowled, flapping a cloth in my direction. "Why would you bring that here?! No animals in my shop."
"Completely unfounded," I muttered to Jenes'ahn's back.
Her tail lashed. Just once. "Good sir," she said. "I was here yesterday. You assured us you would have no trouble with an unusual client."
"Unusual, constable. We have many of those. This is.... Unprecedented! Unacceptable! And un-Rris! What do you expect me to do with this?" He raked a gesture toward exhibit A.
"Your job," Jenes'ahn replied. "Which you said you could do."
That persistent rain had stopped sometime in the early hours. Above the rooftops, the brightening sky was clearing, bright clouds cracking apart to show swathes of porcelain blue.
And the snow was gone. The grooming parlor was on the other side of the rain-wet plaza from the inn — one of many stores, businesses, and service establishments located around the square, all relying upon — and useful to — the workers and residents in the area. The parlor was set back in a colonnaded walkway between a tinker's repair shop and what looked like a vendor of rugs and wall hangings. Above, upper-story apartments were supported by blue-painted columns that'd might've been mistaken for Doric in a bad light. I'd been half-expecting a striped pole outside the place, but of course there was no such thing. Instead, the sign above the front window was black cast-iron and was a frame containing a diagonal row of sharpened sickleshapes that could have been claws. Guards took up position outside.
The interior wasn't overly fancy, was distinctly chilly, and was cluttered with a jumble of paraphernalia. Time-worn flagstones were covered with some rugs that had probably been brightly colored at some time. Some stained and cold oil-lamps hung from the ceiling, along with bunches of dried flowers, leaves, and seeds, damping a lingering scent of wet Rris. Over by the front windows, where morning light, fractured and refractured into caustics and spectrums by the bullseye panes, stood a pair of tables topped with stone slabs. Further back were shelves and cubbies with tools and equipment, a couple of counters, an iron stove, and a door through to the back.
"Constable," the Rris was saying, "There's a stable across the way. Take it there. I deal with peoples' fur. I'm good at it. This is not... It's... what is it, anyway?"
"Wasting your time," I interjected. "Come on, he's obviously not a good choice."
"It can talk!" the proprietor recoiled with a yelp.
"No, I'm just really good at mimicking sounds."
"Mikah!" Jenes'ahn growled.
"What is it?" the Rris almost pleaded.
"It is... He is your client. You agreed to do the work."
"You didn't tell me everything!"
"The Guild gave its assurance."
"Which isn't money, which is what I lose! All this is lost business! It's spring! There're winter coats to be shed!"
"You will be reimbursed."
"And again I tell you: I don't groom beasts! It's... Hai! Hold! Hold a beat!" He stopped, squinted at me. "Is that really it? The beast? The Beast of Three Birds Fall?!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I winced. "That was a play!"
"Rot and pestilence! Constable, what is this?"
Jenes'ahn shook her head, then said to the proprietor, "Sir, a word with you?"
She took him to the back of the store. There was a hushed conversation, a lot of gestures my way.
That goddamned play. The incident in question involved bandits who murdered a lot of people and nearly killed me and quite a few others. It was a dirty, amateurish mess of a hit. There was nothing glamourous about it. While they negotiated, I looked at the accoutrements of the trade: assorted combs and brushes and strippers and rakes and things I couldn't identify, of all shapes and sizes and materials. Old black-iron rakes stood beside brass combs with polished horn handles and smooth stones with little spikes embedded in them. There were knives and blades and scissors of various kinds set out. Jars of liquids and unguents and powders. Copper and enameled-iron jugs and basins hung from hooks and stood on stands, some full of sand or water. There were some of those ubiquitous roll-up grooming kits a lot of Rris favored. Towels — brightly colored and patterned — were stacked on shelves. At the front of the shop, those stone-topped tables that resembled a pair of butcher's blocks were more complex than they appeared. They were about two-and-a-bit meters in length, the tops single pieces of granite hewn down to rounded rectangles and raised up on wrought-iron stands. Each had a cutout at one end, like a massage table, and the raw granite on each was polished smooth, worn smooth, worn enough to form an indentation along the length of the stones.
Those stones had been around a while. I'd seen something like them before, in a very different kind of place, but used for the same purpose. Were they traditional? Valuable? Perhaps that shop owner was doing something right and it wasn't just some hole-in-the wall grooming parlor.
"Plague and blight!" I heard from the back. The proprietor was looking annoyed, which meant Jenes'ahn was probably successful. "Very well, Constable. I'll tend to your... beast. Hai, it doesn't bite?"
"Not unless you ask," she said.
"What?"
"Do your job as we requested," she said as she went to stand by the front door. "He won't hurt you."
He stared at her, then at me. "Right," he said. "You. Over here. Sit."
I did as he said, on a cushion by the window. He stood behind me for a few seconds, then asked. "What do you do with this?"
"Shorten it," Jenes'ahn spoke up. "Thin it. Make it presentable; more like a person."
A single snort of what could've been derision. A finger poked at my head, flicking strands of hair around. "And what is this stuff? You can't just let it grow?"
"It doesn't stop," I said.
"Huhn. Be like trimming a bison," he said. "Why me, anyway?"
"Convenient," I said. "I was staying across the square."
"Ah, at the stables."
"What? No, the inn!"
"There? Huhn. I heard it's under new management," he said as he went to the shelves, picked out bits and pieces. "They let you in?"
"We have history," I said. "Really," he said, and I read a dubious tone in that. But that was all he said as he set out a cloth and laid tools out on it: a couple of pairs of scissors of different kinds, the iron worm smooth and shiny, combs, a brush. All of them had a well-used look about them. "What does that mean?"
I sighed. "It means: I know the innkeeper."
"Huhn. I heard she's a strange one."
"Why?"
Those cold prickles crawled up my spine when he touched. A stranger, with sharp implements... that hadn't boded well in the past. I tried to relax and not to flinch too much while he was raking my hair around, giving the illusion that he knew what he was doing. "Not wealthy, but she can take care of herself. There was an issue with some local scavengers. They don't seem to be around any longer."
"Scavengers?" I didn't know the term, but had my suspicions.
The scissors started snicking away. I was resigned to a ragged chop — it wasn't like working on a Rris pelt, which was all he would have had experience with. Chihirae had come to do a halfway decent job, eventually. But, that wasn't an option for me anymore. "They ask for money from businesses," he told me. "To ensure that nothing unfortunate would happen to that particular business."
"Ah. Thank you. I had not heard about that."
"You would expect to?"
"I'm impressed she handled it herself."
"What else could she do?"
"Ask for assistance? The guard, perhaps?"
A snort. "Complain to the guard and your business will burn, or you find the guard is in on it. The Guild there, they don't dirty their hands with such business."
Jenes'ahn must've heard that, but she didn't respond.
"So the best option would be... what?"
The scissors clacked away. "For most, just pay what they want," he said. "They take a bit. No trouble. But, now, if they're gone, who will take their place? Will they be worse?"
"They took from you too?" I asked.
A pause in the scissors. "A. Like most around here."
"You aren't pleased that they're gone?"
"Can't say I miss them, but I must wonder about who's going to take their place. Perhaps someone associated with whomever has moved in over the square there."
"Why would they replace them?"
"She's not high-born, I heard, but she has money and backing enough to buy that place. And then the local scavengers wind up in the river, which means she has some claws. And all sorts of odd sorts are patronizing the place. And there's that smoke coming from the place all the time. Whole thing smells as bad as that stuff and I don't want any part of it."
"Or perhaps they just took out the trash. Perhaps you could go over and ask. The food is good."
"And expensive," he said. "Kichaki a few doors down does cheap."
"And good?"
"Huhn, perhaps not so much. Bone and blight, what is this stuff? It doesn't lie properly."
"Try cutting along the strands," I suggested. "That thins it out. Makes it easier to work with."
"Like so?"
"A. Then use the comb to lift a bit and cut level." So, there were some lessons to be taught, and he'd relaxed enough to ask them. And he learned fast. There was no way it'd be considered an elegant haircut, but at least it wasn't a bowl cut.
"How much to take?" he asked, lifting a handful.
Jenes'ahn spoke up. "Not too short. Shoulder length. And trim that face-scruff so it looks normal."
"Constable..."
"Somewhat normal," she amended. I heard a huff of air from behind me and he went back to work.
The whole rigmarole took over an hour. He cut and combed and brushed and huffed over my hair not doing what he expected it to do. At the end, I ended up with something Jenes'ahn pronounced `satisfactory'. I peered into a foggy pewter mirror and saw something that was a little less shaggy covering a scarred face. It'd still frighten children, but I wouldn't be eating mouthfuls of hair with my dinner.
"Is it all right if I come back?" I asked. "I need a trim like this once a month or so."
"Why here?"
"Convenient," I said.
He considered for a bit longer than was probably necessary, then waved a shrug. "The money is good. Interesting story. A, that would be acceptable."
I dropped him a gold finger. He looked astonished. "For the inconvenience," I said. "Go try one of those pies sometime. The marinated bison ones are popular."
We left him clutching what was probably a month's income.
"That was a waste of money," Jenes'ahn said mildly as we headed back across the square with our troop of armed guards prowling along around us. Morning sunlight was slanting down over the rooftops. The morning market was in swing, locals from the surrounding apartments out to get their breakfasts.
"Good for the economy," I said. "No matter where he spends it. And, who knows, the inn might get a new customer so it all goes around. You know, perhaps you could do with another trim, a?"
She gaped jaws and hissed quietly: no sound, but a plume of breath in the golden sun.
We waited on the terrace in front of the inn for our ride to be brought around. In warmer weather it'd be a good spot to eat out, but at that time it was still damp from the rain. The morning sun was pleasant, though. I just found a sunny spot against a wall and peoplewatched for a few minutes until the carriages arrived.
The ride was quiet enough. Guards rode ahead, clearing the way through the traffic. And there was a bit, as the city was awake and bustling on a bright spring morning. A few nublet icicles lurked in sheltered spots, but that was the last traces of winter. Sunlight warmed the roofs and walls of the city, glittered on windows and water. Paint on building trim brought more color to the world. Green buds speckled bare branches.
Smither Industries didn't change with the seasons. The bricks buildings and smokestacks were still the same, secure behind walls and gates and guards. Foundries and work halls inside were insulated from the weather, bustling away and heated by furnaces and molten metal. The administration offices were cleaner and quieter, but also colder. We walked along an enfilade corridor on the second floor, past busy offices. Sunlight streamed in through big windows with panes streaked with sooty trails after the rain, gleamed off the polished tiled floor. As we approached the main office, another Rris emerged, glanced at me, then stalked past without another look.
"That was..." Jenes'ahn started to say.
"I know who it was," I said.
"You could've..."
"Nothing to say."
She just looked at me, pupils dilating even in the bright light, then was back to business as we stepped into the outer office. The secretary looked up as we entered, and her control was almost as good as the Mediator's. "Ah Ties said to enter," she informed us.
We did so. I had to sidestep and new stalagmite of papers just inside the door. Chaeitch was clacking beads on an abacus as he worked through some columns in a ledger. When he looked up and saw me, his ears twitched back.
"Yeah," I said, before he could make it more awkward. "I saw her."
"Apologies," he said. "We went on a bit too long. She didn't..."
"It doesn't matter," I said and dropped myself onto the cushion on this side of his low desk. "We've got work to do, a?"
"A," he said, gave me a hard look, then exhaled hard and pushed the ledger aside into a puddle of sunlight spilling through the dusty windows behind him. "A, we do."
"Problems? Ea'rest said there was an issue with the generator."
"Hai. That is something," he said and took up another stack of ledgers tied together with a striped cord. A claw in the knot and he pulled one out. "Other things are not so much problems as just a lot of eggs in the air. To start with, there's the rail line. Currently, surveying is proceeding with available equipment. The mapmakers would love to have some of the toys you've mentioned, but those aren't available yet, so they're working with what they have.
"The Mining and Metal-Workers Guild's are working to be able to supply the expected demand for coal, coke, iron and steel. The miners are impressed with the new tools and pumps and engines, especially the compressed air lines and tools. They're dangerous, a, but not nearly as much as the older options. Those, in conjunction with the working engines, make a lot of the planned work a great deal more feasible. They've also been interested in the new small-lighting-power engines and lights.
"That leads on to the Inn project. So far there haven't been any catastrophic failures. The areas of greatest concern are the boiler — the high-pressure steam is risky, of course. It's also hungry, dirty, and smelly. The filters on the stack are effective, but require cleaning almost daily. Coke, rather than coal, would be desirable, but terribly expensive. Only the very wealthy could afford private units. Until a mass water-powered system can be established, generator plants through the city would be the only real alternative.
"The power-maker is running, but it's making noise, vibrating. Those blades again. It won't be long before it fails. The newer version with the solid rotor is ready. We'll replace it in the next day, but the power is still being produced and we're still testing that. We want to compare with the new generator. There's whole new systems of measurements we're learning: the amount of power, the volume of power, the amount of loss through various materials, how much can be run from a single generator of a certain size. We still don't understand it well enough — there's knowledge gaps that we still haven't filled in.
"The cool room is working better than expected. The problems there are leakage in the copper piping, and condensation. It's manageable, but does need addressing. It also requires someone to manage the temperature, or it will keep going. You have mentioned that can be made self-maintaining, but that is on the ‘when-time-allows’ list. The heating system is working, and I think we've finally sorted out the knocking problem."
He paused.
"Is that all?" I asked.
"One more thing." He flipped the page over. "Finally, there's this academy thing." He slapped the book closed. "I don't know why you thought that was a good idea, but it's going to take more of your time than everything else combined."
"Not a good idea," I said. "The best idea. Everything else would probably lead to war or assassination. Possibly both."
"And this won't?"
"Not for a while, I hope."
"You don't know?"
"Hey, I'm flying blind here. I'm hoping they'll stop worrying about what other nations might be learning from me if they all do it at once. And a set curriculum keeps the Guild happy. And I'm not spending months on the road in flea-ridden inns while people are trying to kill me."
"No, you can stay here and do that," he observed.
"At least it's not freezing, raining, muddy, or all three," I said. "There're more meetings with ambassadors and consuls coming up. I'm working on the theory that so long as they're talking to me, they aren't trying to kill me."
"Huhn. Best of luck with that," he growled.
"Problem is going to be a place for it," I said. "Have to be pretty big, secure, central."
"Rraerch made some noises about that," he said. "Said she might have an idea."
"A? What's it like?"
"No idea," he said airily. "You'll have to get details from her. For now, we've got other business." He smacked the ledger down on the desk and picked up another notebook and stood. "Come along. There's a lot to bite through today."
That proved prophetic. Down in the secure workshops he showed me the finished version of the new turbine. There weren't any removable blades to break or work loose. The new design featured a notched cylinder around the turbine shaft. High pressure steam hit the angled notches, which were milled into the rotor. Steam feeds were built into the cast-iron shell of the turbine, minimizing points of failure. An automatic mechanical throttle kept the speed down, and half a dozen different valves and blowoffs were there to try and prevent any disastrous over-pressures.
"The valves have been simplified," Chaeitch said. "Less to break or go wrong. And they'll work as well as the old design. The next boilers will incorporate them, along with the new connectors. Those are still weak points."
No arguments from me. I'd seen what'd happened when a boiler exploded: a crack of noise, a white cloud roiling across a lake, and two tons of metal tumbling from hundreds of meters in the sky. Something like that happening in a city would be catastrophic. So, you put in all the safety features possible and then put the thing in a shed with very thick walls and a thin roof.
Then it was on to the rapidly-growing electrical department. That was one of the new ones down in the maze of arched brick tunnels. They'd originally been cellars, now repurposed because they were easy to secure and away from prying eyes.
There was a new sign written in Rris above the heavy door to the section. I could see wording had the term for lightning in there, in that winter-forest cross-hatch script they used. That, and the modifier for small and student or study. That was about the extent of my practical literacy in written Rris.
Not Chaeitch's problem at that moment.
We worked our way through the workshops, each of them branching off from the corridor, like brick Quonset huts buried underground. The dim lighting suited Rris requirements just fine, even if they were marginal for me. There was powered ventilation, but the halls still smelled of hot metal and resins and chemicals and smoke and less definable things. Rris craftsmen and engineers were tinkering on objects I'd last seen as plans in various stages of completion. The earliest attempts at generators were spindly Heath Robinson contraptions of wood and iron and copper. The newer ones had a more-refined appearance, although their heavy cast-iron shells and shellac-doped copper windings still gave them a Victorian-era character. There were other devices: wooden boards with copper coils and odd dials and knobs, vats of acid, stacks of plates of alternating types of metal. I was aware of the falloff in activity as we walked, as the workers found something else to stare at.
"Mikah," Chaeitch beckoned me over to a bench where he was talking with another Rris, "you might be interested in this."
‘This’ turned out to be a bench. There were a row of metal casings on it. They were rough cast-iron, cylindrical, each about the size of a football. They were flattened on a couple of sides, a spindle sticking out of one end. They looked like electric motors.
"They're motivators," Chaeitch said. At the other end of the bench the Rris technician working there had frozen, was staring at me with a singularly shocked expression.
"They're finally working acceptably," Chaeitch continued turning one of the motors around, oblivious. "The acid cells are improved as well. Adjusting the ratios has improved them, but they're nothing like the ones in your library. That's still beyond us."
Yeah, most modern batteries are intricate chemical puzzles. The items in my flashlight, my phone and laptop; we could dissect them, but it'd be like Ascension islanders taking apart a radio — lots of interesting and inexplicably useless bits and pieces.
"Sir?" the other Rris ventured. "Is this the one who... the one?"
Chaeitch turned, looking from the Rris to me. "The... Oh, A. He is... He's certainly something. I forget he can be a little intimidating at first. You mean the one who created these things?"
"A, sir," the Rris said, ears flicking back. "Forgive me for asking, but how...?" The question faded off into a hesitant interrogative gesture.
Other Rris in the workshop were staring, wearing various expressions. I sighed. "I didn't create them. I just provided some suggestions. Ah Ties here built them."
"As best we could," he growled quietly. "Mikah here has some unique knowledge and experience with some aspects of these things. He knows more than you might expect."
The Rris gave me another wide-eyed look. A short, stocky Rris. Male or female, I couldn't tell immediately. They were wearing a patched leather apron marked with stains and scars and burns, also a pair of leather bracers covering forearms, similarly work-worn. A clawed hand gestured to the items on the workbench. "Sir, you know what this is?"
I looked at it and nodded. "I know what this is. It is a snow-cone maker."
"What?" The Rris blinked.
"No, it is a water heater," I said. "An air fryer?"
The Rris was starting at me, utterly confused.
"Mikah," Chaeitch sighed. "Stop teasing him."
"Sorry. Had to be done."
"No, it didn't," he said. "Now, this is what we've been working with."
"A," I nodded at the parts arranged on the bench. "Electric motivator. Motor. The shell and the core. Wound copper and magnetized iron. That's pretty normal, a?"
"A," he said. "That works, but we've been working with ways to make it more efficient. How does this look to you?" He indicated the exploded components of another motor. I picked up a piece that looked like part of the stator.
"You are making... electrical magnets instead of the magnetized iron ones?" I noted.
"A. You mentioned these," Chaeitch said. "They're more powerful than the simple iron, so they should provide more force, a?"
"A. If you can get the timings right. And they will draw more energy."
"There is that," he agreed. "We're experimenting with that now."
"What about the drawn wire?" the other Rris asked. "It seems excessively complicated. Can it be simplified?"
I picked up one of the manufactured windings. The copper wire was varnished with a reddish lacquer. To my eye it seemed lumpy, basically crafted. "A. You can replace the drawn wire with shaped copper rods. They loop through like this. They make some things simpler and allow for more power and efficiency."
"There are, of course, uphills?" the other ventured.
"A. Shaping them is difficult. Welding them is difficult. And forming the channels they have to pass through is complicated."
"How does your kind do it?" Chaeitch asked.
"Milling machines controlled by a sort of Johis gear," I said.
"That's possible?" the Rris asked, sounding and looking dubious. Our audience had contracted noticeably, the other workers in the shop edging a little closer to the entertainment.
"Apparently it is," Chaeitch said. "But when he says Johis gears, it's considerably more complex. We have lathes that work from a shape-frame, but this is different. They have machines like clockwork toys that use an incredibly complex form of Johis gears to learn to do a task and then repeat it. They're based on this small lighting power."
"A?" There was interest there. "They can do fine work?"
"They can," I said cautiously. "But it's an entirely different kind of engineering. And much easier to say than do. And it really wouldn't be of any immediate help with this."
I gestured at the machinery. "What would be?" I considered. "Better materials. Perhaps steel alloys."
"We're working on such," Chaeitch said. "And that aromarorum you have spoken of."
Aluminum, that translated as. "That's expensive to make without electricity," I said. "Strings of carbon... Rot, I mean carbon fibers would also be useful, but are still difficult. Also, you can add rare materials to magnets that make them more powerful..." I sighed and shrugged. "Again, easy to say, not so easy to do. I know people here are working on them. Meantime, learning and understanding the principals and characteristics of these is important."
Someone in the peanut gallery spoke out, "Why not just tell us?"
A momentary silence. Heads turned, looking at the one who'd spoken: a scraggly older Rris with singed grey face fur, also wearing work-worn leather apron and gloves.
"Because I don't know," I said. "Simply that. I know small parts," I held up a hand, thumb and forefinger fractionally apart. "I know about these things, but in the same way I know how to make iron: I know of it, but I've never done it. I can give you some advice about parts of it, about things that work and don't work, but you must fill in the gaps. You will probably figure out things I don't know."
The Rris craftsman looked to Chaeitch, his tail lashing. "He really can't tell us more?"
"He already has," Chaeitch said. "There's the new alloys, the ships and metal working. Rot, there've been more changes in the past two years than in the past hundred. You want more? I'd prefer we learn how to work with what we've got. Understand it, and make our own, rather than be handed everything like teething cubs."
Ears twitched back.
"Huhn," Chaeitch growled to the room as he picked up a chunk of cast iron. "Anyway, it looks like your idea of active magnets might be worth looking at. Keep at it and we'll see if we can make something of it, a? The usual bonuses will apply."
Ears went up at that.
Out in the twilit hallway, I had to ask, "They were... angry?"
Rris eyes flashed like molten metal when they caught the light right, when they were looking right at you. "Frustrated," Chaeitch said. "They want to move faster."
"Faster?" I sighed. "Chaeitch, my kind spent decades playing around with toys that made Mediator's fur stand on end." I didn't look around at our present company. "From energy storage to usable motivators was almost forty years. All that time was spent learning new things about this new energy form."
"That long?" he asked.
"Electricity is a strange thing. It's everywhere, even if you can't see it. Its usefulness is... balanced by complexity," I said. "You can move mountains, you can store information, like my library does. You can light homes and cook food. We're still learning."
"So, we've got a long way to go."
I looked at him. "Chaeitch, it took us forty years to get from start to where you are now. I think you're doing pretty damn well."
Over the next couple of days, business followed the same flow: daylight was burned out at the works, pouring over plans with Chaeitch and his staff. He was right about the blades in the turbine, and his solution was just serrations in a steel disk, a little like an overshot wheel. Multiple disks, multiple steam injection nozzles, with their own valves, producing a piece of machinery looking like an oversized flute. It had more moving parts, but they were standardized, and the arrangement promised a remarkable amount of control over input. Production on the prototype was green-lighted.
Work on the generator was progressing hand-in-hand with the motor. Each iteration was an improvement in efficiency, in output, in robustness. Spindly wooden models had been replaced with metal models, then with the first usable versions. Now those were being refined as their builders came to grips with the subjects and saw what could be improved upon.
The freezer at the inn was working as expected. The noisy external compressor clattered away for a while, building pressure and heat outside. When that pressure hit a threshold, the cooling coils vented and chilled. Those coils lined a pair of slabs covering two walls of the insulated cooling room in the cellar. It worked well enough to keep the store below zero.
The largest problem were the joints on the substantial amount of copper piping. That was a quality control issue. After that was the issue of condensation, which saw water dribbling into awkward places, freezing solid and distorting or breaking fittings. Periodic defrosting and cleaning of sump traps was required. That was a new regular chore for Inn staff, but not something you'd want to be doing every day for your home appliance. Those were a long way off, but there was intense interest in an industrial-type unit for bulk refrigeration.
And there was work on the rail line. Always work on that: the surveying, resources, the rails, the ties, the engines. I hoped that we'd hit a point where it'd become selfadministrating. Perhaps when the route was finalized and they'd just start building the thing. Although, once the line to Bluebetter was complete, there'd always be more.
The other thing that never stopped were the politics. With the plans for the school out in the open, there were people who wanted to make their opinions on the matter felt. The University was most certainly no exception to that.
The University was a venerable institution, with roots reaching back into the history of the city. Set off in the older Eastern District of the city, the central campus building reflected that: the branches of various annexes and wings reflected different ages and styles, different plans and ambitions. The edifice was a conglomeration of varying timbers and materials, a jigsaw of different architectural ideologies that still managed to achieve a cohesive whole. Some parts were clad in clapboard, others in overlapping shingles, others whitewashed plaster lathe and wattle and daub. The dark grey slate roof was crested with had any number of peaks and gables. Dormer windows glared from beneath arched brows. In places, the grey tiles spilled down to almost ground level.
Newer buildings were brick, and far less architecturally interesting with their industrial facades and narrow windows, but they were all crowded into the campus which itself was constrained by the city walls. Expensive real estate. Paths between buildings were narrow and the parks and huge old trees screening the buildings were pure indulgence.
Inside was like being in the belly of some great, old wooden ship. The timbers were ancient, worn into shape by time and use. Floorboards were marred with scratches and had grooves worn in them where countless feet had trod; carpets were worn threadbare; dust had collected geological strata where it collected in high, hard-to-reach places. And it was dim, tannin-tinted light filtering through to interior spaces leaving it in a perpetual gloom that was fine for Rris, but gave me some problems.
So I followed close behind Rraerch, with the Mediators bringing up the rear we as climbed a staircase, navigated a claustrophobic snarl of small halls to the administration wing. I could hear the static and crackle of raised Rris voices rattling around from up ahead: the sounds of a heated discussion. That cut off when our footsteps preceded us into a hallway lined with wooden plaques covered with Rris script. Names, I figured, faculty or students. Hundreds of years' worth.
Opposite that wall was a screen of intricately carved panels, filigreed enough to allow air and sound but not to see through. Behind that was the meeting room. There were windows in there, letting morning light spill in across low desks and walls of shelves and books and hung pictures. Seating was elderly, worn, plushy, overstuffed cushions, currently occupied by elderly, plushy, senior university officials. I'd met them before and knew them as haughty, settled in their ways, and inherently suspicious of any new upstart learning institution. I guessed that by the way they were watching as Rraerch and I and our escorts entered, they'd been involved in an animated discussion of their own.
Some of them I already knew. Achir ah Ner was the gray-muzzled senior administrator of the university. He was flanked by a couple of other tenured administrators. There was Chirit ah Riers, librarian in charge of the university archives and Sherasth ah Hai'ash, their bursar. And over at the end of the conclave was a younger Rris, ears twitching up from where they'd been laying back. While the others were watching me, her eyes kept flicking back across the other Rris.
"Hi, Makepeace," I greeted her. "They aren't being too harsh on you?" She flinched, just a twitch.
"No, sir. Not at all."
"Glad to hear it," I smiled carefully at the other University faculty and said, very deliberately, "I'd be most unhappy if someone gave you any more trouble."
And they'd given her quite enough. Makepeace was a student there, scraping an education through a system that was quite expensive and class-oriented. The students seemed to inhabit the University as second-class citizens at best: scurrying around, turning up in various classes, and trying not to be noticed by their tutors. Makepeace, though, she'd been thrown headlong into the limelight. A combination of a practical joke by her peers and cutthroat career infighting amongst the faculty had seen her assigned as the University representative with an official delegation to the neighboring nation of Bluebetter.
Senior staff were not amused, but were bound by contract.
So, she'd made the trip with barely a letter of accreditation. No support or funding or resources. She'd soldiered on regardless and without complaint. I'd had to drag the story out of her. And I'd made my displeasure with her treatment known.
It looked like they still remembered that. Eyes were wide and ears twitched back.
"There's no trouble, sir," Makepeace said. "There was just discussion about your... proposal."
"Which is why we're here," Rraerch said, inclining a small bow toward the university officers.
"A," Ah Ner said. "Please, be seated."
We sat. I took a spare cushion by Makepeace. Rraerch settled on another, at my left hand. She was dressed to impress, with a fine linen tunic and polished silver trim that flashed when it caught the sun. Jenes'ahn and the other Mediators took positions by the door, fading into the background. The room was warm, from sunlight and a stove. Also musty, smelling like old paper and damp fur and books and dust that danced in the sunbeams.
"You received some news from the Palace," Rraerch said.
"We did," Ah Ner said, drawing himself up: a stocky, scruffy, gray, wiry-furred, older Rris trying to project authority. "After your presentation it was not entirely a surprise. However, we do have some concerns."
"That is only to be expected," Rraerch said. "It's not a small undertaking."
The university administrator looked at the others before beginning. "You must understand that this University is the pre-eminent learning institution for a hundred towns! It has centuries of history behind it, going back to days of fire and stone. To have a... a... someone such as Ah Rihey — as esteemed as you may be — simply eschew all normal convention and start a competing institution, is unprecedented!"
I blinked, trying to figure that out. "Is that what you understand is happening?"
"When one reads between the lines, the intent seems to be there!"
"Ah, that is not entirely the intent."
"‘Not entirely’," he echoed. "Then what is the entire intent?"
I looked at Rraerch, who just smiled politely and gestured graciously. "Perhaps Mikah could explain better."
Heads turned towards me. Oh, great. She dumped the ball right into my court. I took a breath.
"To start, apologies if I get words wrong. It seems sometimes I say things that make sense in my head, but not so much in Rris words. Intentions get... understood differently.
"We have tried doing what nations have demanded and gone to visit them. This has worked... to a certain extent. But the journeys take a long time. And all that time other nations are demanding their turn and wondering what they may be missing out on while I'm talking with their neighbors.
"Which makes it extremely dangerous. For me, and for everyone around me. You may have heard some stories."
Various Rris glanced at Makepeace.
"They're probably accurate," I shrugged. "But the longer this all goes on, the unhappier people become. They get do rash things. That's why I suggested that instead of me visiting them, one at a time, they come to me. All at once.
"It would be a place of learning, that is true, but it would only be open to a select number from each country. They would come here to learn and distribute that information back to their homes. This would all require facilities and accommodation and security for hundreds. Does the university have such facilities?"
"Do you?" he asked bluntly.
"Aesh Smither believes she has a suitable location," I said.
"And where this would be?" he asked her.
Rraerch inclined her head. "There is a location that might be suitable. It is a Smither holding. We are still discussing the practicality."
"So, you are undecided," ah Riers noted.
"We're still working out costs. It will certainly be expensive," she said.
"Aesh Smither," The bursar Hai'ash leaned forward. "I expect the crown will subsidize your expenses. And you will be charging for attendance?"
"A," Rraerch said. "It is a business and has expenses. We will benefit, but so will all attendees. Especially your own."
There was a significant pause. "You are saying the university would have attendees?"
"Of course. All nations would have representatives. Land-of-Water would have our own. Of course, I would expect our premiere learning institution to send some of our best qualified with all the advantages inherent in that."
"And those would be..." ah Riers prompted.
"You're here," I said. "Some other lands would have journeys of weeks or more to get the information back to their lands. And then there's no telling what they would do with it. But you have an opportunity. The Guild has said that the information must be distributed through proper channels. I believe that would be you. So, you could be teaching what you learn here at the university within a day, if you chose. Would that have any effect on demand for your classes?"
The administrators each went stone-still for a second, then heads tilted. Ah Riers' eyes narrowed and he sniffed. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps it would. Whether it would be beneficial, that would remain to be seen."
"Additionally," Rraerch said, "there may be some other areas where your expertise could prove useful."
"Huhn, And that would be?"
"There would have to be a curriculum and a schedule. We would need advice on what would be best to offer and when."
His muzzle twitched, wrinkling fractionally. "Explain."
"Mikah can only be in one place at a time. And there are limited hours in the day. And there is a lot of material to cover. A schedule of what should be offered at what time will have to be created."
"A? I was understanding that the Guild and the Palace were dictating innovations."
"A bit more than that," I said. "This isn't about ‘this is a device and this is how you build it’. It's... everything up to that. You have courses in mathematics and chemistry and geometry and various medical and life studies, a?"
"Of course."
"These are studies that explain how other things work, correct? They are... foundations that other lessons build on?"
"A. You intend to replace these?"
"No. Add to. Not replace. I couldn't do that. Sir, I am not skilled in a lot of those fields. I can tell you things my kind have learned. Some of that will be new, some may challenge existing understanding, and some will be... not able to be applied. But there is so much that I can't cover everything at once. So, I will need experts to tell me what should be offered and when. The university seems the obvious choice."
"You are trying to flatter us?"
"There's a reason I didn't go to the Fishers' Guild," I said and the Rris gave me quizzical looks.
"We are trying to offer you a deal," Rraerch said. "Despite Mikah's attempts at humor, he has knowledge that no-one else does. Other nations would pay a great deal for this. We can grant the University free access to this, and the chance to pass that knowledge forward before anyone else can, at a cost you deem necessary. And in return you assist with the curriculum, under the auspices of the Mediator Guild, of course."
"Of course," the administrator rumbled. "And the university would not be charged for attending?"
"There will be a limit for representatives," Rraerch said. "That will be equal for all. And there will be charges for ongoing expenses incurred."
"We would want those itemized."
"Of course. However, the University would not be expected to pay the attendance fees. And, depending on accommodation and assistance, other fees may be waived as well."
The senior university staff all looked thoughtful. Makepeace looked as if she were going to say something, but caught her tongue at the last second and instead watched others' reactions.
"I believe," the bursar said eventually, breaking the silence, "that we would want to see this proposition in writing. Along with numbers. Those tend to be less flexible."
"That will be done," Rraerch said. "Please understand the figures at the moment are estimates, as work is still being costed. But final figures will be provided before any commitments are required."
"We will bear that in mind," ah Riers said gravely.
Later, in the privacy of the carriage, Rraerch was sitting opposite. Sunlight washed across her as the carriage turned. She was just watching me.
"What?" I asked warily. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Huhn?" She blinked, then flicked an ear. "Ah, not especially. I was just wondering if you have any reservations about working with the University. I know you have some... opinions about them."
A bunch of self-serving, short-sighted, tenure-bloated, officious bureaucrats would be a beginning. I just smiled politely. "I can't imagine what you mean."
A snort. "I saw you looking at Makepeace. You're still annoyed at that, a?"
"Someone who'd do that to their own people is someone you should watch," I said. "It may have been foolishness rather than maliciousness, but that still doesn't excuse it."
"So, you don't think we should deal with them?"
I had already thought about that. "The university, it isn't a Guild, but they are influential, a?"
"A. Surprisingly so."
"Then it would be better to at least have them not hostile."
A flicker of an ear. "You understand that much. They could make things difficult. Far better to have cooperation. And the deal is fair."
"I hope they know that."
She flashed teeth. "Don't forget you have a supporter."
"Makepeace?"
"A. I think she will stick up for you."
"She has influence?"
"She has some idea of what you represent. They don't know that these toys we've built are just a fraction of what you can teach. She does. I think she will fight for you."
I looked out the window at the passing city. There were people who didn't like what I had to offer. They might not like her endorsing that. I gritted my teeth. "I hope she's careful. Some people have views."
"The university relies on sneaky, underhanded backbiting and politics," she said. "But they don't involve violence. Usually."
"Uh, reassuring," I said.
"If they think she's valuable enough, they will look after her," Jenes'ahn said from her corner.
I looked at her, then at Rraerch. She waved a shrug. "That would be sensible. It's as soon as she stops talking about you, she loses her value and their interest."
I sighed. Rris politics gave me a headache. "As long as they think they're going to profit she's okay. They will come back with questions about details. One I'm interested in: are you ever going to reveal this location you talk about?"
Rraerch leaned her tawny head back and gazed at the roof. A black-tufted ear twitched. "At this stage, it's best not to. The palace has a location it thinks is suitable. And it's a good location: central, room to build, secure, accommodation in the surrounding town. But, we're looking at what it's going to cost to make it usable, and that really won't be cheap or fast. It may be better to go further out and start anew.
"So, until we have a final decision, it's best not to offer something we may not deliver. Do you understand that?"
"A. I understand that. So, how long?"
"A few days still," she said. "Master builders are inspecting the site. And there are a lot of expenses. Labor and materials and time. Shipping stone alone in costs a fortune in time and money, and masons are in short supply."
"That sounds... ambitious."
"It is. That's why we're examining options. But, the Palace prefers this option." She wrinkled her muzzle for a moment and waved a hand, "It's a statement, of course."
"Saying ‘we know how to spend money’?"
"I'd imagine something more like ‘we know what we have is worth’."
I stared, trying to understand that. "How does that help matters?"
"If it has value, perhaps they will want a part?"
"Which part? I'm quite attached to all my parts. You're not helping, you know that."
"You know as well as any that you try to."
It was another late night. Too late to head back to the estate, so we made for the inn.
A still night. A damp night. A drizzling mist filled the world, drifting across the plaza. A couple of distant gas lamps glowed fitfully — specks of sodium glow blurred by the fog, reflecting off damp flagstones, wrapping the rest of the square in cold darkness. I stepped down from the carriage and just stood and stared into it.
In the cities of my memory there was incessant noise, a droning background hubbub that never died. Above, the underbelly of the overcast would be lit like zeppelins caught in spotlights, drowning out the night. But right there, then, at that moment, the world was almost silent, dark, otherworldy enough to get my hackles up.
By comparison, the dim lights of the inn were beacons of warmth in the soggy gloom.
Inside was warm frowstiness, half-lit by lamps, warmed by fires and multiple furry bodies, all talking and eating and contributing to that permeating wet-dog aroma. There was a trio of musicians playing something vigorous and twangy down by the fireplace, adding to the white noise of Rris conversation.
There was a noticeable hitch in the conversation as we walked through.
My rooms were ready. Rohinia walked through, looked behind the drapes and in the bathroom. Declared it safe. There would be guards and he'd be in the next room if required.
I didn't require. I had time to wash, time to waste hot water in that tub. When I came out, there was a covered tray waiting on the table. Beneath the lid was a burst of hot, flavored air and a dish of layered meats and pastries, slivered mushrooms and paper-thin sweet potatoes, berry compote, something like a relish of herbs and smoked meat strips... I didn't realize she was branching out into haute cuisine.
I didn't realize how hungry I was until the plate was empty. It was hot and filling and even though the meal was designed for other palates, for carnivore palates, I could appreciate it. And the small bottle of Rris liquor that tasted vaguely of apples and ice. And the book hidden in the napkin.
It wasn't a large volume. Not quite A5 in size — like a large notebook bound in a deep purple leather. I picked it up, feeling the cover. It felt lush, expensive. The title was embossed, stamped in silver. Rris words I'd heard before and now traced over with a fingertip, trying to decipher the stack of characters. [sight/ understanding] of [thought/self]
I thought that was right. The characters were there, but spaced awkwardly.
Inside, the frontispiece was an illustration, an anatomical sketch. Of a human hand. Opposite was a title page. The characters from the cover were there, as well as other markings. Names? Dates? I thought I could make some out, but wasn't fluent enough to be sure. And it wasn't as if I could ask someone.
The paper was also quality: a rag matt. It was thick, creamy, with a hint of multicolored fibres in it. Ink floated on the background, tightly printed into regimented formations, little blocks of branch-like cross-hatchings scratching at the pages. There were more anatomical illustrations: line drawings of Rris eyes and heads, diagrams of pupils and muscles and skulls, teeth and claws.
More pages of alien text, and interposed with those were more printings:
A human face. Another hand. An illustration eerily similar to Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man:
A draughty attic room with rain drumming down outside. I picked up a small notebook and curiously leafed through it. There were drawings in there, of me, a sketch like an old Da Vinci...
I sat staring at the page, at the drawing I'd seen before. Now I knew for sure that she was here. But, why? Why had she done this? Why print this here? There were other cities where she could've commissioned a print and probably no-one would've realized for years.
Except, now the Printers Guild in Shattered Water had some new presses which made printing something like this codex practical and a lot cheaper. Not faster though. But, Ea'rest had said the print shop was a small jack-of-all trades place, probably not Guild affiliated. When had she commissioned this? If it was before she had to... leave, then that might explain the timing.
More pages. More illustrations. There were careful sketches of hands: Rris hands and what were obviously Human hands. They were followed by pages of Rris script. Then renditions of Rris ears and Human ears. Then legs and feet of two different kinds. Muscle groups of arms and legs. Mouths and teeth. Fingers and claws. And the next page...
"Son of a..." I cursed under my breath.
A penis. Rris and... not-Rris. It looked familiar.
She'd published this, and she hadn't missed any details. And I couldn't read the text that accompanied them. Was that what I was to her? The subject of a doctoral thesis? Why the hell had she done this?
More careful illustrations and dense pages of text. There were drawing of eyes — two types of eyes. And then what looked like sketches of thickets, or tangles of trees and branches that were strikingly reminiscent of Rris script, diagrams showing scenes with eyes and linesof-sight, enlarged Rris characters. Those confused me. I wished I could read the subtexts. Any of the texts. My vocabulary wasn't terrible. I could identify words in the text, but I was like a toddler trying to work through a medical journal. The problems were ones I kept hitting in my lessons: the content was legible, but there was no coherent whole. There were identical characters used in different locations which — from context — should have had different meanings. There were modifiers in the Rris script, but they weren't used where or when I expected them to.
I'd tried. I'd had teachers and tutors and learned Rris from the university, and none of them had been able to tell me why. There was something so fundamental that they took it for granted, and either I simply didn't have it, or hadn't grasped it.
So far it was looking like the former.
I stared at the book in my hands, feeling like an idiot. It might be a link to her, but I couldn't read it. And I couldn't ask someone to read it to me. But at least I knew it was her. Maithris was back here, in Shattered Water. My friend, my lover, my betrayer.
The last I'd seen of her had been in Red Leaves in Bluebetter. It'd been a clandestine meeting, full of warnings and portents and gunfire and death. Usual stuff. Why was she there? Why was she here? Following me, apparently. For exactly what reason, she wasn't specific. She'd vaguely hinted that she might have been assigned to protect me, but since she hadn't told me who she really was, or who she was working for, or even really warned me about an attack on myself and Chihirae, I had seriously mixed feelings about trusting her.
Specifically, I knew it would be insane to, but... I wanted to.
I leafed through the rest of the book while mechanically shoveling food into my face. Past the final page there was no signature, no note tucked away, no startling revelations. Just... the end. I felt... frustrated. Was I missing something? A message? Or was the message that obvious?
I hid it in the obvious place: the bookshelf. Just slipped in between a volume on plants and a history book that'd been gifted by the ambassador from Kechri Mas. Not sure what they were thinking there.
For a while I sat at the desk and tried to distract myself with work. I tapped away at the keyboard and scratched away with a fountain pen, trying to organize ideas and possibilities. What technologies or theories could be used as foundations for growth. Which ones would the Guild accept or reject? Were they practical, or did they rely too much on other technologies I'd taken for granted.
The words just churned around in my head without gaining any traction. I wasn't thinking about this, I was thinking about that. I looked over at the bookshelf.
"Oh, fuck it!" I sighed. I grabbed my coat from the wardrobe. I made sure it was loaded and threw the dark gray poncho over it. Then I stuffed some pillows under the sheets. Yeah, that trick's so old it's got a pension, but it couldn't hurt. I turned off the lamps on my way out.
Through in the bathroom I opened the window a fraction, hinting that I might've gone out that way. It could be useful as an excuse if things went wrong — I could say I went out that way, instead of the other way. That other way... wasn't really known about.
It wasn't a secret passage. Those are stupid and usually only pop up on Scooby Doo reruns. This was a service access hatch. Okay, it blended into the paneling quite well and you had to remove a very unobtrusive bit of woodwork to open it, but it was a service access hatch. And it opened into a space that'd been a chimney before the renovations, but now it was a dusty shaft where pipes and wires could be run and still be accessible. I flicked my flashlight on low and then held it in my mouth as I squeezed in, found the rickety ladder rungs, then swung the service hatch closed behind me.
The shaft exited in the basement, through another unobtrusive hatch. I closed that behind me. Up the stairs came out in the smokey hall behind the kitchen, past the scullery, and right beside the back door. I stepped out into darkness mist and drizzle in the yard behind the inn. The enclosed courtyard was cobbled with rain-slicked setts, littered with junk such as construction debris and water barrels and trash boxes. Nearby, the new addition of the boiler shed squatted against the inn, the smoke dribbling from the chimney lost in the low cloud and dampness. In that weather the yard was deserted, but I knew there were guards at the gate to the street. So, I went over the opposite wall.
I dropped down into the stable yard between a couple of parked carriages, just a pair in a row of the things. Opposite were the stables, with various stalls for various critters. A few feeble lights glimmered, reflecting off puddles. Animals stirred — elk in the stalls there, buffalo in a corral over there. There was more activity down near the gate where a carriage was arriving. A trio of stablehands were lounging under the shelter of the stable roof, leaning against the wall and watching as the elk drew the carriage into the yard. They looked rough, wearing only light ponchos against the weather. No sign of weapons, but in places like that, pointy implements such as pitchforks were always close to hand.
First meetings, those were always dangerous.
The first to notice my approach did a double take. I saw the glance, the flinch, saw the ears go back. That one grabbed one of the others by the arm. The other gave an annoyed shrug and turned, opening their mouth to say something before seeing me and freezing.
I stopped out in the courtyard, cold water beading on my skin. I kept my hands where they could see them. "Good evening," I said very carefully.
They stared. "What the mange?" one said. "Did it speak?"
The third Rris looked around. "What are you..." I heard them say before they saw me. Eyes caught errant light, flaring like polished metal as they focused on me. A blink, then the Rris said, "Oh, what's that one doing here?"
The others looked surprised. "You know this thing?"
"I've seen it at the bar next door."
"What the rot is it?"
"No idea. It was with that new owner. And guards. Someone said it was a guest of the Palace."
"What? What're you talking about?"
"Just what I heard. It does seem to talk."
"Then what's it doing here? Why's it staring at us? What's it want?"
"You could ask it," I said.
There was a silence. They looked at each other. Then, one said, "What do you want?"
"So glad you asked," I said. "I'd like to hire a carriage." Another silence. "What?"
"I want to hire a carriage. And a team to draw it. And a driver."
"Why?"
"Because there's somewhere I'd like to go. Unobtrusively. Walking around, I tend to attract attention"
"Why would we do that?"
"Because I would give you money in exchange for goods and services?"
"What?" I sighed. This was getting circular. "Can I hire a carriage and a driver to take me somewhere and back? I will pay."
That got through. The third one said, "How much?"
"Three gold. One to get me there. One to wait, perhaps for an hour. And one on the return. That is enough?"
"Three gold..." one of them started to say.
"A, I can!" the third one leapt in. One of the others grabbed the other two and yanked them aside. There was a quick huddle and hissed whispers. I waited.
They turned back to me. "All right," that one said. "You have three gold?"
"A," I said, and flashed three of the little gold sticks in the feeble light. "You get them as I said."
"Huhn. And where do you want to go?"
"Street called Tin Alley Riverward."
"Off the cracks," one of them said. "What's there?"
"That's what I want to find out," I said. "Deal?"
They looked at each other.
Iron-rimmed wheels squealed and grated against flagstones as the cab rounded a corner. A gas lamp passed by outside, just a floating orange orb blurred through the mist and water beading on the wavy glass.
This ride wasn't a carriage. It was a local version of a hansom cab: literally an enclosed cab slung between two wheels and drawn by a single elk. Smaller, more agile, and cheaper than a carriage. The driver rode up on a bench behind the cab. In fact, two of them were — the driver's friends hadn't wanted to let him go off alone. I wasn't sure if they were concerned for his safety, or that he might take the money and run: that gold coin was a good chunk of change to them. So, there were two of them wrapped in their oilskin cloaks glistening with a sheen of mist, both watching me and each other.
Honestly, the ride wasn't too long. Walking would have been simple enough, if I'd known the way. But the cab got me there, and there was less chance of someone catching a glimpse of me and calling the guard. So, it was only about ten minutes — a few streets, a bridge crossing, a boulevard, then a few more, increasingly-twisting streets. We drew to a halt and the driver tapped on the roof.
I climbed down from the cab, my boots splashing in water. The drizzle was misty-thin, but persistent and cold. Water dripped from eaves, glistened on the uneven setts in the road, puddled in the gutters. Back behind us that streetlight sputtered, the gas lamp not doing much to fight the gloom and really just indicating that there was a corner there. Ahead of us, the road was narrow and dark. I felt my jaw clench.
"There it is," the driver said, flipped a hand toward a side street. "Tin Alley. Riverward."
I took the gold finger and tossed it up to the driver. His hand blurred and snatched it from the air. "Another one if you're here when I get back," I said.
I heard a snort. "So you said. You better keep your word."
"Better be here to find out," I said and didn't wait for the response.
Tin Alley Riverward was a narrow little street. The setts were uneven, patched with mud. There were some shops, more stores and warehouses and workshops. Back there, to the north, was the river. South was the insalubrious district known as the cracks. This was close enough to the docks, close enough to city gates, and close enough to the warren of ramshackle buildings and tenements that was the Cracks to give me an inkling of what might go on.
I walked carefully, keeping to the side of the street. Lurking in the shadows was a mug's game when you considered Rris night vision, but kept my collar and hood up and tried to look like someone just going about their business. And the type of person going about their business on a night like that might well be someone who doesn't want to be disturbed.
So, I didn't see anyone else on that street. There were a few lights burning in various places, an occasional voice drifting out, but the weather kept most indoors. There was some washing hung up on a line high up outside a window, only getting damper. Some of the doors and gates had signs or boards hung up outside to advertise their trade or specialty, but the place I was looking for just had their sign painted on the plain wood of what looked like a warehouse door.
For a while I stood in a doorway and just watched. It still looked like a warehouse. There were large doors in the front. Above those was a loft, the ridgepole protruding with a hoist on it. Down the side was an alleyway. A rickey annex abutting the main building was back there with some small windows and a door with a sign that I couldn't read. A long notice board on the side of the warehouse was covered with posted bills and notes and scraps of soggy paper announcing more things I couldn't read. A dim light glowed in one of the windows.
The door rattled when I banged on it. Scratch plates were more civilized, but I didn't want to wind up with splinters under my nails. I waited a few seconds, then pounded again. There was an annoyed shout from somewhere inside, then the sound of something crashing to the ground. A furious yowl and muffled cursing. Then the rasp of a bolt and the door was yanked open.
"Saththis! I told you before! You aren't going to get ..." the Rris was snarling before the door fully opened. Then he froze, gaping, and belatedly tried to slam the door.
I got my foot in first, then shoved my way inside. The Rris flailed backwards, crashing into a mound of junk in a resounding crash as what looked like rusty iron staves toppled and clanged. I winced and pushed the door closed behind me, hearing the basic latch clock. A single oil lamp in a brace on a column guttered and flickered, adding mood and atmosphere, but not much light. In the dimness I could see the Rris was trying to scramble away, staring at me in horror or terror or disbelief.
"I just want to talk," I said. "And, yes, I can talk. It's been mentioned before."
He'd backed into a corner, a niche enclosed by shelves. His lower jaw clapped up and down a few times before gaining traction. "What are you?!"
"My name isn't important," I said. "I just want to ask some questions. About a book. You might know it."
"A book?! What are you talking about?" I sighed and pulled out my flashlight and flicked it on low and moved back a few steps to give him some room. That wasn't easy — the place was packed from floor to claustrophobically-low ceiling with... everything. Pots and pans and bolts of cloth on shelves. Bundles of tatty clothes hanging from hooks. Dusty old bottles and jars of various colors and quality. Loops of cord and rope and string. Bits of wood crammed into joists of the ceiling, which itself looked like it'd been made of whatever bits of wood could be found and crammed in to add another story to the warehouse.
The Rris was staring at the flashlight, ears flat. "What is that?!"
"You answer my questions and I might tell you," I said. "Listen, I was told that a book was printed here. Possibly commissioned by a woman. Do you know anything about that? If it means anything, I'm not with the Printers Guild."
"You..." his jaw clenched and he stood a little taller, a little straighter, baring his teeth. Not a big Rris. Frizzled gray fur with darker speckles, a band across his muzzle like he was wearing a pair of glasses, a bristling tail, and wearing a tatty brown tunic also covered with speckles and spots. He squinted at me. "You..." he said again, then his eyes widened. I saw the intake of breath. "That was... you," he blurted.
"What, exactly, was me?" I asked.
His mouth worked again. Then he yowled, "Rot! Look, I just did what she asked. It was a simple job and she paid well. Rot and bones! I should've known and now you've come to... What do you want?!"
"I told you," I said. "I just want to know what you know about her. Her name. How she's contacting you. An address or location. Is she coming back? Do you know where she's going, what she's doing? How is she paying you? How does she collect payment for sales? Anything."
The ears were flattened. "She found me. She paid what I asked. That was all she... Wait! Hold! She said... she did say that someone might come looking. She said a friend who was... who was....Rot! You?!"
I took a deep breath. "What exactly did she say?" I said very slowly.
"She said... She said I should give you... rot. It's not here. I have to show you."
"Show me what?"
"There's a package," he said and waved a hand vaguely. "I can show you."
I stared at the Rris' wide eyes. Was he lying? He seemed rattled enough, that could feed enough desperation to make him come up with some sort of cunning plan. But, on the other hand, she might have left something. Would she? Why would she.
Shit, I didn't have all night.
"All right," I said and gestured to the Rris. "Show me."
The warehouse was a dark warren. There were rows and isles of shelves filled with goods and junk and everything in between. There were tin toys and old bottles, there were coils of rope and stacks of sailcloth, broken cart wheels and battered puppets with tangles of string, racks with cloaks and oilcloths, pots and pans and stranger things. This wasn't a throw-away culture. You didn't buy on a whim and consume mindlessly — you brought a pan for cooking and it might cost you the better part of a year's income. Then you used it until the bottom wore out. Then you sold it to someone like this.
And if you couldn't afford a brand-new pan, then you bought one from someone like this.
So that was why there were frying pans hanging in rows from a rafter. Why there were tangles of riding tack and a barrel full of tattered paper umbrellas. It smelled of musty fabrics and smoke and paint and turpentine. Somewhere, water was dripping.
The Rris proprietor hurried along ahead of me, spotlighted by my flashlight. I had to keep my head low, and in places where he just ducked under low obstacles, I had to bend almost double. He led the way back along the length of the warehouse, then around several isles of shelving and back again to somewhere in the back. There was a larger space there with some oil lamps burning: no expensive candles here. In that space squatted a printing press.
I wondered how he'd got it in there. It was one of the old screw-press jobs — a massive wooden frame mounted on a slab of chiseled stone. It was large enough, bulky enough, and old enough that the rest of the establishment may have just accreted around it. The screw was a spiral of old iron, the platen a block of aged wood, and the lever to press it down worn thin and shiny with use. The frame was split in a couple of places, with iron bands holding it together. Slightly charred in another spot. Blocks of text were set out on the bed, in the process of being arranged on the bed. The entire device was old enough that it only allowed a couple of pages to be printed at once, so a book would be a considerable undertaking.
Over in a corner were stacks and bales of cloth and rags. Set alongside were some familiar-looking pans filled with milky water. I'd done some paper making, so knew how those worked. The racks of moveable type were interesting and I started to investigate, wondering how those worked with the Rris script. They seemed to consist of tiny pieces like metal jigsaw...
The Rris proprietor was staring at me.
"I've got a professional interest," I said, turning an ink-stained little crescent-shaped piece of metal over in my fingers.
"You said you weren't guild."
"I'm not. And neither are you. But you have this. And you know how to use it. The book is good work, by the way."
His ears twitched back, then stood up again. "Thank you, I think."
"She paid a lot for it, a?"
"A." I put the type element back in its little niche. "I can also pay," I said. "For information. If it's good."
He looked dubious. "Pay what?"
I clicked one of the little gold sticks down on the press. The engraved gold gleamed against the old wood. His eyes flickered towards it. "Pay that," I said. "Acceptable?"
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything you know about her. I don't think you need to be concerned about her opinion of that: I doubt she told you anything she didn't want others to know." Hell, if she'd been true to form, then most of what he did know was probably falsifications. "Now, you said you had a package."
"Oh," he blinked. "Hai. Yes."
He crossed to a cupboard. I watched, warily, as he opened one side, then the other, then rummaged around inside. He pulled out a rough wooden box that might've held bottles at some time. Now, it was filled with bits of paper, scraps of leather. He produced a flat envelope of stained paper with a glaring green wax seal plastered over it. "This," he said. "She left this. She said someone would come for it. She said they may be... unusual."
"Seen anyone like that recently?" I asked.
He narrowed his eyes, glanced down at the packet, then handed it over. I took it. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" I suggested. "When did you first meet her?"
"Over a year ago," he said. "An associate introduced her. He said she was looking for someone to do a commission without going through the Guild. He said she had money. We met. She told me what she wanted. It wasn't a small thing: a book printed and a half-hundred copies made."
I turned the package over in my hands, weighed it. It was about the size and shape of a paperback book and felt like wood under the wrapping. Bombs weren't out of the question — I'd seen a few of those. The seal used a copious amount of wax and the imprint was of a stylized tree with branches rising overhead in an elaborate knot almost Celtic in its intricacy.
"She said the person would recognize it," he said.
"The Living Hall?"
"So she said."
Some moments from so long ago flashed up again. I smiled grimly. "Half a hundred copies. Did she say why?"
"Only that it might help."
"Help? What does that mean?"
"I have no idea."
"And after that? The payment? Delivery? Distribution?"
"She paid everything owing, no credit or chits. She took some copies. Others I delivered to booksellers and some merchants. Those that wanted them. They have sold some. She hasn't been to collect any of that money."
"Did she give you a name?"
"She called herself aesh Maisteth."
I turned the package over in my hands as I tried to sort those pieces into some sort of order.
"Are you hunting her?" the Rris asked.
"What?"
"She's angered you? You're hunting her? Is this a [vendetta]?"
I stared at the scraggly little Rris who was watching me like you might watch a grizzly bear that'd just sat itself down on your couch. "No. No! It's not like that. It's... the opposite." I sighed and looked at the package again. "It's complicated. I'm trying to find her."
"And what then?"
"I don't know. I'm hoping she has answers to some questions."
His ears went back. He had the look of someone who really didn't want to ask what he was going to ask next. "What..." he ventured, "what sort of questions?"
"Oh, just who's trying to kill me," I said and broke the seal on the package, peeling away the wrapping. Inside was a wooden frame surrounding a carved lattice. I frowned. Turned it over. It seemed to be the only thing in there.
"Kill you?" the Rris said.
"What?" I blinked. He was staring at me. "Oh. That. Someone's been trying to kill me. She might have some information. What is this?" I held the carved wood up.
He stared for another second, then his ears flicked and he looked at the wooden frame. "A... decoration? Is that all?"
"You didn't know?" I held it up to a lamp so I could see the carving: a stylized deer, depicted front-on with a rack of intricately recurved antlers. "Is this rare? Important?"
He eyed it and his muzzle wrinkled. "No," he said. "I have a few similar if you wish to buy some."
"I was wondering why she would give this." His ears went back. "I don't know! She told me someone would collect it, but nothing more."
"And you didn't think that was strange."
"It was strange," he snorted, "but I've held items in [escrow] before. And she paid."
I sighed and turned the carved wood over in my hands. Too dim to make out much detail. I asked the Rris, "When was the last time you saw her? Did she say anything? Somewhere she might go?"
"A couple of weeks ago. When she left that," he gestured at the carving. "She didn't say where she was going."
Of course she didn't.
"But," he continued after a pause, "perhaps there's a chance someone might have followed her."
I turned the carving over and over in my hands, feeling rough wood, chisel marks, old paint. It wasn't new. And this Rris dealt in things like that, selling anything that might be of value to someone. I tapped my fingers against the wood. What was the chance he was trying to cheat me? Not many Rris would be that bold when first meeting me.
"How much of a chance might that be?" I asked.
"Five fingers and it will be a certainty." I frowned at that. Even I knew that was a lot of money. "For accurate and true information, it might be worth something," I allowed. "Tell me parts of what... might be known. I will pay as you tell me. And if the information isn't good, well... I know where you live, a?"
He considered. Greed won out. "Apparently, she went east, into the merchant district." There he paused, eyeing me expectantly. I put another single gold stick down on the press.
"Then?" I prompted him.
"Then, she went to a square, to an inn where..."
"The Broken Barn," I finished for him.
His jaw dropped. Literally. His eyes went black. "You knew?"
"No," I raked my hand through my hair. "I didn't. But it's something she'd... Anything from there? I'm guessing not."
He hesitated, then snapped his jaw shut and looked annoyed. "She went there two days in a row. Sat in the inn drinking and eating. Then, she vanished."
"Yeah," I said. "She knew she was being followed. She led you there. She's good at that." I sighed, shook my head. "Fuck. Not worth five. Take two. It's two more than you didn't have, so be happy with it."
I clicked the gold down beside the others. "If she returns, if you get any more information — real information, not gossip — then let me know."
"How..."
"The innkeeper at the Broken Barn. Contact her and she'll pass it on. I will pay you for good information. Also, anything else you might hear about me that could be... useful."
"Such as?"
"I'm sure you'll know it if you hear it," I said.
My ride was still there. I hadn't been sure they'd wait around, but there they were, the drivers huddling under his oilskin turned black and slick by the pattering drizzle. They glared at me, eyes flashing under the hoods.
"Thought you weren't coming back," one growled.
"Good things take time," I returned and flicked a couple of golds up there. They snatched them from the air, dark and drizzle and all. Rris night vision is good, their reflexes even more so. But the payment calmed them down. Then there was the ride back through the soaked nighttime streets where anyone with any sense, wasn't.
Back at the stables I paid the balance. They'd warmed a little to the task. Or more likely to the small fortune I'd dropped into their hairy paws. They took the last gold pieces and made them vanish.
"You might want to forget you've seen me," I suggested.
"A?" one flashed teeth. "Would someone be interested in hearing what you've been up to?"
"Absolutely," I said. "I'm sure the Guild would have a lot of questions."
"The Guild?" that one echoed, suddenly not sounding so eager.
"A. They're a bit... overprotective. And of course, there'd be no more little jobs like tonight."
"The Guild will come asking questions?" another asked.
"If they know about it," I said. "I'm not going to tell them. If you wish to, well, that's up to you."
They glanced at one another. It wasn't a very difficult decision.
Getting back into the inn was a little trickier than getting out. It was the darkest hour. A cold drizzle coalesced from the night mist. Guards huddled down into their oilskins at the entrance and side gate, but not at the back wall. I went over that from the stables easy enough. I snuck in the back way using a key I wasn't supposed to have and startled the hell out of a late-working staffer. He was coming up from the freezer as I was closing the door. He almost dropped the load of meat he was carrying, but caught himself and gave me an annoyed look as he pushed past. Yeah, he worked for Ea'rest, so he wouldn't be talking. Unless a Mediator asked him a direct question.
They had a disconcerting habit of doing that.
And they were also annoyingly adept at their duties. As I carefully climbed back up the service duct to my room, I was more than half-expecting Rohinia to be sitting there waiting for me. He'd done it before, and a second time would just be embarrassing. But, the bathroom was empty. And the bedroom was just cold and dark and the only presence was a bed full of pillows.
My coat was dripping, my pants were damp, my boots were unspeakable — it'd be difficult to answer questions about that. But I took the opportunity to smear a little bit of mud on the bathroom window before closing it — if it came down to some overly-enthusiastic Mediator trying to figure how I got in and out, that might muddy the waters a little.
The little carved frame, that I just put on a shelf, sitting in plain sight. If it was found hidden away in a drawer, that would just bring questions.
I lay down on the too-small bed and stared at the little wooden puzzle. Then turned the flashlight off and tried to get at least a couple of hours sleep.
Light flashing into my eyes jolted me awake.
The carriage was still moving, rocking to and fro, morning sunlight slanting into the cab as we rounded a corner. Rohinia was regarding me curiously from the other side of the cab. I blinked at him, rubbed my eyes, then glanced out the window. I'd dozed off on the ride, but we weren't there yet, so it can't have been for too long.
"Did you sleep all right?" he asked with that impenetrable mediator calm. I couldn't tell if it was a loaded question, so I just treated it as normal.
"A," I said. Just not long enough. "Just... dreams."
"Bad again?"
"Just... weird," I said. There'd been something about Chihirae and a classroom in the Living Hall. By the light of day, the details were evaporating like early mist. "I'm looking forward to getting a night in my own bed."
"You aren't satisfied with the inn?"
"It's useful," I said, "but, it just seems that any travel time saved is just taken up with more meetings."
If he'd been a human, or a Disney character, he'd have raised an eyebrow. "What were you expecting?"
Having more time not being in a meeting or an audience or consultation. "I was hoping to get some more time to learn more about the town. I heard the Artists Guild was preparing their patrons gallery for a display. That is important, isn't it?"
"As important as such can be," he said levelly.
"You don't sound impressed."
"You would compare such frivolities with the balance of nations?" he said dryly. "That's what these meetings are; that's what you are. To ignore is to insult, and you can't afford to do that."
"And anyone who throws their toys if you don't bow to their demands isn't someone I want to deal with," I said.
"Throws their..." he looked confused.
"Tantrums are for children, not nations," I clarified. "You may not like something, but that doesn't give you any right to force your opinions on others. I would choose not to deal with people like that."
"You may not have a choice. You would rather look at pictures than deal with important issues?"
I almost grinned. "So, art is not important?"
"Compared with affairs of state?" he sniffed. "I think not."
"Really? Some people seem to think it is."
"Such as?"
"Any lord, for a start. And the Guild halls are full of it — the Bankers Guild halls seem to have more art than the Artists Guild does. And the Palace has more artworks and pictures than people."
He huffed a growl and his tail lashed. "It is a symbol of status. Nothing more."
"Ah. Does that mean that those with status have art? Or those with art have status?"
He gave me a calculating look, then snorted. "You've had experience with this? Same with your kind?"
"Sort of. Taken to extremes. The wealthy buy artworks. The very wealthy hoard them."
"So that they can own something no-one else does?"
I almost laughed. "No. They don't care in the least about the art itself. They care about the status and the value of the object. Most of the works are sealed in vaults where no-one can see them. They're just there to accrue in value. That's all. The owners have people who buy and sell for them — they often don't even know that they own them. There's a vast amount of money invested in such frivolities."
Rohinia's ears flicked. "Perhaps amongst your kind. You know you are different."
"Perhaps," I shrugged. "Look around some time. You'll notice lots of places where things are more... frivolous than they need to be. Your pistols: do they need engravings?"
He glanced down at the weapons in his bandolier, just for second. I saw the tip of his tail lash. I bit back a grin. "Something our kinds have in common, a?" I said. "We don't need art, but we want it."
He leaned back and stared at me. The carriage rumbled on, rounded another corner. Sunlight wandered across his face.
"This patrons day," he finally said. "You have an invitation to attend?"
I shrugged. "I suspect the Artists Guild wouldn't object too strongly if I expressed an interest."
"Huhn," he grunted, still staring at me. Then his muzzle wrinkled and he said, "We shall see."
©2022–2024 Greg Howell