by Steven Gould
Two hours later found them still talking, comparing books, pointing out the obvious and less obvious gaps in the collection. Leland opened the chest beneath the window seat and brought out the cheese and fruit Bartholomew had provided for his lunch.
She blinked. “What a clever chest—I thought it was part of the wall.
Leland winked. “You are now privy to the best hide-and-seek place in the Station. This was my favorite hiding place as a child.”
They shared afternoon rites on the closed lid.
At one point he found her looking at him oddly. “Have I been eating with my mouth open again?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just realized I don’t know who you are—and you don’t know who I am, do you?”
Firmly Leland said, “Of course I know who you are. You’ve spent half the afternoon telling me, just as surely as if I could read your mind.”
She blushed and looked out the window. Leland grinned. After a moment she turned back and stared frankly at him. “And I suppose I know you, too. But it would be nice to have a label for what I know.”
Leland stared down at his hands, at the calluses and the scars on his fingertips.
Slowly he said, “Names are heavy labels—their baggage can weigh one down so.”
She blinked uncertainly. “Well, first names then. Surely that couldn’t hurt.”
“I suppose not. They know me as Leland.”
“And I am called Marilyn.”
He smiled and she returned it.
Other footsteps entered the library and Leland froze. One of those sets belonged to Dillan, his oldest brother. An older female’s voice called out, “Marilyn? Are you in here?”
Marilyn raised her voice, “In the back, Aunt Margaret.”
A plump, matronly woman walked around the corner. “Ah, there you are, child. You’ve promised to go riding with your father and Guide Dulan. Can’t keep them waiting.” She saw Leland then and smiled. “Well, introduce us, child, or I’ll tell your father on you.”
Dillan stepped around the corner then and saw Leland. His face froze halfway between a frown and a smile. Then he spoke. “Allow me. Guide Margaret, this is my youngest brother, Leland de Laal, Warden of the Needle. Leland, this is the Guide Margaret de Jinith, the Steward de Noram’s sister.”
“Warden of the Needle?” asked Marilyn. “Is there a grant of stewardship around the spire?”
“A small one. My father bestowed it upon Leland after he climbed the Needle six months ago.”
He did? Leland stared at Dillan.
Guide Margaret and Marilyn looked at Leland oddly. Leland looked oddly at Dillan.
“By the way, Leland. Anthony has been looking for you all day—something about a piece of bamboo. I must tell him where you are.”
Leland grinned. “Thank you.” He bowed to the ladies and said to Marilyn, “Thank you, Guide Marilyn, for your time today. I’ve never enjoyed a conversation more.” He tried to catch her eyes as he said it and succeeded for a timeless second. He thought, For a moment there, you delivered me from hell.
Marilyn dropped her eyes suddenly, slightly flustered. “Well, why stop talking now? Why not come riding with your father and mine?”
Behind her, Dillan began coughing, a sudden, explosive paroxysm.
Leland’s face froze, and Marilyn sensed walls snapping into place within him.
With careful lightness, he said, “Inescapable duties. I’m sorry…very sorry.”
Marilyn frowned, then said, “As you must, Warden. Good-bye.” Leland bowed again and the ladies left, escorted by Dillan.
The room seemed suddenly dark.
Dillan walked quietly along behind Guide Margaret and Guide Marilyn, deep in thought. The sight of Leland actually grinning had surprised him a great deal. He was amazed at how quickly he’d gotten used to the lined, silent face of the last several months. For a moment there he’d seen Leland as he remembered him from a clumsy childhood of just a year ago. Not awkward though—just a piece of that good cheer he used to carry for everyone to see.
He suddenly remembered Anthony’s boast at midwinter. Don’t be too sure, Anthony. Don’t be too sure.
Guide Margaret was maintaining a three-way conversation in which she supplied all the parts.
“My, yet another handsome son of Laal? Where does your father get them? Oh, everyone knows how beautiful your mother was! What the high steward would give to have a son. Ah, but then that’s life, isn’t it, Guide Dillan? Of course it is. Well, Marilyn, don’t keep back what you and Warden Leland discussed—how long were you with him, by the way? Surely just a moment—after all, you said you were going up to the library right after midday rights…my goodness, that was two and a half hours ago! I suppose he just showed up right before we did, eh, Marilyn?”
Marilyn nodded distractedly. “I suppose. It seemed we were together for just moments.”
Guide Margaret went on chattering away.
Marilyn thought, We’ve been here a week. Why didn’t I meet Warden Leland at meals in the Great Hall? Is he some kind of recluse? Maybe he’s in disgrace. She shivered involuntarily as she remembered the depth of his green eyes and the trace of something dark in them when Dillan and Guide Margaret had shown up. Something almost tragic.
I wonder if I’ll see him before we leave?
Arthur de Noram, High Steward of Greater Noramland, Protector of the Customs, and Guardian of the Sacred Plain, was a small man, favoring his mother rather than his father, the famous William.
“Your health, sir,” said Dulan.
They were standing in one of the four small courtyard gardens that were tucked high up in the Laal Station—on top of the basaltic outcropping that formed the Station’s backbone and north side.
Steward de Noram sipped the wine and sighed. “When will we see this wine in Noram, Dulan? It’s incredible.”
Dulan smiled slightly. “I’m glad you like it—we made it from the very last grapes of the harvest, the ones that froze on the vine. I’ve heard tell of a similar wine that was made on old Earth. They called it Eiswein, a word from a language called German.”
Arthur frowned, as he did at all mentions of old Earth. He had a sneaking suspicion that all that stuff was nonsense, but, as Guardian of the Sacred Plain, the landing place of the Founders, he paid overt respect to the legends. He also resented being lectured to.
Guide Dulan went on. “I’ll prepare several cases for you to pick up on your way back to Noram City.”
Arthur smiled. “That would be very generous of you, Dulan.” Dulan shrugged. “Your due.”
“Nonsense, Dulan. You double-tithed the last three quarters. We are in debt to you.” Your generosity makes me ill, Arthur thought furiously, hiding an incipient frown by taking another sip of the wine. You lure away my craftsman with lower taxes and have the gall to give me back a portion of the wealth. You and your damn generosity have been a boil to me since that time on the plain. Why the hell couldn’t you have let me die? I would have been sung about for a thousand years, instead of sneered at for blowing the battle of Atten Falls, killing three hundred of my own troops, and then being rescued by the damn upstart house of Laal. My father William stood there and looked at me like I was a worm after that, and you had the gall to intercede for me. Arthur smiled sweetly. “I don’t know what the Noramland would do without citizens like you.”
Dulan shrugged. “It’s the duty of the better-off stewardships to make up for the poorer ones. Surely I wasn’t the only one to double?”
Arthur seethed beneath his smile. “Of course, you probably know that Guide Malcom did.” Your crony! “A few of the other houses tithed and a half.”
Dulan nodded and raised his glass. “Prosperity to the stewardship and luck on your mission to Cotswold.”
They drank deeply.
“I flatter myself that I can work something out with High Steward Montrose,” Arthur said. “These border affairs are draining all of us. We need to stop them so we can go after the r
eal enemy—Nullarbor.”
“It’s a good sign that Montrose has offered to treat,” said Dulan. “But watch him. I’ve known him for over thirty years and he’s crafty, sly, and not above some deception.”
Arthur frowned openly. “Teach your mother to make baskets. I’m sure I’m up to it.”
“My apologies, sir—I didn’t mean to patronize. Forgive me if I offended.”
Arthur turned his smile back on. “Of course, of course. I’m a cranky bastard, aren’t I? Don’t worry, Dulan. Between the two of us, we’ll handle Siegfried of Cotswold.” And Siegfried and I will handle you!
Ricard de Laal, Captain of the Laal Mounted Pikes, waited in the shade of the Floating Stone, the great gateway of Laal Station. Ricard was the only child of Guide Dulan’s late brother, dead in a Nullarbor/Noramland skirmish when Ricard was three weeks old.
Dulan, the second son of Lemmuel de Laal, had been twenty-five then, with Dillan a laughing two-year-old and Dexter a slight swelling in his mother’s figure. Bide your time, child, Ricard’s mother would whisper. And one day you’ll be a force in the world. He frowned at the memory.
Once more he walked down the squad of soldiers he’d picked for today’s escort. If it had been his uncle alone, there would have been a small unit of eight, either his Mounted or Captain Koss’s Falcons. But today they rode with the High Steward of Noramland, and that meant a larger honor guard. He paused before one of the men and said pleasantly, “Slouch like that when Guide Dulan walks into the courtyard and I’ll kick your ass all the way to the Black. Your tongue and eyes I’ll leave here for the crows.”
The soldier, a young boy of seventeen, jerked erect, his face going white. There were other minor alterations down the line as the more nervous straightened by their mounts. Captain de Laal was at his worst when he smiled like that. When he shouted you could end up with extra duty, personal fines, cuts in pay. When he smiled you ended up with bruises and broken bones.
Ricard turned and looked at the Floating Stone. It was a single piece of granite carved in the shape of a half cylinder. It stood four meters high, its diameter was five meters, and it weighed thirty-seven metric tons. The half cylinder revolved around a vertical axis on a pivot of iron that rose from the stone below and another iron beam that went into the rock above. The gate opening was a full cylinder of the same dimensions. When two men pushed on one side of the half cylinder, it rotated freely around the pivot, either filling the gate or half filling it, as now, leaving a two-and-half-meter-wide doorway, four meters high.
But, if the gatekeeper stationed below were to throw the lever, a lock would open in the stone causing the waters of the underground reservoir that forced the iron pivot up to drain. The floating gate would drop a hand’s breadth, coming to rest in locking grooves, and no force on Agatsu could rotate it open or closed against that friction.
There was a noise from the passage to the stable yard. Ricard pivoted on his toes and watched Guide Dulan and High Steward de Noram emerge from the shadows into the light. Marilyn and Dillan followed them with grooms and horses last.
“Pre—sent!”
The twenty men bowed at the waist, their helms flashing in the sun. Arthur de Noram ignored them while Guide Dulan nodded gravely and looked down the line. The men were dressed identically, as all of Ricard’s Mounted Troop were, in dark-green pants and blouses, black leather boots, and scale vests. Not like Koss’s Falcons, thought Dulan. They’re a motley bunch if ever there was one. But I’d not pitch two of the Mounted against one Falcon. One could lose an awful lot of Mounted that way. “The men look good today, Ricard.”
“Thank you, Uncle.” Ricard turned his head and barked, “Squad, at ease.” The men straightened. “What’s your pleasure today? Down by the river or up to the hills?”
Guide Dulan glanced over at Arthur de Noram. “Sir?” Arthur shrugged. “Whatever.”
Dulan turned to Guide Marilyn. “Was there anything you wanted to see, gentle lady?”
Marilyn smiled. “Why, yes, there is. Could we ride out to the Needle?”
Guide Dulan’s mouth tightened briefly, then he smiled. “Of course—wherever you wish. Whatever you wish.”
“You talk like a courtier, Guide Dulan.” She laughed. “All agreement while the price is low enough.”
Guide Dulan smiled. “No, truly. If it’s within my power and conscience’s dictates, I’ll do anything for Noramland’s second fairest flower.”
“Second fairest! You cad.”
Dulan laughed. “Your older sister will rule Noramland one day. Prudence is called for.”
Marilyn shrugged. “It’s more than prudence. Zanna’s got our mother’s face. You’re forgiven. But you’ll really give me what I ask?”
He nodded.
“You’ll regret it, then,” she said.
“Try me,” he said, mounting. The rest followed his example, the soldiers at Ricard’s command.
“My choice of dinner partner tonight.”
Guide Dulan laughed. “Oh, ho! One of Laal’s own has caught your eye, has he? Who is it, someone from the town? If you thought I’d be upset at having one of the settled at my table, you’ve not been observant. I host the cadre often.”
Marilyn shook her head. “No, Guide. You’re famous for your treatment of the people. And wise in that, for they’re your greatest resource.”
Guide Dulan nodded, suddenly serious. “Wise as well as fair.”
Arthur, only half following the conversation until now, suddenly frowned and looked at Marilyn. Was that an implied criticism, daughter?
Marilyn went on. “No, the person I had in mind is of the guardianship. One of your sons.”
Guide Dulan was surprised again. “You do us much honor. Any of my sons would be delighted.”
She bowed from her saddle. “I was wrong, then. Your words aren’t just empty promises. You are too kind to me.”
Guide Dulan smiled, her obvious delight too genuine to ignore. He nodded and headed his horse out the gate. Ricard immediately sent five riders out to ride point down the curving path down the mountain face. “And don’t kick up the dust in their faces,” he muttered at they went by.
Guide Dulan and Marilyn rode through the gate then, knees touching to squeeze their horses through. Guide Dulan thought, Her father won’t like this much. Turning, he asked her, “Well, which one is it? Dexter or Anthony?” As she remained silent, he said, “Surely you’re not interested in Dillan here, are you? He’s fifteen years older than you.”
They emerged into the sunlight and started down the road to the town. He looked at her expectantly.
“Oh, look,” she said. “It’s so clear out I could just reach out and touch the Needle. How far is it?”
Guide Dulan reined his horse to a stop, a frown beginning to gather his hairy brows together. “Child, I believe you’re toying with me! I’ve given you my word; which one is it to be?”
She sighed, then turned to face him squarely.
“Leland,” she said.
Chapter 3
KUZUSHIN: DISRUPTION OF BALANCE
Dillan found Anthony pacing furiously up and down the Great Hall, the shattered end of a piece of bamboo sticking out of his wildly waving fist. “Look at it!” he shouted when he saw Dillan. “Look at it! He stood by the wall and ducked. It shattered on the corner. By the Founders he makes me mad!”
“Where is he now?” Dillan asked, fighting hard to suppress a smile. He had learned from his father that laughing at frustrated people seldom endeared you to them.
“He was heading for the baths. At least he was in that hallway. As soon as Martin gets back with my new bamboo, I’m going to go down and smash his testicles!”
Martin was the household manager of Laal Station, a solemn man who kept the household functioning smoothly despite all external and internal disasters.
“You should not have told Martin to get you a new stick. With the banquet tonight he has better things to do with his time. Are you so lazy that you c
an’t ride down the hill to get a stick?”
Anthony’s eyes got darker, and he started to shout something into Dillan’s face, but a calm voice from the door stopped him.
“Of course I had a groom go for the stick, Guide Dillan. I’m sure Anthony didn’t expect me to go myself.”
Both Anthony and Dillan turned to see Martin standing in the door, a new length of green bamboo held loosely in his hand. Behind him stood a waiter with goblets and a pitcher on a tray. “I took the liberty of bringing ice tea. The afternoon is warm.” He poured a glass for Dillan while Anthony took the bamboo and shattered the air with vicious, two-handed swings.
“Good,” Anthony said shortly, accepting the waiting glass. “Thank you, Martin. I’m sorry if I caused any trouble. I was so angry, I forgot about the banquet.” He avoided Dillan’s eyes when he said this.
Dillan allowed himself a small smile and winked at Martin. “Delicious, Martin,” he said, draining the glass. Then he turned back to Anthony. “Father relieves you of the duty until the high steward’s party leaves. Martin, Leland will be attending the banquet tonight. Please inform Bartholomew and make the necessary arrangements.”
Anthony stared at Dillan, shocked.
Martin took it frozen faced as always. “Yes, Guide. And will Leland be at the main table?”
“No, like all my brothers, he will head his own table. The Gentle Guide Marilyn de Noram will be his partner.” He set the goblet down on the tray and thanked the waiter. “Peter, isn’t it? The glassmaker’s son?”
The boy nodded. “Y-yes, Guide,” he stammered.
“Keep up the good work. After the high steward is gone, we can drop all these airs again and get back to life.” Dillan walked to the door. “Oh, by the way, Martin, Leland will need something suitable to wear. Any of my clothes that can be made to fit are at his disposal.”
Martin nodded. “I’ll work something out.”
“Thank you.” He left.
Anthony stared after him for a long time.
