Chapter 13 #2
“Also, your mentor will worry,” Myth pointed out.
Blaise rolled her eyes. “Wizard Edvin won’t mind. But all my other teachers fret if they believe I’ve been gone to the restroom for a lengthy time. Really, with the way they act you’d think I’ve made a sink explode or some such thing.”
“It’s likely they’re worried you’re attempting a dangerous spell in the restroom, as you have been known to do, and the sink will explode in the aftermath—as it already has. Twice,” Myth reminded her.
Blaise thumped her way over to the door. “This is why I don’t like it when you talk to them. Your memory is even better than theirs, so you can remind them of all my little accidents.”
“I don’t think any of your activities could ever be construed as little.”Myth followed after her, amused by Blaise’s bluster.
“Yes, yes, whatever you say.We’re still meeting for dinner tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.” Myth smiled when Blaise turned around to balefully eye her. “Good luck with your studies.”
“Thank you. Good luck with your work. And…him.” She glanced meaningfully at the hallway, then swung the door open.
“Goodbye,” Myth called as Blaise slipped out.
Myth poked her head into the hallway, but it was entirely occupied by guards; Arvel wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Although the crown prince wasn’t there, there was still an abundance of work to do for the investigation, so Myth returned to her desk and went back to poring through the logbooks. She looked up only when she heard a familiar step in the hallway.
Moments later, Arvel appeared, bearing a tea tray.
“Leave already, did she?” he asked in a conversational tone as he set the tray down on his desk.
“I hope the thought of me didn’t drive her off.
I went to get our refreshments myself because I thought it would give you two more time alone—I know you haven’t had much of a life outside our investigation, sorry. ”
“It’s fine, Blaise has her own studies and work she must see to.” Myth watched Arvel pour the tea. She hoped her gulp wasn’t audible once she saw the pinkish color of the tea and realized he had fulfilled her request and gotten them strawberry tea.
A knock at the door—which was cracked and not quite secured. “Your Royal Highness?”
“Come in!” Arvel called.
Captain Thad, Captain Wilford, and Captain Grygg trooped in. They rearranged themselves in a straight row and saluted in unison.
“Your Royal Highness, we have the day’s reports.” Captain Thad held up a packet of papers.
“Excellent!” Arvel grinned. “Pull up some chairs—the ones you used yesterday should still be clear. Does anyone care for a cookie or a slice of butter pie?”
Captain Thad looked slightly fretful, even as Captain Wilford and Captain Grygg gratefully dropped into their chairs. “No thank you, Your Royal Highness.”
Myth stood and took the reports from Thad, seeing as Arvel was occupied adding sugar to their tea. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Ah, no—that is to say, thank you, Translator Mythlan.” Captain Thad offered her a shy smile and said in passable Elvish, “Your help is appreciated.”
“Very well done!” Myth praised.
“Thank you. Evlawyn says my accent is sharp enough to kill somebody—she’s much better at Calnoric—but at least I can manage a little.” Captain Thad picked up his cape so he could sit comfortably on it, then seated himself with his fellows—who were now grumbling.
“Not here, man,” Captain Wilford hissed. “Although he serves us treats and she looks as sweet as pie, this is the crown prince and his personal translator!”
Arvel didn’t seem to hear the comment, and Myth didn’t wish to embarrassthe captains, so she let the comment slide and busied herself with glancing down at the reports so she would appear immersed.
“Here you three go.” Arvel offered the trio each a plate of dainty tea cookies, which they took very properly and held in a way that faintly reminded Myth of some of the matrons in the ranks of nobility. “I hope you don’t have anything of great interest to report?”
“We haven’t noticed anyone paying special attention to the squads guarding you—even with the extra sweeps and patrols we’ve pulled. And none of our men or women have reported being approached for bribery or anything similar,” Captain Wilford said.
“We’ve continued our efforts in cooperation with the special guards in the Rosewood Park,” Captain Grygg said. “They’ve been quite enthusiastic in their help, not only in guarding your study, but in our investigation into the assailants who attacked you and Translator Myth.”
“Ahh, yes.” Arvel sat down at his desk and steepled his fingers together. “I can imagine. I believe the origins of their desire to help may stem from something of a trauma they suffered when Lady Tari was attacked in Rosewood Park years ago.”
Because Rosewood Park had been built for the elves—and was mostly designed by the elves, too—the elves had elected to take up the mantle of maintaining and guarding the gardens.
It required only a small muster of soldiers, and most were humans, but it was the only guard force—outside the Evening Stars—run by an elven leader.
“The Rosewood guards have helped us interview all the palace staff, so we have finished already,” Captain Thad said.
“Unfortunately, we found no leads. All of the palace servants were accounted for at the time of the attack, and based on the cooperation we received from them, I don’t believe any of them aided the attackers or let them inside. ”
Arvel sighed. “At least we know our people are loyal, then. Though, obviously, the attackers still managed to get through unhindered even with that on our side.”
Myth had been skimming the report—which went into greater detail. “Ah—except you have uncovered a possible way in, haven’t you?” Myth asked.
“Yes,” Captain Thad replied—he seemed to be the elected spokesperson for the trio.
“In our interviews, we learned that several visiting nobles brought servants with them when they attended the celebration that night. These servants were allowed to wander outside the palace mostly unhindered. Sir Arion suspects—and our findings support—that, ahem , a certain family brought the assailants in posing as servants.”
“I’d like more confirmation that Uncle Julyan brought them in than our gut instincts, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. We’ll just have to shore up our security for visitors.” Arvel paused, then abruptly turned around to ask Myth, “How did you know they uncovered that?”
Confused, Myth pointed to the line of the report. “It says so here.”
“But…the reports are written in Calnoric,” Arvel said.
“Yes,” Myth confirmed.
His eyebrows dropped, as if Arvel was struggling with a particularly difficult to grasp concept. “I thought you couldn’t read or write in Calnoric?”
“I am not skilled at it,” Myth said.
Arvel opened his mouth once, closed it, paused, then opened it again. “Could you please define what you mean by ‘not skilled’?”
“I am not to the level of finishing that the Translators’ Circle would require for me to be made into a full translator.”
“ Obviously ,” Arvel said. “You’re only an apprentice translator!”
“Yes,” Myth agreed. “But in order for me to be good enough to claim the skill I ought to be near perfect.”
“Is saying you aren’t skilled a requirement from the Translators’ Circle?” Arvel asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Myth confessed. “They just tell us we’re not sanctioned until we can take a fluency test. Saying that one is not skilled is just how it’s done.”
“No, it’s not,” Arvel said.
“It is in Lessa—it’s a very common saying among elves,” Myth said. “It is better to be humble and claim a lower level of abilities than to be prideful and overreach yourself.”
“You’re actually quite good at reading and writing in Calnoric?”
“Well…I haven’t been—”
“Yes, I know you haven’t been sanctioned for translations! But you can read it and write it without too much difficulty?” Arvel asked.
“To a certain extent, yes,” Myth said. “I can read books, reports, and logs as long as they aren’t too detailed or possess highly complex words.”
Arvel leaned back in his chair. “I thought it was odd that you could pick through High Elvish but couldn’t read Calnoric. I know you—I should have known better.” Ruefully, he shook his head at Myth. “I’m sorry for not believing in you.”
“It doesn’t really have anything to do with believing in me, though?” Myth said, more than a little confused. She glanced at the captains, hoping to use their reactions to gauge why Arvel was apologizing.
The trio were all industriously at work eating their cookies, their eyes on their plates as they ignored Myth and Arvel’s conversation with what looked like years of practice.
“But to think, all this time I read out loud anything I needed you to translate into Elvish, when you could have finished so much faster just by copying it yourself,” Arvel groaned.
“In everyday situations, perhaps. But for things like the night we spent fixing the trade logbooks or all the research we’ve put into the Fulton investigation, it wouldn’t pass,” Myth said.
“I’m not sanctioned for official trade translations without a senior translator present to oversee me, which would cast doubt on anything we completed. ”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Indeed.”
“Still, I’ll keep your talent in mind in the future.” Arvel grinned at her.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Myth dryly said. “As I said, it won’t be any use for anything official.”
“We’ll see.” Arvel shifted his attention back to the studiously disinterested captains. “Have you any other news to report?”
“No, Your Highness,” the captains chorused.
“Very well. Thank you for your diligence, we look forward to your report tomorrow.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good day to you, Captain Wilford, Captain Thad, Captain Grygg.” Myth took their cookie plates and delicately stacked them on the tea tray.