When Such Occurs, Seek The Nearest Exit Consistent With Politeness
What prompted that exchange was a Drastlifar. There was nothing odd about that, but the manner in which he looked around, perked up when he saw them, and cleaved through the crowd like a piano pushed by Stadeskosken's finest showed unmistakable signs of intent. That the message proved to be for Eizesl Bodan-Tin in no way proved Dirant wrong in suggesting the opposite possibility. For instance, suppose Posmeterin Igwodan-Tin wished to consult a colleague on a tricky situation involving vertical rituals, or Stansolt Gaomat had contrived to send a message from the cell where the foreign agent he was investigating had trapped him.
The actual matter at hand involved an armiger waiting at the entrance to Koshat Dreivis. “We have confirmation from the Stanops that the Eizesl was invited, but Eizesl Bavan-Ston has forbidden the Stanops from leaving his house before he is satisfied, and you know how doctors can be.”
“From rumor, since my perfect health keeps me away from them. Does that sound like a good boast, Sajaitin? Start with that one and follow it up with an account of how ably I handle social situations such as this, unanticipated but nothing much for me.” Certainly he was adept enough at switching from GE-style addresses to the Drastlif type when speaking in front of the natives. With that, Keiminops made for the gate, the sycophant and the Drastlifar with him. Along the way he asked the messenger, “What shield bears he, or is it known to you?”
“Nein-Cadops-Bain, or I know less than I thought.”
“A relief. I doubt a Nein-Cadops-Bain plans to tattle on us over the poor state of our temple. This will take but an inch of time, Sajaitin.”
Measuring time in inches had never occurred to Dirant before, but there was that wrestling clock. Some live wrestling might enliven Koshat Dreivis soon if that Nein-Cadops-Bain had the first name he expected. That was none of his business, fortunately. For the rest of the short walk to the gate, Dirant debated with himself the propriety of a prayer thanking Holzd, god of complexity but not emotional complexity, for giving him some honest murders and secret negotiations to occupy him instead of matchmaking. Though unacceptable in broader society, the sentiment might please his god.
Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain, as predicted, stood outside Koshat Dreivis in accordance with the protocol established among Drastlif's upper crust after too many unfortunate misunderstandings. Just as properly, Keiminops walked outside, grabbed Loigwin's hand, and dragged him inside while introducing himself. To further the cause of politeness, Loigwin made sure to greet Dirant himself rather than allow Keiminops to suffer the embarrassing situation of introducing two people already introduced. “Hello, Sajaitin Rikelta,” he said.
“Hello, Eizesl Nein-Cadops-Bain.” If that seemed a perfunctory greeting, it was only due to the gathered host of people who expected the nearest Bodan-Tin to get them in with important personages such as whoever this young man with the red square on his shield was. Contrary to Keiminops's optimism and through no malice on Loigwin's part, the session ended no sooner than hours later, and only then because the Bodan-Tin in charge insisted on having the town's second doctor take a look at the important visitor's much-pressed hand.
Loigwin's heroic wrist recovered in time for him to accept a noon tea invitation from Stanops Bodan-Tin, who made injuries, maladies, and destructive behavior the focus of his conversation, though naturally without disclosing the true source of Petarun Bavan-Ston's concern.
“But I asked him if I was alive or not, and if he wanted to keep his position, he had to admit I wasn't a ghost quite yet. Eizeur! I'm not sure we're honest if we say the same about you. Where have you been?”
Helsodenk Nifkleskir had also been invited despite his excellent health. He smiled, sort of, and answered Poiskops. “Arvawesk. It is true I have done nothing to make my acquaintances aware of the latest doings there such as the dispute over which puppy had been promised to whom. The matter consumed our community for days. Pardon me. Does anyone know Arvawesk?” Dirant raised his free hand. “There, I have a witness. Has anything ever happened in Arvawesk that you know, Mr. Dirant?”
“Mr. Helsodenk, it is well understood that the inhabitants of that state prefer that nothing happen. Even replacing their statesmen or passing new laws is more than they like to do.”
“Just so.” Helsodenk accepted the confirmation.
Another invitee, Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain, asked, “Do you enjoy living there, Eizeur?”
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“Very much so, compared to dying here,” Helsodenk answered and thereby established himself as the acerbic one who delivered the punchlines and Loigwin as the straight man in the comedy group they had just formed without the intention or assent of either member. The goal of the other guests became to elicit more sharp exchanges, and if it was the duty of a host to prevent that sort of thing, he must also oblige the people he troubled with his invitations.
Helsodenk dodged most such attempts as adroitly as his clients hoped he did the laws. Whether he did so to spare Loigwin or to avoid giving others what they wanted without receiving monetary recompense was for each to judge for himself. Regardless, he directed the conversation to a different channel.
“But Eizesl Nein-Cadops-Bain, I am told, as I remember now I must begin any assertion in this country, that you are acquainted with Onkallant Paspaklest, whose father I know from ambassadorial work. How may I reach him at this moment, do you know?”
“If your wish is to write to him in Dubwasef, I can . . . well, not right at this moment. He left the city on business about the same time as I did. But if waiting won't make despair of your hopes, I can give you his address later.”
“My hopes aren't so fragile as that, Eizesl. It takes many blows to wreck them.”
Drastlif's addresses were a troublesome thing. By refusing to name either buildings or streets, the people of that country reduced their direction-givers to specifying some combination of the location's color, the direction its door faces, and its proximity to a handy landmark such as a displayed coat of arms or an elaborate clock. While an Adaban might scrawl “fourth left Suchandso Lane” on a napkin, Loigwin's offer amounted to a promise of a short essay.
Just as the farmer knows when to harvest, probably, and the chef when to turn the meat, or so the customers hoped, the social reformer must recognize the moment to put forth his proposal. Tea with an oligarch seemed an unbeatable moment for Dirant to propose the idea he had been revolving to facilitate navigation without erasing Drastlif's deep cultural traditions: put up banners hanging from posts to function as landmarks. “That will preserve the privacy of the streets and allow neighborhoods to adopt their favorite historical figures or animals as patrons. The sole problem is how to make use of the time saved.”
A better moment, he soon learned, was one without the oligarch's nephew present. “The past is certain, they say. Sometimes the future is surer still. The markers become bigger and bigger as families compete in augmenting the grandeur of their surroundings. Soon the houses cannot be seen, directions become harder to give, and our revenues once thought sufficient are exhausted in a month. We celebrate but for one day our outrageous ornaments built at a cost too dear, and on the next the Dvanjchtlivs invade. The end of Drastlif.”
“I concur,” Helsodenk remarked, “as to pessimism with regard to improvements and their chances of being adopted here.” For all that the guests consoled Dirant over the failure of his plan to win acclaim, he did not consider himself to be the target of the harshest criticism given during that tea.
When the affair ended, Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain immediately dropped his comedy partnership, a promising career which regrettably failed to match in dignity his social position, and dragged Dirant Rikelta to the emptiest area he first ran across to renew their association.
“Seeing you here and viewing a harbor surrounded by a well-peopled town where abundant are supplies are the same thing, Sajaitin,” began Loigwin in his usual effusive fashion. “Now relieve my last worry, and what more will I be able to say? Seifis Paspaklest is here, safe, and the Stanops has not taken offense at some word or deed of hers are the notes of the music I wish to hear.” Loigwin's grip conceded more to the grabbed person's comfort than that of Keiminops, but his terrible expression, like that of someone whose private book of poetry has been discovered, perturbed Dirant even more.
He perceived the cause of Loigwin's anxiety and accordingly forgave him the unsightly display. “Miss Onerid has been invited each of the two previous days. At some point, people begin to talk, or so it is elsewhere.” Seeing (and feeling) Loigwin recover his composure as if he had been rescued from that pit Drastlifars kept mentioning, Dirant thought himself justified in receiving payment for the service, perhaps in the currency of information. “Though such talk means nothing to you, to judge from the lack of bruises on you or Eizesl Bodan-Tin.”
“You and I both know what substance there is to that, like the foam.” Loigwin hesitated when Dirant did not immediately exclaim how true and just was that assertion, but a slight nod satisfied him. “Fantasy rumors are a tradition too, and not to be resented out of proportion, though I wonder what the purpose was.”
“To rile you up?”
Loigwin shrugged. “Is there a man aside from Onkan, I mean Eizesl Paspaklest, who would wish and know to do so, and how could he? Let us grant to him the greatest inclination toward slander, and he is but recently arrived yet with few friends to spread his views who are not mine also.”
“To rile up someone else?”
“Who? She herself? That would rile me up were she riled, I suppose, but was she even told of it?”
“She was not, Takki assures me.”
The Loigwin shrug came out again. “Then as much as I'd like to know, thinking about it now is trying to solve the riddle of the egg. Anyone would tell us to leave it for later or resign ourselves to fog eternal. What are the good places around town, Sajaitin? I'd do wrong to deny Stanops Bodan-Tin an envious expression after his invitation, although his insistence on clarifying how brief would be my stay was a little, well, not to be questioned by me, naturally.”
“Ah, the Stanops is hurrying himself and everyone else because of an upcoming occasion. For instance, there is the popcorn pagoda we hastened to set up at his behest, which is this way.”
A Nein-Cadops-Bain did not require much mollifying, if one generalized from Loigwin, which Dirant did. Drawing broad conclusions about families seemed a Drastlif sort of thing to Dirant, and he wanted to conform to local custom. At any rate, Loigwin accepted the implied proposal. “That may be the right thing to admire. Guide us through, Sajaitin.”