“Did you see that? Did you see that?” She emphasized her indignation with a sound slap to the wooden frame.
“I saw,” Pirrun said. Kolhue lifted her feet from the floor trying to find where the boy had gotten to. Pirrun suspected that the balustrade was obscuring her view.
“He must have just crawled up the side of the building like vermin!” She projected her voice out into the open air as though her intended audience were beyond the balcony. Then she gave the window frame another slap before retreating into the room. “I'm going to speak with Resov. Your father is to be accompanied by sentries morning and night until we figure this thing out. I don't so much as want him taking a piss without an armed guard present.” Kolhue latched the window and stomped towards the door as she spoke. A paternal impulse to scold awoke in Pirrun whenever she made an obscene remark. Hers could be a very unlady-like rage. But Kolhue was an adult, and in any case, certainly not his child.
“You will find my father hard pressed to comply with those measures,” he said. Kolhue whipped around to face him.
“What choice does he have? He is in peril. Nuni spies are slithering in through his window by the droves!” Pirrun raised an eyebrow and tried to withhold a smirk.
“As I recall, there was but one intruder and he said that he was a thatcher.” Kolhue planted a hand on her hip, and waved towards the window with the other.
“Have you ever seen a thatcher who could do that?”
“No, but I doubt that we were in danger and so do you. You'd have pinned him to the wall by both hands and feet if you believed him threatening.” Kolhue sucked her tongue.
“I was too startled to know what I intended to do. I mean, here we were, all unsuspecting, a maiden and an old man—” Pirrun scoffed, cutting her off.
“I’m hardly old.”
“Older, then. There are no limits to what he might have done.”
“I think that you underestimate your own formidability. You look rather impressive holding a weapon.” Kolhue dropped her shoulders, somewhat subdued by the compliment. Pirrun had not meant to flatter her, only to state a fact but he was pleased by the effect. A calm Kolhue was a sensible Kolhue.
“Do you think he may have been telling the truth?” Kolhue fiddled with the bow dangling from her bodice as she spoke. Pirrun had no experience of Khode women and their dresses, but that ribbon appeared to be the crux. He could not respond. In that moment, he hardly knew what he thought. Kolhue turned her attention to the window, almost as though she expected the strange boy to come plowing through it again. “He was too well spoken for a thatcher, don't you think?” Pirrun shook his head.
“No? I don't know. What does it matter?” There was a pause during which only the floor planers one office over could be heard. Their rhythmic scraping often grated upon Kolhue but she did not appear to be listening. Her face crumpled into that expression of hers that indicated the speed of her thoughts outstripping that of her speech.
“What if Riven-Sholde really did send him? Why not bring his evidence to the earl instead of-- instead of that?” She let go of the ribbon on her dress with a small tug. There was an instant where Pirrun thought that her knot would give way, and the entire structure would fall billowing down to her ankles. He clutched the silver button tight enough to leave an imprint upon the skin, turning his gaze elsewhere.
“I was wondering the same thing myself. Do you know this maker's mark?” Pirrun held the button out for her inspection. She crossed the room to meet him, then held his hand in hers, turning the button this way and that while still pinched between his fingertips.
“You might take it from me, you realize.” His tone failed to betray how endearing he found her as she traced the embossed edges of the button. Kolhue only huffed at his suggestion, then dropped both man and button.
“Hinter Cody, the Lomumbric. He works in fine metals. His shop is in Lower Soudham. You don't suppose that he sells many buttons in this style?” At last, her curiosity had won. Pirrun slipped the button into his pocket.
“There is a way to find out.” Kolhue looked over her shoulder at the mountain of work on her desk and pouted.
“My day is undone by this,” she said. Pirrun sighed.
“The owner of this button may have ruined the lives of an entire family. I think that your ledgers can wait.”
“We might bring this matter to your father like Riven aught to have.”
“I think that Riven must have had his reasons. You don't jettison a man through a window without having your reasons.” Kolhue laughed then, catching Pirrun off guard.
Her eyes shone and her chest rose nearly above her neckline. The display, he had to confess, was not at all unpleasant. Kolhue stifled her lips with her knuckles, covering herself in a very self-aware fashion. He thought that she had noticed him looking, but without acrimony. This annoyed him. He was, on some level, an adulterer. The least that she could have done would have been to show a bit of disgust, whether she felt it or not. Then again, he was an old man to her. Maybe she didn't know.
The two of them worked together on and off in this very room for years. It had taken them some time to grow accustomed to one another and longer before the atmosphere in that office could have been called congenial. He thought her too abrasive. She thought him too wet. Both statements still held true though it came to pass that each of their strengths made up for the other's failings. A dialogue of push and pull existed between them that was not so much in conflict as it was in symbiosis. Their friendship was regular like the beat of a pendulum, regular like sunrise, regular like porridge.
Then there were moments like these when she would grab his attention and hold it, daring him to break that regularity. Everything that she did today destabilized him, right from the moment she walked in, stubbed her toe in a torrent of curses, and then proceeded to remove her shoe and stocking as though he were part of the wall. Then there was the crossbow that he did not know she kept in his father's office, and that he was certain she would fire. Gods above, give him strength.
When she spoke, he thought that she would make a joke to elaborate upon her giggling fit but she surprised him yet again.
“I was so scared!” This outburst was something between a laugh and a sob. Kolhue bit down on her knuckles, her composure dissolving into some dark hilarity. She was incomprehensible. Pirrun took her into his arms, feeling somewhat at a loss. He had never heard her express fear or anything approaching fear in all the time that he had known her. “All that I could think was, ‘If he wants my mother's hairpins, he'll have to kill me first’. The hairpins! Of all things! If he wanted to hurt you, and I hadn't been armed...” Not us, but you. He had to put an end to this conversation.
“We should get going if we want to return before nightfall,” he said. Kolhue wiped her eye with her palm, drying a tear that he hadn't seen and nodding in agreement, though her attention was focused elsewhere. She rubbed her arms as if to generate warmth. Pirrun was uncertain of what imaginings were seeping into her just then.
“That poor girl.” She spoke barely above a whisper. And all at once, he understood.
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“Wait, so tell me again what’s wrong with it?” There were a half dozen things going on around Hinter at once, each carrying its own level of significance. The fire needed to be stoked. Ozlo had been away on errand since second pointe. Lohral was going to hammer his way right through that axe handle. Calla was ringing the supper bell. And Hinter did not allow women in his smithy.
“Nothing is wrong with it. We’re merely interested in knowing the identity of the purchaser.” His lordship raised his voice to be heard over the din.
“You mean it ain’t yours?” Lord Irojah looked taken aback by the question. It was not an accusation of theft. He was just confused. And if that old woman didn’t stop ringing that damned bell…
“No. This button is potentially to be used as evidence in a civil trial.”
“What?”
“This button might have belonged to a criminal, and we need your help to identify the man!”
“What?”
“Who bought this blasted button from you?” Lady Aebeny screamed so loud that Lohral stopped hammering. The boy looked up from his work, blinking innocently.
“Could I take a gander?” Hinter walked the button over to Lohral. In truth, he did not remember smelting the thing. Lohral took one look at it and handed it back.
“It was a nobleman,” Lohral said. “About my age. Long hair. I did the work. It was around Autumn Turning.”
“A nobleman? Did you catch a name?” The lady was digging her claws into Lord Irojah’s arm as she spoke. Lord Irojah had assured him that Lady Aebeny was not to be gently handled when the two of them entered despite Hinter’s protest. She sure as hell was acting like something prone to breakage.
“It’ll be in the accounts,” Hinter said, grateful to find an exit.
In the shop, Hinter kept a tome to track his projects, written in Ozlo’s impossibly tiny hand.
“Supper is on the table!” He had not even seen Calla enter.
“Quit your caterwauling, woman! Have you no respect for company?” Calla noticed their noble guests only just then. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Begging your pardon ladyship, lordship.”
“Not at all.” The lady was as gracious a thing too. Hinter wondered who had done the gold work on her hair pins before returning to scan the ledger.
“Ah, here: Forty round silver buttons, tiger mold to be completed by apprentice Lohral Fynch upon the order of Lord Michilav Korain of Udlan.”
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Lord Nadda was tearing through the house, snarling and raging. Aythis could hear his heavy footfalls clomp, clomp, clomping up and down the corridor like a mule with a red hot poker up its ass. The amount of force that it took to make a man as willowy as Nadda sound that large was enough to shake the brass handles on the wardrobe where Aythis crouched naked and out of sight.
“There's no one here! I've said it a hundred times! There's no one—” Nova was silenced by a very pointed slap. The noise tore through wardrobe, finding Aythis out and running her clean through. Aythis balled her fist against the wall, swearing that whatever Nadda did to Nova would be repaid thrice over.
“Out of my way.” Nadda was coming closer. Aythis wiped her brow. It was hot as hell in that wardrobe. To compound her discomfort, there was belt buckle sticking in the small of her back. She didn't dare move for fear of making a sound. Nova scurried up behind her husband. In all truth, Aythis was not scared of being caught. She already had it planned. One second of shock would be allotted to her when that door flew open, and she would use it to bring her knee up to Nadda’s gentleman's area as hard and fast as humanly possible, grabbing Nova by the arm as she ran. Clothing be damned.
Nadda barged into the bedroom. Aythis watched him from the crack in the door as he tossed the bedding aside and pushed the furniture about by small measures. He was only as strong as he looked.
“Do you really think that I'd bring a man into this house? In my condition? Have you lost your mind?” Nadda tossed Nova aside as though she weighed little more than the bedding. She tumbled to the floor upon her side, clutching her stomach protectively. When he turned to face the wardrobe, Nova pushed herself to her feet and threw her pregnant bulk onto his back.
The pair of them scuffled. Aythis thought that Nadda had been hitting the pipe. His feet were slipping on the planks, and he normally had better mastery than that. He raised his fist above Nova's face, frothing at the mouth like a rabid cur, and before Aythis could intervene, Nova was holding the point of a blade to her husband's throat. It was Nadda's own blade.
“Stand down.” She was seething. Her eyes darted between Nadda and the instrument clutched in her fist. Something about that dagger was driving her to distraction. Nadda wrestled the thing out of her hand, nicking himself in the process. A trickle of blood was running down his neck but he refrained from wiping it away. He sheathed the dagger, staring at Nova all the while, and left without a backwards glance. Aythis heard the front door slam. She pressed her palms against the wardrobe door, feeling the wood panels warm beneath her touch.
Nova all but collapsed. She curled her legs up to her stomach and dug her fingernails into the floorboards. Her distress had stripped her so bare that she could not have remembered that Aythis was close. This was a woman who often touched, though rarely allowed herself to be touched. She erected great spires of haughtiness and outright frigidity around herself, not because she thought that other people were unworthy but because she thought herself so. Their affections kindled such a horror in her that they needed to be fought. It was just as well that Nova had consigned herself to a man like Nadda, who had no love to spare and imparted less.
Aythis cautiously eased the door open. To stay safe inside the wardrobe was to mingle voyeurism with cowardice, neither of which left a pleasant taste in her mouth.
Nova did not acknowledge her presence as she lay down on the floor facing her. Her fingertips sought Nova’s hair, fluttering so tentatively that the touch could have been anything that Nova needed it to be—a caress, a grooming, an accident. Nova’s lips parted, displaying something very akin to shock. Aythis pulled her hand away from Nova’s hair and awaited the backlash, but there was none. Instead, Nova wrapped her arms around Aythis’s neck and clung, so raw with need that it took Aythis’s breath away. Aythis pulled Nova up into a more dignified position, placing a hand on her belly. This had been a lot of stress for a woman whose suffering was nigh.
“You have to get out of here, Aythis. He’s crazy. That knife had blood flaking all over it.” She rocked Nova from side to side, but made no indication that she was leaving. She would stay until she was certain that Nova no longer needed her.
“Don't fret yourself. I ain't afraid of that man, or any.” This was not bravado, but a fact. Everything that Aythis had in life was stolen, and Nadda Sholde would not have been the first to come to collect.
********************************************************************
Ynav's head was ringing. He plunged his face into a nearby watering trough, knowing that desperation could force a man to sink no lower. Tiny air bubbles flew up his nostrils as he teetered upon his knees. What he really needed was for someone to punch him in the stomach, perhaps repeatedly. Anything to make his chest stop constricting. Kolhue had the button now, and it was as good as an accusation.
Ynav heard a muffled voice over the shouts from the tavern. It sounded like the voice was coming from his immediate surroundings, but the words were jumbled. He pulled his head out of the water and looked around, frantic. The street was empty.
“Wha--? Who's there?”
“Up here, sir.” Ynav squinted into the dark high above. He knew that Nuni drawl.
“Gile?” His form was an inky splotch against the night sky, blotting out the stars.
“Yeah, it’s me. I said, ‘Nice night for it, aye?’” He could not see Gile's face in the shadows but he imagined him to be smirking.
“May you be twice roasted and once devoured for that remark, Gile. How did it go today?”
“Her ladyship came at me with a crossbow, and I nearly wet myself. All things considered, it was a great success.” A wave of nausea hit Ynav just then. He raised a hand to pause the conversation and then wasted his last meal into the trough. “Are you alright, Riven-Sholde sir?”
“I am precisely as I should be. What you are witnessing here, Gile, is but the mating ritual of the drunk. You see, first you select the object whose acquaintance you would like to further. Then you embrace it and stick your face in it, culminating in that object's use as a receptacle for your bodily secretions.”
“Charming. Need me to walk you home, stallion?”
“I must confess that I've had prettier escorts. No, I'll be fine.” Ynav kneaded his chest with his fingertips. He had tried to drink enough to stop his heart from pounding, but there was not enough spirit in all of Udlan.
“May I ask what's troubling you, sir?” Ynav slumped down onto the dirt. Despair could force a man to sink no lower.
“I think that I may have just made the biggest mistake of my life,” he said.
“The bottle or the button?”
“The button, to be sure.”
“Explain it to me?” Ynav wondered more than once if Gile had overheard his conversation with Nettie on the lawn that day. In the dark, without the benefit of seeing Gile’s affect, he remained none the wiser. And he dared not ask plainly.
“Best leave it, Gile.” A bottle broke inside the tavern, inciting a partial hush. The constant company of raucous males would seem to be Ynav’s lot in life, from his military upbringing right to his vice-filled adulthood.
“Is there anything I can do?” Ynav squinted up at the incorporeal blur that was Gile Sohn.
“Kind of you to ask, but no.” There was a pause. A woman cackled above the din in the tavern. Ynav could feel himself drifting off. His basest yearnings having been fulfilled in the tough, he could only think of sleep. These background noises were but a mother’s lullaby to the drunk. Ynav only prayed that in bedding down next to a trough, he did not awaken with fleas.
“If you don’t mind my saying it, I've noticed you wandering around out here at night more than usual since that trouble at the Gomohov house,” Gile said. Ynav snorted, no longer bothering to open his eyes for a man that he could not see.
“Oh really? And what about me in my nighttime wanderings has made me so noticeable?”
“You stumble a lot.”
“Do I?” It was a self-evident truth. I drink, therefore I stumble.
“Aye sir,” Gile replied. “But you never fall.” Ynav lolled his head against the trough, squinting blearily upward. There was a lesson hidden in plain view of all of this but he hadn’t the energy to seek it out. And just like that, the ghostly figure of Gile Sohn disappeared from the skyline.
You know how it is when you've been simming for a long time and you get really good at posing? No? Me neither.
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