“Don’t worry about it, Mother. Yozef doesn’t make an issue out of any differences in custom from his people. However, he tries not to offend. You’ll notice that once he’s familiar with someone, including his servants and workmen, he reverts to his people’s customs and treats them more as acquaintances, rather than by their positions.”
Evening with the Hetman’s Family
The sun was long gone, and the smaller of Anyar’s two moons had risen above the western hills when Yozef was summoned by a knock on his quarter’s door. A voice he didn’t recognize announced it was time for evening meal. When he opened the door, no one was there. He had been shown a tub of hot water in a room adjacent to the cottage when he arrived and had availed himself of it. He now donned what Cadwulf assured him was plain but well-made attire for general occasions. Expensive, but not ostentatious.
Although dark, there was enough light from the moon, the stars, and the glow from the manor house windows to walk along the stonework path to the front door. A knocker on the door gave him one of his increasingly infrequent flashbacks to Earth. It could be the door to any of hundreds of such doors he’d stood before. The reflection evaporated when he knocked, and a young girl about ten years old opened it so quickly, he guessed that she must have been waiting at a window and seen him coming. It was Mared, the youngest of the four daughters. Maera’s description matched the mischievous grin on the young face.
She did a credible curtsey, then said, “Welcome, Ser Kolsko. Welcome to the Keelan Manor. Please come in.”
How do I address her? wondered Yozef, in another of those moments when he had no clue about the custom. He had passed with the mother, but what about a hetman’s child? In lieu of knowing and afraid of making mistakes, he was accustomed to admitting ignorance and throwing himself on the mercy of whoever he faced.
“Thank you for the invitation to come in. But pardon me. You know I’m a stranger to Caedellium and ignorant of many customs. I know you’re Mared Keelan, Maera’s sister and the hetman’s daughter, but how should someone like you be addressed by someone like me?”
Mared giggled with a hand over her mouth, then leaned forward and in a conspiratorial tone whispered, “You just call all children by either Sem or Child until you’re properly introduced.”
Yozef whispered back, “Which is better for a hetman’s daughter, Sem or Child? And which would you prefer?”
“Well,” said his co-conspirator, “I am a hetman’s daughter, so Sem Keelan would be proper. Here, where there are four of us, Sem Mared would also be appropriate.”
“Thank you,” Yozef whispered again. Then in a normal voice, said “Thank you, Sem Mared. Your family has a beautiful home, and any stranger would be honored to have the greeting given by one so charming.”
Mared giggled again and motioned him to follow her into what he presumed was their version of the family parlor containing chairs of various sizes, tables, lanterns and, in this case, occupied by Maera and her mother.
“Welcome again, Ser Kolsko,” offered Breda, rising from her chair. “You’re just in time. Evening meal is ready. If you’ll follow me? Maera, alert your father, if he isn’t already on the way.”
They went into the hall, down the beautifully grained and polished wood flooring and into a room with a table large enough for twenty people. Tonight there were only seven and spaced far enough apart to give a formal tone to the setting.
Hetman Keelan entered from another door seconds later, nodded to Yozef, and sat at one end of the table. Breda moved to the other end and indicated for Yozef to sit to one side of her. Maera sat between Yozef and her father, which made them far enough apart that they couldn’t touch without rising from their chairs. The three younger daughters sat on the opposite side, facing Yozef and Maera. As soon as they were all seated, all of the Keelans placed a right hand over their hearts, closed their eyes, and lifted their heads slightly, and Culich recited the Caedellium common thanksgiving.
“We thank you, Merciful God, for the bounty of this world and ask your understanding of our weaknesses. Praise God.”
“Praise God,” echoed the rest of the Keelan family, and the meal was on. Immediately, a woman and a teenage boy appeared through a swinging door. Then, and later, Yozef could see into the next room, which appeared to be the kitchen, as the door opened and swung shut. First course was a brownish soup with what appeared to be rice with pieces of meat, heavy on spices. Warm fresh-baked bread filled an artfully woven basket, accompanied by dishes of butter that the Keelans lathered on bread slices. A grunt of appreciation came from the hetman, as he recognized the soup.
Next came an incredibly tender roast with browned potatoes, a tangy gravy, a vegetable resembling Chinese cabbage, and more warm bread and butter. Both water and wine glasses were refilled by the boy, as soon as the level got halfway. The wine was a surprise. Yozef expected one of the sweetish wines he had had so far, both from phila and other fruits, or the foxy wines he suspected were descendants of wild North American grapes. This wine had only a faint hint of sweetness, definite tannins, and a complexity reminiscent of Vitis vinifera, true wine grapes. He decided he definitely needed to find out where it came from and either start his own vineyard or know the source where he could order this wine.
The constant refilling of glasses and keeping his attention focused on the family and maintaining his place in the conversation made him lose track of how much wine he’d downed. Once he realized he was getting a buzz, he left the wine glass alone and, whenever tempted, reached instead for water.
The final serving was a pie of mixed fruits adorned with whipped cream, something Yozef hadn’t seen in his time on Anyar. On savoring a spoonful, he realized there was no reason not to have whipped cream; you just started with heavy cream and beat the hell out of it—by hand, presumably, there being no Kitchen-Aids, Oster blenders, or whatever, in this part of the galaxy.
The meal lasted just over an hour. Yozef held his own in the conversation and thought he acquitted himself satisfactorily. There were the usual questions about where Yozef came from, how he got to Caedellium, his family, his people, his enterprises, his opinions of Caedellium and Keelan Province, and on and on. By now, Yozef had his story down by heart, but he paid special attention this evening to keep to the official story and add no embellishments, which took focus after drinking too much Chateau L’Keelan. The hetman was polite, if cool, and though his questions to Yozef might have seemed unconnected, Yozef bet to himself the questions and the answers were carefully constructed and stored away. This guy might look and act like an English country squire, but Yozef had the feeling the hetman was not someone to underestimate.
Although some of the meal’s accompanying conversation involved Keelan family and clan matters, Yozef was the main topic. The two youngest sisters kept up constant questioning of Yozef, while the third played the part of an aggrieved teenager during most of the meal. Breda also had questions and played the gracious hostess. Maera was there, though they hardly exchanged a word during the meal.
Yozef’s uncertainty about the schedule following the meal was answered by Culich.
“A fine meal, Breda. We should have this more often.”
“I’ll make a note of it, Culich, although the balmoth meat isn’t always available.”
Yozef would never know that the meal had been carefully crafted of the hetman’s favorite dishes. Breda and Maera took no chances on Culich’s mood.
The hetman stood, followed by the rest of the family and belatedly by Yozef. The family repeated the same short prayer that started the meal. Yozef had seen this routine before at the Beynoms’, although there the initial prayer was longer and with more elaboration. At the Keelans’, it was more a rote recital, although Yozef couldn’t decide whether it was perfunctory.
“Ser Kolsko, I’ll accompany you to the veranda.”
Yozef thanked the hostess for a lovely dinner, complimented her on her fine house and family, smiled, and told the younger daughters it was a p
leasure to meet them. He then turned to Maera to say it was a pleasure to meet her again and winked his right eye, out of the line of sight of the other family members.
Maera jerked slightly from the unexpected gesture. They hadn’t conversed since he’d arrived that afternoon. The wink gave her pause, but by the time he was out the door, she decided it was a friendly gesture, indicating he thought he’d played well his role as guest.
Once on the veranda, Culich was all business. “I’ve made time in my schedule tomorrow at mid-morning for us to meet in my office. Someone will come for you in your quarters when it’s time.”
With that, the hetman left Yozef alone, watching the back of Culich’s dark green coat go through the front door.
And thank you for coming so quickly, Yozef. I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule. And, if it’s convenient for you, could we meet tomorrow to discuss world affairs, the Narthani problem, how you helped the economy in Keelan? Oh, and by the way, thanks for any help in repelling the raid on St. Sidryn’s.
Oh, well. I guess it’s not easy being green, and maybe the hetmen don’t go to charm school.
Yozef made his way back to his cottage. Because of the large meal and too much wine, especially after the ride from Abersford, he had barely undressed and pulled the bed covers up before he was asleep.
Chapter 13: Meet the Hetman
Summons
The next morning began with knocking. Yozef roused himself from under the covers when the sound wouldn’t go away, and he reluctantly concluded it wasn’t a dream. He’d drunk more wine the previous night than intended, and now his throbbing head wondered at the alcohol content. The headache was a puzzle, because neither the local beers nor the fruit wines had such side effects on him.
Throwing on clothes, he padded barefoot to the door and opened it to wince at the bright sunlight. There stood the same serving boy as the evening before, this time holding a basket.
“Good day. Your morning meal, Ser Kolsko,” he said with a smile to the blurry-eyed, disheveled guest.
“Whether it’s a good day I’ll be the judge, eventually. One help will be if that basket contains kava.”
“It does. Shall I lay it out for you?”
“Please.”
The boy put the basket on a chair at the table and pulled out a cup and a steaming ceramic pitcher.
“You’re my friend forever,” said Yozef. Whatever the wine was, he needed to drink less of it. Still, he’d had far worse headaches after over-imbibing. While he poured himself a cup of kava, the boy finished bringing out several woven bowls containing fruit, rolls, hunks of cheese, a dish of butter, and another of a jam.
“Will this be sufficient, Ser Kolsko, or is there anything else you would like or prefer?”
“No . . . what’s your name?”
“Norlin, Ser Kolsko.”
“No, Norlin, this looks fine. What do I do with whatever I don’t eat and drink?”
“Do? You don’t do anything,” Norlin said, puzzled. “I’ll return later when you’re out and remove it when I check for any clothes you need cleaning.”
“What do you know, a multi-service establishment.”
Norlin looked blankly at Yozef, who had unconsciously spoken in English but now switched back to Caedelli.
“If I had any such clothes, where would I put them?”
“Why, in the sack,” Norlin said, pointing to a heavy-cloth bag hanging by a hook.
“Oh, yes, I didn’t see the bag.” And wouldn’t have known what it was for, if I’d seen it.
“Hetman Keelan told me to inform you he’ll send someone for you when he’s ready to meet. It will be sometime in mid-morning.”
Meaning, hang around for when the high muckety-muck deigns to have you come to his presence. Even when grumbling to himself, Yozef knew he was being unfair. Well, grouchy anyway.
What was he supposed to do while waiting? Stare at the walls?
“Once I eat, and I’m awake, could you show me around the grounds so I can stretch my legs?”
“I understand Sen Maera is planning on doing that this afternoon, Ser Kolsko.”
“Yozef,” he mumbled, sipping the kava. “Call me Yozef.”
The boy shifted his weight between his feet. “It would be inappropriate for me to address a guest of the hetman by his first name, Ser Kolsko.”
“Okay. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. But I’m the guest, and I prefer my first name. How about we agree that when other people are around, you call me Ser Kolsko, but when we’re alone like this, I’m Yozef.”
“Well. All right,” said Norlin unconvincingly and then excused himself and exited in a hurry.
Yozef sat and focused on the kava. His earlier inquiries about the source of the coffee substitute revealed it came not from a root, as he’d first suspected, but from a truly impressive tree that often reached 150 feet in both height and breadth. The tree’s four-to six-inch-long nuts fell after an enclosing husk split, and the ground under a tree was often covered with nuts. When ground fine, mixed with water and a little salt, and then boiled several hours, it turned into kava. Its effect was similar to coffee, leading him to suspect it contained alkaloids similar, if not identical, to caffeine. This kava batch was especially good and reminded him of Kona coffee, not his favorite back on Earth, but it was familiar tasting and smelling and had the same physiological effects.
Once more awake, he found himself famished and devoured most of the rolls with butter, several fruits, and much of the cheese. He tried the jam. It tasted like overripe figs and leather.
Alert and sated, he had to fill the next few hours. On Earth, he’d carried a paperback for “hurry-up-and-wait” occasions. On Caedellium, he used any available slack time to work on whatever science he dredged from his memory, so he often carried paper, quills, and ink for free moments. Later, he would transfer the notes to bound journals and burn the loose-leaf drafts. This morning, he moved the eating table closer to a window with sunlight coming through the panes, laid out his materials, and delved into copying from his memory a text on thermodynamics. As usual, there were gaps—sections that, for whatever reason, hadn’t survived in his memory and whatever the Watchers had done to him. However, he managed to reproduce major sections as if he saw the open book in front of him. He was well into a chapter on statistical entropy and ruing that he didn’t have the recall ability when taking courses at Berkeley, when another knock on the door found him finishing a theorem proof and accompanying diagrams.
“The hetman is ready for you,” said Norlin. “Please follow me.”
So he did. Down the same path to the house, through the double doors, and this time down a different hall to a door where Norlin knocked and waited.
“Come in,” called the hetman.
They entered a spacious den-like room. As elsewhere in the house, the exquisite woodwork was made from a variety of woods. From the walls hung paintings, one of which depicted a stylized battle he assumed to be from clan history and another version of a ubiquitous theme he’d seen many places—God creating humans. Bookshelves and drawers occupied much of the rest of the wall space. The most prominent piece of furniture was a large desk, behind which sat the hetman. Elsewhere were two tables, one for six to eight people and a smaller table sitting in a bay window, along with three leather and cushion chairs at different points of the room.
“Thank you, Norlin. Come back at mid-day bell to retrieve Ser Kolsko.”
Norlin bowed and left, closing the door quietly.
That means he expects this meeting to last around two hours?
Culich rose and motioned to the table in the window. “Let’s sit here, Ser Kolsko. I always like the sunlight.”
They sat and looked at each other for a few seconds.
“You’ve made quite an impression on Keelan, since they found you on the beach near Abersford, Ser Kolsko. I know of the new products you introduced and use a few of them myself,” the hetman said, motioning to four kerosene
lanterns scattered about the room. “Maera is very impressed with you and tells me you were open and helpful in showing her your workshops.”
“It was my pleasure, Hetman. Sen Maera is bright and insightful. It’s always good to get outside impressions, since we get locked into patterns of thinking. I remember one day when Sen Maera visited the kerosene shop . . .” Yozef continued describing a problem-solving session and how Maera had provided suggestions that Yozef and the workers had missed.
“Anyway, Hetman, I’m happy to share what I know with your people. It’s only befitting I repay the care given me when I arrived and the place that the people of Abersford and St. Sidryn’s have allowed me to fill in their community. Also, the information exchange with your daughter wasn’t one way. Sen Maera was kind enough to educate me on many aspects of Caedellium culture and history, and many of her insights have been very useful.”
“Hmmm, yes,” said Culich. “It was probably good fortune you found yourself near St. Sidryn’s. The Beynoms and the others at the abbey might be more understanding of your strange arrival and innovations, whereas in some other places even in Keelan Province, much less other provinces, not to mention elsewhere on Anyar, things might have turned out badly for you.”
Thus ended the polite phase, and the hetman launched into the real interrogation. His arrival, his origin, how did he get to Caedellium—similar to questions he had already answered the previous evening. Yozef was sure Keelan had already been briefed by Sistian, Diera, Denes, Boyerman Vorwich, Maera, and who knew who else?
Why do I sense this is not so much an information-gathering session as much as a test to see if I can keep my story straight?
Once again, he focused on keeping the details few but consistent. He told himself he was handling the meeting well, though was relieved when the hetman moved to other topics.
The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) Page 14
