2. N #4
He had too much on his mind right now, not the least of which was the subject resting uncomfortably in a cell belowstairs.
After yesterday’s Machina failure, he did not dare hope that his sleeping prize might prove the means to counter that particular disaster, and yet … and yet ….
She might be so much more than just that.
His body-servant stood waiting, used to his night habits, and aided him efficiently with his ablutions, shaving him with the bronze razor while he worked to consider the implications of his find.
Smallclothes, trousers with a thin, soft shoe, and a belted outer-robe waited in his tiring room.
Not the usual, sturdier work wear he usually favored.
Mind, that usual garb did mark him as a working “lord,” not a hereditary one, but most of the time he preferred things that way.
When he wore his functional clothing in public, he drove home how little time he spent in leisure, and how much he spent in the king’s service.
He turned to his body-servant. “Symion, what is this?”
“Your ladywife set the fashion for this morning, my lord,” Symion replied carefully. “She was most insistent.”
“What’s she playing at?” he grumbled irritably. Tired, hungry, and focused on his catch, he was in no mood for whatever was afoot. An apology perhaps?
“I really could not say, my lord,” replied Symion. “Only that she wished you to dress for breakfast.”
He grumbled as Symion held the loose blouse and robe, and then knelt to tie the belt in the complicated lord’s knot that marked Haldeen’s estate, and completed the coif with his topknot and jeweled pin that marked his social status.
Haldeen’s belly rumbled dangerously as the dressing progressed.
Dinner had long since passed into memory, and not even he dared to eat more than his allotted portion when rations were already so restricted.
Which again, begged the question. What occasion could possibly mark the appearance of genuine, cooked meat on the table this morning?
Had some complimentary message from the king arrived while he was working?
It was just barely possible. If it was something that required no personal reply, knowing that he was deep in his work, even his most trusted servants would not have interrupted him to deliver it.
He mused a bit, chasing daydreams of the king’s benevolence.
Once done, Symion stepped back, hading him the hand-glass. He looked into it. He admitted to himself that he looked the part of the well-set lord, right down to the paunch he’d developed, but would soon lose if he didn’t get some breakfast.
“Done?”
“Done, my lord. Your ladywife awaits you in the solar, on the eastward side.”
Symion spread his hands and backed away, awaiting his lord’s pleasure, and signaling his satisfaction with his lord’s appearance.
With his majordomo’s blessing, Lord Haldeen Gatekeeper went down … finally … to his breakfast.
Two liveried footmen escorted him into the small hall.
It had been well-set with morning flowers in all the vases, and the smells of fresh food …
not mashed ration bars … carried in from the kitchen.
He frowned. The delicious smells represented a bloody fortune.
They could afford the extravagance of the meal, but less so the politics, given the loss of the last farm and the king’s command.
The footmen gestured for him to take his place.
He noted then it was set for one. He shrugged.
Best to carry whatever she was about to the end, if for no other reason than it appeared to be the quickest route to getting fed.
He sat, and rang the servant’s bell, by his elbow.
Andaleisia entered bearing a silver serving tray, and wearing a maid’s apron over her usual day-clothes. “What is this about?” he said. “My wife bearing a servant’s tray?”
She gave him a deep curtsey, as smooth as any maid.
“Thee hath reminded me of my place,” she said in a neutral and uninflected voice, “Properly, my lord, and I shall endeavor to fulfill it. Thy admonishment of my failings yesterday, and thy displeasure hath placed me on notice. I hath no desire to be set in the street … so, anon, I will comply.”
He looked at her face and saw the fury and hurt behind her eyes, and the morning facepaint that hid a late night’s puffiness and tears.
He found himself in no mood to indulge her. “Enough of this foolishness, Andaleisia. We both know what message you are trying to send without saying it. Send in the regular staff.”
She shook her head. “I cannot, lord, for the regular staff has gone to the work-tables. Word has come from an emissary from the king, that we are to receive a new levy. A new lord … a Lord Provisioner … is to set a new quota that we must meet. Rumor has it that it will be steep, another tenth part.”
Haldeen swore an oath. He had been there when the king had made the appointment, but had not expected that ax to fall so soon.
“There is more, lord,” she continued, “there is a black mold contaminating the last lot that is due the king … a thousand ration bars lost. The kitchen staff has been sent down to aid in spell-making the shortfall but until then, it will be common food gleaned from our own gardens and animal stock.”
Animal stock … once that would have meant herds of big, healthy creatures that could feed an entire feast.
Now it means birds and rodents. Still. Meat is meat.
“And this?” he said, gesturing to the sumptuous breakfast.
“A bit of calm before the storm, lord. I will retire so that thee may eat in peace.” She set her hands in the maid’s posture, folded and ready for her lord’s pleasure.
He took a deep breath. She looked to shame him with his words yesterday, but she failed.
He made it a point to not shy from certain truths, though remained admittedly flexible about others, particularly those that touched his self-interest.
He let her stand for a time, fidgeting a bit as he neither scolded nor sent her away.
He considered forcing her to play out this farce …
standing there in a maid’s place while he finished every last morsel.
But, then again. he had enough to occupy his mind, without the stress of an angry dinner table. Time to make peace.
“I was intemperate yesterday,” he said. “There has been an excess of stress as I have worked to serve my … our … king, and it has made me short of temper and hasty of speech. I am still a relative newcomer to the ranks of High Lord … and unused to the details of this court.”
He paused, to see how the apology was being received.
Not well. He needed to draw her interests in, then.
“Obviously things are not going well.” He sighed.
“To pull a modicum of comfort out of this swamp of bad news, if we are suffering from black mold, so is every other lord. If any of us had a preventative or cure for it and had not shared, they’d have been thrown outside the walls in their smallclothes to take their chances with the Predators.”
He used the subject change to signal that his not quite apology would be the most she would get from him. It would be up to her to stay the course and continue the foolishness, or bend back towards the truce they managed most days.
Her tight, unhappy expression loosened a bit, suggesting she would accept the gesture. “I know my estate,” she said, in a sad little voice, scarce above a whisper, “and I know I was not your choice when our parents set the marriage contract, but must you constantly rub my nose in it?”
He inhaled and let out a deep sigh. “Put aside the maid’s costume and sit. There is more food here than I can eat, and after yesterday it would literally be a crime to waste a crumb. Let us have a truce, for in truth, I …
could use your help in an endeavor other than your excellent work as a computator.”
He took a serving plate full of rolls, slid the bread onto a napkin, and placed it in front of her with a gesture to sit.
She did, warily. He could see she recognized she’d lost the moment, and he held the high-ground.
A trick his father had taught him for dealing with his mother.
“It seems we might have a bit to celebrate, as well,” he continued, “so this repast might have struck a target, though perhaps a different one than you intended.”
He spoke in a lighter voice, bantering a bit.
The quick turns and lighter tones had their intended effect, of throwing her a bit off-balance.
He had drawn her away from her unhappiness a bit, and roused her curiosity.
Truth to be told, her mind was almost as sharp as a male’s, and her focus when performing calculations was actually superior to any of his immediate underlings.
The kingdom had lost out on a great deal when she had been born female.
Without female emotionality, and with her intelligence and curiosity, she could have risen to the ranks just below his.
“A celebration?” she replied.
“Yes. Success. The Gate opened as you predicted, and we have a prize returned from another world. Would you pass me the fried meat? I’m famished.”