She guessed the sergeant was hungry, and wanting to clean up before dinner with the assembled staff, by his haste to enter the bath. The polish he had put on her boots was quite fine, but he apparently had not had time to work on his own. The opportunity to return the favor was not lost on her. She settled in, and her mind wandered to the last time she had polished papa’s boots for him...
She wrenched her mind away from the fortress and the recent memories, when the sun caught the rail lines, making them blaze in the last light of the day. That started her mind down another trail of thought. The Corbettite order had traditionally been neutral, to the point that no one was quite sure which of the seven Popes they owed obedience. However, they were known to assist those who favored benevolent order. Though the Baron was not always seen as benevolent, but he did see to it that the Peace was kept, and allowed the trains to run on time. Perhaps the next train through might have one member of the order that could see things that way. Something to think about, to help make up for the lost time in the tree.
The time was not entirely lost, to her mind. Tactically, yes it was a frightful loss of time - but the rest had done her leg good, and they had not slept the entire day away. Where their wakefulness overlapped, they had been able to discuss how classes at the academy had changed over the centuries. From there is was a step to favorite tacticians, and then on to some favored authors that were not entirely military in their applications. She hoped Dalibor could write, and might be willing to correspond after... it was rare to find someone with similar tastes to hers when it came to books. So few “gentlemen” of her set thought women were able to comprehend military history or the great philosophers, much less discuss them intelligently.
Vigorous splashing from the bath-house and memories of the rain uncoiled a series of thoughts a well-brought-up young lady should not have. True, she was not as well-brought-up as some of her classmates had been but she knew she should not be imagining what his tawny-gold skin would feel like against hers. She absently polished the boot in her hand in lazy circles, wondering what it would feel like to have been snuggled skin-to-skin. His hands had been gentle when he had treated the wound on her leg, and comforting her after the nightmare. She blushed as her imagination took his hands up her legs, or around her shoulders down to her hips, causing the most un-lady-like feelings to stir all over. Feelings she could do nothing about, unfortunately.
She realized she was caressing instead of polishing his boots, and straightened up, finishing the job just as he exited the bath-house.
~=*=~
Dafi sat quietly, letting the waves of conversation swirl about her, picking up information here and there. Master Toma’s wife, Mistress Charlot, was catching Dalibor up on who had stayed, who had taken up service, and who had passed since his last visit, some seventy years ago. It was certainly an eye-opener. It seemed that he had an investment in the village, as there were perhaps a child in each generation named for him - but oddly, it did not feel as if this was his home village. She could not put her finger on the clue that triggered that supposition, that he was an honored family friend, but not family.
While Dafi was unsuccessfully refusing a second helping of apple pie from a nonagenarian auntie, she heard Dalibor ask if the great hall was still open, as he wanted to repack his parachute. Immediately, the children gathered about, asking if they could help. Dalibor gave a small, pained smile, when Dafi casually asked Master Toma, “Would the children prefer a story from my home county?” A dozen or so young heads swiveled about, as it was the first time she had spoken up in the large group. She suspected her accent marked her as “interesting”, and if inn children were like military dependents...
“Commander knows new stories?” a little girl in the back piped up. Dafi smiled at the girl, who was as fair as Dafi was dark, and shrugged.
The master of the inn leaned back and scratched his chin, “Hm, I don’t know, the load of them should be helping the kitchen staff clean up...” and suddenly the children were everywhere, clearing the tables that were empty, sweeping the floor, gathering plates for the scullions and putting away the cleaned cooking implements while the cooks finished their tea, smiling fondly at the bustle of activity. In the confusion, Dalibor gripped her shoulder in gratitude as he and Master Toma slipped out.
~=*=~
Dalibor nodded as he walked out the lines from the canopies, “Ve all do, but hyu got zumting dot maybe needz schpecial eyez on it, neh?” He kept his voice low, out of habit.
“We still trade with the neighboring villages, for local things, and get freight in from the Brothers when we need anything else.” Toma walked beside Dal as he paced the lines and making sure they were straight, and teased out the tangles. “South and east of here is still all right, but north and west, there have been a fair number of grumbles.”
Dal nodded, “Ho? Und vhy iz it needing zumvun’z schpecial attention - tingz haff been bad before, und tingz schtraightened out.” Satisfied that the dead-man chute lines were good, he began folding it into its pouch.
Toma adjusted his position so the lamp gave better light, but he was not treading on the other lines. “Trouble it is, but it ain’t all home-grown this time. Lightning bless his pointed little head, the baby dukeling has been picking up some strange friends. The loan-sharks we’re used to after three generations. These are a new brand of sinister.”
Dalibor was silent as he wrapped the static line around the metal loop at the top, hooking it into the primary chute’s lines. He frowned when he finished and looked up at Toma, “Hyu got any namez yet?”
Toma shook his head, “They go about insisting on the honorifics, but not the names - I think that one of them might be English, they have been calling him ‘Chancy’ or summat.”
Dal frowned inwardly as he began the process all over with the main chute, repeating the name silently in his head. It was too close to be coincidence. “No odder namez hyu haff heard?”
“None you say in polite company. I was getting worried that we might have to send one of the game-keepers to the Baron, quiet-like, to get the word out.” The inn-keeper shook his head again, “I really don’t like the noises I hear from the direction of the capital town, and riots are bad for business.”
Dal finished folding the main chute, and sighed, “Lightning blezz de pointed leetle headz of de houze of Ierboaze-Movila, becauze Hy tink dhey finally gotten full-op of schtupid. “ He stood up, shouldering the parachute pack in one easy movement, “Hy’ll do vot Hy can, und hyu let dhem know to keep an eye out.”
“You know, we actually had some improvements, when Gavril took the seat. Not startling changes, but it looked like more were coming.” Toma put the lamp on the mantle and stared into the fire. “Then rumor has it he started running with a fast crowd on the edge of the Fifty, and these hangers-on showed up. So there are rumblings that he might could be salvaged.”
“If dhere’z ought to zave, de Baron’z de vun to try.” Dalibor grinned, “Hyu know de zaying, ‘Baron knowz de right monzter for de job’, neh?” He clapped his host on the shoulder and headed off to the room to stow the parachute where at least *little* hands would not get into it. So, the Ierboase-Movila house was involved, at least peripherally. Things just got a little more personal.
~=*=~
Dafi smiled and straightened her spine to imitate the old baba that had told the stories to her and the other children at the fortress, “Hearken and attend, for I tell a tale of spirits and princes! Long, long ago, there was an old fowler living in the woods with his son. The young man had not wanted to learn his father’s craft, content that the old man would do it forever!” Here there were giggles and sidelong glances to a young man off to the side being smacked in the back of his head, by either his mother or older sister, by the looks of them. Dafi outwardly ignored the interaction, but grinned inwardly. There was one in every village.
“Thus it came to pass, when the old fowler died, the young man had to fend for himself, and he tried to set his father’s bird snares. He became despondent when after months, he had caught nothing, and the stores laid by were growing thin. Many snares were ruined or stolen, and with the last of them he carefully set the snare on a tree. At that moment a crow flew down upon the tree, but as the snare was finally properly laid the poor bird was caught. The youth climbed up after it, but when he had got hold of the bird, the crow spoke, begging him to let her go, promising to give him in exchange something more beautiful and more precious than herself. The crow begged and prayed till at last he let her go free, and again he set the snare in the tree and sat down at the foot of it to wait. Presently another bird came flying up, and flew right into the snare. The youth climbed up the tree again to bring it down, but when he saw it he was full of amazement, for such a beautiful thing he had never seen in the forest before.”
Dafi then caught sight of Dal’s golden eyes reflected in the firelight from his spot in the shadows and nearly swallowed her tongue. She recovered quickly, and continued the story of how the young fowler was aided time and again by the crow until the Padishah rewarded his vigilance with the position of minister, and the Queen of the Peri released her punishment on the crow, who was once again a beautiful maiden, permitted to marry the fowler.
The youngest ones were beginning to nod off when the story was completed. Then the old auntie that had insisted Dafi was too skinny (and kept adding more food to her plate) said it was time for bed, and instantly every youngster in the hall was wide awake and insisting on another story. Dafi asked, “It might be a familiar story to you all, but I would like to hear the tale of how your village came to be running an inn.” She regretted asking almost immediately, catching Dalibor’s flinch out of the corner of her eye. “If it is not an imposition?”
But the children were enthusiastic about sharing their history, and proceeded to tell the tale themselves, “Long-long-long time ago, before even the oldest uncle and aunties here were born, we lived underwater!” “NONONO! The village was in the valley, but the water wasn’t there!” “An’ the only one in this house was the madboy!” “He made weird animals, which is why we don’t go out in the woods by ourselves!” “He got in a fight with anudder madboy, who couldn’t hit the broad side of barn, but made things that went BOOM!”
Here all of the children provided sound-effects, and one of the older children said when things quieted down, “We don’t know what the fight was about, but there used to be a mountain south of here. That’s the south end of the lake, now.”
The old uncle who had recognized Dafi’s tale took up the thread. “We were not the target, but as usual, we took the damage. Luckily, this was in high summer, and the river was low, so there was time to salvage what we could. We had no place to go, other than another village and start over, when the Third Son came to see what the explosion was.” The children cheered what was evidently a favorite hero. Dafi had not heard this version of the tale, and was her curiosity was piqued by the way the old man named the hero. “He saw that the mountain had shifted, and also saw that the river would fill the valley in a year or two, but that the first of our housen would be flooded by Yule. Now, since the madboy that was living in this lodge was the favorite of the Duke-that-was-then, we could not take our grievance to his court.” The children quietly hissed. “The Third Son helped the Mayor, the one that was young Toma’s great-great-grandfa, put together a plan. They lured the madboy out of his lair with tales of a new monster in the area, one that he did not build. The madboy did what all madboys do, he had to go take a look. And whaddya know, he did find the monster.” Here the old uncle chuckled ruefully, “or rather, the monster found him... delicious.”
Now all of the children chimed in with a well-rehearsed, “EEEEEUGH, Yuck!” with snickers and gasps.
The old woman sitting beside him smacked his arm, and when the children had settled again, she said, “That set us up for the winter, but come spring, we would need to pay the tax-tithe. The harvests could be got in for that year, but what of the next? The town council met many nights in this very hall, trying to decide our next move. For if we could not pay the tax, all of us would be taken over as land-serfs. In those days, there was no way out of that sort of debt. The Third Son had heard the monks were building that rail line and sent word to them that we might need their help. The surveyors came, and found the north end of the valley to be a good route, and they could do something once the lake had found its level. We had found a warren of rooms built back into the mountain, enough that we could comfortably keep the village here, and still have grand rooms left. Then someone mentioned that it might make a nice inn if the lake settled properly.”
“It was a scary few first years, according to my great-great-granfa’s journal, but once the lake was stable, the railroad came through, we have been able to make our tax-tithe, and still make a profit, every year since.” Master Toma concluded. “It was due to the Third Son’s help that we were able to get back on our feet, which is why we honor his help by aiding others of his kind,” and then he bowed to Dafi, “the travelling lone soldier, and their like.”
This time, the call to bed was not to be ignored, Mistress Charlot chivvied the children out of the hall, “I’ll not have you burning daylight tomorrow, we still have an inn to winter up.” The good-natured grumbling was brief, and the adults began straightening up the great hall and extinguishing the rush-lights. Master Toma banked the fire as Dafi headed back to their rooms, wondering when Dalibor had left. She also wondered at the omissions the sergeant had made to the tale he told. A hero named the “Third Son” made her think of the order of precedence in a House of the Fifty. And yet, the kindness was specifically to a lone travelling soldier? Why was this Third Son, if he was noble, a lone soldier? Considering the supposed animosity towards nobility, the reverence of a Third Son, without naming his house, made a little sense. How to get the the story behind that, without letting them in on her own scant nobility? She’d be asking more questions later, when she knew what to ask.
