Galantine women had, or pretended to have, delicate digestions and could get out of almost any activity by suggesting their food wasn’t sitting quite right.
“I am sorry to hear that. I shall have a tonic brought to your larder at once,” the Baron said. “I will give you my gentlest horse. My son is accompanying us so he can see you home.” The Baron turned to Ileth.
“You are quite safe up here, and there’s room. The dog can run, lands know he needs the exercise, and Raffleth here will sit between us. Raffleth, this is Ileth, our companion today.”
Ileth dutifully climbed onto the high cart, the cat was shifted, the dog was deposed and forced to jog alongside, and the Baron took the cart. Only a single servant rode behind, leaving room for Galia to be borne for the two minutes it took to reach the stables. There they met Young Azal of Chapalaine, already mounted and in a handsome riding helmet, and a horse was introduced, saddled, and handed over to Galia in a trice. They also tied a spare horse with a saddle to the cart.
“Our first stop is the village inn,” the Baron said. “We have distinguished visitors from Court who arrived late last night and did not wish to awaken the household. We go to retrieve them.”
They rode around the front, down through the yards of Chapalaine, past an orchard, and through the encircling wall. A gardener tending the road took off his hat as they passed.
He paused in the road to let Azal and Galia move ahead so he could drive behind them. “Interesting name, Ileth. I suppose you know it is of Galantine origin. Not much used now. The name has fallen into, well, disfavor.”
“I had . . . a relative who came from here. It’s how I know a little . . . of your language. He had some books of letters.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll forgive my patriotic prejudice, but I am pleased that you are kin of sorts and kept the language in some small way. There is no better tongue or more useful tongue west of the Inland Ocean, whether your bent is toward the arts or diplomacy. The Wurm, well, less said about them the better, though their royals are fair people. They speak Galantine as well as I do. I will not opine on your own plain good people of the Vales, though they do seem to be trustworthy and reliable in issue of money and commerce, which makes up for a certain lack of polish. I like to think the best parts of the Hypatian Ideal live on in Galantine culture, though the Elletians would dispute me. You know, I went across the Inland Ocean in my youth. There are some good people scattered about here and there, but between what’s left of their great cities, well, the pilgrimage had to travel with guards.”
Azal and Galia broke their horses into a canter. Galia had to clap a hand over her cap to keep it from flying off as she rode. The Baron urged the horse on to keep up. The dog left off his occasional sniffs at the verge and ran alongside, tail whipping in excitement. As the road came to a turn, they slowed and saw the beginnings of the village.
“I should have liked to show you my village before now, but I had to wait for the mud to dry up. Our roads are generally very good, save for a short span in spring and fall.”
In the Vales it would probably be called a town as it had more than one street. But most of the houses and establishments were low and humble and much the same sort of thing as in villages everywhere. There was a silversmith. In the Vales you had to go to a very large town to encounter a silversmith.
The Baron’s arrival in the village set all the boys in the streets in an uproar. Some left, others arrived, and nobody did anything at less speed than a run, though it seemed to be more from excitement than employment. The road widened toward the center of the village, where it turned to cobblestones surrounding a magnificent decorative fountain before a thin and solemn temple, washed white in the Galantine fashion. Women stood up from their washing to wave and nod at the Baron.
The Baron called out names and made inquiries about the health of children and livestock. All the news being agreeable, the Baron passed on his well-wishes to fathers and husbands.
The inn was the most substantial building save for the temple opposite. It had benches in front of it. Ileth thought it strange that there were no older men about; in every inn in the Vales that put out benches about the center of town you’d see men too old for work hanging about the inn, happy to give strangers direction and tips for the best table and beer.
The two riders let their horses breathe, reins idle.
A fleshy man made of smiles and anxiety, whom she presumed to be the innkeeper, came out, along with a well-dressed man with a monocle. Unlike most of the Galantine men she’d seen, the monocle-man wore neither wig nor hair tie. Instead his hair hung loose about his shoulders as in the style of the Vales. Ileth was interested in the monocle, but something else seemed off about the man and she realized he had only one ear. There was also a scar on his chin on that side, so she guessed he’d had a close call in a battle—or duel. She believed the Galantines also dueled.
“Cousin!” the Baron called.
“Cousin!” the visitor called back, raising a walking stick.
The Baron descended to greet his guest, as did his son, who did not seem overeager to address his cousin. Ileth was not told what to do, so she remained seated.
“You must tell me all that’s happened at Court first chance you get,” the Baron said.
The visitor clapped him on the shoulder. “I can do that now. A great deal always happens at Court. But it’s always exactly the same great deal whenever you go, so just imagine that and you will be up-to-date. It’s good to be away from it.” Ileth found him easy to understand, but he pitched his voice high and loud, as if he was used to talking over crowds.
“Hi, Ransanse, leave the servant to her duty and come out and meet my cousin,” the monocle-man called into the inn. The innkeeper glanced through the door and frowned.
Griff emerged onto the threshold. Elegantly dressed, fashionably wigged, bright buckles on his shoes, but unquestionably the same Griff she’d last seen being taken away in a fishing boat over his scale-stealing scheme. Ileth let out a small squeak.
“You!” Griff said. “In-In Chapalaine?”
Griff wore a light blue uniform coat with a great deal of piping that hung down to below his knees and riding boots. Underneath the coat she could see a single red crossbelt, but she didn’t know enough about Galantine uniforms to place him with a particular order.
“What’s this, Ransanse?” the man with the monocle asked.
“This is Ileth, a girl from the Serpentine,” Griff said, in better Galantine than Ileth’s. He licked his lips. “I quit the Serpentine shortly after she came in. How exactly she was admitted into the Serpentine is a mystery, but I do know that after they ascertained her character, she was put in with the dancers. Does the Baron know he’s sitting next to a public dancer in that flier? I have heard her called a jade.”
“That’s enough, young man,” the Baron said. “King’s uniform or no.”
“He was called Griff in the Republic,” Ileth said in her best Galantine. Griff startled. “He’s a thief, and this last speech proves him a liar as well, what-whatever he calls himself now.”
The monocle-man scowled. “Cousin, I hope your daughters don’t—”
Griff stepped up. “I’m entitled to the name Ransanse—I stand to inherit the estate, in time. It’s Galantine custom that you may use the property name.”
Galia jumped off her horse before the innkeeper could reach her to help her down. “What on earth is Griff doing here, Ileth?” she asked in Montangyan.
“Faith, is this another Vale girl?” the monocle-man asked. “Savage manners.”