The Wise Sovereign Fears The Sufferers Of The Former More On Account Of Their Greater Capacity For Rebellious Action
Many came to admire the efforts of the Ritualists more than the players taking advantage of them. Enraptured, they offered ideas for further grand projects. “Consider a mascot around each bonfire,” Keiminops suggested. “That one will be the fearsome heart of the ferocious tiger. Over there beats the constant heart of the obliging mule.”
“At some point the thing calls for payment,” Dirant responded. “Where that is in this country is unclear to me.”
“About the eight-foot marker, I believe.”
“We have gone too far already.” Dirant turned to the supervisor. “Sajaitin Igwodan-Tin, the reputation of our class requires only this much. How is the size of your stomach and so?”
“Small and emptied by the exertion, Sajaitin Rikelta,” Posmeterin said. Stansolt Gaomat would never know how much Dirant did for him, until he was told, which certainly he would be later.
The strenuous exertions of excited participants could not continue forever without replenishing food and cooling drink given the warm weather at the end of the year. The northern visitors still stumbled mentally with that, but local conditions persisted for all their struggles to accept them. Considerate representatives of reputable local families such as the Bodan-Tins and Nein-Cadops-Bains plied them with the most advisable dishes, though Dirant, Takki, and Ibir were allowed to refuse.
Watching the subsequent spectacle, Dirant no longer felt silent prayers sufficient for his depth of feeling. “Do you see that, Takki? My wish at this moment is to hire a poet to compose an ode to being free from messes such as that about Miss Onerid.”
Takki raised a finger in an enigmatic gesture. “You're welcome, Ressi. It's a relief to me, too. We need you thinking clearly. Where would you put Drastlif's cuisine comparatively, now that we've had more of it?” She held out her plate as the first exhibit.
“Yes, we must be clear-headed about food. Between Chtrebliseu on the better side and Redrin on the worse, I must put this nearer the former.” He left the “you're welcome” statement alone out of pure mystification.
“I think I might say the same about being in the better half, but everything else is different. So where do you put Pavvu Omme Os? Ressi?”
“There are many factors to consider.” Rather than elaborating on those factors, Dirant looked around for criminal activity. “I don't see any threats. There is the Stanops looking as hearty as ever.”
“Do you see any Tands? I don't expect that, but it would turn this case around. Don't you think it would be fantastic if one were here and he turned out to be innocent? We'd have to defend him then, you know.”
“Only if the Stanops alters his current policy of pretending nothing happened. Takki. To your left. Is that the suspicious yet likely harmless young man with the unfortunate appearance, or?”
“It is, Ressi. He's speaking to Chisops Dogai-Brein, I think.”
That was going on at another bonfire some distance away but within a Ritualist's sight, to say nothing of a Battler's. The youth himself looked to be aware of the excellent quality of the lighting there and its undesirability, since he shuffled to keep the fire between him and Poiskops Bodan-Tin when the Stanops passed by during the conversation. Chisops, for his part, stayed where he was and changed nothing for anyone.
Soon the conversation ended, whereupon the suspicious man merged with the darkness held off by the fires. “Shall we relocate?” Takki asked, less as a question and more as a notice of intent. The suggestion suited Dirant well enough, and the two took themselves over to the fire so recently abandoned by one of its shiftiest beneficiaries, though far from the least trustworthy man on the beach when one remembered the oligarch and the lawyer convicted of smuggling and attendant crimes. They looked more respectable while they did it, however. A haircut and a new cummerbund meant a lot, whether in Drastlif or anywhere else.
Chisops looked a bit disordered himself, but not distinctly so. The nature of the festival suggested to people that they not dress their very best, and others besides Dirant had attired themselves in the expectation that an incident of sudden uncleanliness might befoul their clothing. Takki for instance wore an unadorned brown head scarf that may have begun its career in a pocket or under a plate. The consideration did not affect the two bodyguards, whose dedication to duty and advertising kept them girded for battle whether facing the field suffused with slaughter or a sport-filled beach. As for the sports themselves, Laimerif Oimer and Isarbas Kwin ignored those altogether.
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Chisops explained the reason for that in his deliberate manner, like a judge reading sentences from a scroll slowly unrolled by an impassive bailiff. “It is an unfortunate imposition I make upon them because they will be counted among the combat classes without regard for the absence of physical statistics in the requirements to qualify for Hail Master, or rather Hail Mistress in the case of Seifis Kwin, and Sleet Mistress, which pertains to Seifis Oimer. The erroneous impression may be given by their resulting performance in these games that they are, to put it the way observers will think though surely never say, incompetent. They will remind themselves that doing well or poorly in a footrace has little to do with accompanying their wives through town, but the impression, Sajaitin. The impression is mightier by far than reason.”
Dirant would have tapped a Stadeskosken otter if his clothing carried one in the manner of an armiger's shield, but as it was, he tried to look sympathetic. Whatever that involved. “The same care is taken with us. To place boxes and packages directly in our lobbies would increase convenience, and what a consolation that is if a customer comes in, sees the clutter, and thinks us a firm slow to move our own things and necessarily slower with his. An invitation to look over our records will not repair the mistake.”
“That is precisely how I perceive things,” Chisops confirmed while his two advertisements failed to pretend that was not the most boring conversation either had ever heard, which meant something given their employer. Although perhaps they had not accompanied him long.
Takki eschewed mere speculation. “How long have you ladies been with Eizesl Dogai-Brein?” she asked.
“About thirty months, Barais, training under the prestigious and practical Dogai-Brein regimen,” answered Isarbas Kwin, the shorter, hailier one. There was something in her accent that Dirant perceived as distinct, though he lacked the extensive socioeconomic comprehension required to register what he heard as sure signals of the lower stratum. “For five months now we have attended the head personally during his expeditions that take him straight past slavering monsters ready to pounce. Dogai-Brein bodyguards are tested by the hottest fires and the sharpest steel. Do you want us to watch over your niece, or would you prefer an inferior product? So how many bodyguards do you need and how soon do you need them?”
“The preceding speech does result in a contract from time to time,” Chisops assured them, either as an apology or as advice not to be modest about promotion.
“I don't have any nieces yet, but I'll try to keep that in mind,” Takki promised. She understood that portion of the pitch at least. “I think I'm more impressed by your discipline, though. Aren't Sleet and Hail Masters supposed to hate each other?”
“That's the worst thing I know about Seifis Kwin,” Laimerif Oimer allowed. “She's so lovely in every other way that the single flaw becomes something charming.” The indications in her accent of an upbringing in the north amid the reverse of poverty escaped Dirant's notice entirely. If he ever needed consolation about the matter, Takki likewise had no idea.
“I don't know about that, but if all Sleet Mistresses were like Seffif Oimer, I'd love that class more than my own,” Isarbas said. Neither of the foreigners were familiar with the honorific seffif, and using as guideposts Laimerif's wince and the thin, flat look of Chisops, they theorized Isarbas ought to have been less so.
“Is that one of your, um, points to bring up when making sales?” Takki asked. “Those bodyguards shouldn't get along, so if they do, my horrible niece won't be a problem for them, right?”
Chisops nodded. “We do wish to create that, again, that impression. An explicit appeal along those lines is sadly impossible. Word is getting out however, and the prosperity of the family is rising, though not to the level of old.”
“So how not, Captain?” Isarbas demanded to know. “I haven't seen a single outfit doing better than ours. The last time we were in Pikilif, I counted everybody up real accurate and almost half the baraises had one of ours. And what's so big about the councilors? Dreivis is an all-right town, but Piorifas takes longer to walk across. I counted that too. Oh come on, Seffif. You're just being secretive for the sake of it,” she said in response to her partner's panicked gestures and desperate grimace. “Sajaitin, Barais, please be so kind as to answer two questions if you're kind enough, please. Did you hear about the Dogai-Breins getting kicked out of the big table? Do you care at all whether they get back on?”
“Yes to the first, and as for the second, I hope it is not rude of me to admit the honest answer is no,” Dirant replied.
“Ressi! Well, I suppose we don't. I'd really rather put it some other way though. Maybe that we aren't qualified to express any opinions on the, um, domestic affairs of Drastlif.”
“Aside from one point, which is that the streets ought to be named.”
“The buildings too, but that's all.” Takki considered whether that was in fact the only objective improvement to be made. “More salt would be nice.”
“See?” Isarbas insisted rather than asked. “Perception beguiling is all that seat is. You don't need them, Captain.”
Eizesl Dogai-Brein calmed her down with sober speech. “The scale of it is difficult to encompass in your thinking I know, but the operations of the highest families are nothing like ours. Hagnal Piorifas is a crucial portion of our income, the rents, the shares in several establishments, the fees and modest fines officers of our family are entitled by ancient patent to collect. Koshat Dreivis is a hobby. The ocean between us and Geft is narrower than this gap. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, Captain. I get it.” Isarbas Kwin looked down and dragged a finger along the beach, perhaps writing a curse directed against every family currently on the Permissive Council.