By No Other Means But The Study Of History May We Appreciate The Advancements Made
The procession set out before sunset, since people were unable to see without light at the time of the original incident. The inability persisted into the modern day, which showed how much more progress might still be made. The Grenlofers nevertheless delayed until a hint of darkness shaded the sky on account of the power a blazing Drastlif day had to diminish the event's solemnity. Yet those same Grenlofers would scoff when a Yean Defiafi critic summarized Adaban aesthetics as “gloomy.”
The participants wore hoods, not because the Ottkirs of some four centuries did so but rather to emphasize their masks over their own features. The style fell somewhere between Drastlifan tapestries on the one side and Drastlifan mourning masks with their exaggerated frowns and the tear etched under each eye on the other as far as detail versus vagueness, plainness versus vividness, and abstraction versus realism. They resembled people from a distance, though no one in particular, and represented types by their colors. Red for generals, green for youths, brown for statesmen, and blue for philosophers. There were others, and even combinations, but those four covered Launch Day's roster.
Launch Day commemorated, as Dirant related to Takki after rushing to learn it himself, the inspection and launch of the first five ships built in Dittsen's harbor after the city, less grand then, was freed from the Dvanjchtlivs of Chtrebliseu through a battle full of loss and heroism which had its own festival on another date.
“Here I must confess Launch Day was previously unknown to me, and saying that I hurry on to bring up that I once won a prize for my part in a performance on Battle of Dittsen Day.” He finished his explanation in that manner.
“Then you proceeded to win the Battle of Wessolp by yourself. Are you sure you shouldn't become a condottiero?” Such was Takki's response, and worst of all, he believed she meant him to consider it.
As promised by party expert Onerid Paspaklest, or Hospitality Manager as it said on her desk, Drastlifars came out to watch. Some followed behind and found a questionable view until friendly house owners leaning out of their windows invited them in to watch from the side. Others dashed from gap to gap between buildings. A few tried to stay ahead of the marchers and incurred a great deal of blame from their countrymen. Suppose the Adabans became frustrated by the intrusion and gave up the thing entirely? They could be so shy at times, after all. The criticized Drastlifars defended themselves with the incontrovertible fact that nothing happened during the trip to the harbor, and therefore any idea of interference ought to be dismissed. Echoes of the controversy resounded for years.
The actual performance started when one of the reenactors ascended a platform erected earlier. That was Hadolt Herafoken by general acclamation of the employees, who respected their boss, wanted to be seen to respect their boss, and had listened to him recite the speech from memory before on an unrelated occasion. He addressed the crowd, a term which encompassed in theory the Stadeskosken personnel and a very few guests but in practice throngs of expectant Drastlifars, so many that Onerid had to wrangle the crowd with gentle persuasion in order to keep faith with the authorities, who had required an assurance from Onerid that the performance would not interrupt normal dock operations. As it was, perhaps the fish and the wales ought to have extracted a similar promise if they objected to having the human mass spill into the very ocean.
For the convenience of the Drastlifars, the proceedings had been tweaked to incorporate a translator. Onkallant waited a step down to belt out the speech in Drastlimez. The adjustment seemed permissible; the historical figures present at the original event, all peace to them, had been speaking Ottkiran anyway, if not Classical Ottkiran. Linguistic historians argued the specifics whenever they had a free moment. Certainly not Archaic Ottkiran, they agreed, except for ones desperately in need of a new theory. In any case, the Drastlifan audience was included, and it liked what it heard.
“Which is greater, the cruelty of the Dvanjchtliv or the volume of blood it has in its body to shed and fill thereby the imprints of its famous horses, now meat for our children hungry and eager to grow up to have swords on their belts and spears in their hands with which they will continue the slaughter, is a question that to answer today I call impossible.” Cheers too boisterous for restraint erupted, but Hadolt had just started. A few sentences later and the tumult even reached Dirant where he sat in the hold of one of five ships rented for the occasion. Since the lone service requested was to let a parade march over them, the cost of that was not so high. That was true for four of the ships.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
While he waited, Dirant imagined any Dvanjchtlivs who happened to be out there, some of them agents of a foreign government perhaps, drawing their collars up as high as they could and placing fingers over their mustaches as if they were pondering some weighty matter. He hoped nothing happened to his watchers. They had done nothing to make themselves objectionable, and he relied on them for personal security at a cheaper rate than he would get from any other service.
Despite frequent delays when the applause and whooping briefly became insuperable, Hadolt Herafoken did at last finish the speech, leading to the event's second segment. The inspectors, for such was the role of the reenactors that evening, filed up a gangplank to look over a ship from the mainmast to the rats. A handful of yahoos drunk on oratorically incited fervor, if not on the more usual causes, had to be restrained by more sober Drastlifars from following, which spared the marchers some worry. They did not wish to be responsible for any accidents, much less for any outsider to see one among them swap places with an employee wearing an identical mask who had boarded hours earlier.
Whether the person who remained inside the ship was Derisht Fogillad, even the one who merged into the procession was unable to determine. No one aside from the client himself and Hadolt Herafoken knew which of the ships he was to take. Dirant perceived nothing but that his replacement was similar enough to him in height for a hood and distance to eliminate the differences. A large number of men might be so described.
The keen observer who noticed a switch would, it was hoped, lose confidence when four more were made. The next step for any assassin must be to board the ships and confirm the target, but the territorial crews would by no means allow that before they cast off, which they did promptly after the fifth inspection. Four of the ships were to sail for half an hour or so before returning, while one might anchor at Dubwasef a few months from then, depending on the tides of business.
With that, the Drastlif branch of Stadeskosken had completed its task in a manner calculated to give complete satisfaction to the client. Two separate Battlers, one on the payroll and the other working on a temporary basis and paid in excitement, reported that the spectators they had identified as foremost in suspicious behavior still had their eyes on the marchers. Satisfied, Hadolt ordered the bonfires set for the final portion of the reenactment.
The staff set up two bonfires to represent the historical event, during which there were so many fires and so hot did they burn that the sun was slow to rise the next day and the sands turned to glass according to a contemporary account which modern historians considered, to put it kindly, exaggerated. For one thing, one had to travel fairly far from Dittsen to find significant amounts of sand, though perhaps its getting turned into glass accounted for that.
Around those fires the inspectors stood, saluting until the ships passed out of sight and for a few minutes after. The branch manager then had Onkallant relieve the uncertainty of the Drastlifars regarding the event's duration by yelling out, “The formal reenactment is ended. Customarily we cook up a big meal and make a night of it, but nothing specific is scheduled.”
The locals liked that almost as much as the speech. A dozen more fires appeared without any organization. Without a permit either, but with his own hands Nacheslicar Neilt-Viskin turned a spit, and he on the Permissive Council. And the man speaking to him; surely everyone knew Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain, or if a person here and there did not, concentrating on the Nein-Cadops-Bain part got the significance across. Get two great families on your side and little could not be done, regardless of the ostensible laws.
The incipient party drew in people who had missed the reenactment proper, whether from a lack of interest or the intercession of pressing responsibilities. The result could be nothing but a Dubwasef shindig that spread far over the beach and lost any Adaban character, like a local legend written down by an academic on a research trip who brings with him six servants and eight trunks of clothing. Roasts, grills, and heavy percussion, a Drastlifan specialty traced by musical historians to the practice of beating time for rowers, broke out all over. The GE citizens who put on the reenactment did not mind that, though some felt it a requirement of patriotism to inform the partygoers as they mingled that the lost character ought properly to be called not Adaban but Ottkir.
“Don't you think this is better than Yean Defiafi cuisine? They cover up the flavor of the meat too much there.” Takki's teeth ripped into what was once a lamb, and while the chunk of meat on the skewer did not in fact measure larger than her head, it gave that impression.
“Their meat is almost all fish,” Dirant said in defense of a cuisine he did not particularly admire, which proved to himself how fair and honest he was.
“You don't like fish, Ressi? What happened to that otter spirit?”
“The modern otter prefers popcorn. I was thinking more that the Defiafi is surrounded by homogeneity and must on his own initiative add variety, while the Drastlifar imports what he cannot produce himself. The solution is greater reliance on Stadeskosken's services, but the Defiafis are a proud people.” Dirant tried to spin his mask on a finger, dropped it, and knelt to pick it up.