Catherine Manticole

I stood at what the sailors called the bow of the riverboat. A gentle breeze helped to cool the hot, muggy air. I could not keep the grin off my face. I was going to Kimton! I had never been farther away from home than Falmor. I was excited to see what the other capitals of the duchies in the kingdom were like. I turned to look behind me to see Elizabeth pacing the deck.

"You're going to wear a hole through your shoes," I said with a laugh.

Her head snapped up, "What?"

"Come over here, Liz. With all your walking about, you are getting in the men's way."

"Oh," She blushed and quickly walked up to me.

I grabbed her hand and looked her in the eyes. "Liz, it's going to be okay. We are going to break off the engagement with my cousin, and then you can marry Aramis."

She grabbed her hair. "You've never met your cousin. You have no idea what he is like,” she said as her voice rose in pitch.

I squeezed her hand reassuringly. “It will be okay. After his visit, John wrote to my parents, saying Amos was quite affable.”

“Only because he wants to restore relations with your families. He will try and humiliate me again. He’ll do it in front of Aramis. Aramis is only the son of a knight. He can't stand up to a baron. This is all going to be a disaster, Kate. I’ll be shamed and sent home with nothing to show for it, and father will be displeased and-”

“Liz. Listen to me. Nothing bad will happen. I am with you. You said it yourself: he wants a good relationship with my family. What would happen if he tried to embarrass you in front of me?”

Elizabeth stayed quiet.

“Exactly. He would ruin everything. So don’t worry. We’ll go to Kimton, talk with my cousin, convince him to compensate you, end the engagement, and come home. If he tries anything else, I will protect you. Also, I have an idea of how we can feel about the situation before we get down to business. At least we can if he doesn't recognize you.”

Suddenly, her arms were around me, and she squeezed me tightly. I held her close and stroked her hair.

Then she stepped back and smiled at me. “You're seriously the best friend ever, Kate. I am so glad your father let you come.”

“He wants me to spy on my cousin and find out about the things that John said. But it was an excellent reason to be out of the reach of all those boys at the balls. I have to go to all of them, and each one gets worse. The last one was a disaster. I wish you could have been there. What with Sir Welmon’s son declaring his love for me in a drunken stupor.”

We both laughed at the stupidity of the young men.

Amos

Other than Trish almost attacking me last night, the evening went rather well. I have to admit the sword dance was actually really fun to watch. It was initially created in the Duchy of Githum a few years ago and has been slowly growing in popularity throughout the kingdom. Trends, information, and new ideas spread really slowly here. Even in the late 1900s, fads spread quickly. But here, where most travel was local unless you were a merchant, only important things that had an impact on the economy or politics spread with any speed.

The sword dance was sword fighting, where you fought to the beat of the music. The object was not to actually strike your opponent but to match their strikes with yours. There were standard forms and strikes for each dance, and as the tempo of the music increased, the moves became more complicated.

If both opponents made it to the end, they were allowed a single attack. They were judged on their ability to keep to the beat of the music and match their opponents.

One person would lead, and the other would follow, just like in a dance. But in this case, it was attack and defense. Then, suddenly, it would switch. Nina explained the whole thing to me. She said that for each portion of the dance, the attacker could make about ten different moves, and the defender had to know each defense that went along with them.

The attacks and defenses were completely impractical. They were flashy and fluid, but if you used them in an actual battle, you would get skewered within the first five seconds. It was beautiful, but not even Hollywood could get away with such moves. Well, no, Hollywood got away with almost everything.

Of course, Rulot was excellent at the dance, but unlike in an actual fight, there were others close to or equal to his skill level. My guess is that this was created by someone who wasn't good at swordplay but was excellent at dancing. So, he made it to impress the women.

With all the twirly and twisting, I now understood the capes. It added a flare to the dance.

Just like everything else down here, bets were made. The contestants were judged, but I was not knowledgeable enough to figure out exactly what the judges were looking for. All the judges were female, which I thought was very open-minded for this day and age, but hey, good on them.

Now that the night was over, though, I was brought back to my current problems. An attack was coming toward Bicman, extra people were coming to Bicman who would have to be fed, and a mad duke was trying to get me killed by making me paint a picture of him on the throne of the king. I kept trying to convince myself that there was no way he would show that off in public. Seriously, the king would not tolerate such blatant disrespect.

It wasn't really a comfort, though, since if he got executed, I am sure I would be as well. So, while I was recreating the throne room as best I could, I tried not to think about what I was doing. The painting was coming along quite nicely, though. I enhanced the colors quite a bit, which allowed me to add more depth to the painting through the contrasting shades.

I also painted what I called easter eggs. In a shadow, I had the faintest hint of an assassin ready to strike at the duke. I had the face of the endless one in the light of the chandelier, looking down disapprovingly. They didn't use the skull and crossbones as a symbol of poison in this world, but there was a small bottle with a very faint outline of the symbol near a goblet.

Basically, I fit in as much as I could so that if I was allowed to speak in sentencing, I could point them all out, proving that I had been forced to draw the painting. There was a big if when it came to the idea of me even being allowed to speak. The king was just as likely to kill me without there even being a formal sentencing.

By tomorrow, I will have enough done so that I can start painting the duke. I was not looking forward to that. Being in the presence of that man made my skin crawl. Two hours a day for at least two days just to make sure it was the best painting I could make. It made me shutter.

When I returned from painting, a lute was waiting for me. However, after about a bell of playing around with it, I realized I was going to need help. So, I sent Zane back out to find someone who could help me learn the lute. Did I mention Benjamin was not happy about me learning a "useless commoner profession?"

About two hours later, a man in a very bright orange pair of pants walked in. This signified him as a traveling minstrel. He was tall with long black hair and must have been in his mid-twenties. When he saw me sitting there with the lute in my hands, his expression changed to one of confusion.

He bowed and said, "My name is Jason. Forgive me, my lord, I thought I was to come and instruct an individual on the playing of the lute. But I can certainly attempt to play that lute for you. Though you will have to forgive me as it has been a while since I have played a lute with so few strings."

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"Oh, no, Jason, you are correct. I thought I might learn a bit about music. Perhaps you could help me learn. I have some great song ideas but no way to express them. Perhaps you could instruct me on how to get the right notes out of this. I just need to learn a few cords to make this work."

"As you wish, my lord."

Over the next hour, I learned a few things. First, they used a five-note scale, not the seven-note scale I was used to. Second, this lute could not produce the rich sound of a guitar. It might have been easier to build a guitar and use the scale I was used to rather than learn their scale and adapt the chords I knew to the lute.

I learned a few chords and the basics of some notes that I recognized.

Before I excused him, I thought of an idea.

"As a traveling minstrel, you must have a good voice for storytelling," I said.

"Yes, my lord. You do not make it very far as a bard without a good voice."

"How good are you at reading?"

"I am proficient. I have sometimes written down my own poems and sold them when I have been fortunate enough to acquire parchment."

I pulled out a book. "Please read the first page of this book and tell me what you think."

He turned the book over in his hands, fascinated by the object. He knew better than to ask questions rather than obey an order from a noble, so he began to read. He didn't stop at the first page but continued for a few more.

"This is quite a unique story, my lord," he said kindly.

"But it is not good enough. Tell me what is wrong with it."

"My lord, I would not dare to-"

"Stop," I told him in an annoyed voice. "I am not a professional storyteller. I have the ideas, but they are lacking. Sure, they are good enough for people who don't know any better, but what are they missing?"

We sat there in silence for a moment until finally, he said, "Imagery, my lord. You need to show more and tell less."

"Can you give me some examples?"

He flipped to the first page and started to tear into the book, showing how to make the story come alive.

"Jason, I want you to rewrite the book and make it better. You are to take this book and this gold. Buy any writing material you need and rewrite this. If I like your work, I will hire you as an editor for my books."

"As you wish, my lord"

If this worked, the cost of books would skyrocket. If people would pay gold for my subpar recreations of stories, then I can only imagine what they would do with actually good books. I thanked the man and sent him on his way with an additional silver crown for his time.

He thanked me profusely for such a generous amount, and I told him it was for his discretion as well. I didn't need rumors spreading about me messing around with playing the lute.

I would have to decide if this was really something I wanted to spend my time on. Sure, I was limited in how I could help my barony right now, but was this really the best use of my time? After thinking for a bit, I decided it wasn't a bad option to prevent burnout. I would keep the lute and practice, but I had other things I had to do as well.

I added playing "Johnny B Goode" on a lute to my bucket list. Because if I am going to be thrown back in time, playing "Johnny B Goode" on a guitar-like instrument is a must. It wouldn't sound as good as on an electric guitar, but hey, one step at a time. I think I remembered the cords. If I could recreate them on the lute and change up the words, I could create a new type of music.

Well, maybe. They might have something similar elsewhere in the world. Have I mentioned how slow information travels around here?

********

I got up the next morning and took some extra time meditating. I was painting the psychopath today, and I was not looking forward to it. I didn't even bother eating because my stomach was all twisted in knots.

When I got to the room that had been set up for painting the Duke, he was already there, looking at what I had done so far. He was muttering something to himself as he looked over the painting. After a minute of ignoring the fact that we had entered the room, he finally turned to the servant and me. We both bowed deeply and waited for him to respond.

"I like this!" he said in his manic voice. "It isn't exactly the throne room, but nobody would mistake it for anything else. And it looks so real. It's perfect. You will begin painting me now."

I don't know how I felt about this man complimenting my work. It was like someone saying I had made a nice-looking knife that they were going to use to stab me with.

"Your Highness, thank you for the compliment. If you would please sit like this," I said. I spent the next few minutes positioning him and the various lamps to give the right lighting effects. Then I got to work—at least, I tried to. After about fifteen minutes of sitting there, the duke stood up and left. The servant immediately followed him out, and I was left standing there with a dumbfounded look on my face.

I wasn't about to leave the castle. If he decided to come back and I wasn't here, who knows what he would do. I walked out into the hall just as he was striding around a corner. I followed after him quickly. At the intersection, I found that I had lost him. I waited there for half an hour before a servant walked by.

"Excuse me, could you inform the Kimton Steward that I was painting the duke, and he suddenly left? I need to know what to do, and I don't want to leave without permission," I asked.

The servant bowed and left.

I waited another hour before a man who looked very similar to Benjamin. The greying of his hair and the flat expression were the only differences. Of course, the flat expression was something that Benjamin had when he first came to work for me. It was probably a requirement for anyone who wanted to keep their head in the castle.

He bowed deeply. "Lord Bicman, I have come to apologize. It appears that the duke has decided he is done for the day, and you may come back tomorrow at the same time."

I was not the least bit surprised. In fact, I would have been more surprised if the duke had decided to continue later today. The duke was a person with whom you had to set no expectations.

"Thank you, Steward. I have actually wanted to speak with you. I wanted to compliment you on raising an excellent and competent son. I truly do not know what I would do without him," I said with a smile.

"The compliment is appreciated, my lord. It is always a pleasure to hear a compliment concerning one's children." He said in a neutral tone.

This guy was completely stone-faced and emotionless. There was no way I was going to break through. He had a good reason to be. He was probably always thinking about how anything a noble said could be a trap meant to ensnare him and get him killed or punished. What a horrible way to live.

"I also wanted to thank you for the information you gave to Benjamin. It will help me in better managing my barony. You truly are a wise man. I wish there were a way to reward you directly, but I am reserving most of my talents for the duke. I will promise you, though, that I will do everything I can to protect your son. I will make sure that if any trouble comes to Bicman, he will leave immediately with the other noncombatants."

I had no idea if we were being spied on, so I didn't want to mention the raid directly. I thought I saw a split second of gratitude in the man's eyes, but I most likely imagined it.

"That is greatly appreciated, my lord. Though with his handicap, we really have no use for him here."

Now, I knew we were being spied on. Benjamin and his father had a great relationship, and the steward probably had to act indifferent to his son's fate lest his love for his son be used against him. Or maybe we weren't being spied on, and I was the one he was worried about. I needed to get back to Bicman, where things were simpler.

***********

The next ten days were a test of my patience. I would rise and get my morning routine done, then head to the castle. I would wait around for the duke to show up and then paint for as much time as he saw fit to sit still. Sometimes, that was as short as five minutes or fractions, as they called them. The most I got out of him was half a bell.

Fortunately, my model pieces for the turbine arrived at about day five, so I could start to experiment. Unfortunately, things did not go as expected. Pouring water on the various versions of the contraption caused it to spin, but not quite like I wanted it to. I spent hours adjusting the blades, adding more or less. I also had a few different shapes.

I had a bathtub in my room and a bucket on a stand with a hole in it that I could uncork to let water out. I actually had several buckets with different-sized holes. The water would hit the propeller and then go into the tub. It worked great, but the contraption took up a good portion of my room.

I don't get it. This should work better than it is.

When I spun it manually, there was no problem. The problem was that no matter how much or from what height I poured it, it didn't make a difference. I thought back to all the pictures of hydro-power plants I had seen, but I really didn't know how they looked on the inside.

During one of the experiments, I accidentally removed the turbine propeller before the water stopped falling. As I pulled it out from under the water, I tilted it, and the speed slightly increased.

The angle? I tried again, and it worked better when the water was at about a 25-degree angle. But the speed still wasn't enough, so I restarted my experiments with various blades. Maybe if the pressure was greater, but if that was what it was, how did hydropower plants do it? I wish I were back in Bicman, where I could discuss my ideas with people.

After a few more days of painting, I would be out of here. At least, that is what I thought.