The bronzed stranger had rather a prominent nose, and perched upon it was an odd framework of metal with two coin-sized pieces of glass set in it, one in front of each eye. He took this off with one hand as though it was a hat (that was left on) and made a deep bow. I half expected his hat to fall off, but it appeared to be held in place by three jewel-headed pins.
When he straightened, the fellow spoke at the Doctor in a language quite unlike anything I had ever heard before, full of strange gutturals and odd tonal shifts.
She looked at him blankly. His friendly expression seemed to waver. Duke Walen’s eyes narrowed. Ulresile’s smile broadened and he took in a breath.
Then the Doctor grinned, and reached out and took the stranger’s hands in hers. She laughed and shook her head and out of her mouth rattled a stream of sound that sounded very like the sort of sound the stranger had produced. In amongst all this expeditious blabbering I caught the words “Drezen” (though it sounded more like “Drech-tsen”), “Pressel”, “Vosill” and, several times, something that sounded like Koo-doon. The pair of them stood beaming huge smiles at each other and talking in a continuous stream of sound, all the time laughing and nodding and shaking their heads. I watched the smile on Duke Ulresile’s face fade slowly, withering like a cut flower. The sullen, hooded expression on the new Duke Walen’s face did not alter. The Guard Commander Adlain looked on with a fascinated expression, his gaze flitting to Ulresile now and again, a tiny smile playing around his lips.
“Oelph,” I heard the Doctor say, and she turned to me. “Oelph,” she said again, holding one hand out to me. She was still grinning broadly. “This is gaan Kuduhn, from Drezen! Gaan Kuduhn,” she said to the foreigner. “Blabber blabber Oelph,” (well it sounded so to me) she said to him. I recalled that the Doctor had told me that a gaan was some sort of part-time diplomatic rank.
The tall, bronzed man took the wire contraption off his nose again and bowed to me. “I ham press to meet yore, Welph,” he said slowly in something resembling Haspidian.
“How do you do, Mr Kuduhn,” I said, also bowing.
She introduced Duke Ormin too. The gaan had already met Walen, Ulresile and the Guard Commander.
“The gaan is from an island in the same group as my own,” the Doctor said. She looked quite flushed and excited. “He was invited here from Cuskery by the old Duke Walen to discuss trade. He took a quite different route to mine but it seems to have taken him just as long. He has been away from Drezen almost as long as I have so he has little fresh news, but it is just so good to hear Drezeni spoken again!” She turned her smile to him again as she said, “I think I shall see if I can persuade him to stay and found a proper embassy.” She started blabbering to him again.
Ulresile and Walen looked at each other. Guard Commander Adlain looked up at the ceiling of the great hall for a moment, then he made a small tutting noise. “Well, gentlemen,” he said to the three Dukes. “I think we are somewhat surplus to requirements here, don’t you?”
Duke Ormin gave a distracted, “Hmm.” The other two men glared on at the Doctor and the gaan Kuduhn with what looked like disappointment, though in the new Duke Walen’s case this required no alteration to his normal expression.
“Fascinating though I’m sure this exchange is in its native language, I have other business to attend to,” Adlain said. “If you’ll excuse me…” He nodded to the Dukes and walked off, nodding to the two bulky guard captains, who followed in his wake.
“Duke Walen, Duke Ulresile,” the Doctor said, still smiling. “Thank you so much. I am most flattered you thought to introduce me to the gaan with such dispatch.”
The new Duke Walen remained silent. Ulresile seemed to swallow something bitter. “Our pleasure, madam.”
“Is the gaan required for an audience with the King?” she asked.
“No, he is not required for an audience with the King,” Ulresile said.
“Then may I take him from you for a while? I’d so much like to talk with him.”
Ulresile tipped his head and gave a small twist of a smile. “Please. Be our guest.”
Master, I spent a bell and a half with the Doctor and her newfound friend in an alcove off the Song Court Gallery and learned nothing except that Drezeni talk like the world is due to end at any moment and sometimes take their wine with water and a little sugar. The gaan Kuduhn did have an audience with the King later that day, and asked the Doctor to interpret for him, as his Imperial was little better than his Haspidian. She agreed happily.
That afternoon, I was sent by myself to the apothecary Shavine to buy chemicals and other supplies for the Doctor’s workshop. The Doctor looked quite radiant when I left, dressing and preparing with great care for her meeting with the gaan Kuduhn and the King. When I inquired, I was told that I would not be needed again until the evening.
It was a fine, warm day. I took the long way to the apothecary’s, walking down by the docks and recalling the stormy night half a year earlier when I had come here in search of the children who had been sent for ice. I recalled the child in the cramped, filthy room in the tenement in the poor quarter and the terrible fever that had killed her despite all the Doctor could do.
The docks smelled of fish and tar and the sea.
Clutching a hamper of glazed clay jars and glass tubes all wrapped in straw, I stopped off at a tavern. I tried some wine with water and sugar, but it was not to my taste. For some time I just sat and stared at the street through the open window. I returned to the palace around the fourth bell of the evening.
The door to the Doctor’s apartments hung open. This was not like her. I hesitated to proceed further, suddenly filled with a sense of dread. I entered and found a pair of short dress boots and a small formal waist-cape lying on the floor of the sitting room. I put my hamper of chemicals and ingredients down on the table and went through to the workshop, where I could hear a voice.
The Doctor sat with her feet up on the workshop bench, her naked heels resting on a sheaf of papers, her legs exposed to the knee and the neck of her gown unbuttoned over her chest. Her long copper-red hair hung down loose behind her. One of the room’s roof-hung censers swung in slow loops above her head, leaving a smoky, herb-scented trail. Her battered old knife lay on the bench by her elbow. She held a goblet. Her face looked red about the eyes. I got the impression she had been talking to herself. She turned to me and fixed me with a watery look.
“Ah, Oelph,” she said.
“Mistress? Are you all right?”
“Oh, not really, Oelph.” She picked up a jug. “Want a drink?”
I looked around. “Shall I just close the apartment door?”
She appeared to consider this. “Yes,” she said. “Closing doors seems to be the order of the day. Why not? Then come back and have a drink. It’s sad to drink alone.”
I went and closed the door, found a goblet and brought another chair into the workshop to sit with her. She poured some liquor into my goblet.
I looked into the vessel. The liquid did not smell. “What is this, mistress?”
“Alcohol,” she said. “Very pure.” She sniffed at it. “Though it still has an intriguing bouquet.”
“Mistress, is this the distillation you have the royal apothecary make for us?”
“The same,” she said, drinking from her goblet.
I sipped at it, then coughed and tried not to splutter it back out again. “It’s strong, isn’t it?” I said hoarsely.
“It needs to be,” the Doctor said in a morose tone.
“What is wrong, mistress?”