Then he showed them their suite, one and a half rooms decorated in an English-hunt-country style (at least that’s how Dale described it), the walls painted to look like they were paneled with burled wood and the overstuffed furniture upholstered in faux leather and suede; framed prints of riders on horseback and foxhounds hung in sets of six along with the mounted heads of a horned gazelle and what looked to be a bobcat. There was a baronial carved-post bed in the inner room and the sofa outside was a sleeper and the bathroom, though not large, was beautifully tiled and set with an antique basin and claw-foot tub fitted with nickel-plated fixtures. There were only eight suites total (refitted from twenty rooms when they bought the property) because they never had more than a half-dozen guests and wanted each room done in a distinctive style, Vienna 1900 and Old Plantation and Balinese Treehouse, the work of finding and restoring pieces gradually accomplished over the years. They finally got everything done this spring, and though Dale was clearly pleased and proud to show off the inn, he admitted that without an ongoing project it was much too quiet, though Landon preferred it that way.
That evening at supper they met the other lodgers, two couples who owned their own businesses and a salesman for one of the huge agri-food concerns and a family of four from Denmark, who were touring America and were intentionally spending some time in the open counties. The Danes were exceptionally tall and attractive, and spoke a perfect, grammatical English, which was a stark contrast to the couples and the salesman, who were counties people of clearly decent means but were coarse in their manner and expressions and what they were willing to talk about at the table with strangers. One of the men kept going on about the side-by-side basins in his bathroom (the Aix-en-Provence suite) and how he made the mistake of doing his business in the wrong one and having to transfer it by hand to the other, which his wife and the other couple and the salesman wildly hooted at but that made Glynnis blanch with revulsion and misery. The Danish family was neither delighted nor disgusted, but rather fascinated, taking detailed mental notes about the social character and practices of these endemic creatures.
It was a good thing that Dale and Landon were in the kitchen at the time, as Landon in particular would have been appalled and perhaps demanded the rude guest leave the table and maybe the inn; you could see he was a fastidious and somewhat severe young man who held himself to an impossibly high standard and was being ground down inside by the burr of constant compromise and disappointment. But this made him, among other things, a needlessly excellent cook; the platters of pasta and salad and grilled wild pig that Dale brought out (it was Tuscan night) were as deftly executed and maybe tastier than most Charter restaurant fare, and he served to the adults tout compris a small glass of red wine — something you never saw outside of Charter villages because of its ludicrous price — simply because it was the perfect accompaniment to the meal.
The deep flavors and genuine warmth filling his belly made Quig think that perhaps life in the counties wouldn’t be as horrible as they assumed. Of course, they were spending a near tenth of their money stash for this single night and couldn’t justify staying for any longer, but the rational calculations that he would normally make didn’t seem relevant, not when he saw how the good food and softly lighted dining room was definitely calming Glynnis and had already lifted Trish out of her silence, as she was now gabbing with the Danish girl about their favorite pop singers and boy bands. They asked to be excused and went off to the chintz-heavy “reading room” to exchange songs and vids. Meanwhile, the adults discussed the issues of the day, at least as far as the open counties were concerned, the Danes and their teenage son listening intently and nodding and periodically asking for clarification of a certain term or reference.
The primary focus of their talk was an enduring counties topic, at least as Quig and Glynnis understood it when they were Charters, which was the idea of confederating the many hundreds of counties communities in this part of the country, much like the Charters were organized. One of the problems was the sheer number of them, some constituted and run like any old-time town or small city, with a fairly dependable infrastructure and public services, the much greater number being impromptu settlements that had grown over the years and were known only by somebody’s name, such as Tinkersville or the Vromans. Those who believed in confederation were always trying to enlist the contiguous or neighboring settlements to pool security and emergency resources, and increase their negotiating power for services, but it never got very far, the leaderships of the entities ultimately unable to agree on who would subordinate themselves, despite the fact that joining together would likely benefit their people. The settlements originally developed because the old-time towns and small cities were dying off because of crushing debts, as they couldn’t afford to run the schools and repave streets and fix the sewers, the last intact services usually being the police. There were many opportunistic gangs and sundry marauders. But it didn’t take long for the inevitable turn, which is that the police forces took over the towns, the chiefs and their officers deposing (often violently) the mayors and other administrators; in fact, many of the settlements are now led by the descendants of those first strongmen, who generation after generation have exercised a martial level of control over their residents, and have profited commensurately through the direct or shadow ownership of food stores and the flow of utilities. Naturally, the generally dismal quality of life from time to time fomented brutal coups, the latest instance of which usually pushed another round of chatter about confederation and its promise of stability and security, which is what was happening now.
The whole idea is to follow a Charter model, one of the women said. Her name was Ursula. It’s better for all. Why should Bennett and I keep trying to expand our clothing business when we know somebody from the counties council is going to come up and threaten to shoot us in the face and sell our kids to slavers if we don’t give them a quarter of our receipts?
We oughta live in a more civilized way, the fellow who brought up his bidet replied. But then we’re not as smart as Charters!
Or as good-looking! Bennett hooted. They toasted one another, not with the precious wine, which they’d instantly slurped down, but with a big bottle of moonshine one of them had BYOB’d.
I think it’s about the councils just stringing us along, the salesman said. They know what they’re doing. Keep us talking and arguing about this detail and that, keep us off balance. Keep us wondering. But they’re not going to give up anything of real value, let me tell you. Your grandkids will be having this same conversation when they’re our age. That’s why I’ll never have a family. No offense, but what’s the point?
So why the hell bother? Ursula asked him. What are you even hoping for?
The salesman extended his own emptied wineglass and Bennett poured him a shot of the clear spirits. Who knows? he said, drinking it down, wincing but satisfied. His voice was whispery from the burn. I’m just passing time, like everybody else. I try to earn enough to always have a full belly and a warm, dry place to sleep and to cover my handscreen fees.