They seemed quite far from Chapalaine. From a rise she could just see the dark of its forest. She was wondering about a midday meal, then remembered the Baron was fasting today.
Certainly, Fespanarax was valuable to the Republic. The Galantines would not want to restore him to their enemies. Griff was low and clever in his own way. Just the sort of person you’d send to discreetly kill a dragon. She wondered if she could manage to keep him away. The Baron was halfway to throwing Griff off his grounds as it was.
“Sir, I’ve been . . . I’ve been thinking. I hope I don’t have to see that Ransanse person again.”
“Oh, my dear,” the Baron said. “Have you been worrying about that this entire drive? In such nice weather? Set your mind at ease. I will give you plenty of warning of his visits. I have already decided he won’t sleep under my roof. We have some canvas shepherd’s camps that will do, if he won’t stay in the inn. I will have one set up outside the gate for him. The wet ground may teach him to control his tongue. I will tell the Baroness that you will withdraw whenever he is present. I wonder just how much I should tell her of his accusations.”
“You know best, sir. It is nothing to me if you give her the details in full. Lies don’t trouble me.”
“To think he said those things while wearing his King’s uniform. Raffleth, what should we do about that?” The cat didn’t answer, as it was sleeping. “Should Baron Ransanse be—no, no, I would not care for someone else intruding on my family arrangements.”
Ahead, Ileth saw a rough pasture with a collection of perhaps fifteen wagons in a circle. They were curious sorts of wagons, round like giant logs or barrels on wheels. This was some manner of encampment.
The Baron took his cart off the road and had to concentrate on his driving.
“You’re about to meet some people who share your enthusiasm for dragons. Not that I don’t like them; they’re fascinating, but they are expensive, aren’t they? Don’t misunderstand me. I am relieved that the dragon rallied and regained his health. Losing one prisoner is bad luck. Losing two, well, that brings with it a whiff of carelessness, do you not agree? But it was a terrible plague that took our dear Heem Zwollen. I’m not sure three infants survived in the village altogether and the old people, well, they fell in windrows. In the end I had to order that anyone suspected of illness be driven away, so they didn’t even have the sacramental niceties. They died in the woods in little hovels or just by the side of the road. They were burned just as they were found. Horrible business.”
The people they approached were dressed in black, with splashes of red and white here and there, unlike the Galantines, who seemed to enjoy bright orange, lemon, and grape colors.
“They’re not even Galantine, but they do enjoy our protection. We call them the Tribals. There are some Baronies where Tribals are most unwelcome, but mine is not one of them. They are an odd sort of society. The men and women spend most of the year apart. The vast majority of the men go into the mountains with their horses and goats; the women roam about the flatlands selling their balms and trinkets. They only spend the winter together. Sometimes a baby is a full seven months old before it is presented to the father.”
The dog seemed tired, so the Baron halted and had his servant hand him up. The dog lay down between the Baron and Ileth, and the cat, shifted to the Baron’s lap, glared at the dog.
While that was happening, a procession came out to greet them. It was almost exclusively female, as the Baron had described. Ileth saw only one boy with them, and two men moving about the improvised corral their circle of wagons had made.
“Oh, Ranya, good to see you again,” the Baron said to the assembly of black-clad women. A tall woman in a red wrap inclined her head. It was difficult to tell on them what was dress, what was skirt, what might be blouse or vest and so on, for the garments were all dark and seemed intertwined and buttoned or hooked together. “Well, people, the dragon, I am happy to say, is much better, but I invite you to tend him as long as you like this summer. You may stay in this field as you did last year, but you may find it inconvenient to be this far from town. I invite you to stay on my lands. You may inhabit my theater if you wish an increase in your comfort, and beneath the seats it is cool and pleasant on even the hottest days.
“But please, no games of chance. Not even if my locals ask for it. I know they did last year and there was trouble. I simply won’t have gambling. The priest doesn’t like it and I don’t either. As long as we understand each other on that, you may sell your potions and such as you like.”
“Agreed, sir,” the tall woman he’d called Ranya said.
“I would like for you to meet a sister of sorts to you. You know, I always thought you all were unique, but it turns out she dances for dragons as well. You may find you enjoy each other’s company. This is Ileth of the Serpentine in the Vale Republic.”
Ranya looked puzzled. “Ileth. I hope to know you better. Perhaps you can teach your countrymen hospitality. Baron, will you take tea with us?”
The Baron looked uncomfortable, and then he brightened. “Ah. Not just now, Ranya. I am keeping fast, you see. I am sorry, I have other calls to make.”
He said a few more farewells and offered compliments on the condition of their wagons and turned his cart about.
“They are a curious lot, but my people seem to enjoy their entertainments. Don’t show them a coin you wish to keep,” he added quietly as he sat down again.
That night Chapalaine held a dinner party to welcome Cousin Dandas. The Vale ladies in the converted storeroom were “especially invited.” The Baron added a private note that Young Ransanse would be in attendance but had been warned by both the Baron and Dandas that he was not to approach or speak to Ileth or Galia, and he hoped the Baron’s own guarantee would be enough for them to feel safe attending.
Ileth, special invitation or no, considered begging off with a malady, since she had any number of real ones to choose from: mental exhaustion from hours of overpleasant chat with the Baron, sore muscles from being bounced around in his tippy cart with a dog panting on her, a headache from the sun—whatever the excuse the Baron would be certain to understand, as Griff, or Ransanse as he was now named, would be in attendance.
“You’re going,” Galia said. “Because if you stay behind, saying you are ill, they’ll wonder why I attended anyway when my friend is sick and needs nursing. They’ll think I must want to be there for some special reason.”
“They’re Galantines. If there’s nothing to speculate upon at their table, they’ll just talk about the neighbors, or the village, or their p-precious Court,” Ileth said. But she went. She had new shoes to wear, to go with her Galantine hand-me-downs.
It turned out to be an unexpectedly large dinner party, as everyone was eager to be introduced to this Dandas. Ileth wondered if he wasn’t a more important person at Court than had been let on. They’d brought in several additional tables and set them up in the Gallery, allowing the guests more room to mingle. Even more astonishingly, there was soup on each table instead of the usual Galantine buffet, covered and kept warm by tiny candles. One small meal table held a selection of breads and rolls. Ileth thought it strange, but the Baron’s wife explained that it was traditional to dine lightly at the end of a fast day with thin soup.
They made a small table for six, featuring Dandas, Azal and Taf, one of the Baron’s nephews to balance things, and then Galia and Ileth. The Baron called it the “young guests” table, and if there was an “old guests” table, she didn’t know the faces of the Baron’s friends well enough to recognize it.