The High King's Tomb
Page 84
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“I’m glad you came over,” Estral said, shoving her papers aside. “We haven’t had a chance to visit properly.”
They raided the pantry for some gingerbread baked that afternoon, put water on the stove for tea, and proceeded to engage in some gossip of their own, about some of Karigan’s old classmates and instructors and Estral’s students. Without anyone around to overhear them, the talk was free, and at times loud, accompanied by much laughter.
Timbre, Estral’s gray tabby, leaped onto the table and butted his head against his mistress’ chin. A typical shipcat, he was huge, his long fur and plumed tail augmenting his size. Estral crumpled a piece of paper and threw it across the kitchen. Timbre clomped to the floor to chase it, and bore it back in his mouth. Shipcats were that way, sort of doglike.
After a few minutes of play, Timbre jumped back onto the table and flopped, purring loudly enough that Karigan swore she felt the table vibrate.
They finished the last crumbs of gingerbread and Estral cocked her head. “So, I assume that, aside from your delay here, your message errand is going well…”
Karigan sighed.
“Oh dear,” Estral said, passing her hand through Timbre’s luxurious fur. His purring grew louder. “That good, eh?”
Because of Estral’s sympathetic ear, Karigan opened up and the details of her journey tumbled from her mouth. It was a relief to tell her about Fergal’s intentional plunge into the Grandgent, and about the brothel and her father’s association with it.
“You have had a trying time of it, haven’t you?” Estral said.
“There are times when I want to throttle him.”
“Fergal or your father?”
“Both, I suppose, but at the moment Fergal is closer at hand.”
Estral propped her chin on her hand. “He seems terribly eager to prove himself, and judging from what you’ve said of his past, it’s no surprise. I do notice him in Mel’s company an awful lot.”
Karigan sighed. “I’ve noticed as well. I might be more amused if Mel weren’t the captain’s daughter.”
“Seems harmless enough. Look, Karigan, you can’t expect to control Fergal’s every move. People are, well, people, and they all have their own quirks and will do whatever they want to no matter what you would like them to do. At some point they are responsible for their own actions. You have created very high standards for yourself, but not everyone is going to adopt them just because you want them to. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Karigan gazed at her friend, stunned. “And when did you become such a wise one, Old Mother?”
“Teaching. Teaching a hundred Fergals. Well, maybe not as challenging as your Fergal, but challenging nonetheless. Somewhere I’ve acquired vast amounts of patience.” She rolled her eyes. “It appears to me you’ve been doing your best with Fergal. He seems good-hearted, and I should think he’s learned quite a lot from you so far.” Estral paused, and chuckled. “I do sound like an old mother, don’t I?”
Karigan didn’t feel as confident about her ability as a mentor as Estral sounded. She was certain that if she were more patient, more instructorly like Ty, Fergal wouldn’t even have thought of jumping into the Grandgent, much less done it. But she wasn’t Ty, and she could only continue to do her best. Then she laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Estral asked.
“My high standards, as you called them,” Karigan replied, barely able to contain herself. “How did I get those? Surely not by skipping class and starting fights and—”
“By learning,” Estral said, “and by having a good heart. Like Fergal.”
Karigan stopped laughing, stilled by sudden revelation. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “I was a difficult child at times.” If she were to mentor a younger version of herself, her younger self would drive her current self batty. Fergal couldn’t hold a light to that! “I was…I was a brat.”
Estral patted her wrist. “Yes, at times, but we love you anyway, and you’ve turned out just fine.”
“Er, thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Timbre, tired of being ignored, pawed at Estral’s pen and papers. She rescued the pen, but the papers fluttered off the table.
“You’re a big help,” she muttered at the cat, and she retrieved the papers, arranging them into a neat pile. “Exams I’m grading.” She then lifted Timbre onto her lap. He draped himself across her thighs in boneless fashion and resumed purring.
“So when does the journeyman go journeying?” Karigan asked her.
Estral grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to do so by next year, but truth be told, I…I don’t feel inclined to travel much.”
“What? A minstrel who doesn’t want to travel?”
“I like teaching.” Estral stroked Timbre. “That’s a good thing because Selium will always need teachers. But to teach more than the youngest children and assist with some of the other classes, I have to become a master, and to become a master, I have to do my year of wandering.” Her expression grew mournful.
“Good thing you weren’t called into the messenger service,” Karigan said.
“I know.”
Estral’s response was so earnest they both laughed. Annoyed, Timbre jumped from Estral’s lap and slinked away to sit by the cook stove and lick his paw. Then he froze in mid-lick as if frightened by something, and darted out of the kitchen into the darkness of the house.
They raided the pantry for some gingerbread baked that afternoon, put water on the stove for tea, and proceeded to engage in some gossip of their own, about some of Karigan’s old classmates and instructors and Estral’s students. Without anyone around to overhear them, the talk was free, and at times loud, accompanied by much laughter.
Timbre, Estral’s gray tabby, leaped onto the table and butted his head against his mistress’ chin. A typical shipcat, he was huge, his long fur and plumed tail augmenting his size. Estral crumpled a piece of paper and threw it across the kitchen. Timbre clomped to the floor to chase it, and bore it back in his mouth. Shipcats were that way, sort of doglike.
After a few minutes of play, Timbre jumped back onto the table and flopped, purring loudly enough that Karigan swore she felt the table vibrate.
They finished the last crumbs of gingerbread and Estral cocked her head. “So, I assume that, aside from your delay here, your message errand is going well…”
Karigan sighed.
“Oh dear,” Estral said, passing her hand through Timbre’s luxurious fur. His purring grew louder. “That good, eh?”
Because of Estral’s sympathetic ear, Karigan opened up and the details of her journey tumbled from her mouth. It was a relief to tell her about Fergal’s intentional plunge into the Grandgent, and about the brothel and her father’s association with it.
“You have had a trying time of it, haven’t you?” Estral said.
“There are times when I want to throttle him.”
“Fergal or your father?”
“Both, I suppose, but at the moment Fergal is closer at hand.”
Estral propped her chin on her hand. “He seems terribly eager to prove himself, and judging from what you’ve said of his past, it’s no surprise. I do notice him in Mel’s company an awful lot.”
Karigan sighed. “I’ve noticed as well. I might be more amused if Mel weren’t the captain’s daughter.”
“Seems harmless enough. Look, Karigan, you can’t expect to control Fergal’s every move. People are, well, people, and they all have their own quirks and will do whatever they want to no matter what you would like them to do. At some point they are responsible for their own actions. You have created very high standards for yourself, but not everyone is going to adopt them just because you want them to. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Karigan gazed at her friend, stunned. “And when did you become such a wise one, Old Mother?”
“Teaching. Teaching a hundred Fergals. Well, maybe not as challenging as your Fergal, but challenging nonetheless. Somewhere I’ve acquired vast amounts of patience.” She rolled her eyes. “It appears to me you’ve been doing your best with Fergal. He seems good-hearted, and I should think he’s learned quite a lot from you so far.” Estral paused, and chuckled. “I do sound like an old mother, don’t I?”
Karigan didn’t feel as confident about her ability as a mentor as Estral sounded. She was certain that if she were more patient, more instructorly like Ty, Fergal wouldn’t even have thought of jumping into the Grandgent, much less done it. But she wasn’t Ty, and she could only continue to do her best. Then she laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Estral asked.
“My high standards, as you called them,” Karigan replied, barely able to contain herself. “How did I get those? Surely not by skipping class and starting fights and—”
“By learning,” Estral said, “and by having a good heart. Like Fergal.”
Karigan stopped laughing, stilled by sudden revelation. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “I was a difficult child at times.” If she were to mentor a younger version of herself, her younger self would drive her current self batty. Fergal couldn’t hold a light to that! “I was…I was a brat.”
Estral patted her wrist. “Yes, at times, but we love you anyway, and you’ve turned out just fine.”
“Er, thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Timbre, tired of being ignored, pawed at Estral’s pen and papers. She rescued the pen, but the papers fluttered off the table.
“You’re a big help,” she muttered at the cat, and she retrieved the papers, arranging them into a neat pile. “Exams I’m grading.” She then lifted Timbre onto her lap. He draped himself across her thighs in boneless fashion and resumed purring.
“So when does the journeyman go journeying?” Karigan asked her.
Estral grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to do so by next year, but truth be told, I…I don’t feel inclined to travel much.”
“What? A minstrel who doesn’t want to travel?”
“I like teaching.” Estral stroked Timbre. “That’s a good thing because Selium will always need teachers. But to teach more than the youngest children and assist with some of the other classes, I have to become a master, and to become a master, I have to do my year of wandering.” Her expression grew mournful.
“Good thing you weren’t called into the messenger service,” Karigan said.
“I know.”
Estral’s response was so earnest they both laughed. Annoyed, Timbre jumped from Estral’s lap and slinked away to sit by the cook stove and lick his paw. Then he froze in mid-lick as if frightened by something, and darted out of the kitchen into the darkness of the house.
