by G. Howell
“Sir,” my guide said as we stopped at a door. We were on the third floor, somewhere in the south wing. I thought. “Here, Sir.”
The room was an informal study infused with a well-used air. There were books with creased spines on the shelves, spread paperwork and inkwells and grains of blotting sand on the low desk. French doors hung ajar, letting the slight breeze stir the gauze drapes. Several gas lamps hissed and popped quietly, moths gathering and bumping around the milky glass globes. Lady H’risnth aesh Esrisa closed a folder on the desk in front of her. Sitting at hand on the desk beside her was a tray with two glasses and two bottles: wine and water, or at least a clear fluid in the decanter. “Mikah, please, sit.”
I folded myself down onto the cushion she indicated. Getting off my feet felt good but I was a little apprehensive. Even more so as the door closed behind us and we were alone. The atmosphere was... cosy. And isolated. And that conversation that Chaeitch and I had had before kept creeping to the front of my mind.
“I find this sort of environment far more conducive to good conversation,” she smiled. “Peace and some good wine makes it far easier to get things done. You’ve been talking for a while. I understand that’s not so easy for you. You must be a bit thirsty.”
“’A bit’ begins to describe it, Ma’am,” I smiled, carefully keeping my mouth closed.
She was calm and smooth while pouring. Her hands were perfectly steady, gently swirling dark red wine from the ornately blown dark green bottle into first one of the broad, shallow glasses and then the other. I took the offered glass, thanked her, and she watched as I sipped and then raised her own glass. I saw a faint flash of pink as her tongue flicked into the liquid: their version of a sip.
I was beginning to gain an appreciation of Rris wines; an appreciation beyond the blunt reality-obliterating effect of brute alcohol. That bottle produced a wine that was slightly sweet, left a faintly tart aftertaste with a hint of spices, was obviously quite expensive, and - I realized after the alcohol vapor blitzed past my sinuses - was one helluva proof.
“You’re enjoying your trip?” she asked. A personal question. She’d have pages of reports of exactly where I’d been and what I’d done but they couldn’t tell her what I was thinking.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said. “I’ve been very impressed. Your hospitality has been wonderful.”
I got the distinct impression she was trying not to look amused. “Ah, good answer. Very diplomatic. You’ve been taking lessons, haven’t you.”
“No Ma’am, it’s not that. You’ve been most generous.”
Now she did smile. “Thank you,” she said. “Although I can’t imagine looking at holes in the ground is anyone’s idea of fun.”
“I’ve never done it before,” I said. “New experiences are always interesting.”
Her ears flickered. “Then by all accounts you must be leading a very interesting life.”
“Putting it mildly. Although there have been times when I would prefer thing to be a little more mundane.”
Her eyes flicked, just a bit, but I caught the glance at my scarred cheek. “Then perhaps you might be interested in that offer I mentioned.”
“A,” I sipped. “A commission?”
“Yes. A portrait.” She ducked her head slightly. “To be more specific, my own.”
I blinked. “Ma’am? You want me? I mean... I’m flattered, but surely you have artists who’re more than qualified?”
“Of course there are Rris artists,” she said. “But I gather you’re quite proficient. And I think it would be a... unique opportunity. I would love to see you... working.”
“A full portrait? That is a fairly ambitious undertaking. The time...”
“Oh, not a full oil, nothing like those,” she gestured at an old crackled portrait hanging on the paneled wall. “You work with charcoals, don’t you? Those colorless renderings? Perhaps something like that.”
“Yes. That’s quite possible.”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?”
That startled me. “Ma’am? Tomorrow. Isn’t there a schedule...?”
“Oh,” she smiled. “That’s quite flexible when I want it to be. And you requested a chance to see some of our own galleries.”
“That would be... greatly appreciated.”
“Would the Estate collection interest you?”
It took me a moment to understand what she meant. I’d only heard mention of that in a text Rraerch had read for me. Apparently there was an extensive collection of fine art in the Rei family estate: very rare and very exclusive heirlooms. Not many people had had an opportunity to see it. I stared and realised she was staring back.
“Mikah? Your answer?”
“How can I refuse an offer from a queen,” I smiled. “That would be most undiplomatic, wouldn’t it?”
She chittered slightly. “A, most impolitic.”
“In that case I would be honored. But I don’t have any material. Papers, sticks... I wasn’t expecting to be doing anything that required that.”
“Is there anything in particular you will need?” she asked.
“Umm, good quality paper, individual sheaves as well as stretched on a frame, quite large; an easel or drawing board, charcoal and chalk sticks of varying hardness, a small sharp blade. Oh, and some clean cloths.”
“A?” the Lady blinked at me. “That’s all?”
“I believe so. Ah, a fixative would be useful, if such a thing is available. Something to stop the charcoal smearing? A linseed varnish can work if sprayed on. Umm, I’m afraid I don’t know what is available here.”
She inclined her head slightly then gracefully reached to pluck a quill from an inkwell on her desk and sketched a quick note in the angular scratching of Rris script. “I think we should be able to provide something,” she said and carefully replaced the quill. Then raised her glass, regarding me over the rim. Her eyes contrasted strongly with the wine: yellow amber and burgundy red. “If there’s anything else, please just ask.”
“I think that should be all.”
“I expect it will take the entire day to do everything?”
“A charcoal can still take some time to do properly,” I said. “But a day... yes, that’ll be enough.”
“Good,” she leaned back, still looking quite relaxed. “A carriage can meet you in the morning to take you out there. The journey takes a couple of hours, and I know being on the road when the sun is high isn’t the most pleasant so I’d advise an early start.”
“Not a bad suggestion.”
“I would expect that you could return that evening. After the worst of the heat.”
I sipped and nodded out of old habit, having recent memories of the heat in those wheeled ovens. “Ma’am, I was meaning to thank you for that wine you sent me. It was quite good. This is from the same vineyard?”
Now she looked intrigued. “You noticed?”
I’d never considered myself a vintering cognoscenti, but the Rris wine had a very distinctive flavor: much stronger than anything I’d known back home. “It has the same taste.”
She blinked at me again, then flicked her ears quickly. “I don’t know many Rris who’d pick that up.”
“I think my sense of taste is a little different.”
“A? Like your sense of color? You do continue to surprise, don’t you. I look forward to having a talk with you alone. Who knows what else we might find out?”
Alone? I felt another pang of apprehension at the way she’d said that, then a flush of embarrassment. Chaeitch’d been right: I kept reading human nuances into their remarks. I took a swallow of wine, the last few drops.
“But that’s for later,” she said. “Now, it’s getting late and you’ve had a full day. Until later, Mikah.”
------v------
Soft morning light washed across the world. Fields lay under a faint blanket of mist. High overhead a V of ducks winged their way across a clear sky. The morning sun peeked through windbreak trees along the crest of the hill, just a hands breadth above the horizon. If I’d been travelling in a car those trees would have caused it to strobe through the window. As it was, the carriage moved slowly enough that it simply blinked slowly every so often.
The day was already heating up. She’d been right about that.
A couple of hours of slow and bumpy travel later the carriage turned sharply. The sound of iron bound wheels on the packed dirt road changed to the squeaking rattle of gravel. I caught a passing glimpse of a stone gatepost and wrought iron gate just before we started up a long drive. Out to the right I could see the side of a hill, trees, grass and wildflowers; on the left cornfields sloping gently away downhill, the rows of stalks motionless in the still morning air.
We followed the drive up and around the curve of the hill. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. They’d called it a manor house, or something that translated to that anyway, so perhaps a large house. What came into view was a damn sight more than I’d expected. More of a small castle than a house. Perhaps chateaux would be a better term.
It was a light-colored stone construction set among wild grass and dark pines. There were towers and garrets and elaborately decorated dormer windows set into the steep black-slate and green copper roof. Profusely ornamented cornices blending the line between wall and roof. I could see two floors, each with balconies with wrought iron railings, ornate windows made from hundreds of smaller panes of glass and bay doors.
I rocked slightly as the carriage drew to a halt with a jolt and the driver rapped on the side. The door was opened by a servant, whose expression visibly faltered before he was able to regain his composure. I pushed up my sunglasses, caught the strap of my carry case, stepped out onto flagstones at the foot of the main staircase and stood there gazing up at her Ladyship’s home.
It was impressive. Not on the same scale as the palace, but still impressive. More so when you consider that it was a family residence. At least two main floors, not counting the attic and basement. Building material was a pale gray stone shot through with paler streaks. Granite or some kind of limestone? A few steps led up to bronze-face double doors, polished bright enough to reflect the world. Above them, the tympanum was engraved with almost-Celtic geometric patterns intertwined with a pair of facing Rris heads and shoulders: Rris heraldry.
I was staring. The waiting Rris were staring at me. Behind me I heard the sounds of metal rattling as my two guards - the pair Chaeitch had been absolutely adamant accompany me - dismounted. They were armed, heavily, but their weapons were honor tied. They fell in behind as I shouldered my bag and headed on up the steps to the doors.
I shucked my glasses, tucking the stem into my shirt as I passed through the portals and looked around. Decor wasn’t as elaborate as the palace had been. Not bland, just deliberately austere. The entry hall was spacious and bright, the light shining in through high windows gleaming off translucent stone. Marble, which was damn expensive to import. There was a grand staircase sweeping up to the next floor. Pale stone also dressed the walls, which were hung with huge but very beautiful tapestries. I saw scenes of fields and harvest and also battle and warfare.
“Mikah ah Ri’ey?” A voice said.
I looked around and didn’t see anyone else who might have passed for me. A Rris stalked toward me from a side door. Tall, elegantly attired, pretty muscular with glossy speckled fur and female. Well, I was pretty sure it was female. “Good morning, Sir. Her ladyship bids you welcome to her home,” she said with a polite duck of her dead.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the invitation,” I said.
She was good. I didn’t even catch a flinch that time. “I’m Thri’mir, her Ladyship’s steward. Her Ladyship will be with you shortly. In the meantime may I show you to a place where you can rest and refresh yourself after your journey?”
That was a welcome suggestion. A couple of hours in a carriage on the unpaved roads that were common outside most cities wasn’t entirely pleasant.
A servant hovered at a discreet distance.
“Ah, your luggage, sir?” Thri’mir indicated.
“I’d prefer to carry it,” I said and nodded at the servant. “Thank you.”
Thri’mir looked a little taken aback at that, but then ducked her head and turned to lead the way upstairs. I followed, eyeing her rear ahead of me swaying, the tip of her tail switching back and forth. Hmm, not so calm after all.
The room she led me to was huge, bright, and dressed in marble as white as snow. Sunlight gleamed from the pale stone, streamed in through skylights, windows and balcony doors along the southern side of the room. That half was lower than the other side by a bit, separated by a low balcony and about five steps. On the upper tier were cushions, a table laid set with a centerpiece of dried grasses and flowers.
My escorts took up positions on either side of the door while Thri’mir utterly ignored them as if they didn’t even exist. “Sir, there is food, drink,” she gestured at covered trays, glasses and decanters on a sideboard. “Anything else you require, please just ask.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Ah, my escort might appreciate something to drink as well.”
“Of course, Sir. They will be looked after. And her Ladyship will be with you momentarily,” she ducked her head and backed out, closing the doors behind her.
I was parched and my mouth tasted like road. For a long second my hand hovered over the cut crystal decanter filled with amber liquid, then reached for the water. Glass in hand, I wandered over to the mezzanine. Down in the lower half of the room were more cushions and a couple of big padded loungers, and off over in the light beside the windows there was an easel and a wooden trolley. I stepped down into the sunlight.
I was impressed. An easel with a frame and paper. Very good paper stock: rag mat soaked and dried on the frame. Back home that sort of paper was hand made and cost a lot more than the mass-produced factory scrap. Here, it’s the only stuff available. On the trolley were other tools: a gleaming box of dark lacquered maple containing a range of black sticks: charcoal of various types and grades. Another similar case of some lighter wood held sticks of white chalk. There was also extra media, wiping cloths, some small glass jars with oily liquid in them, brushes, and some small blades. I was a bit surprised to see those; they were just slivers, more like razor blades, but they were knives. What puzzled me for a second was the small brass container with the perforated nozzle and plunger on top. I picked it up and turned it over a few times before the penny dropped: of course, they didn’t have aerosols.
“I think that’s everything you requested. An artist was able to assist us in regards to that substance you requested.”
Lady H’risnth aesh Esrisa was standing on the steps at the door, hands clasped behind her back and watching me with interested eyes. She was dressed in a simple, short-sleeved green tunic that shimmered with the tell-tale signs of fine satin. The same movement showed that the material incorporated multiple weaves, hiding a design similar to paisley that showed under certain angles of light. Very expensive stuff. It was cinched at the waist with a belt of copper links. The light kilt she wore was simply knee-length strips of soft leather. In that warmth, anything more would have been horribly uncomfortable.
She cocked her head and regarded the easel. “It’s all to your satisfaction?”
“Ma’am?” I blinked and realized she was referring to the art supplies. “Ah. more than adequate. Thank you.”
“Ah,” she hissed softly and strolled over. She was alone, no guards. Likewise my guards were nowhere in sight. “Your trip was comfortable enough?”
“Yes, thank you, Ma’am.”
She snorted. “Hai, and I think you can dispens
e with that. From everything I’ve heard about you, formality is not your strong suite.”
“Isn’t it? I thought I was doing rather well.”
“There’s polite, and then there’s obsequious,” she flicked her ears. “Why do I think you’re deliberately overdoing it?”
Damn. Rumbled. I smiled carefully and shrugged. “It keeps my handlers happy.”
“Handlers?” she looked puzzled, then brightened and chittered out loud. “Ah, they do seem to keep you on a tight rein. They were most reluctant to let you come here unaccompanied.”
“I’m amazed they agreed to only two guards,” I said. “They seem to think I go out of my way to cause trouble.”
“A?” the Lady ducked her chin and regarded me. “Well, from everything I’ve heard, interesting things seem to happen to you,” she replied.
“So everyone keeps telling me,” I sighed.
“You don’t sound so impressed with it.”
“Let’s just say that interesting can get very unappealing.”
“Ah, a shame. Then of course you wouldn’t want to see what I thought you might find interesting.”
I ran that through in my head, then said, “I walked right into that one, didn’t I.”
The Rris Queen laughed aloud. “Then I take it you do want to see our little collection.”
“Well, if you insist.”
------v------
She did. And I didn’t protest too loudly.
As I found, it wasn’t something to regret. The Esrisa family private collection was certainly impressive. It had its own gallery: a long room with inlaid wooden floor, bass relief castings on the white plaster walls and columns. Paintings were hung on display along those walls. Plinths around the room contained sculptures, small pieces of ornamentation and jewelry. A glass-fronted cabinet held chinaware: dishes and bowls heavier than porcelain but decorated in spectacular glaze.
