The protocol officer carried a cloth-covered square of fiberboard, not quite two cubits on a side, over to Radnal. He murmured, “The veil unfastens from the top. Hold the emblem up so the crowd can see it as you lower the veil.” Radnal obeyed. The dignitaries clapped. Most of them smiled; a few even laughed. Radnal smiled, too. What better way to symbolize Trench Park than a koprit bird perching on a thornbush?
Bortav vez Pamdal waved him to the microphone once more. He said, “I thank you again, Your Excellency, now on behalf of all Trench Park staff. We shall bear this insigne proudly.”
He stepped away from the microphone, then turned his head and hissed to the protocol officer, “What do I do with this thing?”
“Lean it against the side of the podium,” the unflappable official answered. “We’ll take care of it.” As Radnal returned to his seat, the protocol officer announced, “Now we’ll adjourn to the Grand Reception Hall for drinks and a luncheon.”
Along with everyone else, Radnal found his way to the Grand Reception Hall. He took a glass of sparkling wine from a waiter with a silver tray, then stood around accepting congratulations from important officials. It was like being a tour guide: he knew most of what he should say, and improvised new answers along old themes.
In a flash of insight, he realized the politicians and bureaucrats were doing the same thing with him. The whole affair was formal as a figure dance. When he saw that, his nervousness vanished for good.
Or so he thought, until Toglo came smiling up to him. He dipped his head. “Hello, freelady, it’s good to see you again.”
“If I was Toglo zev through danger in Trench Park, I remain Toglo zev here safe in Tarteshem.” She sounded as if his formality disappointed her.
“Good,” he said. Despite her pledge of patronage before she hiked away from the lodge, plenty of people friendly to Trench Park staff in the Bottomlands snubbed them if they met in the city. He hadn’t thought she was that type, but better safe.
As if by magic, Bortav vez Pamdal appeared at Radnal’s elbow. The Hereditary Tyrant’s cheeks were a little red; he might have had more than one glass of sparkling wine. He spoke as if reminding himself: “You already know my niece, don’t you, freeman vez Krobir?”
“Your — niece?” Radnal stared from Bortav to Toglo. She’d called herself a distant collateral relation. Niece didn’t fit that definition.
“Hope you enjoy your stay here.” Bortav slapped Radnal on the shoulder, breathed wine into his face, and ambled off to hobnob with other guests.
“You never said you were his niece,” Radnal said. Now that he was suddenly an aristocrat, he might have imagined talking to the clanfather of the Hereditary Tyrant’s distant collateral relative. But to talk to Bortav vez Pamdal’s brother or sister-husband… impossible. Maybe that made him sound peevish.
“I’m sorry,” Toglo answered. Radnal studied her, expecting the apology to be merely for form’s sake. But she seemed to mean it. She said, “Bearing my clan name is hard enough anyway. It would be harder yet if I told everyone how close a relative of the Hereditary Tyrant’s I am. People wouldn’t treat me like a human being. Believe me, I know.” By the bitterness in her voice, she did.
“Oh,” Radnal said slowly. “I never thought of that, Toglo zev.” Her smile when he used her name with the polite particle made him feel better.
“You should have,” she told him. “When folk hear I’m from the Pamdal clan, they either act as if I’m made of glass and will shatter if they breathe on me too hard, or else they try to see how much they can get out of me. I don’t care for either one. That’s why I minimize the kinship.”
“Oh,” Radnal’s snort of laughter was aimed mostly at himself. “I always imagined being attached to a rich and famous clan made life simpler and easier, not the other way round. I never thought anything bad might be mixed with that. I’m sorry, for not realizing it.”
“You needn’t be,” she said. “I think you’d have treated me the same even if you’d known from the first heartbeat who my uncle happened to be. I don’t find that often, so I treasure it.”
Radnal said, “I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about which family you belonged to.”
“Well, of course, Radnal vez. You’d be stupid if you didn’t think about it. I don’t expect that; until the koprit bird, I thought the gods were done with miracles. But whatever you were thinking, you didn’t let it get in the way.”
“I tried to treat you as much like everyone else as I could,” he said.
“I thought you did wonderfully,” she answered. “That’s why we became friends so fast down in Trench Park. It’s also why I’d like us to stay friends now.”
“I’d like that very much,” Radnal said, “provided you don’t think I’m saying so to try and take advantage of you.”
“I don’t think you’d do that.” Though Toglo kept smiling, her eyes measured him. She’d said she’d had people try to take advantage of her before. Radnal doubted those people had come off well.
“Being who you are makes it harder for me to tell you I also liked you very much, down in the Bottomlands,” he said.
“Yes, I can see that it might,” Toglo said. “You don’t want me to think you seek advantage.” She studied Radnal again. This time, he studied her, too. Maybe the first person who’d tried to turn friendship to gain had succeeded; she was, he thought, a genuinely nice person. But he would have bet his five thousand units of silver that she’d sent the second such person packing. Being nice didn’t make her a fool.
He didn’t like her less for that. Maybe Eltsac vez Martois was attracted to fools, but Eltsac was a fool himself. Radnal had called himself many names, but fool seldom. The last time he’d thought that about himself was when he found out what Lofosa and Evillia really were. Of course, when he made a mistake, he didn’t do it halfway.
But he’d managed to redeem himself — with help from that koprit bird.
Toglo said, “If we do become true friends, Radnal vez, or perhaps even more than that”-a possibility he wouldn’t have dared mention himself, but one far from displeasing-“promise me one thing.”
“What?” he asked, suddenly wary. “I don’t like friendship with conditions. It reminds me too much of our last treaty with Morgaf. We haven’t fought the islanders in a while, but we don’t trust them, or they us. We saw that in the Bottomlands, too.”
She nodded. “True. Still, I hope my condition isn’t too onerous.”
“Go on.” He sipped his sparkling wine.
“Well, then, Radnal vez Krobir, the next time I see you in a sleepsack with a couple of naked Highhead girls — or even Strongbrows — you will have to consider our friendship over.”
Some of the wine went up his nose. That only made him choke worse. Dabbing at himself with a linen square gave him a few heartbeats to regain composure. “Toglo zev, you have a bargain,” he said solemnly.
They clasped hands.
The Wheels of If
L. Sprague de Camp
King Oswiu of Northumbria squirmed in his chair. In the first place these synods bored him. In the second, his mathematics comprised the ability to add and subtract numbers under twenty on his fingers. Hence all this argument among the learned clerics, assembled in Whitby in the year of Our Lord 664, about the date of Easter and the phases of the moon and cycles of 84 and 532 years, went over the King’s head completely.
What did the exact date of Easter matter, anyhow? If they wanted to, why couldn’t the Latins celebrate their Easter when they wanted, and the Ionans celebrate theirs? The Ionans had been doing all right, as far as Oswiu could see. And then this Wilfrid of York had to bring in his swarms of Latin priests, objecting to this and that as schismatic, heretical, etc. They were abetted by Oswiu’s queen, Eanfled, which put poor Oswiu in an awkward position. He not only wanted peace in the family, but also hoped to attain to Heaven some day. Moreover, he liked the Abbot Colman, leader of the Ionans. And he certainly didn’t want any far-off Bishop of Rome sticking his nose into his affairs. On the other hand…