October 9 / Hagalsan 17
The flotilla had settled into a rhythm over the last three delays since departing Sigalburg. With plenty of time to spare, they would anchor through the night, usually at a village or manor house. Each day, one or two of the lesser noble families would sail with Elspith and Alboim in the main barge, though Briony and Kalmira, as the countess’s relatives-by-law, were a constant presence.
At dawn, a team of twelve draft horses would be harnessed in the new horse collars, and they would tow the barges up the Barugala. By changing teams every three or four hours, they were able to make thirty to forty miles a day; painfully slow by Alboim’s standards, but everyone else marveled at the speed. The entire party was guarded by seventy-five soldiers, two files on land and another distributed on the barges, and more than a hundred slaves tended to the thirty nobles. Surprisingly, the sailors themselves were freemen, and they could order even Elspith around in the course of their duties.
Alboim had even gotten used to—somewhat—to his new slaves. The five, a complete family, had been waiting for him in his cabin aboard the Redwood Pride, Elspith’s personal barge.
“These are the slaves Lady Elspith has chosen for you.” Bennit had said as he introduced the fox-people family, all in silver collars. Alboim had learned that was unusual for constructed slaves, who rarely earned bronze collars. The two youngest, Kerria and Cassia, he’d met already, the thirteen-year-old fox-girls from his first day on Iosa. They would be apprentice maids under their mother, Clary, who would function as his head maid. Bassaros, their father would be his valet, freeing Bennit to more properly fulfill his Butler duties.
Their eldest daughter, Lusmore, was introduced as his new bedwarmer.
Alboim had nearly balked when Bennit had broached the idea to him back at Brantle Castle. Nobles were expected to keep entire stables of bedwarmers. His lack could be partially explained by his recent arrival and bolstered by the exotic nature of his harem. Despite steeling himself for it, it was awkward to be introduced to her in front of both parents, and both appearing pleased with the decision.
~*** *** ***~
The young lord was an odd duck, Bassaros thought to himself as he slipped into the cabin to wake the lord for breakfast. Clary and he had been worried at Lusmore’s growing beauty, but her assignment to the heir’s bedchamber at least meant she would not be given to a passing lord, as happened in many households.
But the master did not touch her, or the other bedwarmer, instead explaining that he hated the very idea of slavery, and only the need to appear the proper nobleman had convinced him to go along with the charade. Indeed, despite the wide bed, the two girls slept in contraptions Lord Alboim called hammocks. They were quite comfortable, and stowed, took almost no room.
After allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim room, he gently shook his new master’s shoulder. “Lord Alboim,” “The dawn will break soon, and breakfast is nigh upon us.” He spoke with a voice that would make velvet seem rough, or honey sour, a deep, rich baritone.
The Lord woke almost instantly and sat up in bed. “Thank you, Bassaros.” He disappeared behind a screen to dress—something he insisted he do himself. It had only been a few days, and he could tell that it would be quite the experience being Lord Alboim’s valet. He brushed back a lock of cinnamon-red hair from his eyes, and quickly groomed his whiskers before waking the girls as well.
Lusmore greeted him. “Good morning, Father. How is your day?” She was a beautiful fox-girl; eighteen and with a brilliant orangy-red pelt, tipped with white at her ears, snout, and the last third of her bushy tail. She reminded him of her mother at that age.
“Good morning, Valet Bassaros.” Suzsise echoed.
“Good morning, ladies. I am well.” He calmly replied. As was proper, they stayed in bed, waiting for him to leave with the Young Lord. Speaking of, he soon reappeared dressed for the day, in casual clothes appropriate for the circumstances. Easy to move in, simply designed, yet refined enough to greet the young ladies and their mothers aboard ship.
Bassaros cast a critical eye over his Lord’s wardrobe choice. A loose off-white linen shirt with a dark green vest of light wool, tight black trousers tucked into alligator boots. A wide-brimmed hat of the Lord’s own design, he called a Panama hat, bleached white with a green band that matched the vest.
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“Those hats of yours are quite dashing.” the fox-man commented. “It could do with a little more flair, though. I believe that one of the soldiers shot a griffon, and one of its scarlet tail feathers would accent your attire nicely. Otherwise, your dress is adequate. However, I must insist on more input in your dress once we reach the capital. Now, the sword, and you are set to break the fast with Lady Elspith and her guests.” He helped strap on the black leather baldric over his new lord’s chest and around his waist, then adjusted the short, single-edged sword—little more than an extra-large knife—known as a krieghant to the Lord’s liking. “I will gather a few feathers and decorate the hat during your siesta.”
Alboim grunted in acknowledgement. Bassaros was learning that, unlike Lady Elspith, he was not a morning person. A pot of strong tea would remedy that. He opened the cabin door for his lord.
The predawn air hit them like a freight train. It was warm, moist, smelling of mud and rotting vegetation. Bassaros was used to it; he’d grown up here in Brantle County after all, but Lord Alboim’s face instantly broke out in sweat. He muttered something about ‘air conditioning’ that his valet ignored.
“Come, Lord. Lady Elspith is waiting for us.” He led Alboim toward the prow of the river barge.
Already, Elspith missed Dobsen. Roscrans was a capable subordinate but lacked the breadth of experience the older butler had. After seeing them off at Sigalburg, he had returned to Brantle to run it in her absence. Tucked away safely were twenty far-speech circles paired with ones Dobsen carried for them to communicate with each other if needed, but only the most urgent communiques would warrant using those talismans.
Alboim arrived and sat at the foot of the table. When all had assembled and broke the fast, Elspith rapped the table slightly to gather their attention. “This afternoon, we will reach Ausruh where we will change horses for the next leg. It is amazing to have reached the frontier of Brantle so quickly without pushing our horses, or traveling by night, and we owe this swift passage to Alboim.” the men politely pounded on the table with their fists in appreciation, while the ladies used the butt of their cutlery. “Baron Autharion sent a message, inviting us all to a banquet at his castle. We should arrive by mid-afternoon, so there will be plenty of time for preparation. Gentlemen, Autharion has an unmarried daughter; and his second son, ladies, is unattached.”
In other words, be on your best behavior. Only one, at most, of the girls could ‘win’ Alboim. The second son of an important baron would make for a decent consolation prize for one of the girls. The mothers exchanged knowing looks, and Elspith could practically see the wheels turning in their heads.
Briony glanced down the table at her daughter, but, other than Moara who had chosen a different path, Kalmira alone seemed unruffled by the news. She was leaned over, speaking to Alboim, who was listening intently, a small smile on his face.
~*** *** ***~
Tanacetia sighed deeply and stared out the window. “Tansy!” her father scolded her. “Are you even listening to me? You will be on your best behavior tonight, and that includes not pestering our liege with your absurd ideas. Do you hear me?”
The blue-haired fifteen-year-old turned to regard Father with cool eyes. “I swear by the light, I will not pester Countess Elspith. I will greet her properly, and I will behave properly for an unmarried old maid.” she vowed. But you said nothing about others. If there is one thing I am certain of, the other girls will want to remove a rival. The right word in the ‘wrong’ ear will ensure that my absurd idea will reach the Countess.
Blue hair was rare, but not unheard of among humans. More common among the elves of the southern regions, it was said that Ballo, the first Barugalan king, had had blue hair, so, unlike green or exotic colors, no one dared accuse her of non-human ancestry. Father harrumphed, and patted her on the head tenderly. “Thank you. I promised your mother before she passed that I would look after you. Now that I am getting on in years, it is time to find you a man worthy of continuing to care for you.”
“I know, Daddy.” But that is not what I want. And I think Mother would have wanted me to be happy more than secure.
The banquet hall was packed, with the influx of nobles, dominated by the mothers of children seeking marriage. Technically, Tansy was an adult, so she was accompanied only by her head maid, a dour-looking human slave in a gold collar. She had been her nanny until only two weeks ago and had served as her wet nurse before that.
The center of attention, of course, was the Hero’s son, Countess Elspith’s heir. He towered over the crowds, easily six-and-a-half feet tall, a full foot higher than her, with golden hair and cornflower-blue eyes. He ignored most of the girls, chatting with them when approached, but otherwise sticking to the menfolk. The single exception was Lady Kalmira, recently widowed and seeking a new husband. So, he likes older women. I may have a chance, then.
She stepped forward and waited for a lull in his conversation with the son of the Duke of Alour. Presently, he turned to her and flashed a smile, brilliantly white and full of sincerity that could not be faked. Despite her intentions, her knees buckled a little. “Lord Alboim, I greet you and welcome you to my father’s house. My name is Tanacetia. If it is not too much trouble, may I guide you on a quick tour of my father’s castle? I need your help dealing with my father.”
