Turn 80

    Val is immensely relieved to see his crewmen, but is bothered by the fact that two are not present. He gives Emmett and Yestin a significant glance to inquire about their whereabouts. Since they appear calm enough for the moment, he will assume no harm has occurred.
    "He will see to arrangements, while you remain as guests here," the lord tells them. "Other duties await me, but we will speak again at the evening meal, and perhaps tomorrow I shall visit your ship." Nobles here clearly don't go rushing out to gawk at any old starship that happens by the place. "You may do as you will, but I suggest that if you are to spend time in the city you will take one of the men with you, to see that there is no... confusion."
    Ibn Fadil is pleased to hear the word "guests" at last, but is also very interested (and a bit concerned) by what he doesn't see among the new arrivals, and doesn't look to Val before he says, "But my lord, two of our crew are missing."
    Val is also quite curious as to where Inez and Nyala are, and why they have not been offered hospitality. Unless they had insisted on remaining behind. He waits to see what the response to ibn Fadil's query is before speaking. The lord gives Val a bemused look. "Were there others of your crew who were with the ship?"
    "Yes, m'lord," Val replies politely. "Inez and Nyala are valued members of our crew. We are curious as to why they are not here as well."
    His lips twitch sardonically. "I am sure they are... valued. However it is quite absurd to suggest they should come here." His look has gotten a bit stony. "Much presumption can be overlooked on the grounds that you are strangers, but have a care. Good day."
    That is, quite clearly, a dismissal.
    Ibn Fadil's twenty years of practice at self-control and experience dealing with foreigners permit him to merely clench his teeth and assume an equally stony expression. Apparently, he tells himself, these people do not have a tradition of avenging insults to their women. How peculiar. How amazing to find that I am still so Zakharan at heart.
    The chamberlain is of middle height, middle age, and somewhat portly build, wearing the thick robes that seem to be the usual indoor garb for the higher reaches of the hierarchy. There is a hint of panic about his eyes--entertaining a half dozen sailors and a... thing lies somewhat beyond the borders of his training--but he rallies and says, "We have rooms prepared, if you would care to inspect them?"
    "Excuse me," the half-elf says, with a courtesy that is at least as frigid as the air outside. "It appears that I have been told that my woman must stay in our rather cold ship, outside the safety of this city's walls. Can you explain the reason for this ... behavior?"
    He seems nonplussed. "Where... well, I suppose a room in the city might be arranged for. Which of you would be staying there, then? I shall have to explain to His Lordship...."
    "You have not answered my question, sir."
    "I'm afraid I don't understand the question, then," he says with a worried look. "We can certainly send over some firewood and blankets if the cold is a concern."
    Val lays a hand to still the half-elf before this can get any worse. "Perhaps they can stay here in *my* place, and I will gratefully accept blankets and firewood to stay aboard the ship," Val says evenly, his face betraying no hint of jest.
    Ibn Fadil, his anger already blunted by the chamberlain's obvious incomprehension, blinks uncertainly at Valarin. "I think that idea will not go over well, sir."
    And he's right, too. The man stares at him, boggled for a moment. "Are you... are you seriously suggesting that Lord Tesfaye should bring--bring women of _that sort_ into his house? It is out of the question. I realize you are simple sailors and that, well, perhaps on a long voyage propriety is... relaxed a bit, but come now, this is absurd."
    Emmett wanders as casually as he can over to this obvious flashpoint. _I don't think the captain has caught on yet..._ he thinks before saluting. "Captain, if I could have a word with both of you about the condition of the ship?" He also gives the chamberlain a little look that indicates that he should take this opportunity to step aside.
    Once the three of them are more or less alone, he continues in a low voice. "Val, something you might not have gotten here: these guys don't think of women as people. Keep pushing this and we're going to lose whatever good graces we have with them.
    "So stop and think about our job here. It is not to make their look look plainly at the strengths of the fair sex. It is not to reform an entire culture. Our job is to open a trade route. That's it.
    "If that isn't a good enough explanation for you, I'm offering a suggestion as chief of security - Captain, I want one warriors and one experienced sailor to stay on board the ship to make sure no one attacks and nothing gets broken in case we have to leave in a hurry. And I damn well wish that we had a female pilot, too, because that way we could really be in a position where the ship isn't threatened without raising the slightest suspicion."
    He glances at the half elf "When your opponent has a blind spot you don't point it out to him - you use it. I expected you to know that, Ibn Fadil. Or do you think Nyala can't take care of herself? So I suggest you take up the chamberlain's offer to send blankets and firewood over, let the Lord worry about main safety of the _Distraction_, since they'd no doubt be humiliated if something happened to it, and let our crew protect it from the lord's men if need be."
    Still simmering a bit, the Zakharan nods once. "I do know better," he mutters. "But to hear her insulted so ... I am not at all sensible about her, not at all." He shakes his head then, and almost smiles. "And it is foolish, since from a certain perspective their opinion is correct. I am tempted to remove to the ship myself, since they are so concerned with their guests' moral rectitude."
    Emmett shakes his head. "I think we need you more here. And..." Emmett hesitated. it's obvious that neither one of these men had really caught on, and he hated to see ibn Fadil's temper when he pointed it out. "Didn't you hear their boss just now? And the Chamberlain? OK, if you absolutely know that women don't have any meaningful skills, what reason do we have for keeping two of them on a ship full of men? What's their job?"
    Before the other other men can interrupt, he pushes on, "Now, what does that say about us that we see our whores as, what was it? 'valued members of the crew' and consider our time with them so important that we want them inside a nobleman's house with us? Or that we'd leave the lord's gracious hospitality in because we'd rather spend time with them?" Seeing the anger in ibn Fadil's eyes he asks his a sharp, direct question: "Quick! How insulting have we just been to these people? How much would that help our cause?"
    "*Thank* you for putting in words what I was trying to not *think,*" ibn Fadil snaps, but quietly. At least this seems to take the edge of his temper. "Back home," he explains tersely, "a host is supposed to pretend not to notice such things, lest he accidentally offend someone. Feuds over insults can last for generations.
    "So," he adds with a sigh, "I definitely see your point, Emmett. Thank you." This time the thanks are sincere. "I shall apologize to the chamberlain for making trouble, and content myself with imagining Inessia Greywing's reaction to such treatment."
    Now appearing perfectly calm, he suits actions to words and goes over to the still-worried chamberlain. "Thank you for explaining the problem, sir," he says. "I am sorry that we did not immediately understand what it was. Additional supplies for the ship, especially firewood, should suffice. And I think we are ready to see those rooms now."
    The man visibly relaxes, though he still seems a bit concerned.
    Seeing that Ibn Fadil had his temper under control, Emmett waited to see if Val had anything to add, but he too appears to reluctantly accept the situation as it stands. Perhaps this can be worked out later.
    After that, a sharp salute is given, followed by a silent communication with Hiro - glances and head nods indicating that it would be a good idea for Hiro to give Ibn Fadil some backup outside, and that now would be a good time for a drink. Hiro would let Ibn Fadil be diplomatic and could end any fight without killing someone. _Both of which seem like good ideas,_ Emmett thought, making his way over to Brunon.
    "Sergeant. Mind if I ask you some questions about local security? I trust your men to guard the _Distraction_, but I have a duty to find out what they're guarding it *against*."
    "The curious," he shrugs. "Otherwise some folk would be bound to come around and poke into things. Never seen anything like it, and even if it is magic there'll be a few that won't let that stop them."
    "Any large dangerous animals out there? It's been a long time since I got to do any hunting - I'm better from griffinback, of course, but I could still use some practice..."
    "No shortage of them," the sergeant avers, giving Emmett that quizzical look he occasionally does. "If we get a spell of good weather after the festival His Lordship'll probably be wanting to go out."
    At further questions he talks a bit about the castle and the city. About how a dozen generations ago there was war among men as well as between man and dwarf, until the first of the High Kings united all men beneath his banner. How Lord Tesfaye's father was granted the fief--stretching many miles along the Narrow Channel and inland as well--as a reward for bravery in battle when the previous lord thought to rebel. In hushed tones, about the things that live in the forests and ate cattle only when they could not have man, or would steal away his soul, or turn him to wood.... At great length, about the treachery of dwarves.
    Emmett files that away, filling in his half of the conversation with discussions of his voyages and the battles on his homeworld. He does ask several questions designed to reveal the presence of greys on this world; there's no definite sign of them, although some of the stories hint at things that might be them. He also asks about the prospect for getting a mount and looking around outside of town.
    The sergeant seems amenable to the idea--pending the captain's approval--but suggests that perhaps in the morning, as by the time they could set out the day would have grown late, and there are ominous clouds building in the distance.
    "Snow?" The half man says, "Or do you often just get ominous clouds?"
    "Snow. Plenty of that before we see spring."
    He also shows the sergeant his sword, trying to get a feel for the quality for the local weapons work and toolmaking.
    "Your ship must be quite successful to afford so much," he comments. The metalwork on his own dagger is quite good. Not a shortage of skill, just raw materials?
    "Moderately so. And I've worked on other ships before this, and tend to spend most of my money on more equipment. What more does a soldier need? The scimitar back on the ship is actually booty from overthrowing an insect tyrant and his dwarfish subjects...."
    Brunon seems downright disturbed by the idea of dwarves in space, and listens the story with an expression that suggests he thinks Emmett might be putting him on, although no less enjoyment for that. Emmett interrupts himself halfway through to suggest that they make a trip down to the market so he can look for some heavier clothes. Things that actually fit will take some time, but he is happy for the time being to make do with an oversized cloak etc.

* * *

    Val gives his apologies to the chamberlain, supervises the collection of the promised blankets and firewood, and a short time later heads out to the _Distraction_ with a small convoy of servants and one of the guards. No one seems to think anything of him going with them; it *is* his ship, after all.
    Along the way he tries to think of a way to get more information about the social structures followed here, but after the way the chamberlain reacted it seems any overt queries would be likely to cause offense, so he settles for observation for the time being. At least this explains some of Ginevra's behavior... Bral must have been a terrible shock to her if her home is anything like this.
    The two guards keeping an eye on the _Distraction_ bow politely, and everyone trundles up the plank with their burdens. While the servants are stowing things, Val calls Inez and Nyala to the bridge and, not without some difficulty, explains the situation as the locals understand it.
    Inez' response is a strangled screech of outrage. Nyala sighs and shakes her head. "It would take a human to come up with something so foolish. Are we to remain pent here for the duration of our stay on this world, then?"
    "I don't know about that--the chamberlain said something about finding a place in the city, but gave the impression that one of us, er, men, would have to be there to keep an eye on you."
    "Dammit, captain--" Inez starts, red-faced.
    "Just wait a while," he tells her. "We'll see how things go with their lord, and maybe we'll be able to work something out."
    She's not pleased, and Nyala's annoyance is clear through her resigned air, but there's nothing to be done about it right now. At least they won't freeze.
    Leaving them there, he returns through the gate and spends some time in the market, looking for needs Three Trees might fill.

* * *

    Meanwhile, ibn Fadil is similarly occupied. First he picks up a minder and stops at the guard-house to see if he can get his weapons back. There is a certain amount of confused back-and-forth, as it turns out that the captain had the visitors' weapons taken to the castle armory, for lack of any better place, and must now be tracked down to have them released. He's not completely happy about it, that much is clear, but of course now the lord has recognized the visitors as guests there is no reason to do otherwise.
    Once he is rearmed (and much more comfortable for it), ibn Fadil leads the way back toward the shoemaker's shop. The cobbler seems a bit nervous, but provides the requested items, which are indeed quite fine and considerably warmer than what he's been making do with. The mumbling man looks curiously at his coins but accepts them, perhaps reassured by the guard's presence.
    As they walk, he finds out the soldier's name and peppers him with interested questions about the city, the buildings, the guilds, and the temples. The guard's name is Pawl, he seems to be in his early thirties, and he willingly answers questions although he does not often volunteer information.
    The guild halls occupy a part of the city the visitors had not yet been to, where the buildings are larger and the streets slightly wider, definitely the upscale section of the city. On the way to it they pass what is identified as the main temple, a rather large enclosure actually abutting the castle wall--this is in fact Alais' destination, as he has inquired after maps and archives, which it seems are kept by the priests here. Pawl is reluctant to speak much of the gods; it seems there is a pantheon with a very clearly defined structure.
    "I don't know much about Marek's mysteries," he admits. "I mean he sends the storms, everyone knows that, and there's the ritual before a hunt or a battle. There are others... a priest could say better than I. Festival just a few days away," he adds with a rare smile. "Be a good one."
    "What sort of festival? I mean, what do your folk do in such celebrations?" ibn Fadil asks, absently wondering what it means that the leading deity here is a storm-god, and that the man seems to know so little about the others. Pham might have an idea.
    "Food, drink, fights. There's the big procession, of course, and the games. Hope I don't draw duty."
    "Fights for entertainment? Well, I am partial to horse-racing, myself."
    "In the summer," he shrugs. "This time of year, well... people get bored. Kind of lets off the tension a bit, at festival."
    The guild halls are clustered around a narrow square full of men hawking things from carts, beggars, and people hustling about their daily business. Many of them pause to stare at ibn Fadil; they all seem to recognize his "minder" but in a place this size it would not be difficult to know virtually everyone. It is somewhat like Bral that way. The halls themselves are decorated with painted carvings, their bright colors somewhat dulled by exposure to the elements, which identify their business.
    The Zakharan responds to stares with a pleasant smile, and looks at the halls to try to get an idea of what this place's major areas of commerce are. As he walks about, he fishes out a copper coin and gives it to one of the more alert-looking beggars.
    He accepts it gratefully, though not without a glance at Pawl. Noticing that, ibn Fadil wonders how easy it really is to set a foot wrong here. He explores the market thoroughly, unobtrusively listening to conversations and trying to get a better feel for how things work on the street. Actually talking to the guildsmen is something he probably ought to do with Valarin, since he is taking the trouble to support the young man's authority as captain. He keeps his eyes open for unusual lacks, and also for possible markets he's more familiar with, as well as for displays of particular artistry; and any unusual or unfamiliar materials in use.
    Garlic and herbs seem to be plentiful but there aren't any spices in the air. Hiro shares a shrug with Fadil. Both men come from cultures that thrived on spices. A walk through any Kara-Tur or Zakharan market place would have been an aromatic adventure. Hiro pities the palettes of the Rigolians.
    Ibn Fadil amuses himself for a few moments wondering if he'll be able to talk His Lordship into letting him cook something for him to demonstrate some of the spices they have aboard. Then, seeing a vendor selling hot apple cider, he is struck by inspiration - ask the servants at the castle to mull some wine or cider 'for their group.' He even has some packets of spices made up for the purpose in the _Distraction_'s galley. Pleased, he stops to buy and drink a cup of the vendor's cider, offering to get one for Hiro and Pawl as well.
    Hiro bows his head in acceptance. Once Ibn Fadil has paid the vendor Hiro passes the cup to their minder before letting his own warm his hands. He wafts the steam and scent and breathes deeply. Pawl demurs.
    Continuing their rambling tour, ibn Fadil observe that cloth seems to be mostly wool, and a brush past a market stall suggests not terribly fine wool at that. The animals here do grow very fine pelts, and a surprisingly common form of decoration is small, carved ivory figures sewn as a sort of fringe to a garment. There is a spectrum of wealth evidenced by quality and ornament, as he saw in the cobbler's shop, and certainly some houses are far grander than others.
    It is too late in the day for the clothes shopping he hoped to do, so they make a trip back to the _Distraction_ to pick up the spices (and ibn Fadil's tools), and to say hello to a coolly amused Nyala and the still-fuming Inez.
    "We will be fine here," the elf assures them dryly. "I believe our only danger to be dying of boredom. Assure Emmett that we will keep watch on our guards, as they do on us."

* * *

    Alais has inquired of the chamberlain about maps, archives, and similar stores of information.
    "Ah, you will wish to speak with Artur, at the temple," the chamberlain replies. "If you will allow me, sir, I will conduct you to the temple and make introductions myself." These people seem to treat wizards with very great respect.
    Yestin coughs slightly. "Might I be permitted to accompany you, sirs?"
    "Er." The chamberlain is still palpably nervous about the big sentient. "Of course, of course."
    The three of them and one of the ever-present, patient guards leave the castle, turn left, make a turn around the wall and there see another gate; the walls of the castle and of the temple merge with one another.
    The buildings in this enclosure are all round, and many of them are connected by bridges at the second or third story. Erek bypasses the central structure and heads toward a narrow three-story cylinder to the rear of the complex.
    "Good day to you," a voice growls from the shadows, and for a moment the visitors think the aptly-named Artur is actually a bear, before the shape resolves into a short, heavy-set man wearing a fur cloak. The paws of the beast have been left intact, including claws; it was clearly an impressive creature in life.
    The chamberlain explains their purpose, and leaves them in Artur's care for the remainder of the afternoon. On each of the first two floors books and scrolls are chained to their shelves, purporting to contain the wisdom of the ages. Alais inquires firstly after maps and, while Yestin pokes aimlessly about, is able to deduce quite rapidly that these people do not know much about mapping, perhaps because they lack the benefit of an aerial view. Still, it's a beginning, and he can get some idea of what's where.

* * *

    That evening, as the storm gathers, they assemble again at the castle. The chamberlain fusses over them, asking how they find the city so far, and shows them to the castle's main dining room, a vaulted chamber almost the size of the main hall where they had started the day. It appears that everyone in the castle not actually serving food is gathered there for the meal. At one end the head table sits on a low, raised platform, with the other tables stretching perpendicular away from it.
    Erek sees the _Distraction_'s crew settled at the head end of one of the long tables, among some of the guards they recognize and other men they don't--Val gets to sit with the important people. Everyone seems to brought have his own, rather large, tankard, but this lack has been foreseen by Erek and the visitors have been provided their own drinking vessels, which are filled by servants who are staggering around with massive earthenware pitchers of beer. Most of the dishes and utensils are wooden, although it's a very hard wood with which the visitors are unfamiliar. Of course everyone has his own knife.
    There are women in the room, most of them at their own table near the back of the hall, but some sitting quietly among the men on the long benches, perhaps beside their husbands.
    A bit after sunset the lord and (presumably) lady arrive. Magnificent in fine wool and white furs, his cloak is clasped with a chunk of amber the size of a man's fist, and he wears what looks like a plain iron circlet, while her ornaments are silver. They are trailed by another, younger woman in plainer dress. Both women sit to the lord's left, while at his right is a large, glowering man with a massive grey beard. The latter stands; the hall falls silent as he speaks briefly in a dialect none of the visitors can follow. And then the food is served.
    A vegetarian will probably starve on this planet. The mainstays are meat--not all of it identifiable--and fish, with some half-hearted root vegetables peeking timidly out here and there. Afterward, the chamberlain finds them again; His Lordship will receive them in the council chamber to see how they find Myrr thus far.
    

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