“Master Ubi Getaf, I take it,” said Pen, rising to greet this welcome, if sudden, apparition. The letter being abused in that thick fist was the one he’d written to Learned Iserne in Lodi, three weeks ago when they’d first reached Vilnoc, tightly summarizing his late adventures and begging her help in finding the wandering merchant. She had followed through splendidly, it seemed.
“Learned Penric?” said Getaf, less surely. He clambered to his feet and, both his hands being occupied by his clinging offspring, ducked his head at Penric. He continued in halting Cedonian, “I understand I have much to thank you for in rescuing my children.”
Pen returned in smooth Ibran, “It was no more than any decent adult would have done, under the circumstances.”
Well, perhaps a little more, murmured Des, amused. He would wait a while, Pen decided, to introduce Des.
Getaf’s head went back as he parsed Pen’s regional Ibran accent. “You… are from Brajar…?”
“No, but my language teacher was, long ago.” And I thank you for it, Learned Aulia, he thought to that layer of Des that was the Brajaran Temple woman, who had once received Des from the dying Umelan like the baton in some mortal relay.
Getaf accepted this with another nod, too distracted to be curious. The girls dragged him to a bench, both trying to tell all their tale at once in a mixture of Roknari, which he seemed to speak well, and a little Ibran. He sat heavily, his head swinging back and forth like a man trying to follow some fast-moving ball game, or perhaps a bear befuddled by bees.
Nikys folded her arms and leaned back against the pergola post, listening in understandable bafflement, as she had some Roknari but no Ibran. But Pen thought she followed the emotions perfectly well, and approved. He pulled out his bench and motioned her to his side, where they sat, her soft thigh in its draped linen pressing companionably against his lean one. Don’t you dare disappear on me like that again he received in a language more fundamental than any that tripped from his tongue. He grasped her plump hand and returned an equally silent, Aye, Madame Owl.
He murmured to her, “Does Getaf seem an upright fellow to you?”
Equally intent on the reunion playing out, Nikys murmured back, “Look at the girls. Such unhesitating gladness goes beyond just relief at a familiar face, I think.”
Thanks in great part to Nikys the sisters were clean; shining hair neatly bound in braids and colored ties; fed, if not to sleekness, at least to the point that their natural skinniness no longer looked sunken with stress; and dressed in a superior grade of hand-me-downs that Nikys had begged from the duchess’s household. Penric was pleased that they were able to present the pair to their papa in such good order, as though he were again a student offering some especially well-done work to one of his seminary masters. He hoped he’d get a good mark.
Getaf’s expression sobered as the girls worked their way back to the tale of their mother’s death, the details all new to him since Pen’s letter had devoted only a clause about died from illness in Raspay to the root calamity.
“I am so sorry,” he told them. “I’d heard nothing of this. When the prince of Jokona’s border clash with Ibra closed his coasts to Zagosur trade, I thought to wait it out with a venture west. The Zagosur factor should have forwarded your letter to me, not returned it. And Taspeig should most certainly have accompanied you all the way to Lodi, not abandoned you at Agenno, although… although that might not have helped.”
“She was very tired and cranky by then,” Lencia offered in excuse. “We all were. And I think she was running out of money.”
“Still. Still.”
Seuka raised her face. “Are you going to take us home now, Papa?”
Getaf hesitated, too palpably. Where was home for these sisters now, really? Raspay seemed as abandoned behind them as any sunken ship, with not even a floating spar left to cling to.
Lencia, as ever the more alert to the difficulties, put in, “Or at least take us along with you?”
That was a, hm, not-bad picture, of living like young apprentices trailing a master trader and learning the world, as many such men made their sons. And sometimes daughters.
Getaf rubbed his forehead, frowning into his lap. “That presents certain problems, which I must take thought for. I can’t take you back to Zagosur. Which, I suppose, was never home for you anyway. But I won’t leave you without succor; that, I promise.” He looked across at Pen and switched to Cedonian. “Learned Penric, may I speak with you in private for a moment?”
Pen and Nikys glanced at each other. Nikys rose, and said kindly, “Lencia, Seuka, can you come help me fetch food and drink for your papa?”
Lencia frowned, and Seuka’s lower lip stuck out, wary of the risk of people arranging their lives without their say-so. Penric sympathized, but construed there might be personal matters Getaf didn’t wish to share with them. As well, Nikys could seize this chance for a candid conference with his daughters. Pen nodded brightly at them, and they let themselves be shuffled off, only dragging their sandaled feet a little.
Getaf watched them disappear into the house, then lowered his voice and said in Ibran, “May I take it they were not worse abused by the pirates?”
“You may. Apparently due to their higher sale value as virgins. Which, er, they have retained.”
Getaf nodded in relief. Then paused, mustering his words. “Your friend Learned Iserne caught up with me just in time in Lodi. I’d finished amassing my trade goods there, and in another week I would have been on my way back to Zagosur.” He chewed his lip. “I don’t think it wise to try to take Lencia and Seuka to my household there. My wife holds all in firm hands, very reliable manager, has nurtured our own children near to maturity, with a useful web of in-laws, but… I don’t think she would make them very welcome. They deserve better than grudging care, and because of my business I would not be much there to provide a balancing weight.”
“I gather Madame Getaf does not know about your mistress?” Or had Jedula Corva been more in the nature of a second wife?
Getaf shook his head. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way. Given there is nothing left in Raspay to argue about.”
“Understandable…”
“Jedula was an anchor to me, but to the extent I’d thought about anything happening to her and not me, I assumed I would pay Taspeig to care for the girls, in their house as before. I can’t see taking them back to Taspeig now, given her unreliable behavior in Agenno. Anyway, I expect she has gone on to find some other life for herself. And the status of half-Quintarian orphans in Raspay, even if they’re not destitute, is not happy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Getaf stared into his hands, cradled between his knees, then looked up at Pen more keenly. “What can you tell me about the Bastard’s Order here in Vilnoc? Is it well-run?”
Pen’s brows rose. “The orphanage is as decent as it can manage. Chronically short of funds and staff, like most such places, but its people are very dedicated.”
Getaf waved this aside. “No, no. I’d take our chances in Zagosur before I’d leave the girls in an orphanage. Spare those resources for the truly needy. I’m thinking about the chapterhouse itself. Lencia and especially Seuka are a little young to be placed as dowered dedicats to the Order, but… perhaps you have some influence there?”
“Huh.” Pen folded his arms on the plank table. “There’s an interesting notion.”
“A good chapterhouse might assume their care and education at a higher level than an orphanage can provide, and keep them together if their dower-contract so instructed. And… and for the first time in their lives, their birth-status might make them more, not less, welcomed. Um—where have they been staying in Vilnoc till now? Your letter was unclear on that point.” He pressed the wrinkled paper out on the table in a nervous gesture.