Chapitre 150: Servant of the Axe, 50 - Second Parcel
Servant of the Axe
Chapter 50
Second Parcel
Spa day, almost sans muffins (sugar, of all things, was overpriced) was mostly uneventful. Mostly.
Madonna cringed. "What are you doing? I've behaved myself!"
"Mostly." I agreed. "Don't worry, this isn't for you."
It took a second mixing before the Celestial Heavens mana held together, and attempting to infuse it into the Sancta Argenta caused the vial to explode. It stung where it touched my skin, particularly the dark omega on the back of my hand.
"What manner of incompetent arcane ass-hattery was that?" she screamed at me, wrapping a towel around herself.
"The kind that might have worked." Oh, it failed, and spectacularly. And even if it had worked, it still would have faded at the next full or new moon.
And Madonna made excuses to the staff that I was a clumsy oaf, and had broken the vial by dropping it. There was a cleaning fee, and they never let me carry glass back into the pool rooms again.
But – I had something that I needed to ask Manajuwejet about.
And it would have been that night, had the second parcel, complete with something I mistook for a polearm case, not arrived. "Polearms are your weapons, Lady Gamilla."
She took a look at the case. "This is an Uruk letter, Na, possibly for Narces."
"Me? I don't want another polearm." But he opened the case. For a heartbeat, he didn't move except to breathe. "Ah. Look at that, a thing of beauty."
"Mentelope." I said, remembering her name immediately. The name of the bow's owner, so far as I knew.
"And named." Narces leaned forward to run a finger along the length of the bow, "Mentelome."
I cleared my throat. "Perhaps the letters of the parcel will clarify matters?"
Again, there was a personal letter from Rakkal to me.
#
Smallest Brother,
I hope this letter finds you more like yourself than that moping, self-depreciating creature you had narrating your earlier letters.
The war, such as it is, is going well. Hortiluk says that he will have the survivors home by the harvest. Uma certainly hopes so, the dry weather has been hard on the crops, and I am told we will want every hand in the field come the end of summer.
But listen to me, talking crops like some manner of mud hugger. Let me instead sound like fisher-folk and talk about the new dock. They have the first posts down. They will bind them with iron to other posts, I am told, and then begin working on the dock frame. The people dredging out the deep end of the port have reported some manner of sea-leeches are attacking the divers. I've let brother Militus go and see what can be done about the pests.
Good news! The first of your silks should arrive in Furdia about a month after you receive this. I am told that valuable cargos such as this should be delivered only in summer, when the spring storm season has passed. With luck, it will arrive just before winter storm season.
"That will be a goodness." Gamilla said. "If those silks arrive, undamaged, the proceeds from a ship-full will fund us and the Furdian embassy for two years."
"Let's not go spending those coins until we have them." Narces said.
"Of course. Pray, ambassador, please continue."
Please let me clarify a point of debate between Hortiluk and myself. You are my ambassador, and are not beholden to Sholwyr. Don't step on her nose, or anything, but don't let her push you around, either. <1>
On the topic of Sholwyr, she assures me that if I journey to Furdia I must try a treat called a pear. It is a pity that such things do not travel well. Just imagining you eating your way through all the different cultural dishes down there brings merriment to my life.
I'm certain by this point I don't need to warn you about forks; civilized people seem to have far too many of them, unless for ammunition. I imagine a tiny crossbow for shooting them, perhaps with a chain attached, and using that to haul dishes to yourself rather than asking for them to be passed.
I wish you to be well, and to get more exercise than I myself am getting. Brownbeard assures me that now that Hortiluk is no longer trying to tax them, the Uruk are settling down, and alas, I am not needed to put down a rebellion. Something will come forward to challenge me, I am certain; such is the nature of reality. But for now, I am bored.
Your Larger Brother,
Rakkal
P.S. Don't eat too much sugar. I ate a small bag of the stuff, and while it gave me a short burst of energy, it fades quickly. I can see how it could be addictive, but my medical advisors assure me it is merely a condiment.
#
There was a bodkin dagger for Kismet from her friend Lorraine. With much relish, she set it between her meager (non-disgusting) breasts.
Letters for Narces, letters for Gamilla… and one for me, from Oriestes-son.
Oh, what the heck could he possibly want that I could provide?
Rhishisikk, <blah, blah, words, words> you owe me a favor.
Yes, thanks, I know that.
<Words words> Giantess' Diamond <words, wait, what?>
I have heard of a jewel known as the Giantess' Diamond from Dauria, which might actually be with the commander's wife in the Southern Islands. As this diamond bears a significant curse, which I hear you may be able to counter, I wish you to seek out this diamond, and break its curse. If you can do this, and return the cleansed gemstone to me for a re-cursing here, I will consider your favor repaid. Please let me know no later than <date passed> if this is beyond your ability to do.
<words, words, read this nonsense later>
I put it away and looked at the letter from Solwyn. The address, if accurate, indicated that she had arrived in Lewardsport.
To: Ambassador to the Southern Island Peoples
From: Solwyn, your superior in <blah blah>
<words, words> credentials have been delayed <words> lack of funds <words words> King Geoffrey <words> spilled fingerbowl of cream, which has been blown all out of proportion. <words, words> send money, <words and more words>.
"I just can't focus on these letters." I said. "It's like they trained at some academy or other, specifically how to write in a boring manner."
"It's called formal writing, Rhishi. You should learn it."
"Why? It's not like… It's unlikely… damn it!"
"Haha! Point for Kismet."
"Wait," Madonna said. "How do we play? I want to score points against my incredibly stupid husband."
"Seems too easy for me." Narces said. "I'm out."
"This doesn't endanger further cooking days?" Gamilla asked, "If it means pointing out areas our ambassador is being negligent in, I definitely want in. What are the stakes?"
"Chii chii chii," said Dimmihammas, raising a hand.
"Well, I need to sleep and just let my brain reset. Narces, let me know the rules in the morning."
"But boss, I'm not playing."
"Which is exactly how you get named referee."
"Ooh, seconded." Kismet said.
"Boss!"
I stood up and left the table, waved good night to everyone.
I entered my bed and-
[Lucid Dreaming successful.]
"Ah, I see you broke the seal on my envelope." Oriestes-son the senior said.
"What? Oh, yes, yes I have. And I'd like to complain about the letter setting a deadline before I opened it."
"Of course, of course! But if I hadn't included that, then how would it look if someone other than you had opened it?"
"I see. A ruse. Very cunning."
"So about my request?"
"I'll see if they have it before committing either way. I doubt they'll just hand it over if they have it."
"Good, good. How are things down there? Readings indicate interesting times this year."
"Seems good so far, but the local spirits know something more than they're talking to me about."
"Any clues?"
I shrugged. "Something weird is going on with the markets, but I don't know exactly who's manipulating the flow of trade goods.
"Let me know when you figure it out?"
"I don't know that I will figure that out."
"You're already curious." He said, "It's not a thing, yet, but soon it's going to become an itch you can't help but scratch."
[Willpower has successfully helped you resist arcane mental control.]
That elderly shit! "I guess it might." I said.
"So, do you want to swap rumors?"
"I doubt anything down here is of interest to you."
"Questions, then?"
"Sure, let's swap questions. You ask first."
Even now, promises bind me to not speak of the questions we exchanged.
#
<1> The actual words were "Don't stomp on her snout", which is a part Minotaur culture where you express your contempt and dominance by breaking someone's nose with your hoof. Basically, Rakkal was telling me to be strong, but not to break my coworker.
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