“Oh, sorry. They’ve been staying here. I suppose you can think of my house as a branch of the Order, irregular senior member as I am.”
Getaf looked up in hesitation. “Do you think you…? Would your wife…?”
Pen felt his way forward, sharing Getaf’s uncertainty. Nikys had been nothing but generous to the lost girls, but was it right to pledge her labor into an indefinite future when a perfectly good parent had turned up after all, willing to do his part? Even more central, what was the optimum opportunity for Lencia and Seuka?
“I… actually think the chapterhouse would make a better regular domicile for them,” Pen said slowly, “given the erratic nature of my own duties, and also those of Nikys and Adelis. And there would be more kinds of people around to teach and train them, not to mention a supply of energetic young fellow-dedicats to befriend. But, really, this need not be either-or. It’s only a short walk from here. Looking in on each other would be an easy task.”
Lord Bastard, is this your intent? Pen would pray to his god for guidance, but he never did get any back when he did that, so he supposed he must use his own judgment. Though capturing two such bright souls for His Order must surely be an acceptable offering.
Getaf said wistfully, “Do they seem to like Vilnoc?”
“So far as I can tell. Though any place must seem better than Lantihera, or whatever slavery would have followed.”
A wry, conceding nod. “I could make sure my travels extend toward Lodi again. And visit, from time to time.” Left unspoken were the hazards of his own trade—Pen was put in mind of Aloro and Arditi, and hoped they’d made it back alive to Adria.
“Well, then, I suggest you put the proposal to your daughters, and discover what they think of it. I see no impediment from this end.”
Getaf’s stiff shoulders eased at this reassurance. “It could be well. It might be very well.”
“It might.” Pen pulled his queue around—Seuka had insisted on her turn to braid, this morning—and fiddled with it, perhaps not concealing his nosiness as much as he’d wish. “Do you think their mother would approve?”
An aching sort of shrug at this reminder of grief. “I can only pray so. But if they flourish, then yes. It was all she ever wanted for her girls, their well-being.”
“How did you two come to meet?” Which wasn’t really the question. But How did you two come to form a bond that could not even be broken by death? seemed too intimate a query for an hour’s acquaintance.
A brief smile. “Through her work, of course. When I was first trying to set up trade in Raspay, what, fifteen years ago now. I moved from being her regular client to her exclusive client whenever I prospered enough for it, which… wasn’t all the time, to my frustration. But we made do. Sometimes, she was my temporary factor, when I could afford no other assistance.”
Which also sounded far more like a merchant’s wife than his mistress. Well, apart from her side-jobs.
“Was she very young and beautiful, back then?”
Getaf waved an indifferent hand. “Only a little younger than me—granted, I was younger then, too. Well-looking enough, as one must be for her trade. But she made the best of herself through tidiness and health, not by the unearned gift that’s the blessing and curse of those born beautiful.” He flicked a shrewd glance at Pen, which Pen pretended not to notice.
Getaf’s expression softened. “But she was the most endlessly kind person I have ever met, of any sex or sort. Her fearless caring terrified me at times. She would take in strays, you know, others of her profession who had run into rotten situations of one sort and another. Especially the young ones, who had grown no slyness or deceit by which to defend themselves. I lost count of the number of secret Quintarians and ill-treated whores and crow-lads I smuggled out of Raspay with me as servants, to release in some port of Ibra in the hopes they might find a safer life. A few escaped Quintarian slaves, too—now, that was a dangerous game all around. I much preferred to just buy out the battered ones at Jedula’s direction, when I could afford it. Better for my poor heart.”
Penric blinked at this new picture. “Did Lencia and Seuka know all this was going on?”
“I don’t think so, or only the tip of it, when Jedula hid someone sick or injured in our house. She would certainly have misdirected or sworn the girls to silence, in those cases. But for the most part she took great care to keep them ignorant of those activities. Because even as shunned as they were in Raspay, they still had a few young friends, if only the children of others in their mother’s trade. And there would have been no controlling their chatter.”
“I see.”
Oh, my, agreed Des.
For the first time, the hidden bud of Jedula Corva’s relationship with her god seemed to unfold its secrets before Pen’s eye like a blooming flower. Beloved, god-touched, great-souled… a saint, even? The true sort, who moved through the world as silently as fishes, unnoticed by carnal eyes that focused only on outward domination and display. Never on a small woman in a small town, being kind. Soul by soul.
And her faithful lieutenant, it seemed. Pen studied the unprepossessing, middle-aged merchant, sitting oblivious to these reflections, anew.
Getaf sighed. “I suppose Jedula spoiled me for any other woman. Any other person, really. My life is going to be much… duller, now.” His grimace didn’t much resemble the buffering smile he evidently intended.
God-touched at least, then. Pen recognized that particular bereft longing left when a great Presence became a great absence. That heartbroken loss only known to those who, at some perilous apogee, had almost grasped that inchoate, indescribable essence.
The gods make it up to us at the end, I suppose. For some, that was a long and tedious wait.
A bustle at the house door; Nikys and the girls bearing trays of cool lemon-water and tasty pastries. Pen amazed the company and amused himself by generating balls of ice for their drinks. He also took this peaceable opportunity to introduce Des; they were successful at not disturbing his visitor too much. The diversion gave time to settle his own upended mind, anyway.
Getaf, who was, Pen mused, a successful trader and therefore negotiator, pitched his proposal to his daughters over the meal. Pen tried to maintain a neutral mien while this was going on, but he supposed his broad smile betrayed him when the girls leaped on his invitation to give the family a personal tour of the chapterhouse that afternoon, to examine what they were being offered more closely. Getaf definitely approved of that mercantile due diligence. Even when the sisters’ caginess was a transparent effort not to sadden him by appearing too eager to leave his protection.
The agreement between an Order and the parents or guardians of a young dedicat fell somewhere between a dower and an apprenticeship; Getaf, apparently experienced with both sorts of contracts, ironed out the details with the Bastard’s chapterhouse within two days. Waiving the age requirements, upon examination of the matter by the chapter head, was routine enough to scarcely need Pen’s clout. Children so placed would, upon their majority, have the choice of regularizing their oaths to full membership, or leaving for a lay life. Pen had no idea which Lencia and Seuka would finally choose, and finally decided it was not his task to guess so many years ahead.