The captain
of the guard at the gate was surprised to see the human, but the human appeared
unaware of the incongruity. It was as if
he had come from nowhere, and, although that seemed unlikely, he now seemed
entirely happy now with where he was. The captain assumed that he’d dozed off,
an occupational hazard of guarding this gate. However, he knew clearly what
imperial protocol demanded.
‘In the name of the Emperor’ he said, ‘halt and state you business‘
The man was tall, with greying blondish hair; he wore a loose fitting
cloak over a shirt and long breeches, and carried a small holdall. He didn’t
look, however, like he had been travelling for very long.
He smiled.
‘My name is Laurence Hardacre from the city of Kinspit. I have come to
speak with the proconsul of Ortia. She is expecting me’
‘Kinspit?’ the guard whispered, ‘where on earth is…’
He smiled again.
‘It is far from here, but it is a very beautiful city’
He looked up in wonder across the rise and fall of the white
battlements above him, and above them the giant brown kites riding the spring
thermals. He waited for a moment and then added, ‘but no more beautiful than
yours, evidently, captain’.
The guard hurried to open the gate, and guide his visitor in. Not once
did it occur to him that this might be an enemy, but then the man looked as
unlike an enemy as anyone he had ever seen.
***
For all of
that morning Marthian had been trying to get some background information on her
visitor and his country. She had consulted her archivist, who remained hazy
about any historical details after the sundering of east and west. It seemed
that even before that event, which had happened nine hundred and thirteen years
before and so was a very long time ago for human cultures, there was a country
called Eth, relatively barbarous though it was then. The western region of Eth
was called Rhylan. As for the language, Rhylic,
no-one had heard of it in the city, although there were many with a smattering
of the standard Ethian tongue – as it had long been the common language of trade
and of all humans. Rhylic people were
said to be enchanted, and the land was allegedly full of witches, but that just
sounded like fairy tales, or black propaganda.
The other source of information was from the very few Amansk merchants
that ventured across the pass of the northern mountains to trade with Ortia.
They had brought information about the growth of Eth to be the most powerful
nation in the world, eclipsing even the Empire. Apparently it had the largest
navy and army, and the whole of the north of the continent was now under its
sway. However, this John Ismay had not styled himself a servant of the Ethian
government, but instead claimed to be working for a commercial
organisation.
Marthian had also talked to Julia, who either knew very little or was
unwilling to reveal anything that she did know. Marthian got the feeling that
she was keeping something from her; she wondered if the letter and the
subsequent visit was something foretold by the Lady. Well, if it was, the High
Priestess had no intention of telling the proconsul, so once again their
meeting ended unsatisfactorily. Marthian wondered what she had to do to earn
the right to share her cousin’s confidences.
It was all mysterious and frustrating, but there was nothing more to do
now, except wait for Mr Hardacre to arrive and wonder what on earth he would be
like. Marthian had hardly slept at all the night before, and was desperate to
get the meeting over with.
***
The guard
captain knocked twice on her door.
‘Enter’ Marthian shouted, her voice a few tones higher than usual.
The captain led Hardacre into the room. He bowed and waited for
Marthian to speak.
For a moment there was a silent tableau, the tall middle aged man,
standing impassively, while the short and slender young elf hesitated,
wondering which words to choose.
‘Greeting, Mr Hardacre, we welcome you to the Imperial city of Ortia
and hope that your stay here is profitable for both you and us’
She gestured to him to sit on one of the two plush armchairs that faced
her desk. He smiled and sat down carefully, with one elegant movement.
‘We have very few visitors, Mr Hardacre, and few indeed who come to us
from the west’.
Hardacre still didn’t speak.
‘We hope that you bring good news from the outside world. We have heard
so little for so very long’
Hardacre settled further in his chair and listened intently. Marthian wished
that he would say something, as she was running out of greetings. She started
to ask whether his journey had been arduous, but then she realised that it
appeared to have been instantaneous.
‘I greatly look forward to hearing about your mission…’
Hardacre nodded and smiled deferentially. Her monologue was on the very
edge of dying. Marthian’s mind was racing with other things she might say, but
they all seemed increasingly trite as they revolved around inside her head.
‘Yes, I’m very much looking forward to it’ she repeated, ‘definitely…’
Oh no, this wasn’t going very well at all.
Hardacre looked up and her and nodded slightly but significantly. What
on earth did that look mean? She must have looked startled. His smile flickered briefly and he nodded
meaningfully again. Then she realised.
‘Mr Hardacre – you have permission to speak freely.’
They both breathed a sigh of relief, but although Marthian’s was
clearly visible to everyone, Hardacre’s was no more than an infinitesimally
meagre internal tic.
‘Thank you, my lady’, said Hardacre ‘you are very gracious. I would be
greatly honoured to tell you about my employer’s proposals and those of the
group that he represents. Would that be acceptable to you? I can be as brief as
you require’. He spoke fluent Visneorian but with a moderately strong Ethian
accent.
This was not the treatment that Marthian was used to. There were few
diplomats in Ortia. Most of the time no-one hid that fact that they thought her
too short, too young and too female. (They expressed those sentiments in the
most pleasant way possible, of course – after all, this was a civilised
society.)
‘I have no lack of time,’ said Marthian, ‘and I am very interested in what
you have to say. Really, I am.’
They both smiled.
‘Let me ask you some questions’ said Marthian, beginning to rally.
‘Of course’
‘But first, you should realise that this city has been isolated for a
very long time. There are many things about which we are profoundly ignorant’
Hardacre nodded his understanding.
‘To begin: who exactly do you represent?’
‘I work for, and I am a very minor member of, the Hybitor’. He waited
to allow the name to hang in the air for a second. ‘We are a group who assist
the Ethian government, helping them with problems that are beyond their normal
experience, or competence. However, we are an independent organisation and
espouse particular political and philosophical positions that do not always
match those of the Ethian governments.’
‘Not really merchants, then?’ said Marthian, smiling.
‘My employer, Mr Ismay, insisted that I be as honest as possible. He
hoped, however, that you would be sensitive to the confidential nature of some
of this information, and indulgent concerning certain economies of truth that
have been necessary’
Marthian considered this.
‘I will be happy do as you ask, within the legal strictures of the
Imperial hierarchy’ She wondered what that actually meant for her, where she
was now, in the middle of nowhere.
‘So, what are your political and philosophical positions?’ she asked.
‘A distrust of unnecessary hierarchies, a sympathy for the poor and
unrepresented, and a hatred of the misuse of power’ he answered fluently.
Marthian sensed that this was not the first time he had used those words.
‘And those do not represent the opinion of the Ethian government?’
‘Our position overlaps significantly with theirs. That is the basis
under which we can collaborate’
Marthian furrowed her brow.
‘So, how many are there in the group?’
‘Thirteen council members and several hundred of us who work with them’
A shiver of apprehension spread through Marthian. Was this in a coven?
All the old fairy stories suddenly rushed into her head. She looked up at
Hardacre. Could you be a diplomat and a
witch?
‘Thirteen – that’s a very significant number…’ she said, allowing her
thoughts to spill out into her words.
Hardacre made no indication at all that he found this comment
inappropriate. He certainly seemed a very good diplomat, regardless of whatever
else he was.
‘Possibly, proconsul – it’s not my place to say. The council certainly seems to find it a
manageable number for decision making and for scheduling meetings’
There was a brief pause while Marthian pushed away her childhood fears
and resumed her composure. Hardacre sat, unruffled.
‘And your employer, Mr Ismay, is the council president. Is that right?’
‘Yes, he has the honour to hold that position’.
‘And what is the Hybitor’s stance towards the Empire?’
‘We have cordial relations’
Marthian looked up at Hardacre. She wondered what that meant. He gazed
back – his face gave nothing away.
‘So, why are you suddenly so interested in Ortia?’
‘Because of its strategic importance, in the medium term, and because,
in the shorter term, of an expedition that has recently left Visnea and is
coming your way.’
‘What?’ Marthian was surprised and excited. ‘An imperial
expedition?’
‘No, it’s not an Imperial expedition. It’s a party of Ethian scholars
that is aiming to explore Melloreis. On their way they must surely stop to
victual here’
‘Really? Do they have permission from the Emperor?’
‘Apparently, yes’
‘How far away are they?’
‘Well, assuming that they have some way of getting past the Wall – two,
maybe three, weeks from here’
Marthian screwed up her face.
‘I don’t like the sound of that at all’
Hardacre nodded his agreement.
‘Neither does Mr Ismay’
Marthian stared intently at Hardacre, trying to read him. It was difficult.
‘What interest does your organisation have in this matter, anyway?’ she
asked, feeling suspicion stirring inside her.
‘We want to ensure that this Ethian expedition does not cause any
serious political damage’
Marthian wondered even more what he meant by this.
‘Political damage? To whom?’
‘To the Empire’
‘What sort of damage?’
‘To Eth – Visnea relations and to, other, non-bilateral relations’
Marthian thought this sounded very vague.
‘Are you being intentionally enigmatic, Mr Hardacre?’ she snapped, ‘It isn’t
at all helpful’
Hardacre winced slightly.
‘That is not my intention at all, my lady – I am simply attempting to
explain the geopolitical context’
Marthian hardened her gaze.
‘You must know that we have had very few links with the Empire for
nine-hundred years. I have no idea how the “geopolitical context” can
illuminate things here’
Hardacre bowed his head briefly.
‘Of course, I understand that. We simply need your help to deal with
these problems, whatever their potential scale’
‘What sort of help? What exactly do you want?’
‘We would like permission to organise a short diplomatic mission to
Ortia for information sharing and mutual discussion’
She did a double take.
‘And what’s this then, if it’s not a “short diplomatic mission”?’
‘This is an exploratory meeting’ explained Hardacre.
The proconsul realised that this may well be how all diplomats
proceeded: in a bewildering array of pre-meetings, meetings actual and
post-meetings. She felt that she needed to play this game or risk looking even
more provincial and isolated than she already felt.
‘How many people would you send on this mission?’
‘That would be up to Mr Ismay to
decide, but I would imagine two or three at the most’
‘Would one of them be you, Mr Hardacre?’
‘Possibly, my lady’
Hardacre had paused momentarily before answering, and Marthian wondered
for a second if he’d been expecting the question. Marthian also wondered if her
visitor had been made slightly uncomfortable by it. Perhaps, in fact, he didn’t
want to be part of the mission at all. If so, then maybe here was an opportunity.
‘Well. Tell Mr Ismay that I will
accept one envoy and that it has to be you’
Marthian hoped that she detected at least some mild discomfort on
Hardacre’s face.
‘Very well, your lady’ he said, speaking slowly, ‘I will pass that
message on to Mr Ismay’
‘Tell him that your mission will be permitted to start on the third day
from now, from early morning onwards. Someone will meet you outside this
building, an hour after sunrise’
‘Thank you, my lady’
‘You’re very welcome, Envoy Hardacre’
Hardacre rose, bowed to the proconsul and prepared to leave.
No comments:
Post a Comment