“Minister.”
“Yes?”
He walked the halls of the ministry, a pillared building seated beautifully along the left bank of the river Caedes, a street down from the Jardin Deludere —colored in persimmon by autumn’s sycamores—, not straying far from the artery that was the Asphodeli.
Although a minister need not walk to meet his subordinates, Roderin wished to introduce himself —not to all the clerks and workers at the ministry, but rather to his delegates. The transfer of power from Bassáth was abrupt, at best, and Alphonse had done only enough to ensure it did not cause a collapse of the kingdom’s foreign policy.
He had noted, now, that this ministry would run as a clockwork body, without much interference from a ruler, yet, still, he was needed; should these fine clockwork nerves be struck by the need for a head, he would have to be there, present.
With Samuel in tow, he headed to the colonial office, housed in the ministry’s left wing, to see a commissioner general tasked with overseeing the emergent border disputes in la Ceinture d’Or. En route he was intercepted by a curator, from registries and archives, having asked for this or that document.
“Here are… the latest records for former minister Bassáth’s enforcement of his Majesty’s decrees… and this is for Ceinture d’Or… I was also told you requested for the last transcripts of negotiations at Hegard-Treverid… here they are.”
“Thank you…” He nodded with a smile.
The clerk bowed and returned.
As he walked, he thought of visiting Bassáth after. As Alphonse had told him, Bassáth was given a respectable position in the ministry, specifically, as a diplomat for matters in Verdanaise; quite a simple post, really, seeing the close, allied relationship Romanse had with the kingdom, particularly for someone with Bassáth’s experience. It truly was an olive branch… it also relegated the man to a near ceremonial position, crippling the ambitious viscount’s political mobility… Even in giving him an out, Alphonse did not let go of his hold over the former minister, rendering him completely dependent on the king’s camp.
He, personally, wanted to clear the air, even if it seemed an impossible wish. A strained relationship with one of his delegates would be rather unpleasant.
He asked Musnier.
“Samuel.”
“Yes, Minister de Lamartine?”
The young attendant was impeccable in matters of formality, keeping, always, proper manners. This was, of course, straining for Roderin, who found being addressed with such deference unnecessary. However, he could not find a reason to ask for Musnier to stop.
“Shouldn’t a… rite or, inauguration of sorts be necessary for taking a position in Affairs?”
“Yes. It is tradition for rites to take place in the Cathedral to the Hellian, the Palace, the relevant ministry… or any other solemn estate. The king would be present, as would Affairs, an assembly of notables, and noble guests… I cannot presume to know why the king has decided to dispense of this rite in your case, Minister de Lamartine.”
“However, if you had to speculate as to why his Majesty did so…?”
“Forgive my trespass… but I would presume it has to do with his Majesty Alphonse’s indifference towards formalities, coupled with a reticent approach in matters of internal affairs.”
‘Maybe he has also taken pity on me, and decided to not force me into another “grand ceremony”’ He held back a laugh.
“And would this not cause any issues for my legitimacy, as a member of Affairs?”
“It is not likely. The kingdom knows of his Majesty’s temperament and would not find such an action as… strange, or damming. It is also apparent, at least to public opinion, that a minister does not come to hold his position without being instated by the king.”
“I see…” He looked through the documents he had asked for.
Perhaps, as Musnier said, it was all Alphonse’s indifference, and not a ploy to make him earn his legitimacy in some sort of trial by fire.
“How long, do you believe, until the change in ministers becomes common talk.”
“I would say… a few days at most. It is a matter privy to only few, most in Affairs… however, this rarely slows the publicizing of rumors, especially those his Majesty does not forbid from becoming the noblesse’s gossip.”
“Hm…” He wondered what would change when it all became common chatter, echoing about in the paper’s ink and in coffee houses.
Ahead, he saw what looked to be a clerk… no, an attendant, or a servant? Walking towards them, as if dissolving into the leaden sun, streaming pale into the ministry’s halls.
“Samuel is this…?”
“He looks to be a servant of the d’Ruissaumbe household…”
Roderin was surprised.
“You must have good eyesight… I can’t see much past the sunlight…”
“Minister d’Ruissaumbe’s servants are always beautifully dressed and are… quite distinctive.”
He stopped his step. Musnier stood just behind him.
The sound of walking rang, lightly ornamented by the singing of eiders, mergansers, and scaups; the occasional sharp song, from an unknown bird, lost from the forests, wandered into the city’s walls. The almost indistinct flow of the Caedes sang too, as if lulling all who lived by its side into sleep.
He remembered that day in the Suritine, his dream… tinnitus hidden behind the river’s song…
The man, now clear, was a youth, of impeccable looks and disposition, dressed in all, waistcoat, coat and pantaloons of pale, lead and earth tones, accented with brilliant notes of apricot and dark gold, to match the autumn. The sigil of the d’Ruissaumbe’s household hung, embroidered in silver thread onto a band of peach silk, over the waist of his trousers. It was strange… rare for a noble to allow his servants to wear his sigil… In all, the youth reminded Roderin of a yellowed ginkgo tree, with the play of silvers and golds over his clothes… a tree he had seen, never in travels —since its origins where in the east most lands of the world— but, strangely enough, in the private gardens cultivated by affluent botanists, whom he knew from his dealings with the East-Mariannic, and some from his activities at Vanus.
Samuel tilted forward, slightly, and whispered.
“I misspoke. It is not a servant, but a noble retainer… a close aide to Minister d’Ruissaumbe.”
The retainer stopped before the minister and attendant.
“Minister de Lamartine, forgive me for interrupting your duties. I was sent to invite you to a meal with Minister d’Ruissaumbe, if, of course, you have the time.”
As if he would, could, reject this invitation. He lamented. There were things he wished to be done with today, however, it was about time the noblesse began persuading him. And, of course, the ministry could, partially, run on its own. It would be quite unfortunate if in his first days as minister some calamity occurred while he was out to lunch… it would soon be mid-day, anyway.
“Yes, certainly. Is he here, in the ministry?”
“He is outside the riverside gates, in a carriage, waiting. If you would allow me, I’ll guide you.” The youth showed as much propriety as Musnier, gracefully conveying deference and respect with all gestures.
Roderin nodded.
“Samuel, ah… please just leave these on my desk.” He handed Musnier the documents. “If anything… try and get ahold of me. I’ll be back after lunch.” He really did not know why he had said that… how was Musnier supposed to “get ahold of him”? Once again, he swallowed a laugh.
“Certainly, Minister de Lamartine.” Samuel said nothing much, sparing him the question.
The attendant bowed and left.
He followed behind the gingko youth.
*
The stone channels of the Caedes were all wearied, made beautiful, as if gaining patina, balustrades composing its railing in ancient style. And the river, protected from being sullied by the Hellian’s policies, was an earth-clear, although not perfectly crystalline. Dames and gentlemen walked about, here to there. Carriages parked by the facades of establishments, and some horses trotting, led by leashes, or with the gendarmerie mounted on their backs.
He heard the crackling of autumn leaves under his feet, as he followed the retainer.
The air was cold, cool, almost refreshing if not for its frigidness. The sun lent a drop of warmth.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He arrived at an ample, luxurious carriage —two beautiful silver maned horses tied to its front—, marked proudly with the sigils of the d’Ruissaumbe household. The carriage driver, dressed in a similar motif to the attendant —without the embroidered sigil, however—, rested at its front. One would think him a regular, affluent gentleman, so different was his countenance to the usual, unkempt appearance of carriage drivers in the capital.
The youth lowered the carriage steps, signaled with an outstretched arm and bowed.
“Please, Minister de Lamartine.”
Roderin, settling his nerves, climbed them, up to his meeting with the minister. The attendant, once Roderin had gotten on, rose the steps and made his way towards the front, to sit beside the driver.
Inside, it was pleasantly warm and aromatic, smelling of apricots, slightly; rich wood and, incense…? As well as some spiced spirit, perhaps?
The handsome green-eyed minister sat, his legs crossed over, as he looked out a window into the river. A lock of auburn hair dangled off his head, not tucked behind his ear, a band of silver adorning it. Just as in Affairs, the man was dressed perfectly, couture clearly luxurious, although measured and tasteful. He wore his overcoat still, even sitting on the colored cushions of the carriage’s inside.
The minister turned to look at him. An amiable smile drawn on his lips.
“Minister de Lamartine. A pleasure. Please, sit.” He gestured with his gloved hands towards the seat in front.
Roderin sat, adjusting himself.
They shook hands.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you with an invitation… It must be hectic, right now, in the ministry…”
“No, it’s surprisingly calm… I’m only marginally needed. It was a surprise.”
“Oh… a good sign... I hope my retainer did not interrupt you in the midst of something of importance?”
“I was merely walking to meet a commissioner general, to introduce myself…” He did not know why, suddenly, the thought ran up to his lips… however, he commented on the retainer’s appearance, almost muttering after a brief pause. “The young man, your retainer, he reminded me of a ginkgo tree…” realizing what he had said, Roderin hurried to add. “Apologies, its nothing… I just found him quite well dressed.” He gave some polite excuse to justify his rather strange comment. He was not in front of his friends, in the Roumbidón, where one could sputter out any thought that took his fancy.
Yet, the minister had not a polite expression of understanding, or of slight confusion, but of mild interest, even surprise, as his eyebrows rose lightly.
“Really? That is an interesting observation, Minister de Lamartine…” He stated, amused. “I was particularly inspired by the sight of the ginkgo in Monsieur Carrière’s garden. So, I worked with tailor Salá —I had to ask his Majesty and disburse a small fortune…” He sighed. “To design and make proper autumn uniforms and couture for my household… It was worth it, however… Salá’s work is gorgeous. Of course, I also trust my own designs to be tasteful.”
Roderin was surprised. He assumed Salá or whoever was a royal tailor? The first name, however, sparked his interest. He did not notice the carriage start to roll.
“Carrière? As in professor Carrière.”
“Yes. I assume you are familiar with him?”
“I saw him first at a lecture, when I attended Vanus. It was something on presumably extinct flora featured in historical reliefs… or mosaics, or something of the sort. However I came to know him through my work in the East-Mariannic… In fact, perhaps we saw the same ginkgo… I was not aware you were acquainted with him.” Roderin showed genuine surprise. D’Ruissaumbe was not someone whom he would think to keep company with the likes of Carrière. He remembered Alphonse’s words.
The green-eyed minister smiled.
“Botany and Horticulture are some of my interests… It has led me to sponsor Carrière’s activities, as well as some of his proposed imports. He has invited me to several of his expositions… Still, it is regrettable, I would involve myself more with Carrière’s circles if I were not constantly… imprisoned with my duties in Affairs and the chancellery. It was, in fact, part of the reason I wished to invite you out to lunch… This is, one could say... official business, yet, I’m not in the company of the noblesse, and so a topic like this, for example, has… free reign.”
“Hmm… I see. I would have presumed something like botany extends into the nobility’s interests…”
D’Ruissaumbe gestured as he spoke.
“The nobility… well, you are nobility are you not? There is a difference between, the noblesse… the culture, one would say, the… courts of blue blood… and nobility, especially Neue Noblesse as you, Minister de Lamartine… whose interests are more aligned with the times. I am not one with any predilection for hunting and dueling… and so, often, I feel out of place in the circles I must attend.”
The conversation was shaping itself into a form he did not expect, not at all like Alphonse had warned him. Wasn’t he supposed to be adulated, led into thinking himself as of the same ilk as the noblesse?
“I malign them unnecessarily.” d’Ruissaumbe smiled. “They are not brutes with only killing for a sport. Ha! Beauty is beloved in most places… high courts are a bastion, especially in our sensitive Romanse…”
Roderin knew not what to say. A simple simile was what he opted to state.
“Well… as far as the ginkgo, I thought it was quite beautiful… it’s autumn yellowing reminded me of Kerria flowers, perhaps you have seen them?”
“Oh, yes… I bought seeds from a batch brought in by Carrière. When in season I sometimes use them alongside gifts… their color is auspicious, bright and warm… So brightly vernal.”
A sudden memory flashed into Roderin’s mind. Something he had nearly forgotten.
“Minister d’Ruisssaumbe, have you, in the past, at any time, been patron to a collection of artifacts… from any of the East-Mariannic’s excavations.”
“Hm… yes…” The minister’s eyebrows rose. “Oh… are you thinking of one in particular?” He loosely questioned.
“Yes… it was a collection of artifacts excavated from a rā́jā’s tomb. The site was along the Citrá valley. Perhaps some, nine years ago? I remember quite clearly, it was an auction… the Musée Werner, who we had worked with, wished to retain only a certain part of the exhibition. As for the rest, we wanted to hand directly to the crown, however, perhaps because of the lingering war efforts, the ministry of finance vetoed the transaction, maybe Affairs did not see a reason to expend funds in such a way…? It was decided we would hold an auction to private collectors… A particular anonymous collector spent a fortune to buy every piece, and when we consulted with him through an intermediary, he simply asked that it all be put alongside the rest of the artifacts in the Werner… The funds arrived alongside Kerria flowers…”
D’Ruissaumbe laughed lightly, euphonically, sounding of spring amidst the frigid autumn.
“You caught me…” he flashed a brilliant smile. “I did not know you were at the head of that particular exhibition. I thought it all too beautiful to rest scattered amongst private collections… The artifacts are still in the Werner, yes?”
“Yes.”
“One piece in particular… it was a red lotus, made of garnet, ruby and red gold, with silver and amber for its stamens, and a padparadscha for its receptacle… When I saw it at the Werner I was smitten.” The minister’s eyes lay unfocused, peering above the moment into something else. “An overabundance of jewels turns most things garish… This lotus however… as if the craftsman’s blood had hardened, turned in some fever into the red jewels… and its center molded out of frozen sunlight.” His sight focused once again. “My apologies… It was a beautiful exhibition. The spending was worth it… the Werner will make sure to preserve it, better than most, if all, collectors can.”
Roderin, slightly shaken by d’Ruissaumbe’s appreciation for the artifact, reciprocated.
“Yes, I remember it. It was a beautiful piece… Back then I wished to thank you, I also felt reluctant to see the exhibition separated… however, you were anonymous.”
“Do not worry… It is in bad taste to be to so open about one’s activities.” He waved his hand.
‘Was it common among nobles to be so private?’ Roderin questioned, being reminded of Alphonse by d’Ruissaumbe’s words.
He looked outside, at the passing stone street, drowned in the color of the passersby.
“I did not ask… Where are we going?”
“To a rather private corner of Rue Bleue. Away from the chattering”
Called so for its preponderant noble presence… and the cobalt blue mosaics that decorated its Way. Half of its body rested atop the river Caedes, and onto an islet in its middle, known for housing a bevy of black swans, imported during the Hellian’s reign as a symbolic gesture of cooperation with Loegria Maritima. It was not a place Roderin frequented. He had been there perhaps once or twice for sightseeing, feeling out of place all the while.
“The Rue Bleue…”
However hidden, d’Ruissaumbe managed to feel the reluctance in Lamartine’s tone.
“It is an exhausting place… for me, that is, and I blend into it perfectly… You are not fond of it, I can tell. A pity, it has such a beautiful view of the Caedes… I saw it, once, as a child, before it became what it is today…” Once again, a pearled smile reassured Roderin. “Do not worry, like I said, it is a quiet cove. I frequent it precisely because of its quietude.”
“I trust your taste Minister d’Ruissaumbe.” Roderin assured.
“Call me Camille… I’ll call you Roderin, if you find it agreeable... I find keeping formality, even in private, spoils the pleasure of conversation.”
“Yes, certainly. I agree.” Lamartine exhaled, as if resting. “Constant titling, or however one may call it… I’m not accustomed to it.”
D’Ruissaumbe seemed to remember something.
“Oh, I was reminded… If you do not mind me asking, how did you come up with the prince’s name? Did you really dream it? I had heard of you, and the name solidified the image I held of you in my mind…”
“You knew of me before the Fylassein?” He had to play the oblivious newcomer.
“Yes, of course… I’m sure His Majesty told you, you were recommended for the post of minister by Lanthym.”
Roderin almost choked.
“Ah, yes, yes… he did.” Looking to change the topic, he held onto the first thing that came into his mind. “You had an impression of me?”
“That of a well read, well traveled academic… with, even, the makings of a poet.” Camille smiled.
“No, well, I prefer to be modest… as for the makings of a poet… Well, it is not something I am versed in, it is just an interest in archeology and ancient culture leads one to the same alleys as poets… I don’t think myself to have the sufficient sensibilities for poetry.” He calmed his breaths. “The origin of the name… In part I would say I dreamt it… I could also say it was… placed into my mind… pardon the mystical language.”
“As if you had been possessed by a muse?” d’Ruissaumbe seriously considered this possibility, his hand holding his chin in thought.
“Well, who knows…”
The carriage suddenly stopped, abruptly, cutting the conversation’s thread.
“We seem to have stopped…” The green-eyed minister stated, intrigued.
Although the sounds of the street, and the carriage’s body muffled their echo, something… strange, as the sound of bedlam, gathered, reaching them, now that they focused on the silence. Roderin felt as if the air were charged with something, moving, swiveling, spinning, condensing… lightly emanating… the scent of copper?
‘Perhaps the air was enraged…?’ A meaningless comment flickering into his mind. He feared, however, where it had come from… why had he, specifically, thought of that… d’Ruissaumbe looked to feel nothing.
The attendant’s voice resounded, directed at them from outside the carriage.
“Your grace, minister de Lamartine. Concerning commotion is blocking the road further down… should we consider rerouting or returning, to avoid the uproar.”
“By your tone and language, I would presume it to be dangerous.” Camille questioned.
“It is concerning… pardon my superstitiousness, it simply feels unnatural… although animated gatherings are not out of the ordinary, this is no such thing… even this conversation alerts my nerves, we should return as soon as possible.”
D’Ruissaumbe thought for half a second and sighed.
“To have an outing ruined in this manner… You will have to forgive me Roderin, I trust my retainer’s instincts. I’ll make it up to you, we can meet again soon, and I’ll show you the cove I talked about; this was, official business after all.” His tone turned harsh, almost disappointed. “Return… if it is truly something worth fear we will be safe near the Asphodeli, near the ministry and the chancellery.”
Roderin, lost for words at the situation, wondered how the retainer was aware of something they had not yet heard, only becoming aware of it when the sound of their voices had ceased. Perhaps the youth felt the same as he did…?
He sank in though as the carriage turned. They turned back, the air clearing as they left where they had, before, stopped. The crystalline, pure air he now sensed made the strangeness, the oddity, the wrongness…? he felt before stand out far more… a slight shudder ran across his body.
Camille looked out the window, unimpressed.