Top Ten New Things in Art & Writing
The winter has been here for more than three months now, and it's becoming clear that there's been a whole range of interesting effects on writers, musicians and artists. Some of them are looking inward, some outward, and some are going in entirely new directions. Here, I'm presenting my summary of the best new movements, groups, and ideas that I've seen in the literature and in person.
10: The Still Surface - Not everyone has left Bael Areen. There are still enough artists in the city for a new artistic and literary movement to take off over the winter, and it's concerned with the metaphors of water - the idea that beneath a smooth, unruffled surface, there can be swift currents and unknown depths. This simple idea has been expanded upon greatly, and an exhibition held on the ice of the Blackwater Canal just after Midwinter showed the movement at its best.
9: Stark - Stark isn't a new style of music; it's been out there as a contrast to the complex compositional work that's currently popular in most of the courts. Hitherto, it's been the province of those who want quiet music to think and write to, or indeed to stare at the slow-moving illusions that go alongside the music. But with the winter all around us, more and more people are finding that Stark music suits their mood. I was at a concert here in New Hult before Midwinter, and I can tell you that there's something strangely comforting about being in a room of two hundred people all staring at the falling snow while the spare sounds and slow rhythms of Stark surround you.
8: Skettering & Sansalom - I'm not sure who or what these two writers (or one writer under two names, or a collective) are. But they've exploded into the North New Kingdoms literary scene in the last three months with no less than seven books, each more popular, debated, and read than the next. They're practitioners of a style of extreme realism, one that's being called examination by the critics. The books depict short periods of time in the lives of their protagonists in extraordinary detail. All of them except the last are set in summer, and the latest is set in an autumn golden enough to count as part of summer.
7: Legorie's Attunement - The Attunement is a public work, an installation of sorts, in Ilby. The artist is a goblin, Integument Benediction. The structure itself... well, go and see it. Any description of mine of the way in which it uses focused flames and moving parts to sculpt and re-scuplt ice into new and different forms, reacting to changing wind directions and weather can't do it justice. It's massively hypnotic, and well worth spending an afternoon watching, ideally from the comfort of one of the cafés that surround it in Gnomon Square.
6: Daikiso - it's an elven dance form, they tell me, which consists mostly of slow movements with a faster movement within. It's coming out from Fury, of all places, and it's not a performance so much as a practice. I haven't tried it myself; my days of new dance forms are well behind me. But it's fascinating to watch, and apparently it's very good for the circulation. It gets mentioned here, though, because it is everywhere, east to west and north to south; I had a letter last week from someone in Perisaes-in-the-South who says it's getting popular there.
5: Garmin Skelling - Skelling is a poet from "somewhere in the north", according to her biography. She has recently published a small volume of poems, and they've become the accessory of the day for the modern courtship across the Central Kingdoms. One cannot, apparently, be taken seriously as a suitor if one cannot quote her, and ideally, her book should be visible in your pocket. I have to confess, I am forcing myself to include her here. She is new, rising, popular, and may even be very good, but by all the Gods, I hate her work as I have hated little else. And on the other hand, to get that reaction from a jaded habitueé of the art world, she must be doing something right.
4: Glass - Glass hasn't been a popular medium for years, not since the time when Ghissie Tamber's lamps and windows were the necessary detail of the day in your townhouse. But there's a new interest in the stuff, spreading out from Perjoint Yard and Ibraer - the latter of which had a glorious Glass Garden in its ice carnival. A druid - or possibly a member of the Oath of Myre - called Airbhe Caivyre seems to be one of the main sources of this, but she remains something of a mystery in every other way. If you've any skills in glassworking, this would seem to be your time.
3: Sattario Metteric - Metteric is a lutist, which is a rather old-fashioned specialisation, as such things go. He doesn't play anything else, he doesn't have any gimmick, and he doesn't play anything controversial. I'm pretty sure, in fact, that he doesn't play anything that was composed after he was born, and he's well over two hundred. What he does do is play so astoundingly well that it's clear what he's spent those two hundred years doing - working on the lute. He's currently playing wherever he's invited, but I predict that the entry fees will get higher, and rather soon some noble will make him an offer of patronage that cannot be resisted. See him while he's still out there.
2: Altered State - The Altered State is a small group of artists in the Southern New Kingdoms. They're part political protest, part weather-inspired, and don't seem to hold things like sleep or moderation in any regard. They produce oil paintings on vast canvases, a mix of careful representation and allegory, but all produced at great speed, in the heat of the moment. Rumour has it that they come in from riots, still limping or bleeding, and set to painting before the blood dries. Their work is well-worth seeing, and some of their pieces - bought for a song, it seems - have been resold in the Central Kingdoms for high prices. They're officially not popular in their home area, but again, that's as much political as anything else; they could well be seen as supporting the riots for no end other than violence.
1: Staddish - I have to say that I never expected a cartographer to be a rising artistic star. Staddish Brwc is a Pennic boy from an old-fashioned farming family, and he never really had an interest in maps until just after the equinox, when he took a trip on a CASC ship, and saw the landscape of his home from above. He had some experience of drawing, it seems, and turned that into some of the most beautiful, precise, calligrahed maps I've ever seen. He works constantly on them now, seized by the kind of artistic impulse that many a garret-dweller would have you believe they experience. An original Staddish is already going for thousands in Top Gold, and the prints are an absolute necessity for any study. I have three; I've spent hours staring at them already, and have every intention of spending more.
Simone Catchcall is a literary critic, translator, and scribomancer. She lives in New Hult, and works by correspondence only. Her Top Ten lists are compiled via careful analysis of literary and artistic magazines, discussion, exhibitions, performances, and other factors, topped off with a liberal application of common sense.
Top Ten Places to Spend the Winter
It's clear to everybody now that Bael Areen is not the place to spend this winter. But an awful lot of the folk who live there didn't really realise this until just before - or just after - the first snows hit. For now, they're staying with friends and relatives in Aryondis or the Small Kingdoms, but this can't last. So here are my top ten places to spend the winter.
10: Calhelandon - If you're going to escape the Winter, it can be argued that you should have a crack at completely avoiding the season, and going to the Southern Hemisphere. It will, of course, take a long time to get there - best estimate for those skyships that are going that way is about three weeks, assuming decent weather. Sailing will take even longer, more on the order of two months from the New Kingdoms, and that's only as far as the city of Mereen, on the North coast. But Calheladon is warm, in its own summer now, and orderly, with the influence of Imperial Hrau extending far beyond its own borders. It's certainly worth a try.
9: Tranquility - The new Oath base at Tranquility, built in the shell of an extinct volcano on the shores of the Long Bay, is expanding into a small and a pleasant town. Reports reach me of red-tiled roofs and white-painted houses among lush growth, and the planting of new vineyards here and there. It's also very clear that Tranquility was carefully built by a cadre of paladins whose engineering and architecture is second to none, and I'm told that the main architect there is one of their rising stars. If there's a safer place to wait out Winter in, it's hard to know what it might be.
8: Fury - But Fury is way out in the Blade, and nobody ever goes there! Well, yes, and because of that, it's well suited to meet the Winter full on. Fury doesn't expect to get supplies from anywhere else, so it's well stocked. Its wells won't freeze, there's very little wildlife in the area that could get unpleasant in the cold weather, and there's more than a fair chance that someone new in town will be wined and dined quite thoroughly. You could do a lot worse.
7: Athelion - There's an immediate problem with Athelion; it's nigh-on impossible to reach. It's generally felt that if you start trying to get there in Summer, you might make it by Autumn. But if you could make it in reasonable time, well, Athelion has walled itself off from Winter for millenia, and I see no reason it shouldn't do so again. It produces all its own food, and non-elves are still something of a novelty there. So there's every chance you'd be well looked-after.
6: Immramma - So, someone's going to need to explain to me why this Winter should make any difference in Immramma. The fjord is ice-bound ten months a year anyway. They have more difficulty with Summer there than we do with Winter, because all the ice they use for structures and surfaces melts for a few weeks. Like Athelion, you'll need to get there first, but when it comes down to it, Immramma is the City of Winter. For purely practical purposes, it seems unlikely that it can be beaten.
5: Onsare - Practicality isn't everything, though. One must also maintain one's connections. And it seems clear that one of the best places to do that is Onsare, the tiny capital of Aryondis. There will be frequent ships in and out, and a great many of the nobility who have decamped from Bael Areen will wind up here, attending Queen Renée's Winter Court, some for the first time in their lives. For the politically-minded, Onsare is the place to be this Winter.
4: Thousand Spires - Politics bore some people, and it can be argued that Onsare won't do all that well in terms of supplies and keeping warm. Aryondans, you know, would rather put on another layer of clothing than actually keep rooms warm. So why not go instead to Thousand Spires? Warm rooms, all the delights of the Run, and more art and music than you can, realistically, get through in one season. For the artist, there doesn't seem to be much competition.
3: Ibraer City - This is one you wouldn't have heard me mention before. But I visited Ibraer recently, when a friend of mine needed some preparation for an important ball, and I have to admit, I had trouble leaving. The Kingdom has a new king (the dashing and handsome Naerth), a new military presence (the Oath of Myre), mountains enough that they're used to dealing with tough transport and cold weather, and more firewood than the Order of Ruhn. Indeed, the Order of Ruhn has a strong enough presence there. And then there's Barking Street, which is a sort of permanently sustained jovial street fair, with good food, good wine, and excellent beer. I think Ibraer is going to come through the Winter just fine.
2: Sigil - Sigil is, in fact, the closest city to Bael Areen. It's one step away. If you're spending the Winter there, you can nip home to pick up anything you've forgotten, and obviously, the food, drink, and entertainment are second to none anywhere in reality. It's a pity about the politics, mind, and the fact that it's in an outworld god's realm. Sigil might be the ideal solution for someone looking for maximum convenience, and it doesn't have to cost all that much.
1: New Hult - Well, since I'm staying put in New Hult, I'd look foolish if anything else were to top my list. But it's not just because I live here; it's also because New Hult is on the shores of Deless Lake, which almost certainly cannot completely freeze, because New Hult is on two major skyship routes and half a dozen minor ones, and because we're well-supplied already. I've seen the warehouses. A great many of Bael Areen's merchantry, mages, and writers have thought similarly, and a good few friends of mine are letting rooms at eminently reasonable rates. New Hult is where all the action will be this winter, mark my words.
Simone Catchcall is a literary critic, translator, and scribomancer. She lives in New Hult, and works by correspondence only. Her Top Ten lists are compiled via careful analysis of comfort, communications, discussion, supplies, performances, and other factors, topped off with a liberal application of common sense.
Serbis Arcado, Autumn 1746
My name is Serbis Arcado, and I am a Node Pool Master working for the CASC in Ibraer. This describes a typical day in my life.
First, you should know that ever since I was very small, I have known that I would work for the CASC. This stems, I think, from the very first trip I took on a CASC ship, when I was fascinated by the node pool, the furnace, the bustle and movement, the docking calls and bells, the ships - in short, everything except the actual trip in the Astral. That made me ill. But I declared there and then, as a tiny child, that this was what I wanted to do, and my parents were amused. As rising members of the merchantry, they were less amused when this desire persisted - traditionally, the CASC draws its operational members from the peasantry and working classes. But persist I did, and arrived at my current post only a few years after I joined the CASC. I am at present the youngest Node Pool Master in the Company.
So, I wake in the morning in my apartment in Lepando Street in Skanding, around the hour of six. I rise, shave and dress, and go to breakfast, which my staff will have on the table, suiting its provision to my movements. I favour large breakfasts, and eat only sparsely in the evening, a practice to which I attribute my usual good sleep and general health. Coffee is also served, and while I do not take it at goblin strength, I do prefer to have it strong. With breakfast, I read through the morning's post, and if time allows, a broadsheet or two, or a magazine.
It is not a long walk from my apartment to the node pool, and I can cover the distance in seven minutes if it is necessary. I prefer, however, to take my time, call in to various businesses on the way, and generally arrive in a calm and unrushed state. The Night Master - a man called Verso Ganliad, who has held the position for some twenty years or more, will hand off to me when I arrive. The Masters' Office holds a position from which one can see the full breadth of the node pool, and each of the three of us who work there has his own desk. The handoff is usually quite simple - "All's well" suffices on most occasions - but will sometimes take ten or twenty minutes of discussion if there has been a problem. Ganliad is very capable, and indeed, I was concerned when first I had this appointment lest he should object to my being promoted over him. However, he prefers the night duty to any other, and so is content.
Once I am on duty, I have to be available at very short notice. Therefore, the office contains a stove, the makings of tea and coffee, and other necessities, and I will put the kettle on as the very first thing, and settle at my desk. The morning's second post is delivered here, along with any internal messages, and I will read through these, looking up at each arrival of a ship to check that the bell is rung in good time, and that the announcement is accurate. By now, I know the regular schedules extremely well, and know when to expect the unusual arrivals, whether or not I have assigned their slots myself.
Sometimes, there will be some confusion - a bell un-rung, an announcement made incorrectly, or the like - at which point I must step to the balcony outside the office, ring the bell there, and make the announcement or correction myself. The duty bell-ringer then knows that they should report to the office when their shift is finished. To be fair, it rarely happens, except in the case of unscheduled arrivals; every Node Pool Master's greatest foe.
Very occasionally, I will need to leave the office to deal with a customer on the docks. This is almost always due to a customer expecting something that is impossible to provide - the calling back of a ship that has departed is a favourite, or the provision of a ship to an unusual destination, or better still, one that does not have a node pool. "But it's by the sea!", they say. In these cases, I try to be back at the office as soon as possible, bringing the customer with me if need be; otherwise there will be a cascade of problems.
Lunch is brought to me, and I try to take a little time around the middle of the day to appreciate my position here. I get to spend my days watching these beautiful ships arriving and departing, and maintaining the complex flow of people and goods through the entire establishment. I see people from every part of the world, every kind and colour, and deal with more variety of goods than most people can conceive of. I correspond with people who understand what I write, and discuss ways in which the business can be improved.
I have to admit that I am also looking forward to the coming winter, and to the astral blockage that will go with it. This has been the focus of our work for some months now; adjusting ships to fly through the air instead of the Astral, and adjusting our business practices and expectations to match. It has been troublesome and expensive, and it will continue to be. But think - we will now be able to look out and see the great ships coming in, dropping down from cold clear air with frost on their decks and sails, rather than have them simply appear. And we will be able to see the land we travel over from the ships - indeed, I will be able to take an occasional trip in more comfort, as the Astral still makes me a little ill, despite years of experience.
I also find that the winter work of keeping the docks clear of snow, breaking ice, and keeping braziers and fireplaces going lends a pleasing structure to the days. I plan to bring in some chestnut sellers alongside the existing stands and shops, and with longer travel times by air, we will be embarking on some sort of partnership with a nearby inn.
But I wander from the topic! By evening time, I am ready to hand over to the Evening Master, and in the same way as the morning exchange, I make him aware of the various details that have come up. The rest of the evening is my own - often there are dinner invitations to go to, or dances, or the like, or sometimes an expedition to Barking Street for the evening with friends. Sometimes I hold dinner parties myself; I am coming to like the informal New Kingdoms style, wherein the cooking is a part of the evening - I have become a competent cook in recent years, much to the dismay of my staff, who hold that cooking is not a fit pursuit for any gentleman.
Most of my close friends are those who hold similar or related interests - ships, economics, logistics and so forth - rather than the social peers of my parents' life. I recognise that this is not a way to advance in society, but I find myself happy with my place at the moment, and see no need to advance it - I shall leave that to my siblings. I fancy I am more content than them, and I know from many conversations that I sleep better, worry less, and have better health. And indeed, I am looking forward to the months to come, while they seem to live in dread of them.
Top Ten Novels in Caerdor
Caerdorian written culture is completely dominated by Aryondan. It's the one language nearly everyone has a few words in. Because of this, eight of my top ten novels in Caerdor were written in Aryondan, one in Sarotian, and one in Haxa.
10: Burning The Dead; Sudros Mahelin, 1696 - Sudros Mahelin was, during her own lifetime, the most prolific author in Caerdor. Of the two hundred books she published, though, none have been more popular than Burning The Dead. It tells the story of two sisters, after the deaths of their husbands in an astral ship crash, following through on the rites of mourning, grief, acceptance, and their lives afterward. Several plays have been written based on it, and it's been the focus of a number of derivative works.
9: The Elven Sign; Welfrin Halfblood, 1577 - Halfblood's lyrical novel was reputedly written under the influence of hallucinogens. It deals with the progress through a forest of a child, who interprets the Shie'en as a sign of water. The novel is admired for the multiple levels on which it can be read - at the most basic, as a children's story, then as an adult novel, and then as a reflection on the fluidity of elven culture as seen from outside. It's also argued that there's a fourth intended reading, as an account of growing up with human blood in an elven culture.
8: Born to the Plough; Haro Gettelo, 1484 (translated to Aryondan in 1502) - Gettelo's novel, written in Sarotian, is the story of a peasant who rises to being the right-hand man of a Baron. It draws from several historical figures, and adds original material to bring them into a coherent whole. Born to the Plough has, of necessity, an egalitarian attitude, and was banned by the Sarotian Empire for some years. It has been argued that it was a strong contributor to the breakup of the Empire. As Gettelo himself was executed for conspiracy to rebel, it's thought he would have approved of the long-term effects of his book.
7: Stark in the Dawn; Rachelo Remin, 1722 - Remin's epic work is often touted as the most influential work of the 18th century, although that's a premature statement in 1746. It's a big, big book, and many people who own a copy have not read all of it. Its core is the story of five years in the life of a river-family in Bael Areen, but it drives off on tangents into every level of life in the city, tying them back in via deft use of themes and overall intent. The simple, prosaic style in which it's written reflects the common speech of the natives of the city, and it gave rise to the entire Plain Writing movement of the 20s and 30s, which is still strongly followed today.
6: Now Unto The Heavens; Dahaxan, 1500 (translated to Aryondan in 1506) - The dragon Dahaxan had an unusual interest in literature, going so far as to hoard books in his stronghold in the New Kingdoms. Very late in his life, he wrote Now Unto The Heavens, which is at the surface a very simple story about a peasant boy who finds a jewelled comb buried in a field, and speculates on its origin. On further examination, though, it serves as a searing criticism of human economies and attitudes to wealth, comparing them unfavourably to those of the elves, dwarves, and humanity's predecessors, the Thûk. It also draws in elements of ancient history unavailable in any other popular work, as the boy's speculations on historical periods are recounting's of Dahaxan's own observations.
5: Pelt; Arabados of the Nine Hills, 1691 - Pelt is a complex story, set in the tribal lands of north-central Caerdor in the pre-Fall era. It deals with several generations of the tribespeople, and examines a number of concepts of rulership, ownership, and the dynamics of relationship in great depth. Because it deals with a recognisably human society unrecognisable to most contemporary people, it can isolate the concepts from reactionary attitudes to inheritance and elven influence, and does so very well indeed. It's also one of the most tragic stories in our canon of literature, and I personally can't read it without stopping to cry at key points.
4: Gell's Downfall, Anonymous, 1730 - Despite considerable efforts on the part of the publishers, and every critic in the land, the writer of Gell's Downfall has never been identified. It arrived as a mage-printed manuscript on the doorstep of Schudar & Sons in Bael Areen, and was published within weeks. It's set in the year 1850, in a Caerdor where the fracturing of kingdoms after the Imperial Period continued unimpeded, and where most kingdoms can be crossed in a few hours' walking. It uses this setting to demonstrate the pains of family feuds and the unreliability of historical accounts, and does so in a direct, blunt way that's almost painful to read, but which will stick in your mind for years.
3: Lands of the Gods; Garo Sun Tao, 1722 - Tao was an immigrant from the newly conquered provinces of Southern Norvad. Lands of the Gods is her semi-autobiographical account of how Caerdor appears to someone of another culture, with the key difference that Tao's physical appearance is like any other native of Caerdor - she couldn't be identified as Norvadi. The book calls out aspects of life in Caerdor that we take as ordinary, and makes them look new and different, from the accepted right of people to speak across social ranks to the availability of metals. Lands of the Gods is a head-wrenching book that everyone should read; the more so because Tao's native culture has now almost vanished under that of the Empire of Norvad.
2: Nine of Ten; Archivist Hulleron, 1707 - Archivist Hulleron's work here is not strictly a novel. Everything depicted in it happened, every person existed, and every quotation is as accurate as the writer could make it. I include it anyway. The art here is in taking seemingly unrelated events in Fury, Bael Areen, and Ekstrat, and weaving them together into a coherent narrative about the lives of three women, human worshippers of Pherill. It involves long speculations about human participation in elven reincarnation, and draws out the influences of elves on modern society. Everyone in Caerdor should read this book.
1: Noon Before Morning; Halftide Batter, 1710 - Halftide Batter, a goblin, originally published this work under the pen name of Siara Delig. It was only after six years of continuous printing, critical praise, and intense attention that she came forward. The novel is a three-point romance, set among the nobility of the Kingdom of Valden. The story of the triad, and how they make things work for them in an environment of rivalry, inheritance, and duels of honour is, to my mind, the greatest work every written in Aryondan, examining every aspect of emotional experience, every reason to doubt your lovers, and every way in which that doubt can be dispelled. More plays have been staged based on this one book, more poems and songs have been written about its protagonists, and more imitations have been published than than any other in our history - many of them excellent works in their own right, but paling in comparison. Everyone in the world should read this book.
Simone Catchcall is a literary critic, translator, and scribomancer. She lives in New Hult, and works by correspondence only. Her Top Ten lists are compiled via careful analysis of impact, sales, discussion, time in print, performances, and other factors, topped off with a liberal application of common sense.
Captain Sindiga Ferras, Late Summer 1746
The Doctor has requested an account of the day in the life of an Oathsman, and with my Temple-Captain's approval, I am setting it down. I will tell you something about my life in the Oath of Myre to begin, and hope that that will help determine whether I am a typical member or not. I find it difficult to judge, being too close to my own life.
To begin, let me say that I have some traces of elven blood. These show only a little in my appearance, but do extend my lifespan; I am over 80 years of age, and look to be in my mid-thirties. I develop - and, to some degree, learn - more slowly than a pure human would. So, I have been in the Oath nearly all my life. My mother was a Captain in the 6th Heavy Infantry Regiment, and when I was born, I was promised to the Oath. I was brought up on the base at Thousand Spires, among other children of the same situation, and entered formal training as a squire at the age of 18, when I was deemed to be old enough in physical terms. There is very little division in the Oath on the basis of gender, but even for a girl of elven blood, I was very slight.
The training is fairly intensive, in comparison with the military organisations of most kingdoms. We are taught formal theology, and practical spellasting, as a primary subject. Sometimes, someone will show such a strength in this area that they are better off serving Myre in the priesthood, and two of those I entered training with were such. Then there are lessons in history and geography, languages, numeracy, drawing, the sciences, and so forth. A great deal of attention is paid to this by the teachers, who are part of the Logistics branch of the Oath. And then, of course, there is the physical training - horsemanship, fighting in various forms, running, forestry and ranging, and many other disciplines. These are mostly taught by older officers of the Oath, but there is some involvement of younger, serving officers as well.
At 26, I graduated to the rank of corporal in the Field Division, and was assigned to the 3rd Light Infantry Regiment. Formally, Light Infantry in the Oath is equivalent to Heavy Infantry in most armies, and forms the bulk of the Field Division. In actual operations, one's regiment is not very important; some regiments serve in one place, others are split up over several, and so forth. The line of command is a much more important concept.
I was promoted to sergeant at the age of 40, and transferred to the Security Division, in the 6th Guard Regiment, to lieutenant at 50, and then to captain at 62. I currently serve on the base in Ibraer, along with about half of my regiment, the rest being in Thousand Spires under my co-captain, Wenders Seagar. Here, I report directly to High Master General Ensifraed, the Temple-Captain. I also have frequent interactions with Captain-General Tyne, who is a notable figure within the Security division, such that he is said to be able to catch crossbow bolts with his bare hands. I am in charge of the guarding of the base, and have input into the patrols, which are handled by Captain Terenesias, of the 4th Guard.
So much for the short account of my situation... I will try to be less long-winded in the rest of this, and I'll certainly be less formal. Something about describing the structure of the Oath makes me avoid informality.
I wake up early, most days - there's a complex schedule which leaves me off-duty about two days in seven, but they're not evenly distributed, so unless I've been out the previous night, I tend to wake early anyway. The base in Ibraer gives us our own rooms, and this leads to even more bed-hopping than is normal in the Oath, so some mornings I have to find my way back to my own room. Sometimes I have to kick someone out of my own room. Most often, these days, it's Lieutenant Gale, 4th Guard, who gets to stay.
If I'm on duty, the first thing to do is open my desk and see if there are any messages I need to attend to, and this happens before breakfast. Quite often, there will be a message from the Temple Captain or from Captain-General Tyne about something that needs to be attended to, and I'll make a note of this. Sometimes I'll swear to myself a bit; both of them are very capable people, and assume the same capability in others. There's a kitchen nearby, shared with Terenisias, and all our various lieutenants, Gale included, and there'll be a very informal discussion of the day's duties there. Mostly, this sorts out what I need to do for the day, although sometimes I'll need to speak with Master Captain Paldor, the Chief of Operations for the base. I'm still not sure what to make of Paldor; he's very assured and certain of himself, but doesn't seem to have spent much time on bases in his career.
The regiment has a common room, which we use for morning briefings as well as general gatherings. I'll drop in there immediately after breakfast, and inform people of any changes to duties. Sometimes I'll make a few changes on gut feeling, or even at random - it doesn't do to have guards settle into their positions too comfortably. There's also the question of who gets the coveted internal guard positions, and we do try to rotate these fairly. They're coveted mostly because they're in high-traffic points in the base, and an opportunity to stay in those places all day gives you much more access to the gossip and rattletrap than anything else. Certainly more than the back gate post!
And sometimes, of course, I put myself on guard duty somewhere. If I know we've important visitors coming in, I'll put myself at the front gate. Otherwise, I put myself in the less popular spots - I don't mind taking them, and I reckon it's good to have the captain seen to do some of the grubbier footwork. If I'm on guard duty, then that's what I do for the day - short beats around given areas, or manning the guard posts at the gates. Field people find this hellishly boring, but we're all in Security because we're not bored easily. Well, among other things.
If I'm not on guard, then it's off to my office, and the never-ending mountains of paperwork, meetings, and other administration material. Afternoons on these days have a training session, and I get to take out the morning's frustrations on someone, unless it's Tyne or his vicious sergeant, Tal Tambris Wyle. Wyle is a good-looking man, and very pleasant out of the practice yard, but he has never fought fair in his life. If I'm dealing with either of them, then I end up with bruises.
The food on the Ibraen base is very good, but I do delay lunch until after the practice yard; I tend to be slow otherwise. There are a number of canteens and kitchens, and there's also an Officer's Club, restricted to those of captain's rank or higher. I do try to resist eating there every day, but it's much quieter than the rest of the base, and there's a sort of informal non-interference pact that says if you're eating alone with a book or paper, nobody will bother you. I've taken to reading some of what the Temple-Captain calls "mystical stuff" lately; some of the stuff around architecture of language and society coming out of the Barridon Temples in North Saro appeals to me.
Back to the office in the later afternoon, and then finishing up duties in the early evening. On most bases, I'd need to do evening and even night shifts as well, but two of my lieutenants - Parrick and Sobras - take those shifts on a permanent basis. Sobras is an albino, and prefers night-time, and Parrick just doesn't do mornings. Never let it be said that the Oath doesn't accommodate people's preferences...
Evenings are my own. Sometimes I'll go to one of the base pubs, and spend an evening with friends. Sometimes we'll go to the city of Ibraer, and find a pub or restaurant, or the like. Of late, I've spent evenings with Gale a fair bit, too. If I'm off the next day, I'll sometimes stay out late. And there's the start of a sort of art-group-salon on the base as well, so I'll drop in there if there's anything going on. One of the people in Tyne's unit - a civilian, peculiarly enough, but it's an odd unit - is Airbhe Caivyre, who's a fairly notable sculptor, and his co-Captain-General, Tal Breja Almazar, started a museum in Bael Areen, so that's provoking a bit more interest in such things. I'm not a great writer in prose, but I turn out a decent verse, and I contributed to a satirical arts-and-politics sheet in Thousand Spires for a while. And sometimes I'll drop by the Temple and spend a while talking to the Highest Command, as it were.
So that's a typical day. And to be honest, I reckon that most of my days do fall into these routines - the guards tend not to get the sheer randomness that other parts of the organisation get. Long may it last!
Tersa Ganterro, Late Summer 1746
My name is Tersa Ganterro, and I run the Kedo Pass Coffeehouse in Ibraer. It's not the thriving business it used to be, but we still get along. The Doctor has asked me, as with many more people, to write down an account of my ordinary day, and he won't let me see anything anyone else has written, which is terribly mean of him.
So, then. I wake up early, probably earlier than most of the city at five bells, and go fairly immediately to the shop, which I live above. I light the fires, and check on the roast from the day before, and make sure that it's dry enough, and if it is, start grinding coffee for the day. This isn't hard work, and I find it pleasing - meditative, almost. When enough is ground for the morning, I will put some to brew, and open the doors and take down the shutters. As I'm doing this, the milk boy for the street will arrive, and we'll have a discussion as to how much I'll need. This depends on weather - I will want more in cold or wet weather than in warm or dry. If there is snow on the ground, I'll want twice as much; if it's already warm at dawn, I'll want little enough - but never none. Pastries are delivered from the bakery over the way, and I'll get my own breakfast from these.
Soon after this, the first customers arrive. These are people on the way to their own early working hours, and they'll bring their own mugs. Some of them I know well enough that they'll serve themselves, and leave money on the counter, others have accounts that they add to on a chalkboard and pay off weekly or monthly. One of them, Terro Maethis, a book-keeper for the CASC, will settle in behind the counter and serve other customers for a half-hour or so while I finish the grinding and setting up for the day. He gets his coffee for free, and says it entertains him more than his day's work. It's very rare for me to see any new or different customers at this time, and if there are any, they're often worried or concerned with whatever has them up early. The day's deliveries of magazines and papers arrive now, a stack that can be up to a metre high on the busiest days. The delivery girl takes away the ones that are a week old. While Terro is in, I'll do the roast for the following day, and put it up to dry.
By eight bells, the early customers have passed, and the morning rush begins. My morning counterman, Zath, arrives at this point. Zath is... well, he claims to be half lizardman, half goblin. What he is is a gorgeously iridescent-scaled humanoid with a prehensile tail, fox-like ears, and eyes you could easily spend a week looking at. Sadly, he's no good in the sack. He is, however, good at serving coffee, and has an extra limb and lightning reflexes for those occasional spills. There are often queues, but there's nothing we can do to prevent it, and indeed, it's something of a good sign.
By midway between nine and ten bells, things are quiet. I'll leave the shop to Zath at this point, and catch a quick nap. When I come down again, the daytime crowd are arriving. These are the people who use the coffeehouse as business premises, in effect. They buy a steady stream of coffee for themselves and their customers, and they're the mainstay of the business. There aren't as many as there used to be; property prices and rents fell after the war, and a lot of people who used to sit in coffeehouses all day now have their own offices. They still buy some coffee in the morning, but there's a big difference between one coffee a day and eight or ten. Most of them are financiers of one kind or another. Some are lawyers. Some are historians. All of them need a table to themselves, space for paper and pens, good lighting, and things to read between customers - hence the magazines and papers delivered in the morning. There are a few customers, too, who come in just to read the papers, although that's more often the evening crowd.
Another nap in the afternoon, after lunch. Sometimes, depending on who's been about, I'll have some company for that. My room is mostly just that - a bedroom, if a comfortable one, since I've all the kitchen facilities I might need in the shop - but I also have a well-fitted bathroom. After the afternoon nap is bath time, and that can take an hour or so; I don't hurry it.
Then down in the early evening. Zath will be off, and the evening counterman will be coming in - that's Perzonides, a retired mercenary. He's a big, scarred fellow, and no matter how lively the discussions get during the evening, everyone knows who can settle them. He also does things with an espresso that I think must involve some magic. The daytime people will be going - some of them might return later on, after dinner. I head out to get my own dinner, and come back at about seven bells. This is when the evening crowd come in in force, and start to read the papers, and talk about them. I say "talk", and I mean "argue". I stay neutral, when I can, but many of the discussions are worth the listening. It's on the basis of those, for instance, that I've ordered in about a year's supply of coffee beans in advance of upcoming transport problems, and settled a deal with the bakery across the way and a few other local business to get in a massive stash of firewood. Things aren't as loud as they used to be - ten years ago, we'd have the guard along to enquire if we were going to quiet down three nights a week, and now it's less than once a month. The place isn't packed to standing anymore, either. It's still enough to keep going on, though.
The debates will wind down by about ten bells, and people will settle to more peaceful discussions, and gradually trickle out. Most, save friends and lovers, are gone by eleven bells, and I'll be off to bed by midnight.
Harro Samagen, Summer 1746
My name is Harro Samagen. I live in the city of Ibraer, in the Kingdom of the same name, next to the Forest of Sarrick. I am, by trade, a smith, and have in recent years become more recognised as a bladesmith than anything else. Doctor Amenides has asked me to write down what I do in a typical day, and I must admit that many of my days follow a similar pattern.
I wake at an early enough hour. There's not a real need for this any more, but I am more than fifty years old, and I have woken early for all of my life. It is not easy to change the habits of a lifetime. So, I rise, alongside my wife Teza, light the fires, water the horses, and engage in the other tasks of a household in the early morning. I then throw a horseshoe at the bell that hangs over the apprentices' rooms - the one who is last to breakfast will have to find it from wherever it has fallen, and hang it back on its hook for the following morning. The journeymen have their own quarters, where they will still hear the bell, but where it will not jar them as much as the apprentices.
Breakfast tends to be a quiet meal; the apprentices are mostly in their teen years, and do not wake swiftly. But they are smiths, and so must eat enough to keep them going. On any morning, save the hottest in summer, there is porridge, and there will also be salt bacon, eggs, sausage, or other fried meats. In season, there is fruit. And there is coffee. Years ago, I bought a goblin coffee maker, and while I had to replace the cistern with one ten times the size before the coffee could be used for anything other than medical purposes, it now does very good service.
Having eaten, we hasten to work. The fires are already in place, and the apprentices build them up higher. The floors will have been swept at the end of the day before, and the tools tidied, but works in progress will be left out. The journeymen go each to their particular works, and I assign the apprentices to each of them. This is, perhaps, the most thoughtful aspect of my day now, and much akin to the final details of forging - does the youngest apprentice need to work with the careful and precise journeyman who will have her attend to fine detail, or is she in need of working with the louder, more boisterous fellow who works on barding and machine plating? Is my eldest journeyman in need of someone stronger for today's work, since he is injured, or will he be alright with one who can fetch and carry for him? And of course, all this must be done without a moment's hesitation, as at the forge.
Once they are assigned and at work, and one has been reserved to aid me, I will go and open the doors. Sometimes there are customers waiting, though since I have done less of the horse and more of the blade, this has become less usual. Recent politics, though, leave me benefiting, as several of the noble Lords who engage in duels have gone for a breaking style, wherein they try to shatter the blades of their opponents. It is not unusual for a noble to arrive at the opening of the gates with a broken blade, which must be made whole for a duel at noon. If this happens, I will do the work myself.
In most cases, however, I can return to other, less urgent work. Sometimes it is a blade, sometimes some delicate piece of machinery, and sometimes it is the accursed books, which must be tallied and kept in order. I have a good head for figures, but I do not have a good hand for them - but keeping the figures in my head is no use when I, or Teza, or any of the journeymen might need to use them.
Through the morning, suppliers and potential suppliers, customers and potential customers, and occasional less usual visitors, come and go. In the early afternoon, there is lunch - meat and bread, stew or soup in winter, and more coffee. The apprentices - and sometimes, the younger journeymen - spend a half hour playing with a ball, or playing catch with Yessir, the yard's spaniel. That is to say, they try to catch and hold Yessir, and he has none of it; this is an old game for him, and he is well versed in escape.
Back to work, then, and the afternoon is usually busier for me, for the customers who have spent a while thinking about their needs, or who have come further, will be in at this time. The apprentice assigned to me for the day will be paying close attention, as there will be questions afterward, in the evening time. Most days, that comes quickly enough, and the doors are closed as the Evening Bell is rung in Sarrick. We clean up, sweeping, polishing, and putting tools away, for about an hour, and I ask questions of the apprentices as we do so. Sometimes I will ask them of the journeymen too; it would not do for them to relax too far. The smarter apprentices work out that the faster the cleaning up goes, the fewer the questions.
Then dinner, and this meal varies depending on the markets and the season. There will be wine, or beer, or cider alongside, and if there is cause for celebration - a name day, or the like - a cake or something of the sort. With two of us, two daughters and a son still at home, four journeymen, seven apprentices, and frequent guests, there is often something to celebrate. Yessir gets scraps and bones under the table, and sometimes shares them with his lady, Noway.
After this, the various people scatter to other activities. Some of the apprentices and journeymen have their own projects, on which they will work in the evenings; as long as they clean up after, they can use the forges as much as they wish. The second apprentice - a girl of about seventeen - has been engaged in a long and careful courtship of the elder of my daughters who still lives with us, and I do not think either of them realise that we are amused observers. Some of the others have courtships to pursue as well, and indeed, the eldest of my journeymen is often not about for breakfast these days. He is working on a masterpiece, and indeed, when eventually he presents it, I will offer him a permanent place here, for his style of working suits mine more than any of the others I have worked with. At that time, we will need to make accommodation for him as a partner, but the old stables here have been long disused, and will serve well if converted to a new cottage.
I and Teza take our ease, make sure the younger children do their schoolwork, and discuss it with them. Sometimes we will go out to a play or other entertainment, often at the house of Tal Morro, who is an old friend, and invites us to many of the events he sponsors. When eventually we settle, I check that the horseshoe is in place for the morning, and that the doors and closed and fires damped. And then to sleep.
Component Antique, Spring 1745
My name is Component Antique, and I am a Dealer, Speculator, Investor, and Net Profit Centre. There is very little that I cannot sell, or at least move while making a Profit on, the two being less than wholly Identical, you understand. Herein, I describe my Day.
I wake at a Comfortable hour of the morning in my rooms in Shackbundle Street in the city of Bael Areen, a Respectable address made mildly less so by the Neighbours in recent months. My rooms are Extensive, and filled with Valuable Objects, such that I may speculate on their Value while I go about everyday tasks. Indeed, my Bed is in and of itself a Valuable Object, having been originally built for a Prince of Aryondis who had some Distinctive and Gentlemanly tastes. I find my way to the edge, waking those I find on the way. Sometimes, other pursuits distract me for a time on the way, but I am told that this document is not the Proper place to record them. Humans are so staid in their approach, don't you think?
Breakfast is served, in good weather, on the balcony overlooking Noddubin Square, or when things are less in the sunshining direction, in the dining room. I did at one stage have a breakfast room, but I have not been able to find it for at least three months. Much as I have tried to Impress upon the cook the importance of Kippers for breakfast, in the tradition of the city in which we find ourselves, the Meal often consists of something else entirely. In fairness, the cook may have changed since too; I cannot keep track of all the staff. As an example, however, this morning I was Provisioned with Buttered Eggs and a Lamb Cutlet, and yesterday with three and a half pounds of raw Chocolate, accompanied by a hot Pesto sauce in a gravy boat.
Once breakfast is done with, I summon my valet, dress, and make my way into the streets of the city, therein to Prosecute Business. This is largely done through the medium of the Meeting, a common business practice which, in my Mind, is inferior to the Robust Street Discussion beloved of my people. However, one must adjust to the practices of the Natives, however Quaint. Therefore, I call upon a colleague, Take Tea, or perhaps in this more enlightened age, Coffee (which they no longer make for me in the Weak style, instead at a rating of about 2.3 ants on a good day), and fall eventually to the discussion of Business. In general, my style of Business is simple. I buy an object, good, or commodity which a colleague has, for a Fair and Reasonable price. I then find someone to buy it. In some cases, I am able to sell it forthwith, for a Profit. At other times, the Market (an irrational and sadly unmythical Beast) is not ready for such things, and I am compelled to find temporary storage. This may be in my own rooms, in rented warehouses in Bael Areen, or in my premises in Ildolfar's Glory - but of course, in such circumstances, Shipping then becomes an issue, and the CASC are so Tiresome with their schedules and their bills of lading and other such Fripperies. I have been reduced to hiring mules and mercenaries on at least one occasion in the recent past, and indeed, I must investigate how that particular Caravan is doing.
Once my urge to Profit has been Sated to some degree, I can face the Paperwork which comprises much of my working day. Letters of enquiry from Quartermasters of all kinds, looking for goods from the utterly mundane (a supply of fireball scrolls) to the utterly fantastic (next year's wheat). It never fails to amuse me that humans believe that something can be sold Before it exists, let alone is in the possession of the seller. It is of no wonder Whatsoever that many of their business endeavours do not even make it to the second generation. These marvels of Commerce occur in my office, which is a Palatially fitted room, complete with a Coffee Stove (rated from 5 to 11.7 ants, with an output upward of seven gallons a day). I have a considerable staff therein, whose purpose is to Smooth the progress of the paperwork in whatever manner is necessary. I do find the dancers to be very Effective, and the engineer who is constantly engaged in improving the ejection tubes is a Delight, particularly in that short leather apron.
Naturally, by a point somewhere in the early Afternoon, other hungers are rising, and I return to the bedroom to see who is available. Thereafter, we proceed to Luncheon, which, in the continued absence of the West Pantry, is now served in the Delivery Bay. Luncheon is entirely a less predictable meal than Breakfast, and there is considerable Activity in the betting pool as to the Proportions of fish, foul and good red meat therein. The cook has been Banned from betting, as it was noted that other Participants were often put off their meals due to his continued habit of Losing. Come to think of it, I am reasonably certain that this is still the same fellow I spoke to about the Kippers. He has a Distinctive habit of leering to the left, rather than straight ahead.
After Luncheon has been completed to everyone's satisfaction, and everyone is dressed again, more Meetings must take place. Some of these are hosted in my own Rooms, particularly when my own people are involved. In which case, of course, the rest of the day is a Write-off, but that is the cost of doing Proper business, and thus far, I have only been unable to get home the following day on One occasion. Meetings with humans proceed until early evening, after which it is time for whatever Entertainment has been decided upon. Theatre, circus, zoo, brothel, alehouse, or archery range are all Favourites, although my Chief of Revelling will occasionally introduce something New, such as Trapeze.
After the Entertainment (or sometimes during it), I will take a representative entourage to dinner. Sometimes, again, this is in my own Rooms, and on other occasions, we will Patronise those restaurants, eateries, and stalls that can withstand the necessary Boistering. Sadly, these are Few in number. The evenings thereafter are, I confess, often a little Blurred, but the general aim is to compress as much Debauchery into the hours of darkness as will Fit, while remaining within the general confines of the city, and with a Minimum of arrests.
After all of this, I will generally find myself in bed, and thence to sleep, waking only once or twice to attend to the Necessities before morning rolls around again.
Misty, Spring 1745
Tell me something about yourself, Misty. Pretend I'm blind, and you're telling me what you look like and what you do.
I's a little girl, Doctor. I's just tall enough to see over a stable door. I has... [pulls up her braid to look at it] brown-ish hair. I has two shoon, and they ver' nearly match up, an' they's brown-ish too. I has a smock, an' it's white-ish, an' there's a broidery on it of a catten. See? Oh, no, you said, pretend as you're blind. But it's a nice catten, with a paw up. And for the cold, I has a wrap like a posh lady, an' it's made of wool, and it's sort-of red, only I don't have that today, acos it's warmer now. It's springtime, an' that means it's not as cold, an' there's no ice, an' the dribbles starts again acos of the ice bein' gone. I got the wrap from Missus Tengone, when she was givin' out rags before Midwinter. An' I has a small nose, not a big one, an' I's still little enough to get through a cullis in the canal. That's me.
What did you do this morning?
I went down in the Blackwater, an' I brought up three old coins and a ring. It were broken, but Sizzle thinks she can sell it anyway.
Who is Sizzle?
[giggles] You know who Sizzle is!
But pretend I don't.
Alright. Sizzle's a gnome. That's sort-of like a goblin, but more brown nor green, an' rounder, and gnomes has brighter eyes. An' they're shorter. Sizzle's all wrapped up all the time in lots an' lots of clothes an' wraps an' stuff. So's you can see just her nose an' her eyes. I don't know if she's really a lady, but Missus Tengone said it's not proper for little girls to live with men, so I think Sizzle's a lady, because she's very proper. And she an' I lives in the old cellar under the Pinchin' Loft, and she sniffs out magic and I gets it out for her, acos of bein' smaller.
What kind of things do you get, and where do you get them?
Sizzle can smell magic, but she's not ver' good at saying exactly where it is, so I has to go in places an' find it. In the canal, most times, an' in the drains, an' sometimes in holes an' such under houses. There's a place up Morrrow way where there's parties, an' they drops stuff and it goes through the floor, so we wanders up that way often, cos even if it's not magic what I finds, it's coins or masks or... or toys for grown-ups an' such. But the magic we finds is little things, rings an' bracey-lets an' such, an' sometimes buttons an' laces an' such.
How do you get things from the canal?
I puts me clothes on the side, and I swims down and gets them! It's cold sometimes, but it's not bad, an' acos me granda' were a fishy, I can stay down for a long time. An' the water creatures don't bother me none, not after me ma died down there. They says they owe me, but I don't know what that means, exceptin' as they don't do anythin' bad to me, and it's safe for me down there when it ain't for nobody else.
Do you remember your mother?
Nah. I were really little when she drownt. Although I don't know how that came about, nohow, acos if me granda' were a fishy, an' I can stay down for ages, then she should ought to have too.
What will you do this afternoon?
I's goin' to go with Sizzle up the market at Hangdog, right over the other side of town, an' we're gonna see what we can get for the bits we found in the last couple of weeks. Sizzle says that if she gets enough, she'll buy a new spell, an' she'll teach it to me. But we's definitely goin' to get enough for some food, and some tobacco, an' some beer, and we'll buy some of that in Preference and bring it home and stow it. We doesn't bring too much home at once, acos of the rats who get in. I thinks we should ought to get a catten to keep the rats out, but Sizzle thinks it'd get too big an' get lazy, or somebody'd steal it, or it'd run away. I don't know why anybody'd steal a catten, or even a cat when it gets big, but some people will steal anythin', Sizzle says.
An' then in the evenin', we'll go see Mercy, an' she's the girl who used to be Sizzle's diver before me, when she got too big, and now she turns tricks down Handtruckle way, but nights after we gets paid for things, we heads up there an' we pays her enough as she can sit in for a night or two an' still pay the rent on her room, and we brings some wood so's we can has a fire. An' then we sings songs and we gets a bit drunk, and she shows me how to do other things for when I gets too big to dive any more. Although I thinks as I can keep workin' for Sizzle even when I gets too big for the little holes and the cullises, acos of bein' a better diver nor anyone else.
Thank you, Misty. That's enough for now. Sizzle is waiting outside for you.
That's alright, Doctor. Bye bye!
Kestro Penance, Spring, 1745
Me name is Kestro Penance. Well, me name is Kestro, an’ people calls me Penance acos of that’s where I live. The Doctor askt me t’ set down me doins for a day, and acos of I can’t write, he gave me this shell thing t’ talk into, and he says it’ll be made into writin’ be magic later. So. I’s a procurer. What that means is I talks t’ people in t’ city an’ sees what they wants, and then I heads out into the country an’ I gets it for them. Betimes they want it over’n over again, and betimes it’s a one time thing. So me days are pretty diff’rent, one t’ the next. But I’ll talk about the day afore yes’day, since that were about as much of a normal day as happens, and it were all done in the one day.
I got meself outta the scratcher at the time the big bell goes off in the Solemnity, which’s before dawn this time a’ year, and is a bit after in the summer. Me bed’s in a stable loft in Penance Way, where the big market is, an’ has been for since I were a nipper. I pays the stablemaster six cops every time he asks, which between you an’ me ain’t as often as he should, but that’s acos he spends it on gin, an’ he don’t know what day it is the most times. There’s about six other fellas on the loft most nights, but I’s been there the longest, so I has the best bed, right up in an old manger I hauled up meself and tied off t’ the wall. Anyway, outta there, stagger down the ladder, nab a handful of oats from the horse bucket, and across t’ Sally’s. If you chucks a handful of oats in the grinder, she’ll give you half a handful of rolled, and that’ll make a porridge. So once I has me rolled, back in t’ the back of the stable, and there’s a fire there that the smith’ll be gettin’ up. As long as it’s not too late acos of bein’ too hot, you can cook over that, and I cooks me porridge in a tin I keeps in a hole in the wall there. Once it cools enough for me fingers, I eats it an’ goes to see what’s what.
So this day, there’s Porkin the Whittler with a need for two score chunks a’ laurel for somethin’ he’s at. What he want’s laurel for I don’t know, nasty splitty stuff, but I reckons as I can get him some, so we spits an’ shakes on it, and I goes off. I checked with some a’ the rest a’ me usual customers, but there’s nowt else, so I sits down t’ think about where there might be laurels comin’ down in the last year that wunt a’ been burnt. I know there’s a lot of them was took down on the Peligon estate two winters ago, but the steward there’s a bugger, and he’d sooner burn it than sell it t’ me. But thinkin’ a’ him, I’m put t’ thinkin’ of his neighbour, old Ham Gandon, who’s the steward on the Jusmenken estate. The last a’ the Jusmenkens is an old bat who han’t left the city in a decade, an’ Ham’s been runnin’ the estate on no money, so he’s a bit more eager’n most to shake a few twigs in my direction. So I starts out in that direction, toward the North-western gates. Most of the way there, I spots young Creedy’s wagon headin’ the same way, and runs up t’ look. It’s Creedy in the seat alright, and he’s good for a lift an’ maybe a bite, so long’s I talks to him, and gods know I can talk for them. So I yammers an’ he drives, an’ it’s still not noon afore he’s droppin’ me off at the south gate a’ Jusmenken, with a hunk a’ bread and a chicken leg. So I chaws on that as I makes me way up t’ the house. It’s about a four mile walk, an’ it’s over rough enough ground, but I covers it in good time.
I finds Ham in the house, suppin’ on good bread an’ smoked ham an’ some of her ladyship’s claret, and he’s been into it from breakfast be the looks, so he’s in a right good mood. So I tells him I needs a little bit of laurel, an’ he allows as how he has a bit of it, an’ we dance around it a bit, an’ after a while we’ve more or less settled that he’ll give it t’ me for four an’ twenty in silver, if I can sort out gettin’ it t’ the city. An’ that’s no noise, there’s carters out there’ll do it for four cops, an’ plenty a’ them. So while he’s in the good, and inclined t’ give me some a’ the claret an’ ham, I works him around to tellin’ me what he’ll have for the next few months, and he lets slip he has a great big beech that’s ruined with spalt, and some a’ last year’s wheat that won’t make seed. I knows I can sell the beech to Mekkin the Jig, an’ he’ll sell it up to some daft nobby with a chisel, an’ I reckon it’ll be a rough day afore I can’t shift some wheat. So I waits ‘til he has some more claret, and then I talks him into a deal on those if I collect ‘em the same day. An’ he’ll take it glad, acos those two were dead weight for him.
So I’m leavin’, and I makes me way back down the long run t’ the south gate, and blowed if I don’t get two pigeons an’ a squirrel on me way. Safe to sling a bit, as Ham’s in his cups, an’ the gamekeepers won’t move then, bein’ nat’rally lazy. So I’m at the back gate, and I flags down a wagon, and trades the squirrel for the trip back in.
Night-time sees me back at Porkin’s, tellin’ him the good, and gettin’ a laydown of eight in silver, which’s more’n enough to get me an’ all the fellows in the stable a hot one, an’ still have enough for the two carters the next day. On the way over, I trades the pigeons to Rustle the Stew for a promise of a hot breakfast. So I rounds up anyone who’s around the stable, and we heads over to Meggy’s for the scran. It’s pork bellies an’ potatoes an’ greens, and Meggy throws in a flagon a head for the price, which’s why we goes there. So be the time the bell down Ragworth is tollin’, I’m in me manger, me belly full, an’ me head swimmin’ a little bit, just nice, from the ale, an’ I knows the lads’ll stand me a few more dinners afore I has to look for it meself again, an’ I know it’ll be rashers in the mornin’. A good day, that.