The Philosopher Is Able To Find Peace In Any Situation, Proving Thereby The Shiftlessness Of The Type
At dinner, one guest would have been universally acclaimed as the king of guests if Drastlifars did that sort of thing, a singer among actors, a Brawny Knight among Warm Bodies. It was Chisops Dogai-Brein, whose lively conversation on topics ranging from monsters and condottieri to the differences between the heraldry of the Drastlifars and the Tands, that tribe credited with the art's blessed invention, engaged those who had not met him before and stunned those who had. The volume of his discourse overwhelmed the other attendees so that no longer could they think upon other matters, for instance a report full of curious implication that a droopy young man in town had followed not Onerid, Dirant, or Stansolt, but rather the pair of Dvanjchtlivs.
“The old stories of the Adaban tribe, the fables otherwise called, so often have the secrets of the hills as their backdrop that when a town decides to pick a famous hill mentioned in many stories of dread and fairies and level it at great expense, the sole surprise is how wealthy every town is in that prosperous confederation.” Chisops then retold the story of the largest excavation unrelated to iron, silver, or water ever conducted in Greater Enloffenkir. His account entranced even Dirant, who had followed it in the broadsheets at the time clear through the sad end when no fairies were found or even their halls of glamour. Chisops at least sounded sad; at the time, much mockery was made of those provincials with more money than learning who still interpreted myths and legends as descriptions of factual events rather than expressions of socio-psychological factors.
Far different conclusions suggested themselves to Chisops Dogai-Brein. “Our magistrates can plead the uneventful outcome as their excuse for not dredging the marshes and ponds that figure in our legends. I do not fault them for it if it sounds that I do, but I had a thought when I saw a mill in operation. Centuries hence, will our descendants smash the last one and wonder flour does not come out? Let us ignore the conclusions of ancient Adabans that the odd fissures in their hills and cliffs are passages used by the underhill lords and consider the fissures themselves. Everyone agrees they are real. I heard also of inexplicable fissures in the lakebed, that is, the lake near estates we were compelled to sell in response to pecuniary pressures. I swam there, when I was young . . . But if we still owned it, I would trade it away in exchange for this splendid Koshat Dreivis. The easy communication with the capital, the luxury resources perennially demanded, and some of the rarest monsters. Is there a poet able to compress it that I may carry it with me?”
That speech began to resemble the prelude to a declaration of war, which disturbed some of the listeners. Or one of them. The non-Drastlifar. Poiskops Bodan-Tin smiled wide as he accepted Chisops's words as either simple flattery or the sincere envy of the head of a fallen family. As to which would please him more, it would have been impolite even to guess. Either way, he reciprocated by showing interest in his fellow family head's affairs. “We try not to be worse than we are. Did you find any fissures here?”
“Oh yes. Yes, nearly the hour I arrived I found a few. I've labeled countless since on a map of no value now but which will become an object of international fame once I gather sufficient evidence to convince the gullible and the skeptical both of my theories. I have confirmed them to some degree already.”
Speeches of that length would have exhausted the entire dinner period at the rate he spoke to Takki and Dirant the previous evening, but by speeding up a bit he fascinated his listeners with all the power of a monster's strange abilities. Everyone there had experience with bold, under-evidenced claims, Stanops Bodan-Tin more than any, yet at that moment the purported map if put to an auction would have gone not for silver coins, but for bars of gold.
Afterward, the struggle to relate to people not present what Chisops had said that so entranced the main table frustrated both sides. “Ah, and what is to be done to recreate the impact his lectures had on us? I must study under the orators of Pavvu Omme Os after I change my class to Evoker so that I may describe it fully in thirty years or so. Today I am able to provide a summary and nothing more. Also I did not understand all of it.”
Twirling her scarf's tail, Takki said, “I hope I'm not going too far, but I think you're exaggerating, Ressi. You have a nice voice, and when we talked to Eizesl Dogai-Brein, he didn't sound like someone who'd be picked to lead a side in a debate.”
They were walking toward the tiny port, Dirant and Takki and Onerid and Ibir. The new shadow's unexpected targets had excited Stansolt to a higher level of interest, and accordingly he was unavailable to stand vigil for the branch office's instructions. Dirant liked to think he would have understood.
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“Thank you for saying so. For a long time I have wanted to remark on the invigorating qualities of your own voice, but no convenient occasion for doing so arose before now. As for the other matter, his conversation was not at all the ornamented arguments of the debater so much as proclamations much like those Egille himself must have delivered when he convinced his multitude to journey with him over the ocean toward an uncertain glory they never doubted.”
Onerid still doubted. “And he talked about heraldry? And the state of chemical research in Tando OHW?”
“That is it. I never can now forget that they are called arms yet are presented always as shields because the Drastlinez at first used such designs solely when hanging the captain's shield over the ship's side, whereas the Tands put them on their surcoats and helmets as well.”
“Every text about it puts that information in the introduction, and I have difficulty believing that he said it at all.”
“Ah, no, I read that in one such text,” Dirant clarified. “It is only that I forgot after reading it, and after his discourse I never will. He related an incident which concerned dealings with a certain Tand who has on his coat of arms the roundel or, which the Tands did not historically use. It is called an ipapoba after our gold coin.”
Doubt yielded to amusement. Onerid laughed outright. “I understand now what grabs the attention of Mr. Haderslant's son!”
Takki left off from biting her scarf to say, “Ressi, if he had offered you one of those coins, do you think you would have sailed to another continent with him?”
“After asking for time off, yes.” There were no longer grounds for Dirant to hope he might bring them around to the Dogai-Brein side. That was fine. He would criticize their favorite orators later. Meanwhile they watched some low-intensity, non-crucial fishing as they looked out over the ocean, clear under the clearer heavens that were not yet dark or even orange. Slowly lengthening days prepared the world for the approaching new year. “They say that's the most important holiday in Saueyi,” said Takki as she rested on a bench to recover from the wearying task of not doing anything. “I haven't heard of any good enigmas coming from there, which is pretty enigmatic.” She hopped back up and looked for rocks to use in sling practice.
“Is not the matter of the unidentified raiders mysterious? They are wholly unlike the usual type from Ililesh Ashurin or the Fovsen continent, the broadsheets say.” Dirant stayed sitting on account of not having brought his sling, or owning one in the first place, being a man who thrived in untroubled times. “Losses so far have not been tremendous, which in no way mollifies the Saueha.”
“Oh? Maybe the problem is that nobody back home speaks Saueo. I'm going to warn you not to say anything about this the next time you visit us because it might make people mad at you, but Adaban is far more popular. Onerid, do you think there's anything it's all right for me to hit?” Takki's whirling sling demanded a prompt answer from the cultural expert.
“Passing sharks.”
A stone cleaved through the air at a life-robbing speed only to be stopped by the insensate ocean. “I can't tell if I would have hit it,” the slinger complained.
“There really was a shark? Ah, how is this? Suppose Mr. Dirant draws targets on the beach of different sizes? We may assign point values to them.”
“Don't worry about making them too small, Ressi.”
“Without objecting, I wonder what is the reason for me to do it?” Dirant did not ask that. Instead, he accepted the regard the masses held for the immaculate draftsmanship of Ritualists and went about creating for his clients, non-paying of course, an array of scoring zones such as would delight the devisers of the most convoluted games. Concentric circles formed the center, but he marked off segments as triangles which pointed to other zones at angles; the severity of the angle predictably correlated with the rewards for success. Those zones pointed to more in turn so that the victor must master not only accuracy but skipping as well.
To the sides he placed the rolling zones whose high sides impeded but did not prevent a stone's exit. “Land outside the lines and your throw is disqualified. Mar them and you must repair them yourself, and because of this punishment the tension will increase in a pleasantly tolerable way,” he explained in a voice barely louder than the clinking of the pebbles he pushed out of the way using the haft of Takki's halberd. “The stone must reach the next marker to win the points for that stretch, though perhaps a judge with a ruler may be summoned to make a determination in serious contests when an inch and a mile are cattle and kine. Now the side circles.”
At first, Takki and Onerid debated which was the better course, whether to clarify the intended scope of the task or accept that a task delegated is no longer yours. Gradually they fell silent aside from one last observation. “I haven't ever seen you do a ritual before, Ressi. I know we've talked about this before, but should we think that's odd?”
“It's merely a fact of the modern commercial environment.”
“I really think that's a shame. You're doing this very nicely.” That was the last thing Takki said for some time, and Onerid and Ibir were no louder. They watched him work, walking backwards in order not to erase what he had done, sometimes murmuring something about a variant in which the competitor might add to his score by hitting secondary circles around the central one in a progression. Eventually one of them had to break the silence or start praying, and which Takki chose surprised not the gods nor anyone else. “This feels a little weird, Ressi. No, you don't have to stop. It's just a feeling.”