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32. Hull - An Embarrassment of Riches
🕑 Added 2024-09-01 00:54:27 +0000 UTC
Chapter 32
An Embarrassment of Riches
I tugged at the stiff black brocade vest that was doing its best to smother me and wished the billowing whiteness of my sleeves were a little less… billowy. I felt a proper fool in this getup, no matter that Roshum had assured me that Hasim’s shop at the top of Hillside was as good as any in the merchant district, and no matter that the new outfit had cost me a truly offensive sum. I’d had to dip into the pot of money my urchin gang was collecting from the good folk of the Lows and had only done so after repeated promises from Bryll and Roshum that we had a hefty surplus beyond what we were spending to hire street cleaners and painting crews.
Roshum had brought in a bookkeeper he trusted, Shormandon Fatfinger, to manage the accounts now that the old crew was all dead, and strangely, there was more than enough now that there was no one dipping their dirty paws into the cash bag. Still, I felt itchy at taking money from the Lows, even with the people I trusted telling me that people in the neighborhood would prefer to see me looking a little less ragged at the cuffs. Once War Camp was over I’d start pulling a salary as a lieutenant in the army, for better or for worse; at least then I could buy new clothes out of my own pocket. Anything less stank of Ticosi’s greed, and I didn’t want any whiff of it clinging to me.
Afi, whose arm was linked through mine, batted my hands away from the constricting vest. “You’ll pull it askew. You look quite well already.”
“Won’t look so well when I faint on the stairs,” I grumbled. Still, I schooled my hands to stillness. It felt twelve different kinds of odd to be escorting the bookish bird of a girl, especially looking as she did now, with a gown falling off her shoulders and her dark hair falling in artful waves around a face that suddenly looked far more feminine and mysterious than I was used to. This was the girl who’d ruthlessly handed Basil and me our own asses on the field not two days before, but there was no hint of that now. Is she wearing paints on her face? Damned if I can tell, but she must be. I’d have noticed if her lips were that full before.
Her eyes flicked toward me and a small smile quirked on those full lips. I was staring, and she’d caught me at it. Feeling stupid, I shrugged and turned my eyes back to the Hintal Manor. I’d never been in the hills behind the Palace District before. The War Camp chariots had brought us here in style, and the wall of the compound enclosed an area that would have covered a third of the Lows, with crushed stone walkways, fancifully shaped shrubs, and elemental lights illuminating the high stone walls of the manor, which any sane person would have called a small castle instead.
“Who has this kind of money?” I muttered, staring up at a tower looming overhead as we waited our turn outside the door to be announced.
Afi gave a refreshingly unladylike snort. “The Hintal family is squarely in the bottom quarter of the noble houses, both in wealth and influence. If you really want to grind your teeth, walk through the Palace sometime.”
I shook my head, looking at the long stretch of carriages lining the path. “I thought I’d gotten used to Hintal and the others, but then I see where they live and I’m angry all over again. Do you know how many families they could feed for the cost of a party like this?”
“Roughly two hundred families for a full year,” Afi said quietly. I gave her a surprised look, and she responded, “You’re not the only one who’s ever had holes in your shoes, Hull.”
I grunted. I knew she was sponsored by that asshole Warrick’s family, but I’d never thought about where she came from beyond that. “Fair enough. Never had shoes to put holes in, though.”
She laughed and patted my arm. “You’d never know it, looking at you now. Come on, quit looking sullen. The money won’t be any less spent if you pout all night. We can pretend to belong for a few hours.”
I realized I was, in fact, frowning and tried to smooth my face. I’m not sullen. Strange to think that there’d been someone in War Camp all this time who might have understood my point of view a little bit and I’d never known it.
We handed a gray-robed footman our invitations when we reached the massive double doors leading into the manse, who bowed and whisked them away, gesturing us through the door. The entryway was a circular marvel of stone and glass, with a massive chandelier of crystal with trapped elemental lights of all colors spinning within and a gently burbling fountain directly beneath it. Musicians lined the carpeted walkway that led past the fountain to the foot of a grand staircase chased with gold and waxed wooden scrollwork. I saw one musician in a black velvet doublet with two Air and three Order circling his head. He let go of the flute he was playing and it danced over his left shoulder, continuing to play as he summoned a full-size harp that plucked its own strings, working an intricate countermelody to the flute, Then the man pulled forth some kind of rattling drum thing and shook it in time to the music.
Relic instruments. I’ve never even thought of such a thing. Who would waste their money and shards just to toot a horn? This fellow, obviously, and from the look of him he made a pretty penny doing it. It was hard to remember sometimes that there was an entire world of cards – of excellence, dedication, and beauty – outside of dueling and war. Of course people elevated their instrument Relics and craftsman cards. That was the sort of thing most people cared about when they were safe and happy.
We mounted the stairs, Afi’s arm resting lightly on top of my own – she’d had to show me how to do it right as we waited in line – and I felt a sudden sense of dislocation. Here I was, entering the halls of power as a respected, up-and-coming member of the King’s army, where I would eat fine foods, dance, and quite likely speak with the most important people in the city. Part of me felt disgusted. Another part of me was excited.
At the head of the stairs we were guided down the hall by a small army of servants and functionaries spaced every stone’s throw down the paneled, brightly lit passageway, each one bowing and pointing the way. Another great set of double doors stood open at the end of the hallway, a pair of ceremonial City Watch guards standing sentry in burnished breastplates and perfectly angled halberds framing the line of ladies and gentlemen waiting to be announced within. I heard a swell of noise. This was the ballroom. My stomach clenched and I took a deep breath.
“Straighten that spine, poor boy,” Afi said sardonically. “They can smell fear.”
I gave a little laugh. “Right.” I reached into my pocket for my handkerchief to dab at my forehead, but I felt an unexpected paper crinkle within it. Surprised, I fished out the small strip. Something was written on it.
See you tonight. I expect you to reserve a dance for me. Tell no one.
-Mother
P.S. Don’t eat the pastries.
Heart suddenly hammering, mouth dry, I shoved the paper back into my pocket and mopped my brow with the silk handkerchief that had cost three silver all on its own.
“Everything all right?” Afi murmured, not looking at me.
“Just dandy,” I said, stuffing the silk away and setting my jaw. “Just thinking about my dance steps.”
She gave a rough chuckle. I’d warned her that I knew nothing about dancing and would do no better than a spastic bear if she insisted on dragging me out in front of everyone. “Some people train bears, you know,” she said with a sideways grin. “Put on a collar, roar a little, and the smallfolk pay two clips a piece for that sort of thing.”
Her quiet, sarcastic humor settled me. “I’ve heard about that. You’re supposed to have a trained monkey, too. It picks people’s pockets while they’re distracted by the bear.”
“A monkey, eh?” she mused. “Too bad Gerad said he’s not coming.”
We both laughed. She really did look quite nice in her gown.
At the door, some butler or steward or something called out our names. “Afi Mencharta, sponsored student of House Erlun, sixth place finalist in this year’s Rising Stars Tournament. Hull, fourth place finalist in this year’s Rising Stars Tournament.”
We marched solemnly into the ballroom, and I tried not to be immediately overwhelmed by the sight of it all. The space was massive, stretching a good three stories overhead with more of those great chandeliers sparkling like so many suns, buttress beams chasing each other across the ceiling and separating painted masterpieces of birds, clouds, and air in the ribs between. The music that had been dignified and subdued in the entryway now echoed from all sides, and the temperature was noticeably warmer from all the bodies pressed together. This room had to contain all the nobility in Treledyne and a good number besides. Nearly all of them were watching us like hawks as we descended the short flight of stairs down to the ballroom floor proper. As we reached the foot, the doorman called out another pair of names, and all those eyes shifted away.
“There’s the first gauntlet run,” Afi said, having to speak more loudly to be heard over the noise. “This is the nature of the game if you want to climb out of the gutter, Hull. Caught your breath?”
I nodded. “It’s not so bad.” My mind was still spinning on my mother’s note. Why is she here? I thought her negotiations were supposed to be secret. Why shouldn’t I eat the pastries? Did she do something to them? Putting something in the food at a party couldn’t possibly help her achieve her goals… but she was a demon. I’d spent my fair share of time with my own demon Souls now, and they were all of a kind: angry, devious, and full of malicious mischief. No doubt if she could get her peace treaty and give the whole party the shits at the same time, she’d do it just because she could.
“All right,” Afi said briskly. “We’re supposed to mingle and be pleasant but unmemorable. They’ll know we’re charity cases, so they won’t expect much from us, and a lot of them will do their best to snub us, but it’s expected.”
“You sound like an old hand at this,” I said.
“Warrick can’t be trusted at public events,” she said sourly. “His parents have been sending me as their representative to this sort of thing for the better part of a year now. He used to accompany me, but he kept getting drunk and embarrassing everyone. If I’m being honest, it’s the reason I asked you to accompany me: this Gala is a big enough event and it’s been long enough since the boy made a scene that I worried that they’d pawn him off on me as an escort again.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to feel offended. “Sure, that makes sense.”
“The fact that you look twice as good in that suit as he ever did doesn’t hurt either,” she said, grabbing a skewer of rolled meats from a passing waiter and popping one into her mouth with a surprisingly roguish wink.
I found myself at a total loss for words. Is she flirting with me?
“Relax, Hull,” she said with a sigh, towing me off to one side. “I’m not going to bite, and I won’t trip you in the atrium to make babies, either. Fact is that we’ve got more in common than any of these other fools, and we might as well get along.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Spent a lot of your childhood eating out of trash heaps, did you?”
She blanched. “Well, no, not that, exactly. But I grew up in the poor part of Hillside, my parents never more than a step or two away from getting tossed for not making rent. I know what it’s like to go to sleep hungry.”
“Really?” I’d had no idea. “Where?”
“We bounced around, but mostly we lived in the rooms near Kingscourt Square.”
“Sounds fancy,” I said. As a kid I’d rarely ever gone higher Hillside than a few streets past Roshum’s shop, but I’d heard the name before.
“Fancy, sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hardly ever had to pull more than one or two turds out of the fountain before I did the washing.”
I snorted a laugh. “If you had clothes to wash and others to wear at the same time, you were doing better than most I knew. How’d you end up fronting for a noble house?”
“Sheer luck,” she admitted, bringing me near to one of the walls at the edge of the dance floor. “We had gone to the market district for some festival, if I remember, and Lady Marisia, Warrick’s mother, just happened to be there looking for some poor sap to stand still and take the boy’s blows as he practiced his dueling. I looked poor and ugly, I suppose, and she pointed at me first. My parents needed the gold mark they paid every month, and so I started showing up at their manor for Warrick’s training time. Kid was shit from the start. Scared of summoning, never wanted to work, pitched tantrums left and right.”
“Some things never change.”
She smiled at me. She had a crooked tooth up top, but it was charming, not ugly. “After a while the family realized I was learning more standing there watching him than he’d ever managed to pick up in all his years of tutoring, and they let me have a go with a couple of Common cards. Turned out that I was good. Really good. After that they made a deal with my parents to pay for my education if I would duel on demand for them. It’s been a good deal, even having to put up with Warrick and his drunken whining.”
She gestured to a box full of oddly-shaped brass barrels joined in pairs, with a long handle hanging off one side. “Take a viewing glass.”
I picked one up. It was heavy and had glass lenses at each end of the brass barrels. “What is this?”
“It’s considered polite to view – and compliment – the family’s public collection,” she said, gesturing down the wall beside us. At regular intervals ornate frames hung on the wall, with a shining plaque next to each. Looking closer, I saw cards suspended in the middle of each frame.
“They have cards just… hanging there?” I asked, confused. “What for?”
“To show how important and wealthy they are,” she said dryly, though she looked around first to make sure no one would overhear. “All the noble houses do it.”
“What’s the point of having cards that nobody uses?” I said, moving toward the first one.
“What’s the point of anything these people do?” she responded. “Power. Having it, showing it off, getting more.” She raised the barrels to her eyes and pointed them at the card, and I mimicked her. The card sprang towards my eyes, and I jerked back. The lenses in the barrels magnified the view somehow, letting me see the card as if it were right in front of my face even though it was hanging on the wall behind a cordon five feet away. I raised the contraption again and took a closer look.
“The very first Human City Watch card,” Afi said, reading off the plaque next to the frame, sounding bored. “It was some fellow named Basque some hundred and fifty years ago that worked for the Hintal family. Trusted servant, noble soul, blah blah blah.”
“It’s interesting history,” I said, feeling oddly defensive of Basil and his family.
“It looks the same as every single other Common City Watch card in existence,” she complained. “You’d have to be a card historian to know there was a single thing different about it.”
“Well,” I said, reaching for anything redeeming about the admittedly boring card, “the City Watch is the family business. You can see why they included it.”
She sniffed dismissively. “The King has one in his viewing gallery that the experts think is the first human card ever. It’s over a thousand years old.”
“Well, but that’s the King,” I said.
“True enough. I’ve been spoiled by all the dinners and galas I’ve been to at the other houses, I suppose. Whichever Hintal boy Esmi marries, it’ll be good for the family; they may even rise to the middle tier of the Houses if they play it right. It’s funny, you know. In the early days I’d have broken my own fingers to get my hands on any card, much less expensive collector ones like these.”
“I know that feeling,” I said quietly. That had been me mere months ago.
The next card was even less interesting.
“The first known work by Arenius the Elder,” I read from the plaque. “Renowned for popularizing the Romantic style, CF 203. What do those numbers mean?”
She squinted at them. “Oh, that’s ‘Charbond’s Founding. Nobody even uses that calendar anymore. 203 would be, let’s see… about three hundred and fifty years ago?”
“And Arenius the Elder is…?”
“Nobody important,” she said heavily. “Unless you’re an art collector and like locking up valuable paintings into Relic cards so nobody but you can see them unless you make them use these stupid peeking lenses.”
“Are they all going to be like this?” I asked quietly, making sure no one was close enough to hear us.
“If I’d never met Basil’s parents, I’d suspect they put out collection of bara cards as a joke, but neither of them would find that remotely funny. How that pair produced a sensitive, caring boy like him is beyond me.” Afi sighed, pitching her viewing glasses back into the box. “Ugh, I don’t have the patience for this right now. Come on, let’s dance.”
“You know that’s a bad idea,” I warned her as she grabbed my hand and towed me toward the middle of the floor where all the fancy folk twirled and flowed gracefully.
“I do,” she said over her shoulder. “That’s why it’ll be fun.”
I looked over her head, trying to distract myself from the gnawing pit in my stomach that said I was about to make a fool of myself. Beyond the dancers I saw a juggler moving among the crowd that was throwing his own source into the air one after the other, weaving them in a hypnotic double loop. A second glance showed what was truly impressive about the performance: each source sphere was different from the last. Order, Life, Air, Water, Death, Fire, and Earth. What kind of dedication would it take to cultivate exactly one of each of those sources? And all he does is show them off for the rich folk.
I looked past the performer to the other party attendees and stopped dead, dragging Afi to a halt. I pointed toward a large cluster of women standing just behind the juggler. One of them was a fair young woman with a freckled face – my mother in her human disguise. She was dressed in a sleek gown of deep red and was whispering conspiratorially into the ear of another woman decked out in jewels and ermine. “Who is that?” I asked, mouth dry as I pointed.
Afi caught my hand and pulled it to my side. “That’s the Queen,” she hissed. “Don’t point.”
I felt a sudden surge of dread. What is she doing? Surely her secret work didn’t include cozying up to the Queen in public. I didn’t see any of them eating pastries, at least. Would she poison people? Would she poison the Queen? I was afraid she might.
“I have to talk to them,” I said urgently.
Afi got right in my face and blocked my way. “No, no, no, that’s a terrible idea, Hull. If you want to gain favor, you wait for them to approach you. Trotting up to the Queen uninvited is a good way to get yourself tackled by her Unseen Guard. They’re here somewhere, you can bet on it. Come on, come dance with me. Forget about that. I thought you hated the nobility.”
“I do,” I muttered, unable to take my eyes off my mother and the Queen. What is she doing? What’s she saying to her? Whatever it was, the Queen thought it quite funny. She laughed heartily and patted my mother’s hand. I’d never seen Gerad’s mother before. She was a lovely woman with chestnut hair and wide-set eyes. I could see a little of the Prince in her and wondered what kind of monster she must be to spawn a piece of shit like her son.
Afi was still trying to pull me toward the dance floor when a bell rang, drawing everyone’s attention to the head of the stairs where we’d all entered. There, with the gong mallet still in her hand, stood a woman who could only be Basil’s mother, thin, gray-haired, and severe-looking despite her fine clothes. Basil stood behind her on one side, and Gale stood on the other, neither looking at each other.
“Friends, peers, and allies, be welcome to House Hintal,” the woman said. “We recognize the presence of our beloved Queen, who has graced us with her presence. We will have a lovely evening of song, dance, and entertainment. To begin, two of my sons have arranged an exhibition for your pleasure: they will duel each other for the hand of Esmi Fireheart of House Haraine. All the parties have agreed, and the contracts have been signed. Please arrange yourselves as best suits you.”
“Oh!” said Afi. “It’s already happening. Come on, let’s find a good spot to watch.”
Comments
Myrdin
Hull bought clothes with money that he got from the Lows. What happened to the money that Ticosi stashed and Harker knew where to find? Would be a waste not to get it and put to better use.
Mogwai
I like this chapter as it shows Hull interacting with other people
Knyko
Man i cant wait for this duel
