The Auzzos summon her before breakfast. Leah nervously rinses her face to get rid of any lingering trace of sex from herself, dresses in her normal day wear, and lets their page lead her to their sitting room. She hopes nervously that she wasn’t found out, despite the fact that she actually succeeded in turning Jeno away. She feels vaguely hung-over, though she isn’t sure what she had that might have done it – Certainly the ale they serve with supper isn’t strong enough to do it…barely more than wheat kombucha – and spends most of her energy on looking alert, chipper, and innocent.
When she arrives, the Duchess welcomes her in. “In the end,” the Duchess begins, “Lord and Lady Valerid do not wish the return of Jeno’s old guard, now that the engagement is formalised. Since our daughter seems to have taken to you anyway – ” Here Leah forces down a blush. “ – We have decided to purchase your contract, to continue as Jeno’s guard until you and the others must leave to fight Seffon. Jeno will have her own rooms in the estate, and yours will be adjacent, to better offer her protection.”
Leah swallows hard. “Duchess, I…I must ask my team for their consent before accepting, as they may wish to remain all in proximity.” She manages to say this without stumbling. The Duchess nods in acceptance, and dismisses her; Leah flees gratefully.
She finds the five at the breakfast table. Leah joins them and explains her situation, minus the possibly illegal bits.
“That ties things up nicely,” Meredith says, nodding pensively. “You’ll still be nearby, and it means we still have the good favour of both families. Go for it.”
“Just your luck, always getting the easy jobs,” Iris says with a smirk. Leah smiles back, but sighs a bit internally; she had half been hoping for a way out.
After breakfast, she immediately seeks out the Auzzos to accept their offer; she finds them on the south bridge, talking with one of the servants of their party, a young man in the house colours of green, white, and gold.
“Oh, excellent,” the Duke says, nodding pensively. “That simplifies matters a great deal.”
They make some question about salary, and Leah accepts the figure they cite, not knowing the rules about bargaining, or even how much money is worth here. She bows and leaves them to their business, walking back to the keep feeling mildly relieved. At least I didn’t immediately fuck anything up.
Barely having returned to her rooms, she is summoned by the Lady Valerid to accompany her and the Lady Jeno on a shopping excursion. Thought unsure exactly what her role will be, Leah goes to join them.
The Lady and Jeno greet her politely and they set out as a group, on foot. Leah trails behind them a few paces, her cape swishing distractingly though she is getting used to the feeling. The two Ladies talk little, and don’t walk very far, only to a fabric store not far from the estate – just over the north bridge a bit, within sight of the river. They discuss fabrics, and Jeno comments how it’s so interesting to see linen from Algi here, just as in Cheden, and how much she prefers it over wool, or even the softest furs from the mountain chinchillas. Jeno purchases a bolt and asks Leah to carry it for her; Leah does so, feeling a little miffed at being a mule, but she still blushes when Jeno’s fingers trail over her hands at the transfer of the cloth.
The two Ladies duck into other stores on their way back, chatting about nothing in particular; Leah tunes it out eventually, more interested in observing the city. Citizens make way for them, nodding politely, and even nodding to Leah. They wear simple clothing, no very rich dyes or textures, but seem in general to be well-off – more so than those on the mainland, at least. The downtown core, I’d bet. The rich families live on the island, the labourers live on the mainland.
Back inside the keep, Leah leaves the bolt of fabric with one of the Auzzo servants, while Jeno directs another to begin making all sorts of things from it. Leah bids Lady Valerid a formal goodbye; when the Lady has gone, she turns to Jeno and gives her a more personal goodbye, taking her hand as she says it. Jeno blushes, and leaves to follow where the servant had gone.
What was that? What the hell was that? Why did I do that? Leah feels like slapping herself. Don’t go all ‘suave’ and pretend you’re so fucking charming, just because you’re getting laid for once. Snap out of it before someone accuses you of being a…deviant? She sighs. That should really be my next priority: finding out what the consequences would be.
She heads to the stables and asks the stable-hands to ready her horse; at this point she’s ninety percent sure she could reliably identify Beeswax, if she had to, and she counts that as a win. She mounts up with a minimum of trouble, though Beeswax still seems unnerved to have such an inexperienced rider, then heads out to her informal daily meeting with Wellen.
The city’s bustle is getting almost familiar; the voices, the smells, the uneven roads – the last in particular reminds her a lot of home. Leah nods to anyone who calls out to her, but does not stay to chat, in case her lack of knowledge becomes too obvious. She dismounts at the edge of Wellen’s workshop and ties Beeswax to the fencepost.
Wellen opens the door for her almost immediately after her knock. “Leah, as usual,” he says, with a smile. “How’s the memory doing?”
She laughs with a smile, taking her usual seat at the table. “Same as ever, unfortunately. More than that, I’ve come across a new shortcoming.”
“Oh?”
“Monetary systems.”
Wellen prepares her a new variety of tea while she explains her situation; not knowing what anything is worth, not knowing the units of currency and how they are subdivided. “I’m afraid to buy anything, lest I be ripped off embarrassingly. I know everyone says I’m not that bright, but I should know at least that much.”
Wellen hums knowingly and sets the latest concoction before her: mint, basil, lemon balm, and lavender, Leah guesses by the smell. An overabundance of mint-family plants, but at least nothing suspect. I wish the cooks at the estate had spices like this; the food’s a little bland for my liking.
“You’re right in that much,” Wellen says. “Currency is an essential piece of knowledge. I’m embarrassed that I didn’t think of it before.” He pulls up a spare piece of parchment and begins drawing out conversions and relative worth – gold to silver, silver to copper, coins minted in Valerin versus coins minted in Volst. Leah follows most of it, but still asks to keep the piece of paper as a reference.
She cuts the meeting brief, citing her headache from yesterday’s concoction, and rides back uneasily; she finds it easier the less she thinks about it.
Is it instinct? Leah muses. Now paying attention to her body, she falls out of the rhythm, and Beeswax starts to act nervous again. She intentionally lets her mind wander; the horse settles back into an easy gait. Fascinating! I wonder why…
Back in her rooms she sits by the window, thinking about what to do. She has decided, based on her experience so far, that she will not reappear back home anytime soon, so she had best blend in. Getting up, she rummages through the desk, looking for clues as to her identity other than ‘illiterate,’ ‘Casanova,’ ‘living battering ram,’ and ‘a little dumb.’
She finds a diary – a leather-and-string bound book with hand-written entries in ink – and brings it back to the window to read it. The handwriting is atrocious yet, strangely, still recognisably hers. The entries are short and inane.
“Went to the market today. Olives were expensive. Tomatoes reasonably priced.”
“Jeno likes the songbirds. I said I liked the dark purple one. She said she liked the red.”
That one at least Leah understands.
“Beeswax needs new shoes. There is a female blacksmith’s apprentice on Hallst Road. How impressive!”
That one she can guess at what it actually means.
“Went to the market today. Olives expensive; merchant said a storm had sunk a shipment, and they were making up for lost profits.”
Wow. She must like olives. Leah sets the book down, categorising it as useless.
Through the window of her room, she can just see a small group in rag-tag armour training in the courtyard. Leah puts the book away and goes out to join them. The afternoon air is warm and fresh, if one ignores the smell of the river – which, she realises, she is starting to do.
Vivitha greets her and beckons her over. Leah hangs back at the sidelines, not immediately picking up a practice weapon, nor even certain which she feels most confident about trying.
“I still feel a little slow still, from the concoction Wellen gave me yesterday,” she explains. “I’ll try, just…go easy on me.”
Vivitha pairs with her for some basic hand-to-hand, unarmed, and Leah fails miserably. Worried that the Auzzos or someone else important might see, she tries her theory of not thinking about it; tuning out of reality, she lets her body move as it wants to.
Immediately, she improves.
Vivitha seems to notice. “There you go,” she says encouragingly. “Takes a while to get back in the swing.”
Kain joins in, with a short knife, and Leah pulls her dagger without thinking to counter her strike. Whoa. I didn’t even remember I was wearing a dagger. Leah shifts her grip to something more comfortable, then looks at the grip, to get an idea of what ‘normal’ or ‘comfortable’ is.
They continue for another thirty seconds, sparring gently but without pulling any punches, before Leah calls a pause. Vivitha and Kain both congratulate her on being in form after her experience, and after her concoction – they both seem distantly aware of the sorts of things Wellen makes people drink.
Leah laughs. “I should have known not to trust it; the first one he gave me had salamander in it.”
Iris, practicing on a dummy, looks over at that. “Oh, I’ve had that; that one actually is pretty good.”
Leah considers using the packet hidden under her mattress after all, but decides she doesn’t trust the cleanliness of the mattresses here.
Sitting on the bench for a break, examining the dagger, she is joined by Vivitha.
“Do you know anything about this dagger? Jeno gave it to me…before the Seffon thing.”
Vivitha takes the dagger, turns it over a few times, then hands it back with a shrug. “It must be a Ben-Lia tradition.”
“Let me see,” Kain says, coming over. Looking over the dagger, she nods, lips pursed. “This is nice. This is really nice. Why’d she give it to you, was it a token?”
“I can’t remember.” Leah takes the dagger back.
Vivitha shakes her head. “Pfft, doubtful; tokens are usually reserved for a Lady to her knight-paramour.” She says it in a sarcastic tone, and the two laugh. Leah joins after a moment, trying to read the vibe for a judgemental tone.
“It’s nice, either way,” Kain says, going back to training. “You should try and work it into your routine, if you can, although you’ve sort of got that nailed down with the spear-shield combo.”
Leah looks at the dagger carefully, from every angle, before putting it back in its usual place on her belt.
At supper that night, she watches Jeno sitting next to Samson, who on reflection does seem to be merely a very round-faced teenager, not a child. Jeno seems very happy, and Leah admires her acting ability.
The servants mill about, as usual, pouring wine and ale and clearing away dirty dishes. Kimry meets Leah’s eyes at one point, accidentally, and looks away quickly but with a smile. Leah is hit with guilt, and a curiosity about the Leah that these people knew. Was she a confident ‘Donna-Juanita’ type, or was she as overwhelmed by this as I am now? How could she possibly manage it?
There is no debriefing again tonight; the border has been quiet. She walks through the halls, to her rooms, only to be interrupted by a servant.
“Your things have been moved already, Miss,” the woman says.
“Moved?” Leah asks, then remembers her conversation with the Auzzos. “Of course, yes. Where to?”
The woman points her in the direction, and Leah finds it easily enough. All the furniture is different, but she locates everything eventually and gets dressed for the night. Nonetheless, as a guard to Jeno – and now that she knows she is capable of fighting, if she lets instinct rule – she keeps the dagger and a leather vest on the desk by the bed.
She keeps a candle lit for a while, reading through the diary.
“Went to the market today. Someone was selling songbirds from Algi. I listened for a bit.”
“Rode Beeswax through the farms. I met a nice family who raise quail, not pigeons.”
“There is a serving woman here named Kimry, from Nent. Her accent is easy to follow.”
None of the entries are dated, but they seem ordered from oldest to newest, intuitively enough.
Someone knocks. “Come in,” Leah says, setting the diary on the desk next to the dagger.
Jeno opens the door and enters, wearing only her night clothes. Leah is nervous but confident that she will be able to dissuade the young woman from visiting her again, now that the stakes are too high. Then why do I keep leading her on? Dumbass…think with your brain, for once.
Jeno sits on the edge of the bed, and looks at the desk. “What’s this?” she asks, picking up the diary.
“A journal,” Leah explains. “I use it to prompt my memory. It can’t really be called a diary, when the entries are two lines long, but it helps.”
“Is there anything in there about me?”
Leah takes the book back and flips through, reading out the one about the songbirds and their colours.
Jeno smiles, and places a hand on Leah’s. “That’s quite romantic of you, that you treasured a little detail like that.”
“Well, it’s not a little detail; it’s a code.”
“Oh?”
She explains the deviancy code-colour to Jeno, who laughs. “Well, I won’t exactly need that ever again, but it’s interesting to know.”
Leah frowns. “You know, Jeno…I will be gone, someday…” – gone to my home or gone to this world’s next assignment, God knows – “And it might be useful for you to know, then.”
Jeno looks very upset, and Leah regrets her words immediately.
“You promised…” Jeno begins, leaning over to rest against her. “I know you didn’t mean forever, but…soon…”
“Soon,” Leah says, gently pushing Jeno away. “But not tonight. I’m sore from practice, and besides,” she kisses Jeno’s lips very gently, stroking her cheek. “I’m not sure you’re emotionally in the right place for this. I don’t want to be an escape for you; I want to be here with you.”
Jeno leans in and kisses her again, a hand around Leah’s neck. Leah’s toes curl a bit, and for a moment she’s ready to throw all her wise words of patience to the wind – God, why did I leave Kimry so soon…
Thinking of her other dalliance sets her straight. No. Until I figure out how much trouble I’d be in, I can’t move forward. Not that I’d stop, if I found out there was potential for trouble…I’d just rather be informed.
She eases off the kiss; Jeno doesn’t seem to want to leave, but Leah finally breaks away, gives her a kiss on the hand, and sends her back to her room.
Alone again, she reads a few more lines from the diary.
“Beeswax doesn’t like the noise of the marketplace much, but it’s the best place to go to meet people. I don’t know if it’s worth her unhappiness, poor thing.”
“The apothecary’s shop doesn’t have heart-berry. He says it doesn’t grow this far south. I ought to keep a supply with me.”
“The fishermen say it’s almost salmon season. Vivitha says they return to breed upriver, and each generation always knows the exact path to take to get back to the breeding grounds, like they’re born knowing. I wonder how?”
Leah sighs and puts it away, giving up on finding anything of use in it. She remembers what Iris said about the salamander tea, and checks under her mattress; unsurprisingly, she finds nothing.
*
At practice the next day, she has upgraded to gambeson and shield, though is not yet comfortable holding the spear. She has managed to not only work on instinct, but in fact learn some of the moves she is performing automatically. Now, even when she is not on auto-pilot, she can parry most basic attacks with daggers, and block most sword blows in a non-bruising manner.
Riding Beeswax is more difficult; she must be on auto-pilot, because if she isn’t the horse gets skittish at the unfamiliar feel of a familiar rider. She can manage getting to Wellen’s home, but is nervous about going any further.
Early lunch with Wellen has become the one consistent thing she can rely on, in this world. Wellen himself seems happy to have her company, despite his unusual suggestions for cures.
Today, he gives her another round of what Leah has taken to calling ‘patchouli tea,’ and they run over some basic lessons; more on currency and politics, and at Leah’s request a summary of women’s roles in this world.
“You know, gender roles and such,” she explains, at Wellen’s confused look. “Acceptable behaviour for one gender that would be unacceptable in another.”
Wellen seems baffled. “You’ve forgotten more than I realised,” he muses, rubbing his chin. “Well, I suppose the shortest explanation is that women are seen as beings of the body, and men as beings of the mind.”
So far so good, Leah thinks, Basically the same as my world. So why is this one so different? Why so many women warriors?
“To go a little further, it is this: Women are measured against their physical success – strength, beauty, voice, grace – while men are measured against their mental success – knowledge, wisdom, skill with words, and such.”
“But why? How do they draw the line between masculine and feminine behaviour? Can a woman be a tactician, if it requires martial skill and mental acuity?” Wellen stares at her in surprise, and Leah realises that she used a few too many large words in that sentence.
“Well, uh…” Wellen shrugs. “That’s the fine line that many people like you walk.”
Leah tenses up a bit. “Like me?”
“Like your leader, more accurately, but all of the five to some extent or other. A man who cares too much about his body, or a woman who cares too much about her mind – well, these are not bad things. It is important for a person to be well-rounded. But someone who cares about one, to the detriment of the other…”
“I see,” Leah says, nodding. “Any man who becomes an athlete without also caring about tactics, or history, or politics, or whatever – he’s too vain. While a woman who studies those things without also refining her body is too…intellectual? What’s an appropriate word?”
“‘Lazy’ is usually the accusation,” Wellen says. “It’s all nonsense, of course; it stems from old prejudices that no-one questions anymore, since they’ve been around so long. Beauty standards and labour standards, mixed into a ridiculous mess of unnecessary divisions.”
Oh, Wellen. I like you.
“But most people are so used to it that they don’t even see it,” he finishes with a rueful shrug, sipping his tea. “I suppose, because you are a blank page, you are more able to see it than most anyone else. It astounds me, sometimes, how quickly you’re learning it all again…culture, history, laws. You know, some of it I’m sure you never knew in the first place.”
Leah smiles and shrugs this off without comment. She doesn’t return to the estate for lunch, instead eating with Wellen at his invitation.
“That is,” she adds, “If it would be appropriate for me to abandon Jeno.”
“Oh, the future Lady is probably not being let out of her bower much anymore, in anticipation of the wedding.”
Leah raises an eyebrow. “And when will that be?”
“The equinox, of course.”
She smiles and tilts her head. “Surely by this point you know not to say things like ‘of course’ when I ask a question?”
Wellen apologises, and explains that the deities and important events of Valerin are associated with celestial events; his explanation of celestial events is very much supernatural, not astrophysical.
“I’ve never asked about religion, but I suppose I ought to.” Leah runs through her memories, and stumbles across one. “Is there anything significant about the harvest goddess and peridots?” At Wellen’s odd look, she hurries to add, “It’s just something I overheard somewhere.”
Wellen muses on this, while serving out a soup for them both. “How interesting. It seems it’s not just recent memories, but your whole culture that has disappeared from your recollection.”
“Or perhaps Valerin culture is still too new to me.”
“No, not the harvest goddess. She was originally part of the Algic pantheon, and was carried into Valerin a long time ago. As for peridots, they are mined only in the volcanic regions of Nent, from mines owned by the Bolyars, elite ruling families. They are the only source of the country’s wealth; Nent is otherwise very impoverished.”
Leah suddenly realises the intensity of the comparison she made for Kimry, and how romantic she was being. She hides her thoughts by taking a spoonful of soup.
“What are the various economies of the countries in this region?” she asks, after a moment of flailing for a good, generically useful question.
“Oh, that’s a long discussion,” Wellen says, sighing. “I could give you the basics, but it’s a very complicated system, and you have more important things to be thinking about.”
Leah decides to venture on a limb. “I agree. If I really have forgotten culture, not just memories, then I may be in danger of making a deadly faux-pas.” Wellen seems confused by these nonsense words, and she clarifies. “A mistake. There’s a risk that I’ve forgotten something important about myself or my host culture, like religious rules, or unspoken courtesies, or taboos.” She watches his face as she says taboos, but he merely seems struck by the wisdom of what she has said.
Over lunch, and extending into the beginning of the afternoon, they engage in a game of assumptions; Wellen is forced to introspect on everything he takes for granted as common knowledge. They treat it as a joke, in order to provide levity on this dark subject matter. Leah takes a quill and paper and makes a list of the taboos he describes.
1) a non-initiate reading the secret texts of the temple of the goddesses
2) being nude in public
3) incest
4) assault of any intimate nature (seems broadly defined, always connotations of violence)
5) homicide
6) allowing any nation’s symbols to come in contact with alcohol, even one’s enemies (this is a mark of honour and respect even for one’s opponents, recognizing them as a legitimate entity; someone one does not recognise as a nation is not offered this courtesy)
7) relations with those under marriageable age, as declared by their family (no age of consent; rather when one is ‘presented’) (indentured servants are never presented, and are thus always seen as children)
8) relations with one’s own gender
9) the practicing of magic in a country’s borders without governmental permission (depends on country)
Leah nods along calmly, taking down notes in a scribble, and hides her reactions to those that surprise or worry her. She finally says that she must return to the estate, and they say a warm farewell.
Why is it so reassuring to know that it’s illegal? She wonders, crossing back over the bridge. Is it just having the uncertainty turned into certainty? Is it the thrill of maybe getting caught? I hope to God it’s not for the thrill; I’d like to believe I have more sense than that.
Leah looks over to the window that leads into Jeno’s room, and she feels a slight flutter in her gut.
Hmm. I don’t think I can claim to have much sense at all.
