Nobility, Wisdom, Generosity, Humility, And Courage In Perfect Proportion
There the party dispersed, for the most part. Takki wanted to patrol for traces of trouble. Onerid and Ibir refused to consider that there might be any, while Stansolt avoided the subject in order to escape either lying on the one side or on the other admitting he would be causing some of that trouble himself. Dirant joined her, of course. Somewhere along those irritatingly nameless streets, he said, “My Divine Guidance (Hunch) ability agrees there is some intrigue about this place. However, surely to wander around gets us no closer to it, and we are not so alert as we might be.”
“I can't bring myself to agree with that, Ressi. The assiduous are the ones who find the crack when the rest have given up and gone to buy a new wheel.”
Dirant halted, and not because his feet hurt. “Is that from some past incident or work of fiction? As a moral, there is a shortcoming to it.”
“If you're going to say it doesn't do much good to find a crack since you have to buy a new wheel anyway, you're right. It's too bad though, because now you can't claim you're not still alert.” Takki's smile of triumph did not reign unopposed.
“That is solely a function of Mercantile Fundamentals,” Dirant explained. “Any question about financial considerations you choose to direct to me will be an honor for it to answer whether at this hour or a good one.” Darkness had come to sit upon Koshat Dreivis, though not so heavily as it might have because of a network of lanterns placed on high posts and in low niches. The irregular heights of the light sources caused shadows that were uncanny and of possible interest to theatrical innovators.
“Wouldn't you say that's what makes you such a good assistant? Between your abilities and mine, we have the fundamentals of finance and history covered. If you were more confident about how your Hunch ability actually works, we'd have the future wrapped up too. Besides, you can hear even if you can't see very well. Which do you think the marsh king was? The short, high-pitched barks like a dog tormented by a naughty child, or the drawn-out murmur like the chairman who introduces the guest speaker?”
“Most describe it as something akin to the crack of the back-punishing whip, Barais.”
Takki curtsied in a direction away from Dirant, who at that point was rendered incapable of speech on account of a degree of surprise Battlers rarely suffered. “Thank you, Eizesl. Since we're speaking Usse right now, Battler Millim Takki Atsa, present. I'm also pleased to present Ritualist Dirant Rikelta. Ressi, this is the gentleman we saw on the marsh.”
“So you did see us after all. I am sorry for that. I wished to avoid disturbing you. I am Functionary Chisops Dogai-Brein, if that is acceptable.” Seeing him, Dirant believed even less that he had been out on the marshes within visible range, his confirmation of such notwithstanding. A man of that height, one who might have rested his chin on Dirant's head if not for his reputable upbringing, surely could not avoid detection anywhere unless he had the abilities of the Ninjas of Stegzi, let alone in the open country. Moreover, his rumbling voice, clearly incapable of descending to a whisper, would have given him away unless mistaken for the roars of the most powerful monsters. Come to think of it, Dirant had heard something like that. Maybe it was true after all.
Aside from those distinctive features, nothing about him strayed too far from the Drastlifar standard. The slightest wind blew his wispy brown hair around more easily than the heavy cargo many carried up top, but that was simply a consequence of his hair's having long since begun its unfortunate migration. Perhaps that was the reason for his lugubrious manner; to lose so much by what appeared to be his late 30s did not incline a man to cheer.
Sartorially, the aspects worthiest of attention had to be the plant bits still stuck to him after he removed his shrub disguise and the coat of arms sewn into his jacket, three silver rings and three purple metal badgers on top of a black sea and green sky separated by a wavy peak. Three narrow red lines traced the edge of the shield, and from that and his cursory research Dirant knew Chisops to be the head of his Dogai-Breins. He hoped the usual honorific applied to people of that rank, since nobody had told him a more specific one.
If not for Chisops Dogai-Brein's overwhelming height and the towering impression of misery he radiated, some might have overlooked him in favor of his companions. Probably they did anyway. He was flanked by two bodyguards, or at least their gambesons implied that to be their profession. The green and black coloring of those and their other garments, split vertically far unlike the composition of their employer's shield, would have fit in with the attention-grabbing costumes of Greater Enloffenkir's mercenaries. Though they lacked typical weapons, the slim wands attached to their belts served as such for Hail Masters and Sleet Masters. Their headbands of light blue specked with white supported the idea and further set them apart from other Drastlifars, which they most obviously were, young Drastlifan women with challenging eyes and a complete absence of Eizesl Dogai-Brein's mournful mien.
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“I am pleased to present,” that man said, “Sleet Mistress Laimerif Oimer.” The one close to average height for her tribe, a bit above it perhaps, yanked out a fan to nod behind it in acknowledgment. She used it in her left hand, keeping her right free and near her wand. “And Hail Mistress Isarbas Kwin.” The one who measured not even a full Takki did the same hurried maneuver with her fan despite the advance warning.
The second thing everyone knew about Sleet and Hail Masters, the first being their usefulness in robberies, concerned the rivalry between the two classes. Mislabeling one as the other was a sure method to rile them up. To avoid any such unpleasantness as well as not to offer insult to the memory of his Hail Mistress mother, Dirant set his mind to devising a reliable trick for distinguishing the two. The exercise appealed to him far more than contemplating what more it would have taken to drive him screaming down the road than the sudden appearance of a grim figure from tales symbolic of inescapable doom illuminated from below, every curve of cheek and jaw defined, and his two giggling goblins ready to drag uncaring fate's victims away to the prisons from which there is no release. He was beginning to have doubts about the state of his preservation instinct.
“Was it curiosity regarding antiquity that brought you here? Research? Or are you guests of Stanops Bodan-Tin?” The emphasis on the second question indicated which option Chisops found most respectable.
Dirant decided to prevent any suspicion of muteness on his part. “It is rather business, as the Stanops has requested a service possible only for Stadeskosken, a firm of Greater Enloffenkir, to provide.” That insertion of the company name seemed smoother to Dirant than his usual attempts, but he considered also the possibility he had finally eroded his resistance to bald promotion, perhaps with assistance from Negotiating Fundamentals.
“Oh, yes, the Stanops did speak about a northern novelty, I recall now. He warned me I would be unable to stay away because of it. I am not unaware of the north myself, it may be said.” He waved toward his bodyguards, who adopted poses appropriate for a martial training manual written by a retired mercenary making money off the fame from eight or so notorious duels. “Society is changing. Everyone says so. The position of bodyguard is growing from a convenience to an institution, so we are becoming fully professional. We have embraced the methods of the Adaban condottiero as most suitable for the small-scale fights so lamentably common in Drastlif. What a thing of violence man is, it is written. Our trainees can also defend the lady of the house from unwanted attentions, help with the shopping, and carry on a lively conversation in every social setting.” Evidently Chisops Dogai-Brein had sailed farther down that golden river of incessant advertisement than had Dirant.
“They aren't saying much now. Oh! I'm sorry!” Takki executed an emergency curtsy. “I forgot not everyone speaks Usse. Our conversation made me feel like I was back home.”
A slightly more extreme downturn of the sides of Chisops's mouth may have been an attempt to exhibit sympathetic sadness, like snow painted on a sheep. “I confess we have not found this language practical to include in our training regimen. It is invaluable for access to the world of scholarship, but the martial and social worlds are quite different.” He sighed. “And the world of commerce, and politics . . . there are so many worlds. How do you find Koshat Dreivis?”
Since Laimerif Oimer and Isarbas Kwin would have already tried to kidnap him if that was the course Chisops intended to take, Dirant conversed without worry. “Placid yet advanced in some ways beyond even Dittsen. That is the influence of the Stanops, of course.”
Chisops nodded. “That is the one conclusion. He is very broad. Others become narrow with age and success, but not he. I prepared a packet of precedents and incentives before I requested his permission to study the marshlands here. He wrote back his approval immediately. He tries much, expects the same from everyone, and is so grasping it's hard to accept. Then, after the failures, he forgives others as quickly as himself. A rare man and a model of a councilor. My family . . . ah, my family.” He roused himself from his moroseness, and Dirant was starting to run out of words to describe the man's demeanor. “Encounters should be short like a man's life, they say. Excuse me for keeping you. Please come to me if you have any more questions about the monsters of the marshes or elsewhere. I will be happy if I can answer a single one. I will certainly accept the inevitable invitation to see this novelty. Good night.”
Dirant and Takki returned the courtesy and watched Chisops Dogai-Brein walk into the darkness while his bodyguards fumbled with their fans to make the proper parting gesture before scurrying after him.
“Takki.”
“Yes, Ressi?”
“Because of your cunning methods of learning their classes . . .”
“Oh! You noticed! There's that alertness again.” She resumed her patrol, skipping with pleasure.
“I did. I am further declaring you an expert. Is it unkind of me to suspect the clumsiness of those guards to be a ruse, or?”
“They're faking it for sure. Nobody takes you seriously as a soldier if you're too smooth. Oh, it's probably different in the GE because of the condottieri like Mr. Kelnsolt, isn't it? Well, not like him.”
“It is, though it is true the less-private military man is almost without exception depicted as a brusque fellow in theater and so. The reality is understood to be different. I myself know a Battler possessed of easy social grace, and there is Mr. Stansolt also.”
“Oh, since you said that, I have to come up with something stylish here.” They had reached the guest house assigned to Dirant, and if society usually preferred a different arrangement of who escorted whom where, it was a reminder of the underlying security situation. “I know. Watch this.” Millim Takki Atsa produced a fan, snapped it open, and whirled it through a few arcs before she shut it again, curtsied, and departed. No body of etiquette Dirant knew included that among its accepted partings, but he acknowledged the grace with which she performed it.