The Lord of the Plains

by Sarah Chapman

Chapter 29

  Messenger watched Mr Briggs nervously as he slowly examined the room. His austere visage was slack and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

  The House of Corchanus was inside the mountain. If anyone lived in the palace on the mountainside, Messenger was unaware of it.

  Their room was cut out of the rock, and the walls were polished to a gleam. The floor was tiled in intricate and breathtaking designs, which were mostly covered by rich, dark carpets. Delicately painted screens separated sections of the room. The screens were mainly painted in floral designs, though some were geometric. The furniture was made out of a dark polished wood and decorated with vibrant cloths and pillows of colours Messenger had never known existed. Carved into the stone of the walls were even more visions of beauty. Some of the carvings were coloured with paint while others were simply polished to bring out the colours of the rock. The carvings were again mainly floral or geometric or some mix of the two. Tunnels in the mountainside allowed light and fresh air into the room. During the day the carefully placed openings looked like miniature suns, blazing away. They cast a warm, yellow light over the room which was reflected in the polished, gleaming rock. During the night the colour would change slightly, as it was no longer the sun, so far away, providing light, but some machine. Delicate little screens could be drawn over the light holes to dim, or darken, the room.

  Messenger cleared his throat. ‘You can put your clothes in there, sir, if you like.’ Messenger said, gesturing at a wooden wardrobe that by itself had more beauty in it than the whole of Astar. ‘This is the sleeping area.’ Messenger moved aside a screen and gestured at a giant, man sized pillow. It was pink with a golden fringe. Other pillows, some just one colour, others with designs on them, were scattered around the pillow. ‘I can assure you, it’s quite comfortable. You’ll get an excellent rest here.’

  Mr Briggs goggled silently.

  Messenger’s pillow was behind another screen. It was smaller and less fluffy than the pink pillow, to reflect his lower status.

  ‘Um,’ he moved on hurriedly. ‘This door leads to the household baths. I can show you if you like.’

  Mr Briggs looked at the carved wooden door intently. If the door had been an Astarian soldier it would have been trembling in its Reismal body armour.

  ‘Yes, yes, lead the way.’

  Despite the heavy look to the door, it opened smoothly onto a long tunnel. The floor was tiled, the walls again polished and reflecting light that originated far away.

  Mr Briggs stepped into the tunnel behind him and Messenger let the door swing shut. It closed without a sound. There was no doorknob on the door, on any doors, but neither were they locked, so opening them was no trouble.

  As they walked down the tunnel Messenger noticed the tiles were not smooth. They had little knobs on them. He knew from his many visits to Cavachi that this was to provide purchase for wet and slippery feet.

  As they walked the sound of water echoed through the tunnel and the air became damp. When they rounded a corner they found themselves in a large cavern.

  The chamber contained a number of large pools, surrounded by those same non-slippery tiles. The rock, cleaned but otherwise left in its natural state rose above, so high the top of the cavern disappeared into darkness. Lights pinpointed that darkness like stars in the night sky.

  Messenger loved the baths. They were perhaps the least decorated part of Cavachi, which was maybe why he felt more at home here. They usually contained nothing except tiles, natural rock walls and the smell and sounds of freshwater.

  They had hardly been there a second when an attendant asked them if he could be of assistance.

  ‘Would you like to bathe?’ Messenger asked Mr Briggs, who had gone a little pale.

  He gazed around the wide open cavern. A number of people were already in the baths. Some were sitting and chatting sedately in the heated water, while in other pools children were splashing and playing.

  ‘There are private rooms, if that would suit you, sir.’ Messenger offered.

  Mr Briggs glanced at Messenger. ‘Y-yes, that would be good.’

  Messenger spoke to the assistant, who with a smile, began leading them to the private bathing areas.

  In Astar there were no baths. There were showers. The showers were public, but not public in the sense that you showered with other people. Messenger thought Mr Briggs might well faint when he saw he would get an entire bath all to himself, or a select group of friends if that’s what he wanted. Messenger rather doubted Mr Briggs would be inviting anyone to bathe with him.

  The private baths were in separate, smaller caverns. When they entered one of the vacant baths Mr Briggs looked even more lost. The ‘private’ bath had room for ten people to bathe comfortably. On the wall opposite the door were shelves and hooks where clothes and other items might be stored.

  When they arrived the assistant asked if it was suitable. Messenger assured him it was. The assistant asked if they would need any soaps, brushes or bath salts and so on and so forth. Messenger had learned there were many lotions, potions and implements necessary to bathe properly in Cavachi.

  Messenger asked for the least he could without seeming to be an uncivilized, smelly, barbarian. He didn’t translate the conversation for Mr Briggs.

  While the assistant was gone Messenger soothingly told Mr Briggs how he was to go about bathing. Then came another troublesome question. It was a mark of the Speaker of the Master of the House of Corchanus’ wealth and status that he had warming rocks for his guests, family and servants to dry themselves on. It was a sign of bad taste and poor planning to need to use a piece of cloth to dry oneself. The people of Cavachi much preferred to drape themselves over rocks and be dried by the light of the sun. Or whatever light they used to fake it down in the mountain.

  Mr Briggs already looked alarmed enough. Being tired was not a good enough excuse to use a towel to dry oneself. One could always sleep on the rocks after all. Messenger thought about it a bit more and smiled.

  When the assistant returned Messenger told him Mr Briggs was eager to get back to their rooms and continue his study on the Vachi code of conduct. While they of course had their own complicated code in Astar, it was different to the one in Cavachi and Mr Briggs didn’t want to dishonour himself or his hosts because of his ignorance.

  Nodding his understanding, the assistant was more than happy to bring them towels.

  When they returned to their rooms Messenger suggested Mr Briggs take a nap before the dinner theatre. Mr Briggs, who looked nearly catatonic at this point, complied without a word.

  Messenger watched Mr Briggs become increasingly frustrated. Once again Messenger leant in to remind him this was important to the Vachi, and that they were very different people and to please be patient.

  They were sitting on colourful cushions. Across their laps were little tables of richly carved dark wood. Atop the tables were delicate trays with carefully arranged food. Already they had gone through three trays. The trays were made of very thin jewels or glass. They were translucent and beautiful and incredibly fragile. The current tray was pale green with little white flowers painted discreetly around the edge. Sapphire chips formed the centre of the flowers. Messenger loved these little trays. In Cavachi beauty could be found in the smallest detail or the largest cavern. Mr Briggs paid no attention to the little trays. He was getting frustrated with the little portions of food. To Messenger, it was a myriad of tastes and smells that always made the food in Astar taste like cardboard. He enjoyed a meal like this the most, as he got to try many dishes. Mr Briggs ate mechanically and glared at the finicky plates and bowls and unfulfilling portions of food.

  Currently arrayed on Messenger’s tray was a small bowl made of clear glass with blue swirled into it. It held a small salad of cheese, nuts, some green leafy vegetable and a delightfully refreshing sauce. It was in the upper left corner. On a square plate in the lower left was a crispy, red vegetable stuffed with a minty puree of something. In the upp
er right was a rectangular plate. A row of five small mushrooms of some variety draped with a thick tasty sauce adorned that plate. In the lower right was a cup in the shape of a rose bud. In it was rose flavoured water.

  Messenger was enjoying this tray.

  In front of them was a raised stage made out of that familiar dark wood. Streamers hung from the frame of the stage. On the stage elaborately painted and costumed Vachi acted out… something. Messenger didn’t enjoy the plays much. They were always silent. They made him nostalgic for the Children’s Theatre of Astar. There, he could understand what was going on. But the singing, he loved the singing.

  In the background someone was playing a heavy drum. The deep, sonorous beats only seemed to make the time go slower.

  The Speaker, still dressed predominantly in sky blue, though he had of course changed his clothes and jewellery, smiled over at Mr Briggs.

  Mr Briggs nodded politely back, his lips pressed into a thin smile.

  The night went on for hours.

  Mr Briggs frustration finally eased as he accepted the fact they were going to be there a long time. The trays of food blurred into one another and Messenger felt himself becoming full. He was beginning to get tired, though he hid it well.

  Finally it was done. Messenger was too tired to be relieved when he noticed Mr Briggs following his lead. The goodbyes and goodnights felt like they took a very long time before finally they were back in their rooms.