Timestamp: 61st Day of Spring, 514 A.V.
Location: Mhakula's Tea House
“…and the Seiza have indicated that they would appreciate your presence at the Tuwele for the ruling on the first case in law because of your amendment, your grace. I think they’re aiming for a symbolic gesture, and it would do you no harm at all to become more acquainted with Seiza processes and procedures.” A very bureaucratic cough disrupted the little soliloquy, recapturing Alses’ slightly wandering attention deftly and discreetly.
“A declaration of the seriousness of your combined intents is how it will be seen by the…influential factions…in the city,” he continued. “As such, a good event for you to be seen at, even if the subject matter isn’t the most appealing. We’ll be recommending looking sad and sorrowful, but resolute and firm nonetheless, for anyone important who’ll be watching, either openly or in the shadows.”
“Very well, very well,” Alses sighed, eyes dancing protectively over a document she was supposed to be reading. “Have the proper secretary pencil it into our diary, will you? Oh, and make sure we have a briefing before I head over to the Tuwele on whatever day; we don’t want to be the only person in that courtroom with no idea what’s going on or why.”
The reply of: “Very good, your grace,” was accompanied by a slightly wry smile at the old – and weak – joke, then a shimmering walk across the acres of floor, a smooth retrieval of yet more papers from an inexhaustible briefcase – stamped, as with everything, with the gilt crest of the Council – and finally an all-too-quick resumption of the near-monologue.
“Ah yes, Item Seventeen,” her indispensable assistant announced with some relish and a certain amount of repressed glee, adjusting his glasses fastidiously as he did so. “In your usual precise fashion-” was that perhaps a soupcon of reproach there? “-you had ‘Svefra’ pencilled in.” A pause. “This is the appointed time, Councillor, so…Svefra?”
One eyebrow arched as Alses leaned back pensively in her chair, absently waving him into a seat as she did so. “We have the most regular contact with the Inarta of Wind Reach – thank you for your recommendations, by the way – followed by the humans from Zeltiva, followed by the Svefra, yes?”
Her assistant nodded. “In recent years, you are correct,” he allowed. “Although in the past the Svefra were more numerous than the sea-captains of Zeltiva.”
Alses blinked. “Why?”
Her secretary looked away, as though embarrassed. “We don’t know,” he said helplessly. “It could have been something to do with the Djed Storm, but we’ve not seen their visits pick up. The Southwind pod is the first to have come to Lhavit for quite some time, as it happens. But do continue, please.”
Alses nodded gracefully. “Therein you make my point for me. They are our third-largest trading partner, and yet we know so little about them. Who’s their primary god? Where is their homeland? How is their society organised? What are their ships called? How many people are in one of those pods? How many pods are there? What are their prejudices and fears? Conversely, what do they like? What are their stories, their histories? What do we know of their culture? D’you see where we wish to take this?”
The man smiled thinly. “I believe I do, your grace. There are several ways we can go about this, as it happens; we can set up a scouring committee to go through everything in Bharani about the Svefra and produce a report, we could conduct a survey, or we could ask them directly. Or a combination thereof.”
Alses smiled, and it wasn’t an altogether nice smile. “Oh good. Scour Bharani by all means; we would like to know what Lhavit knows – or thinks it knows, at any rate. I shall ask a Southwind of my acquaintance to look the report over, point out anything hideously wrong, too.”
A shallow half-bow. “Very good, your grace. If we can move on to the next item on the agenda for today? Excellent. Now…”
A
Alses very nearly – almost, but not quite – ran from the Radiant Tower when the city’s massed bells rang joyously out to mark the start of the Noon Rest. Or lunchtime, as most people called it. The prospect of escaping her plush office and her ever-present, indispensable assistant – with his never-diminishing piles of paper – became a very tempting proposition indeed by the eleventh bell.
There was apparently a restaurant of some kind within the fabric of the Radiant Tower itself, a place for the staff and visitors to be victualled and rested – a sensible thing, really – but whilst the work might often be interesting, and whilst it still gave her pride a nice little tickle to be called ‘your grace’ and deferred to, after a few bells in her office being talked at, the walls started to close in.
Thus, her escape, every lunchtime, to one of the many eating-houses and tea-houses that Lhavit sported, to be surrounded by normal people, far from the concerns of paperwork and factions in the dark and juggling hanging swords poised just over her neck.
Small wonder she went home to Elysium Hall every night exhausted, another day in which her personal ship of state hadn’t foundered and sunk.
Today it was Mhakula’s, her oldest lunching-ground. She was a well-known figure to the Interchangeable Yhavaos that ran the place by now; they were well-used to her little peccadilloes and preferences, and they were never anything other than happy to see her. Even now.
Mhakula's prided itself on the finest teas and the sharpest swords in the city – and once you'd got your head around the apparent contradiction, you had a good handle on Lhavitian philosophy in general. Pointy metal had never drawn Alses to the place, but it did at least provide an interesting spectacle to observe whilst enjoying tea – and there was very little chance of a brawl breaking out or the place being robbed, to select just two of the thousand and one events which could make a meal taken at an inn or tavern an interestingly lethal experience.
Another point in their collective favour was that they were accommodating of, well, special needs. Alses was generally almost guaranteed a seat by a window, to drink in Syna's light, for example.
She was greeted at the door by a smile like the noonday sun – the Interchangeable Yhavaos had always had the most extraordinary solar-powered smiles – and was soon ensconced at a table overlooking the dao arena and flooded with light from a large window at her back.
All the paraphernalia for making the perfect cup was laid out in front of her in short order – fired teapot already filled with her chosen blend, cups and saucers, a pot of water with a little brazier to keep it piping hot, an array of spoons and no biscuits – they'd learned not to bother giving them to her, since she found their taste somewhat lacking in any case.
Tea couldn't be rushed, and even though this was her lunch break, her time to take her leave of all the concerns of her position, she still found her mind’s eye, her mental compass, swinging to point due Magic, and with a sigh whilst the tea steeped and brewed, out came the papers and documents, forming a sort of sediment over at least half the table as she read.
Soon, her tea was forgotten and the rest of the tea-house faded into the background, all her attention focused on the documents passing under her eyes.
Location: Mhakula's Tea House
“…and the Seiza have indicated that they would appreciate your presence at the Tuwele for the ruling on the first case in law because of your amendment, your grace. I think they’re aiming for a symbolic gesture, and it would do you no harm at all to become more acquainted with Seiza processes and procedures.” A very bureaucratic cough disrupted the little soliloquy, recapturing Alses’ slightly wandering attention deftly and discreetly.
“A declaration of the seriousness of your combined intents is how it will be seen by the…influential factions…in the city,” he continued. “As such, a good event for you to be seen at, even if the subject matter isn’t the most appealing. We’ll be recommending looking sad and sorrowful, but resolute and firm nonetheless, for anyone important who’ll be watching, either openly or in the shadows.”
“Very well, very well,” Alses sighed, eyes dancing protectively over a document she was supposed to be reading. “Have the proper secretary pencil it into our diary, will you? Oh, and make sure we have a briefing before I head over to the Tuwele on whatever day; we don’t want to be the only person in that courtroom with no idea what’s going on or why.”
The reply of: “Very good, your grace,” was accompanied by a slightly wry smile at the old – and weak – joke, then a shimmering walk across the acres of floor, a smooth retrieval of yet more papers from an inexhaustible briefcase – stamped, as with everything, with the gilt crest of the Council – and finally an all-too-quick resumption of the near-monologue.
“Ah yes, Item Seventeen,” her indispensable assistant announced with some relish and a certain amount of repressed glee, adjusting his glasses fastidiously as he did so. “In your usual precise fashion-” was that perhaps a soupcon of reproach there? “-you had ‘Svefra’ pencilled in.” A pause. “This is the appointed time, Councillor, so…Svefra?”
One eyebrow arched as Alses leaned back pensively in her chair, absently waving him into a seat as she did so. “We have the most regular contact with the Inarta of Wind Reach – thank you for your recommendations, by the way – followed by the humans from Zeltiva, followed by the Svefra, yes?”
Her assistant nodded. “In recent years, you are correct,” he allowed. “Although in the past the Svefra were more numerous than the sea-captains of Zeltiva.”
Alses blinked. “Why?”
Her secretary looked away, as though embarrassed. “We don’t know,” he said helplessly. “It could have been something to do with the Djed Storm, but we’ve not seen their visits pick up. The Southwind pod is the first to have come to Lhavit for quite some time, as it happens. But do continue, please.”
Alses nodded gracefully. “Therein you make my point for me. They are our third-largest trading partner, and yet we know so little about them. Who’s their primary god? Where is their homeland? How is their society organised? What are their ships called? How many people are in one of those pods? How many pods are there? What are their prejudices and fears? Conversely, what do they like? What are their stories, their histories? What do we know of their culture? D’you see where we wish to take this?”
The man smiled thinly. “I believe I do, your grace. There are several ways we can go about this, as it happens; we can set up a scouring committee to go through everything in Bharani about the Svefra and produce a report, we could conduct a survey, or we could ask them directly. Or a combination thereof.”
Alses smiled, and it wasn’t an altogether nice smile. “Oh good. Scour Bharani by all means; we would like to know what Lhavit knows – or thinks it knows, at any rate. I shall ask a Southwind of my acquaintance to look the report over, point out anything hideously wrong, too.”
A shallow half-bow. “Very good, your grace. If we can move on to the next item on the agenda for today? Excellent. Now…”
A
Alses very nearly – almost, but not quite – ran from the Radiant Tower when the city’s massed bells rang joyously out to mark the start of the Noon Rest. Or lunchtime, as most people called it. The prospect of escaping her plush office and her ever-present, indispensable assistant – with his never-diminishing piles of paper – became a very tempting proposition indeed by the eleventh bell.
There was apparently a restaurant of some kind within the fabric of the Radiant Tower itself, a place for the staff and visitors to be victualled and rested – a sensible thing, really – but whilst the work might often be interesting, and whilst it still gave her pride a nice little tickle to be called ‘your grace’ and deferred to, after a few bells in her office being talked at, the walls started to close in.
Thus, her escape, every lunchtime, to one of the many eating-houses and tea-houses that Lhavit sported, to be surrounded by normal people, far from the concerns of paperwork and factions in the dark and juggling hanging swords poised just over her neck.
Small wonder she went home to Elysium Hall every night exhausted, another day in which her personal ship of state hadn’t foundered and sunk.
Today it was Mhakula’s, her oldest lunching-ground. She was a well-known figure to the Interchangeable Yhavaos that ran the place by now; they were well-used to her little peccadilloes and preferences, and they were never anything other than happy to see her. Even now.
Mhakula's prided itself on the finest teas and the sharpest swords in the city – and once you'd got your head around the apparent contradiction, you had a good handle on Lhavitian philosophy in general. Pointy metal had never drawn Alses to the place, but it did at least provide an interesting spectacle to observe whilst enjoying tea – and there was very little chance of a brawl breaking out or the place being robbed, to select just two of the thousand and one events which could make a meal taken at an inn or tavern an interestingly lethal experience.
Another point in their collective favour was that they were accommodating of, well, special needs. Alses was generally almost guaranteed a seat by a window, to drink in Syna's light, for example.
She was greeted at the door by a smile like the noonday sun – the Interchangeable Yhavaos had always had the most extraordinary solar-powered smiles – and was soon ensconced at a table overlooking the dao arena and flooded with light from a large window at her back.
All the paraphernalia for making the perfect cup was laid out in front of her in short order – fired teapot already filled with her chosen blend, cups and saucers, a pot of water with a little brazier to keep it piping hot, an array of spoons and no biscuits – they'd learned not to bother giving them to her, since she found their taste somewhat lacking in any case.
Tea couldn't be rushed, and even though this was her lunch break, her time to take her leave of all the concerns of her position, she still found her mind’s eye, her mental compass, swinging to point due Magic, and with a sigh whilst the tea steeped and brewed, out came the papers and documents, forming a sort of sediment over at least half the table as she read.
Soon, her tea was forgotten and the rest of the tea-house faded into the background, all her attention focused on the documents passing under her eyes.