And Other Tales Of Horror
Takki's confidence submitted to reality in the semifinals. The loss affected Onerid more between the two in that she tsked a little. Takki dismissed her drubbing as soon as it ended since she detected something more meaningful. “Ressi, did you have an adventure? I understand you won't always be able to include me, but you do have to tell me about it.”
“Is this an occasion for extravagant accounts of unlikely events? It must be a rudeness greater than an unguarded sneeze to distract sports-watchers from their sport.” That was Dirant's secret code for, “Certainly I will relate it to you in private, by our standards rather than the bizarre ones upheld here, though no doubt the Drastlifars have their reasons for what they do.” He had not informed Takki of the code or even invented it before that moment, but he hoped she understood. She nodded as if she did, at least.
Onerid showed no inclination to leave simply because of a loss which, as in the case of Aigwif Gren-Sofops earlier, freed her up for more important activities. She renewed ancient acquaintances and initiated new ones with the various ladies there, and she either enjoyed the process or possessed some skill in acting. The hospitality department was her field, after all. Banfol, Dirant, and Takki would have left, but with their translator-guide engaged and their backup, Stansolt, vanished, a withdrawal with any good purpose could not be effected.
Then their official translator showed up. “Did I miss everything, or?” Onkallant Paspaklest came in, and he might have been invited if the mistress had known him to be there. Instead it was his companion who got him in, a young Drastlifar whose attire, healthy beard, and above-average height did nothing to embarrass his family. That family was represented by a seagull which was half purple and half white hovering over a bunch of fish and steering wheels against white and purple, plus there was a red square in the upper-left corner around a silver ring. He gave Dirant and Banfol the two-handed welcome demonstrated earlier by Onkallant, a meaningful piece of evidence for anyone who had suspected tomfoolery on the jolly Adaban's part.
“Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain. And you?” Though the possibility existed he knew only that much Adaban, the ease of his delivery implied more facility than that. Language aside, he looked and sounded like the sort of person described as “pleasant” in private and “middlingly effectual” in even more private.
“Dirant Rikelta.”
“Banfol Mektariken.”
“They say any greeting is a good one, Eizesl Rikelta, Eizesl Mektariken, but isn't this better than that?” Loigwin handled that well enough, but his glances at Takki revealed some doubt. A foreign lady was hardly going to offer a card on a fan she did not have ready or know how to use, and nobody there passed for her male relative.
Dirant decided to hurry up with his homeland's etiquette rather than wait for someone else to figure out the local option. In the current company, that might never happen. “This opportunity is a blessing for me. Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain. Millim Takki Atsa, from Pavvu Omme Os.” The former clasped and unclasped his hands, the latter curtsied, and as long as everyone accepted that the proceeding fell within the boundaries of courtesy, good enough.
Onkallant certainly did. “We must take you out of this country someday, Loit. Ah, what a surprise for us all to meet up like this! Takki, are they out of their minds, or are you competing? By the way, Mr. Dirant here bears the class of Ritualist.”
The three hoped Onkallant and Loigwin had an established friendship, because one of them appeared to be teasing the other mercilessly while giving him an odd nickname. At the beginning of all that Loigwin smiled unsteadily, in the middle he looked scandalized to hear Takki called such, and at the conclusion he blushed so ferociously it could be detected despite his Drastlifarness, though by implication rather than vision.
“Onkan, you disguised beast! I can't be saved without shoving someone else down the pit now. What can I say or do? The future is broad enough that I might make it up to you somewhere, Sajaitin.” He again shook Dirant's hand.
Upon realizing “Sajaitin” must be an honorific reserved for Ritualists, the recipient of it began to suspect Drastlif to be the finest country in all the world. He resolved to show his appreciation by informing Loigwin that “Takki” was the correct form of address in Pavvu Omme Os by cleverly inserting it into the conversation. When he failed to figure out something clever, he just told him.
Loigwin's smile returned, less shaky than before. “It's been said there's a difference between new and new to you, and here we are. I'm glad to have been told that, Sajaitin.” He clasped his hands in Takki's direction again. “Barais Takki.”
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She curtsied again for good measure and at last answered Onkallant. “I was competing as Miss Onerid's bodyguard, but they were too much for us.”
She flicked the pole of her halberd in place of a fan toward the pair responsible for the defeat. Onkallant looked over and covered Dirant's eyes at the same time. “It's impermissible for you to examine the inflictors of your friend's loss, but keep your cheer. I will do it for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Onkallant,” Dirant said.
“Onerid is here? You never said a word about her, you transformed heap of granite.” Loigwin addressed the others. “Have you been told about the childhood of these Paspaklests? How here they lived in Drastlif, and what had to be done to rescue them from their own faults, every day during a bad week, every other in better times?”
“Not in such terms, and yet the description is not impossible to believe,” Dirant answered.
Loigwin's attempt to level his and Onkallant's dignity meant nothing to his childhood friend, who reacted merely by releasing Dirant in order to point at his sister, then engaged in courtside conversation farther along. “That is the creature. I must ask you not show how disappointed you are when I bring her over. My countrymen, watch closely for your education. Since I'm her brother, this isn't considered rude here. Onerid!”
Onkallant tromped over with a heavier step than he used at other times, commanded his sister to detach herself from the conversation as she was boring the others anyway, and retrieved her before the untroubled eyes of cheerful Drastlifars. “And no one will think less of me for that. I would already have a doctor looking me over if we were in Ilstehost. Now if the family head reprimands me when my behavior comes to him through a network of disapproving gossips, that is a different matter. I will never be blamed for this though, as my reason is apparent and good. I must reintroduce you. Eizesl Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain, Delaosant Paspaklest's daughter Onerid Paspaklest is here.”
She kept her fan up and said nothing, which was exactly what Loigwin wanted to see, judging by the gurgle the others later agreed they had heard before he managed words. He joined together his hands and spoke. “Is there some text for me to consult, penned by an authority of repute unquestionable? One poet warns us that to behave toward the acquaintances of our spring-young days as we do a stranger is as much as to regard our father and mother as traders from whom we wrung a good deal, but another attests there is more danger in a captain's discussing domestic issues with his crew than in seven perilous storms. Shall I say Seifis Paspaklest and consign to the fire my upbringing save what is profitable, or with one word rescue it and cast away the opinion of society?”
“It was while looking into that protest that I came across Loit here,” Onkallant said. Whether that was an act of cruelty, mercy, or indifference could be argued long into a chilly evening around a fireplace tended by conscientious servants, the rug underneath newly bought. At first Dirant suspected indifference, but perceiving that Onerid might better be described as frozen than composed after she heard all that, he leaned toward mercy. The way Onkallant pushed Loigwin down into a seat and plopped himself down, thereby dispersing the air of formality any introduction must exude, reinforced that opinion. “Strange stuff, it turns out. Tell them about it while I watch this next set. I must give it my entire attention.”
Banfol, Takki, Dirant, and even Onerid settled into seats alongside him. Loigwin did as well, since the occasion appeared as informal to him as to any other Drastlifar. “Have you of the Akard-Velgsins heard aught and what their business is? In the venerable industry, that is so much as to say shipbuilding, they have been engaged long and respectably, and good families used to go to them, even those who on the Permissive Council are permitted and are esteemed above others for that.”
“The oligarchs, we call them,” Onerid elaborated. She waited for Loigwin to continue, and when he did not, apologized. “I'm sorry, Mr. Loigwin. I thought the clarification necessary. Please continue. We are listening.”
His demeanor brightened at hearing that more than the audience thought reasonable. Perhaps, unused to standard forms of address in Greater Enloffenkir, he had mistaken the use of his first name as a revival of the childhood familiarity which seemed so important to him. Then again, he spoke Adaban well enough. A powerful dread assaulted Dirant, and forthwith he began to compose a prayer begging that he be excused from his divine mission if the foreboding he felt about Delaosant Paspaklest back in Isarpezoltk indicated the terrible fate of not having enough grandchildren.
“Right, the oligarchs. I, er, well.” Loigwin encountered some difficulty unclear to the Drastlifan-heraldry-deficient.
“Just saying something to fill the silence,” Onkallant broke in, “but when you see an annulet argent on a canton gules, that's a silver ring in red square in the corner to honest men, you're in the company of an oligarch's relative. The big man himself has a symmetreel over the red. Bizarre monster, you know. Two heads that spit lightning and thunder. I'll try to remember some stories I heard about them while Loigwin continues.”
Indecisiveness between whether to brag or exhibit admirable humility had cost the young Nein-Cadops-Bain his opportunity to do either, his reputation another sad casualty of hesitation. He took his one chance to salvage the situation: sounding highly informed. “All the know-its say they've been suffering, though. Being the best in the country only matters if your country's the best, and better praised today are the designs of those Ililesh schooners and the methods of the Redrins. To be outdone by Dvanjchtlivs on the water! We console ourselves by remembering the workers are Yumins in the main, and what does that say?”
“A loss of confidence,” Banfol suggested in case the question was not rhetorical.
It was not. “That's where my thoughts have been.” Loigwin sounded relieved not to be alone. “Acceptance and despair are strong but not almighty, it's been said, and that eizesl, the head of the Akard-Velgsins, was hinting for months that a new wind was set to blow from an unforeseen quarter.”