Much later, after clearing the crockery and washing up, and as soon as she could decently retire, she bade them all a goodnight and lit a lamp to light her way to her room. Once there, she placed it on her desk, beside which she soon laid the metal box.
Sitting before it, she noticed a faint line ran all the way around its narrow sides. Above the line, half way along one of the longest sides, a round depression, the size of her thumb pad, drew her gaze.
Stella placed her own thumb within it and felt the depression give, the thin line abruptly widening with a click. Her heart raced when a gentle lift hinged the box open to reveal a small stack of papers.
“What have we got here?” She leaned forward over the topmost sheet and gasped. “I don’t believe it.” Running her finger gently over its surface, she marvelled at how fine the stark white paper felt. “How strange, but I’d swear it’s written in Ancient Bazarran.”
She grimaced, remembering how little work she’d put in to her classics course at college. As she removed a few unintelligible sheets, she kicked herself for having not taking more of an interest.
“I wonder where I put my college notes,” she whispered, hearing the boards creak outside her door as Grog went past on his way to bed. “I’m going to need a refresher on grammar at the very least,” but then she sighed. “And a dictionary, damn.”
The only place she knew that would have such a thing was her old college in Yuhlm, a day’s walk to the south. There was nothing else for it but to seek out her old language tutor, Melkin Mudark, and see if he’d forgotten how bad a pupil she’d been.
When she finally lay in bed in the dark, the box and its contents now safely hidden away, her heart sank at the prospect. Without a plausible reason, she was sure there was no way he would lend her such a rare and valuable thing.
6 Back to School
Stella had never been much of an early-bird, the larks invariably stealing a march on her. She was rubbing sleep from her eyes when she came into the kitchen, surprising Grog and Geran at their breakfast, the dawn light seeping in through the window. They looked at each other in the lamplight, not that Stella noticed.
“You’re dressed,” her mother said.
“I’ve an early start,” Stella yawned, “and I wanted to catch you before you were out and about, especially you, Grog.”
“Why? Where you going?”
“With you,” was all Stella could manage until she’d had her first mug of the day, which Geran was already pouring.
“It’s still fresh,” she said as she wrapped Stella’s hands around the drink, where she now sat hunched at the table.
“But I’m going to Weysget today,” Grog said and frowned.
“I know.” Stella took a gulp of tea. “I thought I’d look up a ... a friend from college. So, Uncle, you can save me most of a long walk today.”
“A friend?” Geran said, her eyes narrowing. “Anyone we know?”
Stella could feel her mother’s keen gaze but didn’t look up. “No. Nobody you’d know.”
By the time Grog had tacked up Dasher and drawn the cart across the side-yard, Stella felt a bit more awake. She climbed in beside him as Geran rushed out and pressed a satchel of food under the bench beneath her.
“Can’t have you starving, now can we?” to which Stella smiled as Grog flicked the reins. They jolted forward and clipped and creaked across the yard, out through the gate and rockily down onto Blisteraising’s lane.
Stella closed her eyes, hoping to catch a little more sleep, but the state of the lane put paid to that. Instead, she watched the rhythmic sway of Dasher’s haunches as the mare kept ahead of the cart’s retarded descent. It kept Stella’s gaze from what she knew she’d see in the distance, beyond the Great Wall to the north.
Cambray Road brought much relief for all concerned, the cart settling smoothly on the newly laid surface. Dasher’s haunches now rose more than they swayed as Grog drove her on at a trot. Stella, though, was well asleep by the time the mare was brought back to a walk, where the road began to drop steeply towards the Graywyse Defence.
Grog’s own journey was to pick up a new coulter for their plough, from a forge in the manufactory district just beyond Weysget Arch, the western gateway to Bazarral. It was there the echo of Dasher’s shoes within its cavernous colonnade finally woke Stella, surprised at seeing its garish pillars and arches sweep by around them.
“Oh, nearly there already,” and she shook her head before shielding her eyes as Dasher drew them out onto Weysget Street. Not far along, her uncle turned them between two blank-faced buildings and into a large yard at the rear.
After she’d waved goodbye and settled into her stride, Stella finally felt fully awake, the sun by now only a couple of hours from noon. She followed Weysget Street to the east for a while, into its growing bustle, before turning south towards the Hanging Chain Towers, now looming up above the road’s dip ahead.
Even their colossal presence, as she passed by beneath, did nothing to disturb the gnawing thoughts that now filled her mind. She still hadn’t come up with a plausible reason for needing a dictionary, not one her old tutor would likely accept. Chancellor Mudark wouldn’t want one of Dica’s precious few copies taken out of the college, and she couldn’t risk removing the box and its papers from Blisteraising. After all, she’d no idea what they might contain.
The more she failed to find an answer, the nearer she approached the college, now clearly visible on its ridge, further around the basin in which Yuhlm nestled. By the time she stepped onto the steep rise of Smiddles Lane, towards the college’s main gate, the sun wasn’t that far from its zenith.
Stella knew where Chancellor Mudark would be. Every Thursday morning in her final year, Stella had had a tutor class with him in his office, so he was bound to be there at this very moment with his latest student.
When she wandered in through the college entrance, it felt strange to be back, a familiar place now jammed with largely unfamiliar faces.
Through the closed door of the chancellor’s office, when she came before it, she could hear his voice, then a youthful one that stumbled over the pronunciation of some ancient word. Stella sat down on a hard, darkly-stained wooden bench, set against the dimly lit corridor’s wall opposite, and waited.
Her backside had gone numb by the time the college clock began to chime the hour, a chair soon scraping back beyond the door. It opened and a frazzled looking lad shot out, as though he’d been holding his breath the past hour. The chancellor looked up and stared across his desk, through the open doorway at Stella.
“Ah, Miss Sodbuster, if I’m not mistaken.” It surprised her she’d been recognised in the gloom of the corridor. “Are you after me by any chance?”
Stella stood and nodded.
“Well, do come in then. Take a seat, Starmaker Stella,” and he grinned, but she wasn’t too sure why. He indicated the vacant chair beside his desk and she sat down.
“It’s good to see you back in the college again, my dear. And to what do we owe this honour, eh?”
Stella swallowed, unnerved by her reception. “Well, Chancellor, I...”
“Oh, I think we can dispense with the honorific. You’re no longer an undergraduate after all. Call me Melkin if you would.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Well ... Melkin, you see...” She pressed her lips together before finally sighing. “I wasn’t really a very attentive language student, was I?”
Melkin smiled. “No, not the keenest.”
“And, well, you see, my new position gives me a fair bit of spare time, and so I thought ... well, maybe it’s not too late to put that right.”
“Right?”
“I recently dug out my course notes and had another look, then surprised myself by how things started to fall into place at last. So much so, I’m quite enjoying it now.” She hoped she sounded enthusiastic. “The only problem is...”
Melkin lifted his brows and inclined his head.
“The ... the proble
m is, I don’t have a dictionary.” She dared not look at him, her eyes glued to her hands, fidgeting in her lap.
“Have you had luncheon yet, Miss Sodbuster?”
“Stella, please, and no, no I’ve not,” and she realised she’d forgotten all about the satchel.
“Then may I invite you to join me in my chambers? Oh, and don’t worry, my daughter will be present,” and he grinned. “I’m sure she’d like to meet you, then I can have a little think about your request.”
7 An Unexpected Find
The close and creaking steps to the chancellor’s chambers lifted them into the loft space of the old watermill that had now been the college for more than eighty years. The long and wide room Melkin at first led Stella into had low walls to either side, almost hidden by groaning bookshelves, above which a sloping ceiling reached up to the joists and boards of a much narrower room above. Behind a large desk at the far end, a door stood open, through which light flooded in.
Following Melkin through, Stella was amazed to find herself in a comfortable lounge, its triangular far wall completely glazed. A glass double-door at its centre stood wide open, and through which Melkin invited Stella out onto a large and open balcony.
She drew up short at the view, out across the morass of Yuhlm, sloping away steeply below, the district’s secluded basin hard against the march of the Graywyse Defence wall beyond. She could see what appeared to be two crystal-domed towers, a little way to the north along the wall, and the blur of Bazarral’s northern districts sweeping back around to the east and out of sight behind the college.
Melkin coughed. “Starmaker Stella? If I may introduce my daughter, Mirabel?” and Stella dragged her eyes from the view. Next to the balcony’s parapet stood a dining table, five chairs drawn up, a sixth now scraping back as a woman stood.
Her full, long black hair rippled in the sunlight like polished jet, large and wide-set olive eyes glinting as she smiled at Stella. Her hourglass figure fluidly stepped forward as she stretched out her hand.
Stella felt herself somehow swimming in those eyes, and realised her mouth now hung open. She snapped it shut, swallowed and almost croaked, “Pleased to meet you,” her hand glowing warmly when she took Mirabel’s.
The expected shake became a drawing together as Stella was welcomed, Mirabel’s cheek soon softly against her own, a gentle hug weakening her legs. Mirabel delicately rested Stella’s hands on her fingertips and leant away, searching the starmaker’s eyes.
“It’s good to meet you too, my dear, and a very pleasant surprise,” Mirabel said, warmly, slipping her fingers from beneath Stella’s hands to leave their palms tingling as they limply lowered. “When I heard of your appointment, I hoped we’d bump into each other but it never seemed to happen, more’s the pity. I’m glad we’ve finally met,” and her eyes narrowed a touch as they lingered on Stella’s mouth.”
Melkin asked Mirabel if she thought they could muster another place for luncheon.
“Of course,” she said, excused herself and left them alone.
The scrape of a chair distracted Stella. Melkin offered her the seat which she gratefully took.
Whilst Melkin settled himself into his own chair, Stella realised why the view from here seemed so peaceful. All she could see beyond the Graywyse Defence was slate-blue sea, flat beneath a blue-green mantle, as featureless as though there was nothing there at all – as perhaps there really wasn’t.
At first, Melkin absently watched the students milling through the main gate below, and along what little could be seen of Smiddles Lane, but when Mirabel returned and laid out an extra place, he turned to Stella. “So, my dear, the Ancient Tongue has finally snared you with its beauty?”
“Oh, yes,” Stella lied. “I never realised how wonderful the old language could be,” and Melkin’s brows lofted. “But I wish I could better understand the set-texts I’ve been working from.”
“Ah, and which of them is your favourite?”
“Err ... well...”
Mirabel came out carrying a tray laden with crockery, cutlery and food. “I hope you like pork, Stella,” she said as she placed everything on the table. “We usually have cold fare during the day. Oh, and there’s plenty of salad. I’ll just go get it,” and she went back inside.
“It all looks very nice,” Stella said. “I do like pork, especially with the skin and fat on. It’s where the flavour is after all. Don’t you agree, Melkin?”
A large bowl of salad passed close by her cheek, Mirabel’s bare arms outstretched to place it at the centre of the table. Stella couldn’t drag her eyes from Mirabel’s skin, its lustre like that of a pearl. Mirabel paused, turned and smiled down at Stella before drawing back, her close and lingering fragrance soaking into Stella’s mind.
Melkin invited Stella to help herself before he and Mirabel loaded their own plates. The ensuing silence left Stella trying to work out why she felt so lightheaded, and why she and Mirabel had never met before.
Melkin grinned. “Do you know?” he said. “Twenty years ago I was a very lucky man to have my daughter come back and live here again. Not only did she bring me a more youthful vitality but also brought with it an enlargement of my girth,” and he patted his stomach as he smiled affectionately at Mirabel.
“It was when my marriage broke up,” Mirabel said, quite matter-of-factly. “Nothing acrimonious, but I should never have married a Galgaverran. I don’t know what came over me, but, hey, we live and learn.”
“But...” Stella said before she could stop herself.
“Yes, I know, but at the time his shortcomings seemed of no matter, if you’ll excuse the unintended pun,” and she winked at Stella who couldn’t help but grin back. Perhaps it was her own anxiety that tipped Stella into giggling, but Melkin’s blank stare certainly took them both over the edge.
They bent nearer in their laughter, their glistening eyes drawing close enough for Stella to feel her awkwardness soon soak away.
As though a storm had broken, their conversation now flowed with ease, both chattering on about this and that, Melkin quite forgotten. Had they but looked, they’d have seen a satisfied smile creep across his face, filling his eyes. He forked another slice of pork into his mouth, chewed for a while and swallowed.
“It just so happens,” he said, his voice now quite light but carrying, “I do have a small dictionary to hand,” which drew Stella’s gaze from Mirabel’s full and gossip-laden lips. Stella turned to Melkin as though he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere.
“A ... a dictionary?”
He raised his eyebrows. “The need you have of one ... that brought you here today?”
Stella seemed frozen for a moment. “You’d ... you’d let me borrow one? One I could take home with me?”
“It’s only a concise I’m afraid, but it should be enough for your needs. If not then you can always do what I had to do a long time ago.”
“Do?”
“Work out the words it doesn’t hold from the ones it does,” and he seemed to stare through her for a moment, his mouth lightly open. “Don’t lose it, mind,” he presently said, his gaze once more razor-sharp. “It carries a good many ... associations,” he finally plumped for. “You might find the words I’ve added over the years of some use too, you know, marginalia and the like.” He rose, smiled at them both then wandered off to find it.
“You are privileged,” Mirabel said. “Do look after it, though. I know how much he cherishes that little book.”
Stella turned from gazing after Melkin and looked into Mirabel’s eyes. Eventually, Stella nodded, quietly amazed she’d so easily managed to get what she’d come for, but also enthralled by her unexpected find.
8 An Unexpected Taste
It must be very concise, Stella thought when Melkin placed the dictionary on the table before her. Although thick, it rested comfortably in her palm, its soft, almost formless leather relaxing against her hand with a seeming warmth of its own.
“Thank you, Chancellor Melkin,” wa
s all she could think to say before looking up into his eyes. It seemed a wistfulness hid there. “Are ... are you sure you don’t mind lending it to me?”
He waved her question away dismissively.
“I’ll take great care of it,” and she carefully revealed its title page, the ink still hard and black but the edges of the pale paper upon which it lay the sad ochre of autumn leaves. The familiar words Waurdult af Eald Bazarran stood out stark and purposeful, filling most of the space.
The pages turned beneath her fingertips like sheer silk in a breeze, sighing one against the other as though they breathed, long columns of contributors and introduction passing before her eyes until the entries themselves floated densely beneath her downturned face.
She felt a warmth at her shoulder, Mirabel’s heady aroma caressing her neck. “It’s a good job you have young eyes, my dear,” Mirabel murmured. “Mine can hardly make out such small writing,” and Stella’s heart lifted at the smile in Mirabel’s voice.
Her slow, unthinking caress at Stella’s arm turned her gaze from the book, straight into the lingering smile in Mirabel’s eyes. “I’m ... I’m sure I’ll manage,” Stella whispered, but her thoughts drifted beyond her grasp as she watched the sun’s golden glow glisten along Mirabel’s lips.
“I have a tutorial at three,” Melkin said as he scraped his chair back and rose, drawing the two women’s eyes. “I’ll leave you two to your chatter,” and then to Mirabel, “I think you’d better sort out another pigeon for this evening, my dear.”
“You will stay won’t you, Stella?” Mirabel enthused. “I can make them into a pie then. It’s not worth it just for the two of us. Oh, do say you will.”
Stella glanced past Mirabel and saw the lengthening shadows that now darkened Smiddles Lane. “It’s not that late is it?” and she stared at Melkin. “It can’t be nearly three already. I should have set off ages ago.”
Starmaker Stella (Dica Series Book 6) Page 3
