Brightly Burning (28 page)

“Because she's a jeweler; they always deal in round numbers, and the finished piece is always worth a
whole
lot more than the components.” Now that he knew he was right, Lan was a great deal more certain of his answers. “It's like a piece of tapestry. The colored thread is worth next to nothing compared to the finished piece. What you're paying for is the talent and ability of the artist who made it.” A speculation occurred to him, and he went ahead and voiced it. “She worked by herself, so her income was pretty irregular, I bet—nothing until she finished a commission, then a lump sum. She would have been wanting a husband with a steady income, and she wouldn't have known what to look out for in his books, because they were nothing like hers. I bet all she did was check out the addition to make sure he wasn't a shoddy accountant.”

Artero slowly stood up and bowed to Lan, who flushed with momentary pride. “Very, very good, Lavan. That is exactly what happened; it took the Herald in question a lot more time to ferret the answers out, but that is what finally came to light when he backtracked the suppliers and compared their accounts with the old man's. So the widow was exonerated, and the son had to go home disappointed in his inheritance, but at least certain that he was not cheated out of it. There was even a relatively happy ending; the village settled down, and everyone made up their differences.” He turned to the other members of the class. “Now you see why I say it is as important to know about the lives of those who come to us for a judgment as it is to know the bare facts of the case.”

He pulled a ledger out of his bookcase and laid it open in front of them with a smile. “Now, here is an artificial set of account pages that
have
been altered. We've got a sample of every sort of alteration we've ever seen in here. I'll show you where and how they were altered.”

Lan leaned over the pages with as much eagerness as the rest; he had always known that figures and handwriting could be changed or forged, but he had never seen any examples. And some were truly ingenious; Artero made it clear that they would be spending a great deal of time on these examples, and Lan was not at all averse to that. There was enough there to occupy him for the next couple of moons, not just the fortnight that Artero promised.

For the first time, classes were teaching him something interesting, not
all
his classes, of course, and he wasn't doing any better than average in most of them, but at least they weren't an ordeal anymore. When he had problems, if the Herald in charge of the class didn't help him, one of the other Trainees would, often volunteering to help him before he asked for it. He hadn't understood that until Tuck explained it to him; they weren't in competition for the best place and the teacher's accolades, they were
supposed
to cooperate. They got better marks for cooperating. In fact, in some classes, no one moved up until they could all move up together.

“We've got to work together; there just aren't enough of us to take care of all the problems,” Tuck had said earnestly. “You can't hold back something that another Herald needs to know just to make yourself look good—that only makes
all
the Heralds look
bad.
People have to know that one Herald is going to be able to do just as good a job as another, or they won't trust us.”

This was one of those classes in which all the participants moved up as a group, and Lan loved it. He learned such fascinating things in it, not only from Herald Artero, but from the other Trainees.

When the class was over, Tuck intercepted him on the way to the kitchen; he was one of the servers at lunch, and servers got to eat early. “Are you spending Midwinter with your family?” Tuck asked. “Or were you going to be here?”

Lan already knew the answer to that question, and he had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, he really hadn't been looking forward to spending the holiday with his family; the times that they had come to visit had been very awkward and uncomfortable. None of them had known how to treat him; it almost seemed as if they were afraid of him at times. On the other hand, when the message had come that they were going to be hosting so many relatives that they wanted him only to come for Midwinter Feast, so they could put his granny up in his old room, he'd been rather unhappy about it. He didn't much relish the idea of languishing around the empty Collegium for a fortnight with nothing to do and no company.

“Mother said that they've got a mob of relations coming, and so I said I'd stay here, and just go into town for the Feast,” he said, but could not manage to stifle a little sigh.

But Tuck's reaction was a surprise. “Fantastic!” he enthused. “You can come home with me! My folks asked if you would; they have a farm outside the City; you can stay with us and Kalira can take you in for the family feast in style, fancy tack, bridle bells, and all!” He faltered for a moment at the blank look on Lan's face. “If you want—that is—”

“That would be terrific!” Lan replied, shaking off his surprise and gratifying his friend with his own enthusiasm for the plan. Tuck's parents had come in to see their son twice as often as his own, and he'd been invited along for a dinner at one of the taverns a time or two. He liked them, and apparently, they liked him as well.

“It's a done deal, then!” Tuck slapped Lan on the back and sent him on his way. “I'll send a note to tell them you're coming!”

The Midwinter holiday was only a few days away, and now that he had something to look forward to, Lan was a good deal happier about that than he had been. He hurried off to the kitchen with a smile on his face. He was smiling a lot more these days than he had since he had arrived in Haven!

The Trainees took many of the chores of the Collegium in turn, depending on the abilities of the Trainee in question. All of them
had
to learn things like camp cooking, mending, and leatherwork; out on circuit they might be away from a Resupply Station for weeks, and they weren't permitted to take hospitality from anyone on their circuit except the occasional Healer's House or Temple. But there was also no point in forcing their fellow Trainees to live with poorly-sewn uniforms, or indifferent food either. Those who were no good at mending or cooking therefore got the cleaning chores and other things, like waiting on tables.

Lan was actually rather good at waiting on tables; unlike some, he'd gotten his full growth already, so he wasn't suffering from adolescent clumsiness. He erred on the side of caution, preferring to make more trips with less food, rather than load himself down and risk disaster. As a consequence, he generally got the chore two meals out of every three, and the only one that was a burden was breakfast. Having to get up, get ready, get his room tidied and get down to the kitchen a full hour before everyone else was pretty horrid.

On the other hand, since servers
did
eat first, he and the others did get their pick of the piping-hot bread, the occasional pastries, and other breakfast dishes on offer that morning. So that part wasn't at all horrid.

The luncheon fare at the Merchant's School had never varied; rather stringy beef cooked until it fell apart in an attempt to tenderize it, bread and butter, mashed turnips, gravy, peas, and small ale. No two luncheons were the same here at the Collegium, and Lan sniffed experimentally as he neared the kitchen.

Fried fish!
Lan loved the way the Collegium cook made it; battered, and fried in a cauldron of hot oil. “Lake Evendim style,” they called it, and there were usually other things fried up in the same oil to go with it. Squares of dough fried until they puffed up like pillows that were sugared or eaten with honey, balls of a different sort of batter, spiced and savory, strips of vegetables battered like the fish. He'd never had any of those things before he arrived here, and he was already addicted. It was a good thing that Cook didn't have a “fry-day” often, or he would have wound up as fat as one of those dough pillows in no time.

He arrived at the kitchen just in time to get a plateful of his favorites, leavened with a bowl of stewed greens to keep from overdoing it on the fried-stuff. He sat down with the rest of the helpers and servers at the crowded kitchen table and gave himself over to enjoyment. On a “fry-day,” the helpers had to take turns eating, since the fried foods didn't keep well, and tended to turn tough and nasty when cold. Although everything else could be, and was, prepared in advance, the actual frying had to be done fresh, with the platters being filled and carried off immediately.

The aroma wafted through the Collegium, and most people were as enthusiastic about the rare treat as Lan, so the dining hall filled quickly. Lan was one of the first of the servers to be finished, so as soon as he washed off his sugar-sticky fingers at the pump, he got a platter, waited for someone to fill it, and hurried it out to the hungry Trainees.

Platter after hot platter went out and came back empty; once or twice, Lan paused long enough to fill up a forgotten corner with another sugared pillow, then dove back into the fray. Everyone seemed to eat twice as much on these occasions; it might have been Lan's imagination, but he didn't think so. He wasn't the only person who was addicted to Cook's special fry-ups.

At last, when the greediest of the lot was stuffed full and contentedly trailing out of the dining hall, the servers got to collapse, fortify themselves with the leftover bits of dough and batter fried up and eaten with a sharp sauce or honey according to taste, wash their hands, and hustle off to a class or to a free period, leaving the kitchen to those who were assigned to clean up.

Lan had a free period; study was impossible after being so stuffed, so he usually went for a walk out to the Training Field and the Salle instead. Since his
next
class was with the Weaponsmaster, he had to walk off his lethargy. The last thing he wanted to do was give the Weaponsmaster an excuse to make him an example.

Not that the Weaponsmaster was cruel or sadistic; on the contrary, he was an incredibly kind man. And he would tell you, sincerely and sometimes with genuine distress, that in order to save your life at some later date, he had to make it miserable
now.
No one ever doubted him; if they had, the number of full Heralds who returned to thank him in person after their first circuits, bubbling over with gratitude for the Weaponsmaster's gentle, implacable drive to perfection, would have convinced even the most skeptical.

Nothing was or ever could be good enough for Weaponsmaster Odo, an oddly proportioned fellow, muscular in the legs and shoulders, back and arms, but so narrow in the waist and hips that he looked like a caricature of a man. Odo had been in the Guard before being Chosen, and he had been the Weaponsmaster there, too, so he was often found teaching certain of the Guard some of the specialized skills he had acquired over the years, including mastery of particular techniques and odd weapons.

Snow lay about ankle-deep on the ground, but the paths were pounded hard and sanded for good footing. Snow wouldn't stop Herald Odo from having his pupils work outside; if anyone objected, he would point out patiently that when they were on their circuits, attackers wouldn't wait politely until they were under the shelter of a roof before assaulting them. His logic was impeccable, and most new Trainees didn't bother trying to change his training plan for the day after the first few fruitless protests.

:Out early?:
Kalira asked, when he reached the Training Field. He squinted against the glare of sun on snow and looked around; she was nowhere to be seen, but a white Companion in the distance wasn't exactly visible against the snow. The sky didn't hold a cloud that was bigger than his hand today, and the packed snow reflected as much light as the sky held. Trees were inky sketches against the blue, still and stark. There wasn't a breath of breeze, and his own breath puffed out in frosty puffs to vanish in the still air.

:I need to walk off my greed,:
he told her with a chuckle.
:I don't want Odo to get any more advantages than he's already got.:

:I'll come keep you company.:
Off in the distance a flock of crows rose from one of the trees in Companion's Field, cawing derision as they flapped away toward the Palace.

After a moment of walking, with the hard-packed snow creaking under each step, he heard the distant sound of hooves on snow, and turned to wave at her. She came on at a trot, tail flagged, ears up; she looked wonderful with the sun shining on her satin coat, just like an image in an illuminated manuscript. Every movement was achingly graceful, smooth as a trained dancer. Not even Rolan was as lovely as she was, with the blaze of the sun full on her and her mane and tail streaming behind, banners of whitest silk.

:You're very welcome, gorgeous!:
he replied, in high good humor. He tucked his hands under his armpits to warm them; he didn't want to touch her with cold hands.

:Oh, my—keep saying sweet things like that and I'll make sure to stick around you!:
She had reached him by then and nuzzled his cheek, blowing her sweet breath into his hair. Her breath was warm, a soft caress against his cheek, and he reached up to caress her velvety nose.
:Now, am I correct in thinking our plans for Midwinter have been changed, thanks to Tuck?:

He reached farther up with his gloved hands and scratched the places behind her ears she could never get at; she sighed, and rested her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes in bliss. “Tuck's parents invited me to stay with them on their farm. We can go in for the Midwinter Night Feast; it's close enough to Haven, Tuck says.”

:Well, I suppose it would have to be, as often as they come visit him. Delightful! Dacerie and I get along splendidly; we'll have a fine time too, just us girls together, being spoiled by Tuck's sibs! I think I can tolerate having my mane and tail braided and fussed with three or four times a day.:
There was no doubt that Kalira was as happy with this plan as Lan was.
:Since Tuck's been back and forth to the farm several times, his parents will know how to house us.: