Often It Is Labeled Such When Without Justification The Better-Positioned Are Elevated Above The Capable

After all that, the only choices were to look for the icon of the confirmed god or change classes. The latter option required consideration, as unattractive as it was. First, he feared what his father would think. Probably nothing. He might never even notice. Dirant did not wish to bear such an emotional blow for no reason. Second, what class would be better?

He qualified for Sleet Master, but the employment opportunities for that seemed limited to working in restaurants at the southern beaches that served icy treats. His Discernment and Sticktoitiveness disqualified him from the exciting, dynamic field of being a Distorter, while his stats in general seemed a little too good for Functionary. “I apologize to Dirone for attacking him indirectly within my musings,” he thought. “I must remember to do so openly later.”

No, he wanted to be nothing but a Ritualist. His one discontent with the class was that he spent too little time doing it, and there in his hands was a new ritual to try. Such was the line of reasoning that caused him, a week later, to have in his possession two statuettes, each a bit taller than his fingers were long, and further the revelation that otters outstripped him in piety if not in the good order of their lairs. As for the fact that the two icons fit snugly in the little wooden box Holzd had given him, that functioned as yet further evidence against the monster hypothesis, for never had he heard of one interested in carpentry.

A visit to the Routine Archives confirmed that the one wearing robes and a dignified expression represented Mitisomething. As for the other, even Miss Curator had no idea what god or hero it portrayed. Dirant kept it in the box to prevent a situation wherein another god showed up and smote the impious Ritualist who had thrown his icon in a drawer. He estimated the chance of that at far higher than the zero out of a hundred it ought to have been according to contemporary understanding.

That done, he had nothing before him but to consider how to get to Wessolp. The map he bought assured him that city lay days north-northeast of Fennizen near Greater Enloffenkir's border with Pavvu Omme Os. In fact, the state of Wessolp made up a small portion of that border. A single day would not suffice for the trip, even if he ran out at lunch again. Sending a courier would have been easy, but Holzd's mention of cleaning the temple implied Dirant should do it himself even though no further rituals seemed necessary.

There was nothing for it but to ask for time off. Five days might do it if he hurried, but seven would be better. He mustered his courage even as he preserved loads of strawberries intended for winter distribution and was all ready to argue his case to Mr. Donnlink afterward, only to see him engaged in conversation with the owner of Stadeskosken himself, Haderslant Rikelta.

Whatever was under discussion must not have been too pressing, for the Ritualist supervisor addressed Dirant when he saw him. “Done and logged, Mr. Dirant?”

“Done and logged, Mr. Donnlink. Is there anything else to be done?” Dirant told himself to pretend he had not yet seen his father. “For the next several days?”

“Hm? What's that?” Donnlink's eyebrows raised.

“He's asking for vacation time, Mr. Donnlink, in the roundabout sort of way you'd expect from one of Ideslad's children, all peace to her.” Haderslant scratched his mutton chops. “Er, you are one of hers?” Dirant nodded.

“Good, excellent. It was easier to keep you all separate when you had two mothers, but now, well, you can handle yourselves anyway. You did fine when the next one fell in the river and you had to get help to fish him out, and you were twelve then.”

“And you remember that?” True surprise assailed Dirant, the sort usually felt only when one's god shows up on a rock next to the road.

“I'm your father, son. Of course I remember that.”

“There is doubt about who my mother is, or Dirthree's name, but you remember that?” Dirtwo was blurting out what he would have warned himself not to given time to reflect, if only out of a concern for privacy to say nothing of upholding his family's prestige in front of all the employees in the warehouse, who were trying hard to hide their grins and keep down their whispers. They already more or less already knew about everything that happened in Haderslant's household if they were curious about it, but still.

“Names, son, are less than deeds.” Any outside observer, Donnlink perhaps, would have been awed by Haderslant's impregnable dignity. Dirant was less impressed by that, since he had seen his father beg any passing servant or son to help him button up one of these ridiculous new-fashion vests that got popular for who-knows-what reason. He admitted Haderslant had a point worthy of a fabulously successful man, though.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The fabulously successful man continued. “I don't say this matters, but why is it you want time off? Have the pressures of work become a little much, or is it for your honeymoon perhaps?” Haderslant switched to Donnlink. “He has been working?”

“Yes, Mr. Haderslant. As much as any of our Ritualists.”

Dirant wondered if his father would ever get around to asking who the woman he had supposedly just married was, and that led him to remember that he was older than his father had been when Silone was born. Alarmed, he abandoned that subject entirely. “It's to fulfill a religious obligation.”

Haderslant stuck his hand between a couple of his vest buttons and nodded a few times. “Obligations, yes. Those are important. Always get out of them as quickly as you can. I didn't think you were religious, but that doesn't prevent you from racking up an obligation or two. How about it, Mr. Donnlink? How long could you spare this Ritualist?”

The supervisor looked over the logs. “As far as the Preservation Ritual goes, the next is scheduled for twelve days from now. For other rituals, there aren't any for the next month. Now when it comes to adding manpower to other departments . . .”

“Fine, tremendous. Take twelve days off.” Haderslant laid a paternal or perhaps businesslike hand on Dirant's shoulder. “That's the normal formulation, but you must understand that in all this world there is no such thing as 'time off.' During these twelve days you'll still be representing Stadeskosken, and more importantly, you'll be representing yourself. Be sure to advance your interests. Don't just lie in the grass and drool. Now go, go, go, right now!” He shooed away Dirant, who left full of vigor conferred by the unforeseen length of his freedom and what sounded like good advice for him to contemplate during his trip.

His ready disposability might have bothered him except that, as he told Silthree later, “The pleasure strawberry-lovers will have because of my efforts causes all doubts of my worth to fade away.”

“I, too, often think of the strawberry-lovers,” Silthree answered.

Twelve days. That gave him more than enough time to pass leisurely over the country to Wessolp, enjoying the local specialties along the way if there were any. Ever since the formation of the confederation, each state in the GE had set about distinguishing itself from the rest by peculiar foods, fairs, sports, and springs rumored to have rejuvenative properties. Not all had succeeded, of course. Then he could stay in Wessolp to enjoy its charms and perhaps make some progress toward that honeymoon idea.

That was the typical holiday spirit, but something else drove him. A god, according to evidence he could not refute, had assigned him a holy mission. Moreover, he had gotten twelve days off work, a thing even less conceivable within his previous understanding of the world, which he must therefore discard as a bundle of falsehoods. What he ought to believe instead he did not know, but he was sure he wanted to get on with whatever it was he needed to do. He began to comprehend the seemingly bizarre religious practices people invented, for without a clear outlet for his present enthusiasm, the feeling swirled around and around his body until he was tempted to punch a random pedestrian in the hope the act might transmit it to someone else.

Along every major road out of Fennizen as well as others throughout the confederation, Stadeskosken ran posts where its couriers could change horses as an aid to rapid travel. To send urgent communications to distant offices was the primary purpose of the post network, but Haderslant allowed people not on official company errands to pay him for their use. Employees even received a discount, though few ever had occasion to enjoy that perk. Dirant could make use of it and be in Wessolp with most of his vacation time remaining. When he decided that, he grew as sure of his course as he felt his father must have when he saw that otter robbed of its fish.

It was an exhilarated Dirant, one restrained only by the presence of others on the street from attempting cartwheels, settling for a decorous skip in his step which reminded others about that happiness was acceptable even in public, who endeavored to hire a horse from the Stadeskosken stables at the edge of the city on the northward road. The manager of course had to charge him a fee. Stadeskosken employee? The discount, then. What was his name, for the records? Dirant Rikelta? Ah, perhaps the secret discount was warranted.

Dirant handed over twenty ezolas rather than twenty-eight for regular employees or forty-five plus a contract specifying penalties for injuries to the horse for outsiders. The saved money pleased him, and more than that he again admired the blooming idea first planted by Silone that, at times, people might show him favor on account of his father which the father in question most assuredly would not. He had always viewed such favoritism as something that other people strove to achieve; at last he was learning it could be something simply to be accepted by those who lacked obstinate pride such as, for example, Dirant Rikelta.

Then he was out on the concrete road, yards wide, a fine example of the infrastructure made possible by the establishment of Greater Enloffenkir. Member states in the past had their internal road networks, but military considerations caused them to choke off routes with narrow sections, misleading paths, fortresses, and consciously cultivated woods. The existence of the confederation and regulations imposed by its members to limit the destructiveness of conflicts among themselves encouraged a revolution in road-building with the result that the speed of land-bound travel within the GE surpassed that of all other countries. Safety improved as well when states began to entrust their wars to the condottieri and to wield their own militaries against highwaymen.