by Eric Ugland
“Ah. Not exactly my sort of event.”
“You must come, Montana,” Eliza said.
“I will be there,” I said. “I’m just preparing myself.”
“If you can find someone to give you dance lessons, I imagine that will translate well.”
“Don’t you worry about my dance skills.”
“Again, I am sorry—”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Northwoods. But it certainly appears I need to learn to dance and likely find some clothes that aren’t chain mail.”
“That, too, might be wise.”
“Hey, quick question—”
“Yes?”
“The knot on Duke Ginsburg’s sword — what’s that?”
“A friðartengsl.”
“Gesundheit.”
“What?”
“Sorry. Can you say that again?”
“Yes, it is a friðartengsl. It is to demonstrate the sword is worn as part of an outfit or uniform, and not intended to be drawn. A well-tied friðartengsl will not allow the weapon to be pulled from its scabbard.”
“Is that a normal thing?”
“It is an older custom. A few houses still use them, but not many.”
“So I don’t need one?”
“If you like it, I am sure it will return in fashion in your lands.”
“What do you mean?”
“People will emulate you, your grace. I am sure you have noticed some of that.”
“I haven’t.”
“Beards are being grown again. More young men are wearing armor all the time.”
“Hopefully not wandering around covered in blood and viscera.”
Eliza smiled and winked. “Not yet, at least.”
38
I found myself in Nikolai’s office not long after my chat with Eliza.
“Did you know there’s a party tonight?” I asked, dropping into the chair opposite him.
“Very aware,” he replied, not bothering to look up from his papers.
“You okayed that?”
“No one requested my permission.”
“You think there’s going to be a problem?”
“No.”
“Is it wise?”
“Not particularly.”
“So what do we do?”
“You attend and make friends.”
“What if they aren’t here to make friends?”
“Of course they are. They’re here to meet you and decide how you will stand in the Empire.”
“You don’t think they’re here to visit with Eliza?”
“I think that is a convenient excuse. The nobility of the Empire tend to only care about family when it benefits their politics.”
I sighed. “It’s always so complicated.”
“Oh, poor you, having to go to a party.”
“She said I should come properly dressed.”
“That would be wise.”
“Any ideas on how to make that happen in a few hours?”
“Well clearly, the best course of action would be to come and complain to your chancellor. I imagine that’s the best possible way to prepare for a party. Right?”
“Helpful as always, Nikolai.”
He dropped his pen and made a show of throwing his papers down.
“What is it you would like me to do?” the man snapped. “Shall I find a pair of pants for you and teach you how they go on? Shall I instruct you on the intricacies of wearing a shirt? What, exactly, is the problem you are facing, Montana of Coggeshall? It is not like you to be quite so, well, ridiculous.”
“Things feel off, man,” I said. “I don’t know how else to explain it. There’s an itch to all of this because—”
I looked around, and Nikolai matched me.
Then, he pulled a small placard from his desk, set it dead center and burned a piece of paper on it.
My ears popped as pressure changed.
“Safe now,” he said.
“We need a fucking code word,” I said.
“A code word? For what?”
“Talking about The Master. I don’t want to have to pretend to be super awkward about things until you realize I need to talk to you privately.”
“Might be we need a code word to talk about things privately.”
“Might be. Now. We’ve done fuck-all on finding the fucking Master,” I said.
“My lord, you have done fuck-all on finding the fucking Master. I have been doing my utmost to discern who he might be and what he is doing here.”
“And?”
“And it is a slow process because there are so many individuals living with us now. But I have some of my people watching some of our newcomers.”
“Your people?”
“Being that you don’t have a spymaster, those duties fall to me.”
“Do we need a spymaster?”
“It would help. I wouldn’t have suggested it at first, yet we have grown so quickly to a size where it makes sense to have one.”
“Okay, well,” I started, ready to work through suggestions.
“Now is not the time to bring in a new person to our little club.”
“Fair. I’m hoping you’re about to tell me you’ve got some leads.”
“Not especially.”
“So we’re fucked on this.”
“I would not quite term it that way. We are in the early stages of our attempt to find The Master. It would be foolhardy to expect to find someone who is so skilled at hiding that he evaded capture, or even discovery, in Osterstadt for years. It certainly helps that we have absolutely no information about what it is we are looking for.”
“At one point, Emeline said she thought it was something called a croaker. Or croakers.”
“Let’s hope it is not.”
“Are there things about croakers we could look for? I mean, are they attracted to certain sights or smells?”
“They are most attracted to eating sapient creatures. Should we set up a trap?”
“I mean, I can think of a few people I wouldn’t mind seeing gone.”
“Coggeshall can ill afford to lose population.”
“I was referring to some of our visitors.”
“Have they been that bad, Montana?”
“No, but—”
“Stop with the hyperbole then. They are guests, and you are in charge of their safety.”
“I know. Just that Eliza warned me about her cousin, that her cousin is going to snare me.”
“I would imagine the two of them are at odds over you.”
“Eliza is not—”
“Instead of having yet another conversation where you demonstrate your extreme lack of awareness in romance and guile, I’m just going to tell you to be careful.”
“I am careful.”
“You are many things, Montana, but I doubt you can find anyone other than yourself who will paint you with that particular brush.”
“You know, you don’t have to wait for our secret time to lash out at me. But since we are in secret time, what the fuck are we going to do?”
“You are going to find fancy duds for the party, and you will look nice while making sure everyone has a good time. It will be your job to ensure that none of those guests are here to engineer our destruction. Or harm any of the others here under your care, which also includes your guests. You will also be tasked with making personal connections to all the various nobles gathered under your roof for Fiends’ Night, because you will not be able to isolate yourself from the rest of the world forever, and it is much easier to succeed when you are not fucking alone.”
“Isn’t fucking alone masturbation?”
Nikolai blinked a few times. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Be a social butterfly,” I said. “Got it.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“And you’re on The Master issue?”
“Is tonight one of your sleeping nights?”
“What do you mean?”
&n
bsp; “You know precisely what I mean.”
“How did you know?”
“Because you are about as subtle as a goblin who’s discovered a vat of Greek fire. Nearly everyone knows you sleep quite rarely. Are you planning to sleep this evening?”
“Probably? I don’t know. I’m feeling slightly tired.”
“Fiends Night is very long, I suggest you take any chance you have for resting prior to the night itself.”
“Okay, so, yeah. I’ll rest.”
“Excellent, your grace. Do not forget that Emeline will be sleeping in your quarters.”
“Shit. I’m guessing asking for an extra bed is out of the question.”
“Given how many people are currently sleeping upon blankets, hay, or the floor, yes, I think it might be a touch insensitive to ask for an extra bed because you, the man who slays wyrms and worms solo, are afraid to sleep in the same bed as a woman.”
“That cut deep.”
“Go get gussied up, your grace. There is far too much for me to do right now.”
“You know I’m going to restart the prinkies for this.”
“I will slaughter them mercilessly.”
“Then you’ll have to clean up all the glitter they leave behind. Probably much worse than stones.”
He glared at me, then slammed his fist on the placard, which snapped in two.
My ears popped again.
“Good day, your grace,” Nikolai said.
I gave him a smile as I left. He did not smile in return.
Solomon the tailor was more than happy to see me. He had apparently been working on something for me. I went from looking like a schlub to looking like a fancy schlub in mere minutes. The Empire’s current fancy style consisted of tights under short pants in Coggeshall Green. A white shirt covered with a tight jacket that had slits in its sleeves to show off the color of the shirt underneath. No hat. The shoes were the same color as the pants and the jacket. A little too matchy-matchy for my tastes, but what did I know of high Coggeshall fashion?
“Can you move?” Solomon asked, tutting as he moved around me, pulling the fabric here and there.
I twisted a little, did a bit of stretching and jumping.
“Moves with me,” I said.
“I imagined you are quite active,” he replied, beaming, “and I had to do a little work choosing the right fabric and the right bias. And the cut. Also adding plenty of darts.”
“It’s fantastic,” I said, wondering where the darts were and if I could get them fast enough to throw. Was it normal to add weapons into nobility’s clothing?
“I am oh so honored, your grace,” the tailor said with a deep bow.
I gave him a bow in return.
“Thank you,” I said.
I won’t lie, the clothing was actually rather comfortable. I felt a bit like a peacock, strutting around in vivid color while nearly everyone else wore drab stone or mud colored cloth, wearing rough cotton if they were lucky.
Still, people seemed to see me with a little more respect and a little less fear, and that was nice.
I immediately got out of the nice clothes and got back into my day-to-day rags.
Then, I spent a few hours training. Sword and shield work. Some archery. Acrobatics and gymnastics. Physical work that got the sweat going. And once I exhausted that particular avenue of keeping myself busy, I jumped into helping work on the various construction projects. I was quite skilled at moving things. Pushing rocks around? Top tier. There was plenty of work to go around, so nearly everyone needed help in some capacity. I spread around hundreds of prinkies, much to the amusement of, well, everyone but Nikolai. And no, I did not instruct prinkies to bring him shiny pebbles.
As night fell and the shifts changed — Coggeshall was working in three shifts around the clock — I looked at the progress. The ballroom was mostly done. Maybe not pretty, but usable. The same could be said of the dining hall. Basic sleeping chambers had been constructed for most of the refugees, with a truly staggering number of beds, sheets, and blankets delivered. The centaurs were sleeping in our daylight fields on the farm levels while they waited for us to have a dedicated space for them. There was also a meeting scheduled to discuss staircases. Our current stairs were not exactly comfortable for centaurs to navigate, so we needed to find space to construct centaur-size staircases.
And as I took another shower, Nikolai was once again in the bathroom letting me know that he still had no idea what was going on with The Master.
39
I managed to get myself back into my fancy clothes with no problem. Well, with few problems. That was mainly because Emeline insisted on helping.
She was not going to the party with me, because, in a mark in the ‘Northwoods Ain’t That Bad column,’ there would be a feast for the rest of the holding in the lower cantina. Provided by Lord Northwoods. It was an unexpected bit of generosity from the man who definitely seemed to think of non-nobles as barely people.
And thus, she left early to make sure she got a good table with friends. Most of my minotaur guard went as well.
It left me to finish by myself. I merely needed to pick out my weapon and see about tying some sort of knot on it. But what weapon?
I spotted a tiny book on top of my dresser, about the size of a matchbook. The magical etiquette thing from Mister Paul. I’d mostly ignored it since I’d received it. Frankly, I probably could have gone most of my life without using it. But I really did want to act like the duke everyone seemed to think I should be. So I grabbed the book.
As soon as I touched it, the book ruffled and fluffed itself up.
“Ah!” a voice said in my head. “You have need of me? Might I avail myself—”
“Can you not speak in my mind?” I asked. “It’s disconcerting.”
“Of course,” the book said, still in my head. “I only seek permission, then, to be a little more lifelike.”
“Uh, sure,” I said. “Permission granted.”
The book ruffled and grew, moving past bible size and textbook until it hit tome and finally Unabridged Oxford Dictionary. Eyes opened on the top of the book, and the pages curved around enough to form a mouth. Ribbons shot forth from inside the book and formed six little legs, with two black ribbons dangling down in front that could be construed as arms. Or tentacles. Or a mustache, if you were really trying to stretch it.
“Better,” the book said, shaking itself a little and then walking across the top of the dresser on its little ribbon legs. “Let us look at you, shall we?”
“I suppose.”
“Yes. Yes. I see. I seem to recall you are the duke of Coggeshall, Imperial duke in the Empire of Glaton.”
“I am.”
“A moment,” the book said, and closed its eyes.
I stood there for a moment, wondering what had transpired in my life to lead me to speak to a talking book. Or rather, lead me to wait for a book to speak to me. I won’t lie, I took a long look over at the fireplace, then the book, then the fireplace, wondering what might happen if I burned a magic book...
“I have your cultural norms in mind,” the book said confidently. “How might I be of service, your grace?”
“I have a dinner tonight—”
“What form of dinner?”
“Meat? I don’t know.”
“Is it formal?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the highest-ranking member of the Empire who will be present?”
“I think me? There’s another Duke here, but people keep telling me I’m an Imperial Duke and that’s somehow higher.”
“Do you answer to the Emperor or to an archduke?”
“Emperor. When there is one.”
“The throne sits empty?”
“Yes. Shouldn’t you know this?”
“Apologies, your grace. I will endeavor to find out.”
“Is finding out asking me?”
“Yes.”
“We’re probably both in trouble.”
“Perhaps y
ou can find a historian I might speak with. Then I would be able—”
“Let’s just get through this dinner.”
“Of course, your grace. You are likely the highest ranking aristocrat in the room. Are you the host?”
“Sort of? I mean, look, the dinner is in my house but someone else is throwing it.”
“Oh, that does complicate things.”
“Really? How?”
“It does not, but you seemed to think it complicated.”
“You were just saying that to be polite.”
“Yes, your grace,” the book said with a smile.
I’ve never wanted to punch a book before. It’s a strange feeling.
“Just tell me what weapon would be appropriate to take,” I said. “And maybe what knot to tie.”
“Are you intending to assassinate someone?” it asked.
“No,” I replied quickly. “Of course not. Do you know the etiquette for that?”
“Of course. I know the cultural norms and proper etiquette for over two thousand cultures, including one-hundred-twenty-two cultures on Vuldranni.”
“There are one-hundred-and-twenty-two distinct cultures on Vuldranni?”
“At least.”
“So there might be more.”
“I would imagine so, yes.”
“How many?”
“I will have to find that out for you.”
“So you don’t know.”
“It is never polite to say you don’t know. Better to be actionable and say you will find out.”
“Are you going to find out?”
“Of course.”
“Are you just saying that to be polite?”
“Of course. I am a book. How would you expect me to go and find out?”
“You’ve got little legs and eyes. You could go read some books.”
“Shall I wander about your holding in my current form?”
“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing out there.”
“Then perhaps you may direct me to your library.”
“Ah. Point taken.”
“No library?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you planning to build one?”
“I am now.”
“Excellent politeness, your grace. Now, what is the purpose of your weapon?”
“Style and protection, I guess.”
