by Pam Uphoff
"Oh, nearly three hundred in town, at the last king's census, and ten times that on the farms around here." Her eyes slid to Liz. "We're a respectable establishment, here."
"Yes, you looked substantial and prosperous, that why I stopped here first. Now, Liz mentioned a Baron?"
"Baron Christian Weigh. A very fair man, very letter of the law." She shifted uncertainly.
"Who does he answer to?" the lady asked.
"Well, the king, of course."
"Of course," the lady smiled a little, but her forehead was creased. She eased the baby out from under the blanket and handed the sleeping infant to Liz. She tugged at her blouse, and rose to move her saddle bags. "Please sit, if you have a moment. I need to learn about the truly important things." Mistress Cordes looked alarmed, and the lady smiled impishly. "What is fashionable, hereabouts? I suspect my riding outfit is scandalous."
"Oh, no, not for riding but . . . "
Mistress Cordes went on about dresses for a quarter of an hour before remembering her other duties and hurrying off.
The lady had picked at the food, and as soon as they were alone offered the rest to Liz. "Since she treated the girl like she was invisible, I thought I ought to as well. Is that right?"
"Oh yes, if you'd invited me to table you'd have been implying that she was no better than I am." Liz tossed her head, dismissing Madam Cordes.
"Well, we're not so odd where I come from, sit and eat, and I have some wine . . . with some medicinal herbs in it. It will do wonders for your cheek."
Liz touched the hot crusted slash carefully. She'd only looked in a mirror once, before her parents kicked her out, fearing for her father's position. It was going to be a disfiguring scar, inches long under the cheekbone.
"Sacrilege in a tea cup, but that's all we've got. Now, it has a number of side effects. You really need to stay in tonight, until it wears off."
The wine tasted like the sort the baron bought, real quality. She sipped it, and nibbled at the cheese and bread. The lady prowled between the two rooms, then started digging around in her saddle bags. She pulled out an amazing amount of clothing; it must have been crammed in to the bag.
"These aren't fashionable at all are they?" She shook out a light linen shift with lace at the collar and hem, and a heavier gown, open all the way down the front, like a coat and then an embroidered belt.
"Oh, no, M'lady. Not at all. Now if the bodice was buttoned closed, and the skirt a bit fuller, and a few more petticoats . . . Umm, we usually wear vests like mine or a corset underneath, not a . . . contraption like you have. And ladies, well, their skirts are usually close to ankle length."
"I see, just long enough to not get muddy if you're lucky. Well, looks like I'd better get some sewing done, doesn't it?"
Liz helped the lady sort through her improbable wardrobe, and the bright red over robe was sacrificed in the name of fashion. Its elaborate embroidery was turned into a yoke, front panel and waist band on the black robe, the deep blue robe received a brilliant contrasting band all around the neck line, wrists and hem line and a broad belt of the same material. The dark red sleeveless robe, cut off under the arms, was long enough for a skirt that would look good with the lady's white blouse and dark jacket, much too straight to be fashionable, yet somehow business-like. One of the shifts was cut down for an extra petticoat, and the lace from the sleeves and neckline added to the bottom for extra fullness. The lady's stitches were small precise, quick. She was obviously accustomed to fine handwork. The results were impressive.
"It's not stylish so much as obviously rich." Liz snipped off the thread at the end of a long seam, and contemplated the odds and ends. "Proper Ladies don't go about without hats, but it doesn't take much to qualify as a hat, these days." A bit of embroidered edging with a bit of lace, for the black dress, and a poof of red to go with the other two . . . "We'll have to keep our eyes open for feathers, M'lady. A pair of pheasant feathers would be perfect for this."
The lady yawned. "Oh. Today started very early for me. Do you need to tell your parents that you've got a job as, well, whatever sounds good? Ladies maid? Nanny? Companion?"
Liz crossed her arms stubbornly. "No." She softened slightly. "I'll send them a note, so they don't worry, but father is the baron's horsemaster, and, well, they pretty much had to throw me out so they didn't get tossed out themselves. Did I mention eight little brothers and sisters?"
Lady Quicksilver gave a jaw cracking yawn. "Yes, well, I suppose that's understandable, once one swallows the general unfairness of the whole thing. Get some dinner sent in if you're hungry, I'll mind my little bird tonight, she'll just be hungry and need a diaper change, after all."
Liz helped her clear away the remains of the sewing session, and slipped into the next room. They'd left the baby sleeping there while they sewed, and she hated to wake her, moving her. She could just slip back to the kitchens and get a bite—her hand brushed her cheek, no one would see the ugly . . . the scab flaked off in her hand, and the skin was smooth beneath it.
There was a mirror in the alcove outside the main room of the tavern.
Liz glanced back into the other room. The lady was asleep. She slipped out her own door and locked it behind her.
The rooms were at the end of an ell, an addition to the original building. Liz was surprised by the noise as she reached the corner. Troops. Drat. But there weren't any in the front by the desk. Liz slipped around the corner to peer into the mirror. Her cheek was smooth, just a pale streak to mark where the whip had fallen. If it didn't tan she could just use a little powder . . . she pushed back her sleeves. The welts and cuts where she'd protected her face after that first unanticipated slash were also healed. Her hands went to her hair, that she'd braided back seeking a modest appearance.
"Well if it isn't Miss Hoity-toity, too good for the baronet."
And there he was, the one person she least wanted to ever meet again.
A pair of Imperial Officers were with him, young men about his age.
"Come entertain us at dinner, and after," he smirked. "I understand your social status has suffered a serious loss." He grabbed her chin and forced her head around. "Excellent. That should be enough to school you. I was afraid Father had lost his temper and marred you."
Liz jerked away, furious, frightened enough to realize that this time she'd better watch her tongue.
"Roger, leave the girl alone, I swear you're worse than those panting lapdogs in the Palace."
"Now Kurt, if you're not . . . up to it, fine. But no reason, Franklin and I can't enjoy the privileges of our stations."
Kurt sent an icy glare at Roger's back. "Do not . . . "
"Ah, there you are Liz," Lady Quicksilver swept into the group. "I rather thought you were taking your time. Go fetch my dinner. Now." It was a royal command and Liz jumped to obey before realizing she was being rescued. And in trouble. Lady's companions were supposed to be above reproach. Tarts were not allowed to raise lady's children.
"Sorry about my lazy maid, Officers. Girls these days!" She gave them a stiff polite nod and walked away.
Liz slipped into the kitchen. "Can I take a tray to M'lady?"
"Of course, dear, the Imperial troops have arrived. Thank God they are only here for the two weeks." Madam Cordes loaded teapot, breads, a bowl of soup, a plate of chicken and potatoes, and a side dish of peas on a tray and chivvied her out of the kitchen. Liz hustled down the corridor and through the open door, dread starting to turn her stomach.
The lady was pacing. "I hate men like that. I hate them!"
Liz gulped. Wasn't she in trouble?
"Oh, certainly not, dear. I could feel your distress and panic. So, was that the baron's son?"
"Oh yes."
She snorted. "Well. You're best off out of there. Sit down, you're trembling, help me eat this, goodness, did she expect me to eat it all? Good thing I'm hungry, after all."
The lady shuffled meat and peas and placed the side dish with half of each in front of
Liz.
"Liz . . . tell me more about this world. Start with why the troops are here."
Liz blinked. World? Must be an expression, where she comes from. How very odd. "They, well some troop or other, come by three times a year. They train with the local troops and the citizen's militia, so we're ready if either the Marchessaus come back down from the northwest, or the Arbolians decide to add us to their empire. Some times bandits form up a large group and cause problems too. So we all fight. Well, the able bodied over fourteen and under fifty. The women are supposed to be either archers, healers, watchers or couriers, but a lot of them get sent off to be cooks and such. I'm not very good with a bow, so I mostly ran courier duty. They're early, on account of the mild winter we've had."
"Hmm, all right, how will that affect me, as a visitor." Her brows drew together. "Not that I have the slightest idea of where to go when I've finished visiting."
"I don't know." Liz admitted. "I suppose you could ride courier duty with me."
"Well, I don't know where anything is, and I have a baby, so perhaps I had better look into the healing part of your organization, in the unlikely event anyone expects me to join in."
"Umm, M'lady? Where are you going?"
"Away. I . . . am fleeing, and I don't really remember why." She frowned and her eyes were distant. "I don't remember. I don't have anyplace to go to, so I suppose I'll stay here for a bit, and move on when it seems like time to go. I must have wandered around the hills west of here for almost a month before I spotted smoke from the town. Not a bad way to live, but a bit boring."
"Oh, umm, if this were a normal winter, you wouldn't say that."
"Perhaps not. So, does everyone just drop all their work and go do this militia stuff?"
"Only for a few hours on three afternoons. Then we have a festival day, with all the groups working together. It won't start for a week. They'll drill with the baron's men for the first week. They're the important part, the militia is a last ditch, desperate sort of thing." Liz tapped her fingers. "I don't have a horse for the courier's group, anyway."
"Take Phantom, he'll be ready for some exercise in a week, if not sooner".
Liz gulped. "He's, um, a bit heavy for the courier's."
The lady smirked. "He's also fast. You'll see."
They picked through the meal, fed and changed Quail, and sought their beds.
As she drifted off, Liz wondered a bit at the sudden turn her fortunes had taken. How long would it last, and what she would do, where she would go, if this strange lady left as abruptly as she'd arrived?
Chapter Three
Tuesday, February 17, 3493 AD
Jeramtown, Arrival
The bath was occupied by officers. Liz scowled and went to the kitchen for hot water. So the lady managed, if not a bath, at least to get clean. She opted first for her riding clothes, and Quail on her shoulder, sought the barn. Phantom was as big and black as Liz remembered, and when she led him out into the yard, even the bright morning sun couldn't point up any faults to his conformation.
A straggle of the troops came out and admired him too.
"Where did you find a horse like that?" One of the young officers from last night, the closest one to nice, walked around the stallion.
"I bred him myself, in the Kingdom of the West, which, as the tavern keeper mentioned, isn't known here. I suppose it could be so far west it's east."
"Never heard of it." The officer circled the horse again. "Will you sell him?"
"No." The lady looked at Liz. "Do you have any ideas about the going rates for stud fees around here?"
"For him? Twenty crits, at least, no doubt going up after he's got foals on the ground to point at for quality."
The officer sighed. "I'll be sending some mares. Be sure of it. Lady?"
"Quicksilver. December Quicksilver, my daughter Quail, and my companion, Miss Elizabeth Hinton."
"Captain Kurt Alpha, at your service." He nodded politely.
Liz wheezed a bit, as she suddenly realized one of the King's sons had been sent to command the exercises this year. The one they were all talking about.
More of the Imperial troops were coming out, so the lady told Liz to put Phantom away, and they strolled out to the street. "Now tell me about money. What can I buy for a crit, and where shall I take gold coins to swap them for local currency?"
"The Exchange, M'lady. Everything is bought and sold through the Exchange. Would you like to see it?"
"Yes, I would, but perhaps I should change into a skirt, and bring some of the gold."
She simply exchanged pants for the red skirt, keeping even the boots, and pulling a sack out of the saddle bags, she followed Liz back out to the street. Jeramtown had good stone roads, with raised pedestrian walks along both sides. The lady eyed a pram being pushed down the sidewalk. "I think I need one of those." She patted the quiet baby on her shoulder.
Liz was carrying a basket full of diapers and nodded enthusiastically.
***
The Exchange was an interesting place. Rather like a bank, it also bought and sold commodities in bulk. Warehouses full of wool, silos full of grain. Something called cotton was being actively traded at the moment, judging from the chalk boards. Cattle, sheep, and pigs, not present, but apparently being bid on for delivery to various places.
December Quicksilver made note of the names and commodities, as Liz led her over to a corner where a board noted prices for gold, silver, copper, tin and lead.
"And how may I help you ladies today?" The title was definitely due to a quick once over of her business-like appearance and possibly demeanor, and possibly the maid.
December handed the baby to Liz and brought out the bag with about half her gold coinage. "I've been abroad, and need to exchange this for something a bit more useful locally."
The clerk raised his eyebrows, and quickly brought out a scale and tall glass column half full of water, with a scale marked up the side.
He weighed the coins, and measured their volume. "Twenty-four carat gold, sixty-nine point 3 ounces at ninety-two crit per ounce will be six thousand, three hundred, seventy-five and sixty pence. How would you like this paid?"
"Liz, how much money do I need in hand? I'd as soon bank any extra."
Liz appeared to be hyperventilating. "M'lady, you could buy a house for that!"
"If you would like to open an account, the Exchange bank has offices in every baron's seat and city in the nation, and in Arbolia and New Caledonia as well."
"It sounds like an account would be an excellent idea. I'll take the three hundred seventy-five and sixty in cash. Or, wait a bit, how about taxes? There are always taxes."
That took more explanations, a visit to another clerk, and forms filled out all around.
She finally received a passbook that contained the record of her deposit and constituted her identification and guaranteed her access to the money, plus a receipt from the Mayor's Office for taxes paid to date, and instructions about the annual summary.
The coinage was delivered in a leather satchel, and weighed nearly as much as all the gold. Much bulkier, of course.
"So, how about we find one of those things? Prams?" December prodded Liz back into action.
The Jeramtown Market provided a pram, two pheasant feathers, and three bolts of marvelously light soft material woven from cotton. No wonder there was a major market for it. It would be a hit in . . . someplace. Some city she couldn't remember.
They ate lunch in a cafe, outdoors on the sidewalk, where she could people watch. "So, Liz, how much does a lady's companion earn?"
Liz shook her head in ignorance. "I always wanted to be a regular courier rider, except they don't take women. And I read so much, my mother thought I should be a maid in the baron's house, because I could borrow books from the baron's library. That didn't work out at all. But it paid two crit a month."
"Two a month." December was aghast. "All right, let's start at six for a lady's companion. I expect we'll work up from the
re. Umm, how much, roughly would you expect my two rooms and some meals at the tavern to run?"
"Half crit a day, with all meals and the horse and feed. One of those gold coins is good for well over a month, almost two."
"Hmm, all right. How about a horse? A nice riding horse, nothing incredible."
"Thirty or forty crit. Phantom is worth hundreds. Maybe thousands, if he's fertile and produces good foals."
"Oh, yes, I've been very pleased with his foals." A memory of pinto foals frolicking flashed by and faded. Pintos?
Liz helped her dig through the coinage to pay the bill, and took a month's pay in advance with wide-eyed astonishment. She took it all in pence rather than crit coins. All the coins were lightweight copper, zinc and tin alloys.
They wandered the market for hours, as the poor girl replaced things she'd had to abandon at home. It wasn't until the very end, when they stopped to watch a juggler and a magician entertain the crowd that December realized what was missing.
Magic.
She'd felt no magic all day. She been 'listening,' herself, knew when a merchant was cheating, knew that the clerk at the exchange gave her full value. But she hadn't felt any other magic. Not even the sort of subconscious usage of the untrained. It was very odd, and she'd probably better think about it before she did anything noticeable.
By the time they returned to the tavern, the pram was full of everything except Quail, who was definitely cranky. Feeding and a nap took care of that.
December eyed the "privy" with a censorious eye. It couldn't possibly be hygienic, right inside the building. And with water in it! No matter the piped in water from the rain cistern, that somehow sucked everything away. The little basin with the water tap was nice, if a bit off putting, in the same little closet with the toilet. At least they kept the baths separate, down by the kitchen, with a big hot water tank. But for now she washed her hands and face, then laid down and napped along with the baby.
