There Exist Activities Which, Completed A Single Time, Suffice For One's Entire Life
In the evening, after another dinner at the Stanops's residence, Millim Takki Atsa brought up a mysterious phenomenon. “Why doesn't anyone want to name buildings here? It's so much more convenient. We name every one of them, and even Adabans do for special ones, but here even a member of the Permissive Council lives in 'Poiskops Bodan-Tin's house.'”
“The unlabeled streets vex me more,” Dirant said. “So many times in Dubwasef I was told such a place is about so far ahead, you can't miss it. Yet I did, and not through any great effort.”
“They weren't prepared for the poor perception of distance of the landlocked Adaban,” Onerid suggested. Where her criticisms of the complaining Jalpi Peffu were, Dirant could but theorize.
Frustration with urban life in Drastlif led the visitors to decide on a joint campaign of a stroll outside the walls. Even Stansolt joined despite the low chance of finding secret warship plans out there. Ibir Doteniksta proposed the outing. She and Takki shared a dissatisfaction because of the limited martial drills possible inside their one-room houses, but they differed in that the latter felt free to carry them out in the park or anywhere else she happened to be, regardless of the stares of passersby or the occasional crowd of spectators and imitators. The latter hoped to find a more secluded training ground.
The group chose to head east. “We don't want to run into any sea monsters, do we? That would be irresponsible until your ritual is finished, Ressi.”
“And does something change when it is completed?” Dirant asked.
“Shouldn't you worry about maximizing customer satisfaction when that happens? If I knew sea monsters were around, I think I would have a hard time enjoying any kind of treat.”
Onerid tried to explain company policy to Takki. “While I agree as a general principle that more people should be subjected to monster attacks, many of them our employees, Stadeskosken isn't in the business of monster removal.”
“Oh, really? I was under the impression you did everything that you might get paid to do.”
“Such is the ambition,” Onerid admitted, “but there are sometimes other considerations that we have to consider. For instance, the pride of state militaries and condottieri may be wounded when others engage in warlike conduct, and a wounded animal lashes out.”
“That's never stopped me,” Takki asserted. “But I'm a Battler, so I understand there's a difference there.”
None of the elegance of the road between the pier and the town existed in that direction; guests, boats, and guests arriving by boat had priority in Drastlif. Regular citizens got regular roads that wound around fenced-off fields and practical buildings along the most level routes available, regardless of where the turns directed the traveler's eye.
As for a road to the marshes, there was none. Anyone willing to traverse them could handle an unaided jaunt over the country. The last sign of civilization before the wilds was a gate surmounted by a wood carving which represented a battle between Drastlifars before they were Drastlifars. The morass had not always been quite so expansive, partly on account of geographical changes but mostly because Swadvanchdeu neglected the region when it held it. Long ago, in the era of the Survyaian empires, the armies of the several Drastlinez states often met there.
The issue of how many resources ought to be dedicated in an effort to drain the wetlands elicited strong opinions among the financially minded, but the historically oriented cared only for the remains of ancient battles and settlements preserved among the pools. Visitors to Koshat Dreivis not there to beseech the Bodan-Tins for some favor mostly wanted to poke around and find an old helmet or a coin bearing a likeness not seen in centuries. More recently, in an age when the balance of power between humans and monsters tipped more toward the former every day, the growing interest in exploiting strange creatures instead of killing them led researchers to seek out the many peculiar varieties found in less-trafficked environments such as that.
“As soon as you say 'poison breath,' some medical theorist thinks, 'What can that cure?' I don't say they're wrong by any means.” So Stansolt said, and if the poison part applied to his own interests without any need for the cure part, he gave no sign of it.
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“Oh, I've heard about that,” Takki said. “The marsh king, you mean? People used to think they had just painted a lion wrong in the pictures. There aren't any lions or marsh kings in Pavvu Omme Os, after all. I'd like to see one, but we probably shouldn't get close enough for that today.”
For all that some of her suggestions seemed to lack something as far as consideration for the value of human life, her actions had care and attention to them. Long before reaching the line of trees that served as a final warning for tourists who had missed the significance of the gate to nowhere, the shaft of Takki's halberd was tapping the ground all about to find sucking ground harder to detect than the inundated land of the marshes proper while her keen eyes and Battler Discernment watched over the darkening terrain for any of those marsh kings, or failing that, for more boring monsters seen elsewhere. Stansolt Gaomat did the same with a staff in place of a halberd. Ibir may not have possessed Discernment sufficient to qualify as a Battler, though perhaps she did, but she made use of a sense the others perhaps overlooked by means of frequent sniffs.
“This town must export scent in addition to tea,” she said, and Onerid confirmed perfumes to be a segment of the Bodan-Tin portfolio. Her research for the assignment turned that up, but as for a use for the knowledge, is it not a joy to learn?
The group reached the strip of trees where Onerid began to experience the limitations of a dress meant for use inside city limits exclusively. When she tripped, Dirant assisted her as promised and asked to receive negotiation instructions.
“Ah, I really just tripped, Mr. Dirant.” She laughed.
“Is that the truth, or does the presence of that outsider on the other side cause wariness over our secrets?”
“It probably should, since I don't believe in keeping secrets forever,” Takki warned. Dirant let her take care of trying to free Onerid from the roots which insisted on making friends with her feet and looked out over the marshes. If he ever wanted to wash an icon of Mitistiggefokand, the guide through the mazes of law, he knew where to go. The countless shallow pools looked to hold more water than the Ontoffemmiror River itself in all its charming breadth. Orange under the relaxing sun, they and the high green patches created patterns some Drastlifar out there probably had on his shield.
“What is orange in the nomenclature of heraldry?” he asked.
“Tenné has some orange to it, though it is brown primarily. Thank you, Takki.” Onerid resumed looking down after a glance at the spectacle. The souls of some belonged to the wilds, others to the farms and orchards, and Onerid's to towns and cities where she never stumbled.
Ritualists were much the same. None of the eels or whatever lived there needed any foodstuffs preserved for a later month or struggled to keep a home mold-free. Dirant treated the sprawling land of green growth and greener pools after the fashion of an artifact of a vanished civilization, as something to be seen through glass. He had no wish to take another step even before he heard the howls.
“Do you think they're preparing to hunt after waking up or warning rivals away from their prey?” Takki asked. “I'd like to find out if any of those is a marsh king, but we really can't go any deeper.” Her opinion won Dirant's approval, though he could not agree with the sentiment of regret behind it.
“Perhaps that gentleman and his associates know,” Stansolt said.
“Yeah, since they're coming back now. I didn't want to interrupt them before.”
Onerid looked up then, Ibir stopped sniffing, and Dirant withdrew from his reflections on the awfulness of nature. They looked and looked and still they saw no one.
“I see no one,” Dirant said, willing on account of his undeniable professional success to be the stupid one for the rest of the day.
“I also.” As was common among Myrmidons, though only going by certain theories about a “class spirit”put forward primarily by Millim Takki Atsa, Ibir refused to accept the sacrifice of a comrade.
“The same.” The case for Onerid's being a Myrmidon became stronger. Takki had probably already solved it by asking her. Dirant had in all likelihood established a cordial enough relationship to do the same, but gathering clues entertained him more than knowing the truth ever would. Next he would guess Poiskops Bodan-Tin's class. Administrator? That sounded appropriate.
“Really? Right over there. Those three shrubs.” Takki pointed toward the marsh. Her gesture and words combined to give no help whatsoever. Within that mass of greenery, to pick out three shrubs and to identify a single grain of sand seemed the same task. “The mobile ones.” The three watched the soft wind rustle reeds beyond number, to say nothing of the ripples caused by birds with exotic beaks plucking out their dinner, and they shook their heads. “They move like people.” Onerid shrugged. “Well, I don't know what I can do to make you see them. Oh, they're turning away now. That's a shame.”
Onerid expressed the doubt already evident in her furrowed brow. “Is this some kind of Battler humor, or?”
“I was going to ask the same about Adabans. You really can't see them? Is Sivoslof really a better country? Oh, that might be a marsh king.”
Takki's surmise startled Dirant until he realized she referred to the cries over the marsh. That was fine. A distance too far for vision, too far for enmity, as the classic novel had it, suited his ideas about the proper relationship between monster and Ritualist, though he liked even more when Onerid suggested returning to town.