The Most Vital Precaution Is To Have One's Fill Of Civilization Before Abandoning It
Dirant shared the skepticism. He went further to suspect Stansolt wanted to skip town for private reasons. That was no reason not to accommodate him; on the contrary, a Tit-for-Tat of 42 sufficed for Dirant to think he ought to back up a man who had saved him from ruthless Dvanjchtliv scoundrels not long before. Then there was the possibility Stansolt was right after all, regardless of whether he meant to be. “Mr. Hadolt, I have been placed alongside and above Mr. Stansolt before, and the accuracy of his ideas with regard to the behavior of criminals astonished me,” he said with complete honesty that Stansolt appreciated, to judge by his wry smile.
Against that sudden reversal of opinion, Hadolt could do nothing but capitulate. The itinerary came next. Koshat Dreivis sat near the coast to the southwest of the capital, by road a bracing two days or a relaxed four days. Guests of an oligarch never braced or relaxed. They were whisked. In the earliest hours of the morning when never did a human rise by choice, a boat came for them. On account of the latitude allowed Stadeskosken in determining the contingent necessary for the operation, Millim Takki Atsa was allowed to board, and even Dirant's shadows could have come along had he or they asked.
“If the winds are friendly and the tides kind, Koshat Dreivis will see you ere the wait becomes intolerable,” the boat's master assured them. Nobody pointed out the predictability of the tides or the probable irrelevance of the wind given the hearty rowers happy to serve the Bodan-Tin family. Some wanted to, but they settled for asking the rowers how they liked the job.
“The rowing is intense as lightning and as frequent as a kind word,” they said, a statement which they meant fondly if their cheerful demeanors during the task indicated anything.
To see a sunrise out on the water made a rare, terrifying spectacle on the Suvozingedyai Sea, but there on the ocean it might be called enchanting instead. Onerid appeared calm enough. By then she wore full Drastlifan costume unlike all other Stadeskosken employees, who kept to their traditional habiliments. One hand restrained her hair, also restyled with some kind of half-bun incomprehensible to Adabans, that she might gaze without interruption on the glowing horizon. A missed commercial opportunity, Dirant realized. They could have sold Loigwin a ticket. The idea raised a question he opted not to express.
“Does Eizesl Nein-Cadops-Bain know you're leaving? And where you're going?” Whatever Dirant opted, Takki possessed initiative and nosiness of her own.
“Only if you told him.” Onerid and Takki both found that an amusing response for unfathomable reasons. Possibly it referred to a previous incident.
A morning there surpassed in tranquility even a slow business day in the office. Splashing strokes responded to the drumbeats in perfect order, and under the canopy raised over the boat, the journey seemed almost a concert. So naturally Takki talked during it.
“Do you think that if he heard . . . Wait. That would make it sound as if I'm accusing him of something. I want this to be a non-specific question. First, the foundation. I've heard there are towns that a family basically controls. Is that how it works?”
“It is,” Onerid answered, “so long as we broaden the statement. Nearly every town, city, village, and well in the country is more or less the property of from one to three families, with 'more' referring to cases of land ownership and 'less' to those where the residents come to the head with all their controversies and their begging for loans. Dubwasef and Vigit Pikilif are exceptions, there is Geimif, Wini Ves, a few others. But visit Imslif and you must mention your acquaintance with a Nein-Cadops-Bain as often as you may manage it, not that I have done so for some years.”
“Ah, and so our mission is to add another reminder of the beneficence the Bodan-Tins show to the citizens so long as they remain obedient?” Dirant asked.
“That is sure to be the effect, however.” Onerid leaned on her left arm and held up a hand of intellectual caution. “Philosophers tell us how seldom an effect is intended by the agents who cause it, and this is an example wherein the one thing everyone knows about Stanops Bodan-Tin, who is more retiring than most of his rank, is the sincere affection he holds for Koshat Dreivis, the ancestral home of the Bodan family, and his disappointment at how few of his relatives share it.”
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“That was two things, Onerid.”
“A third will sneak in soon enough, Takki.” That also amused the two of them. While Dirant reflected on how little we understand of one another, Onerid continued. “Almost certainly that Stanops wants this job done because of his pure desire to improve the town. The citizens will consequently persist in their fondness and trust, and from a distance it will all look very calculated when it's really just the way things are done.”
“That sounds like the old days with kings and householders.” Takki fiddled with her head scarf, since her usual exercises were inadvisable on the boat. “Thank you for the explanation, Onerid. My question still makes sense if I'm not wrong. Can a member of another big family show up in Koshat Dreivis if he wants? Would that cause trouble? Is there a protocol for it?”
“Oh yes, it is wholly outrageous for a bearer of the canton gules to appear in a settlement understood to be controlled by another family without invitation, and even a lesser armiger is expected to seek approval to stay more than one night in a single-family town. The usual procedure is to write a letter which hints at a desire to receive an invitation, for example something about missing a previous chance to pay respects or a lament about how dry are written words, because that way neither side is embarrassed by a refusal. Sometimes embarrassment is intended, I am told. Narrowing the example exactly the way you didn't want to do, but I promise it will be all right, I expect a Nein-Cadops-Bain would have no difficulty whatever getting himself invited by the Bodan-Tins, but if it were a question of the Ektin-Sars, the answer would be no. Hee.”
“What are you imagining now?”
“Catapults set up in Imslif and Sarmagis constantly launching Nein-Cadops-Bains and Ektin-Sars at each other and press gangs running through the streets to round more of them up. There's one under the stairs! Get him! Mmf!”
Onerid's shoulders shook and her eyes clamped shut as she struggled to suppress her unsophisticated laughter. The picture in her mind became too vivid, and she started tracing the theoretical trajectory of the armiger projectiles with her fan while making whooshing noises broken up by the occasional “Splat!” Meanwhile, Takki bit down on her scarf to avoid joining in.
Never on the Oskid did Dirant predict that between the two Paspaklests, Onerid was the one given to whimsy. How true was that line about the extent to which we understand one another, that being the width of mabonnpaper. Onerid's energetic pantomime did great work in distracting Dirant from his real worries. He peaked at Stansolt Gaomat, who was looking on the whole thing with amused tolerance, and winced. There was the personification of danger on the boat with them, and though Dirant's earlier reasoning held, he could not help but wish he had argued Mr. Hadolt's side.
Superstitious thoughts of that sort slandered Stansolt, since danger thrived regardless of his presence or absence. Possible commercial espionage, alleged assassinations, potential kidnappings, definite mail interception: it all felt an expected part of life in the cities, but sitting there surrounded by the ocean that never yielded aid to man without toil and risk, there was nothing to comfort Dirant while dread grew within him, nothing at all but the even pace of the drum. Was his Divine Guidance (Hunch) activating? Dirant tried to break his thoughts, but the drum kept beating, beating the way to Koshat Dreivis.
A couple of piers, a long shed to house a boat or two, and a hull upturned on the beach combined to tell every ship that passed by a simple message: “This is a port, but it is not a mistake that you have never stopped here.” Coils of rope, very neat, ornamented the place further, and stacks of nets as well, all under canopies. A few boats on the water, smaller and rowed usually by one to three people, those likely being a father and his sons, indicated that fishing was not at the heart of the town's economy. The crews waved to the oligarch's swift dispatch boat as it approached. As she approached. Dirant still had to remind himself when it came to the nautical life and its conventions.
Stansolt Gaomat took furtive security measures. He leapt up a small ladder attached to the pier with adroitness appropriate for an Acrobat or a Sportsman for the purpose of scouting the area before giving Dirant a hand. Ordinarily even a Ritualist could manage a ladder, a small one anyway, but the bag he carried full of needed equipment impeded him.
Ibir Doteniksta climbed up next with no attempt at secrecy. Her martial experience came from life in forts where her husband, Istarank Faolst, was posted before his death where warlike behavior need not be disguised. The shoulder-length style she used for her black hair came from the same place, presumably, though her parents contributed her wide mouth and the sun her deep tan, less startling than what Yumins often ended up inflicting on the world but noticeable nevertheless.
Takki bounded up Battlerishly much like Stansolt, while Onerid's climbing style resembled Ibir's sufficiently for Dirant to rethink his theory that Onkallant called her a Myrmidon as a reference to her temperament rather than her actual class. Asking her himself was out of the question, and getting the information through Takki would simply be a matter of laundering rudeness. Dirant realized he may have been the only non-combat class in that assortment, a position lonely yet which at the same time conferred the feeling of a king surrounded by his royal guard.