The Blog of Roon

It’s not every game that will give up an entire session of precious gaming time for a leisurely exploration of one character’s birthday party. Fitting, I suppose, that this particular session should happen almost exactly a year after I started playing Dragonhunt.

(Just getting this far is something of an achievement. The end of last calendar year, I was seriously starting to question whether I could stick with a game—any game. Wasn’t too far from giving up the hobby.)

The GM and I tossed around Wodehouse commonplaces with much glee—since Rennie’s birthday is a day before midsummer, her father moved the traditional fete, so there was much room for all those wonderful bits of Wooster weirdness. (Rennie lost the egg-and-spoon race. But only just, despite much behind-the-scenes cheating on all sides.)

Rien and his alter ego gave Renate what amounts to a “Win This Combat Free” card; I shall try to use it well. Aryk went straight for the jugular heartstrings instead, getting her a sheepdog puppy so that she could carry a piece of her home with her. It was so sweet of him. I got all choked up behind the keyboard.

And because we can’t allow too much of that soppy stuff, I immediately went and named the poor pup Dorothy. Dorothy may turn out to be a useful party adjunct, in fact; we shall see.

The part of me that sits back and watches the story of a game as a story danced with glee over Aryk’s next foray: a comic star-crossed lovers scene with Renate’s sister Sabine that parodied Renate and Rien’s angsty go-away-closer relationship in truly Shakespearian fashion. Lovely, lovely stuff.

I learned—had reinforced, really; I think I knew this, subliminally—what drives Renate’s lack of enthusiasm for her own achievements. “It’s not enough,” she told her trainer Aaron Wrenfall when he mentioned how far she’d come. It’s never enough, for Renate. Whatever she does, there is always something she could have done better, always something else to do. She always comes up just that little bit short. Call it middle-child syndrome or what you will, it’s what keeps her wound up and moving when she really has no hope at all.

Curiously, Renate doesn’t need hope. In fact, if she had hope, her need to choose the path that would realize her hopes would paralyze her, render her incapable of action. (Her player shares this tendency when it comes to game combat, unfortunately.) In its way, despair frees her to do what she thinks right, rather than what is immediately expedient. If nothing she does matters anyway, she might as well pick the course she can best live with—or die for.

Her bewildered hopelessness to some extent reflects mine. Despite a good many hints about how to lose the Dragonhunt, I’m not sure what the “winning” course through this game is. That course may, in fact, rest on some GM presuppositions that I don’t share. In which case, I am left squarely in Renate’s shoes—win the game, or stay true to what I myself think?

It isn’t every game that raises that sort of dilemma. I do approve of the ones that do.

I’m noodling on a little in-betweener fluff. It started out long ago in my head, a little story about Renate’s desire to show her pride in her country origins through dress, and her ensuing discovery of an immensely rich and lovely cultural history that she had had no part of because she had disdained “girly stuff” too long.

It’s still going to be about that, a little bit. But mostly it’s going to be about Clara von Adler, Renate’s mother. We don’t as yet know much about her. We know she was a noted beauty in the city of Atlantis before she married Renate’s father. We know she is a stickler for etiquette (though, as the story will probably show, perhaps not for the strictest construction of propriety). We know she isn’t openly responsible for anything much in the political or economic management of the barony.

And we know that she doesn’t seem to have had much impact on her middle child. Why not? And what the heck does this woman do all day? Is she a total trophy fluffhead, a lazy do-nothing, or what?

I’ll let the story answer these questions rather than answering them here; I’ve just finished some rather long expository paragraphs about the first one. I do know Clara rather better now, however—and damn it, she’s Tamasi without the fish-tail. (Tamasi? See Passions of the Tide archives.)

No, no, she can’t fight like Tamasi. But she’s Tamasi. Intelligent, capable, responsible—and at the core, a seethe of helpless frustration locked behind steely restraint.

Why do I keep coming up with this character? I never meant to come up with Tamasi, I didn’t sort out what Clara had to be like until I started writing her this morning, and I didn’t realize that Clara was Tamasi until I stopped to reread. Who are these women? Why do they keep clawing out of my subconscious?

Partly they’re my mother. Partly they’re me, though less so these days as I claw my own way out of frustration toward work I want to do. But it’s telling that they only come up in game cultures that are explicitly patriarchal, sometimes not even working toward egalitarian. (Dragonhunt-world is working slowly toward gender equality, but it’s far from there yet, and it’s been explicitly made clear that the country is a wee bit behind.) Mostly, I think, they’re my appalled fascination at the work women must have had to do to stay sane under garden-variety patriarchy.

I mean, hell’s bells, how did they do it? Tamasi and Clara are my answer, seemingly the only answer I can envision of myself. No rebellion either overt or covert. No repining. No re-imagining their situations; both Tamasi and Clara could have used a good old-fashioned 1970s consciousness-raising. They never admit even to themselves that they are bored, frustrated, and lonely. They rarely show temper, and never uncontrolled temper, though they are easily offended or hurt.

They do whatever they are allowed to do, whatever meaningful tasks they can sneak out from under the noses of the men; Tamasi ran her estate, and Clara is an avid gardener who despite her urban origins probably knows more about some strains of agriculture than her country-bred husband by now. Otherwise, they efface themselves, in all likelihood afraid that if they are noticed, the activities that keep them sane will be taken from them.

Etiquette is their shield, their means of establishing themselves as proper women, how they keep prying eyes at a distance. The people who live with Tamasi and Clara do not know them very well, as a rule, because all they ever see is the rigidly polite exterior. Even wise, insightful Sabine doesn’t know her mother as well as she thinks she does.

Clara offers a question childless Tamasi couldn’t: how does this woman respond to a daughter who breaks the mold? The answer so far: first with offense and a desire to control, to bring the errant daughter back in line; later with distasteful acceptance; eventually, perhaps, with real pride. Regret? I don’t know. I don’t know if Clara can re-imagine her own life in the light of Renate’s enough to reach regret.

I do know that this story is about Clara and Renate reaching a rapprochement at last, learning to appreciate each other despite being entirely different women. Renate will at last understand the role of women in maintaining and transmitting culture; Clara will realize that Renate is just as committed to that culture as she is, though Renate’s expression of that committedness is of necessity very different.

And I’m learning why Tamasi fascinated me so.

I just ran a whole Dragonhunt session, in the GM’s accidental absence.

And it didn’t suck.

I am vastly surprised and gratified by this.

As I was waiting for the bus home today in the middle of a morning thunderstorm, an elderly gent nearby winked and remarked, “Well, you know what they say—you can’t take heaven by storm.”

No, no, you can’t, that’s quite right.

Jenny-Wren von Adler pulled some downright Emilia-Eaglebourne–worthy stunts last session, in the final defeat of the Ruido Grande in Ilium. (Note that last modifier. We’re not done with the Big Noise by any means.) She bravely took on the biggest Big Bad of the lot despite being mournfully convinced he would splatter her all over the landscape—and he darn near did, but she squeaked out a win anyway.

Plus, she’s all but outfaced Ilium’s dragon ruler Noble Mercury, something that takes a fair bit of talent, not to mention guts. She spilled the beans about the illegalities permitted (indeed, suggested to) Troubleshooters to the Fourth Estate, in such fashion that coming down on her like a ton of bricks (as he no doubt wished) would simply have been impolitic of the poor dragon. So he’s going to smile toothily and anoint her a hero, and she’s going to grin back and accept the plaudits, and my goodness, won’t they both be walking on eggshells the whole time!

So, all things considered, I think somebody ought to get Renate an illustration of the fine old tale of the Eagle and the Wren for her upcoming (in game time) nineteenth birthday. She’s quite earned it.

Rien’s player asked me today where Renate got the nickname Jenny-Wren. I knew the sobriquet was old, and it is, but as I started looking about for wren-lore, I found a delightful variety of legendary echoes. There’s general agreement that the wren is crafty (though unmalicious except when threatened), a sly employer of others’ efforts, a fine home-builder and parent, and quite saucy when it suits her to be. If that isn’t Renate all over…!

See a few of the things I found, if you care to.

And, of course, Renate practices the Wrenfall fighting style, and I swear unto heaven I did not do that on purpose! Still. A good character name is a good character name, and I’m quite delighted with this one.

The footman is as good as his word. No sooner has he left the drawing room than Jason Straw enters with a tall, healthy-looking Englishman apparently in his late forties or early fifties. Judge Collins exhorts his guests to remain seated and comfortable, while Straw handles the introductions.

“A pleasure to meet you all,” the judge booms in a hearty voice. “So glad you’ve decided to stay. Before I forget, I got a rather cryptic telegram from a Mr. Baxter in Bahrain, asking to you ‘continue as planned.’ I assume that no further explanation is
necessary, but if you would like to send a reply, I should be happy to facilitate.”

Shirley nods, expressionless. “You are quite correct, sir, that no reply is needed. Thank you for passing the word.” So the Yard’s surmise about Addison and Madras was mistaken. What have they learned now, Shirley wonders.

“But enough business, eh what? I expect you’d like to refresh yourselves and relax a bit before dinner. The carriage will be ’round in a few minutes, and we shall repair to my humble abode, if you’re amenable. Priscilla is quite looking forward to making your acquaintance, as are Lord and Lady Oglethorpe. I
shall have a footman look after your valises, and I expect your trunks will have been delivered by the time we arrive.”

“Most kind of you. I hope we shall not unduly crowd your dinner table.”

The judge’s eyes sparkle as he laughs. “Guests of honour, crowd the table? I should think not!”

“Thank you, Your Honour. You’re very kind.” Margaret is, once again, every inch the lady of privilege in spite of her somewhat travel-worn appearance.

A footman discreetly announces that the carriage awaits your convenience, and gathers up such bits of luggage are you are willing to relinquish. The open carriage is well-sprung and comfortable, pulled by beautiful, well-groomed horses. It takes
you into an obviously upper-class residential neighborhood, and stops in front of a sizeable Anglo-Indian structure. The footman assists Margaret and Esperanza in their descent.

The interior is classic Anglo-Indian, and impeccably decorated without being stuffy. The judge excuses himself and exhorts his guests to relax until dinner; he will be in his study should you need anything. As the footman leads the trio through elegant and beautiful rooms and up the stairs, they notice that there are fresh flowers everywhere, including every room of the guest suites. Shirley has a bedroom, a small study, and a private bath, while Margaret and Esperanza have a pair of bedrooms, a sitting room, and a bath. The luggage has not only arrived, but it has
been dusted off. Hot baths are steaming in their tubs, and thick towels are piled up next to small baskets of French soaps. The footman informs you that dinner will be at 8:00, and if you need any garments cleaned, you may leave them in the baskets in the
bathroom and they will be laundered and pressed. He also offers to send up a maid (for the ladies) and a valet (for the gentleman) to unpack your trunks if you wish.

“Thank you, but Esperanza can see to our trunks. She is well accustomed to my ways, and it will be easier so. We shall take the opportunity to have our garments cleaned, though. Rail travel may be convenient, but it is terribly dirty.”

And as soon as the door shuts behind the servant, Margaret asks Esperanza to unbutton her dress and unlace her. She is more than ready for a bath, and actually plans to indulge in another in the morning, before they leave.

Knowing that Margaret will decline the offer, Shirley feels quite comfortable doing so himself. After he shuts and locks the door behind the footman, he utters a short, sharp laugh. He has always been nervous about turning down manservants before.

And then he sighs and leans against the door a moment.

Quite a bit of Shirley’s wardrobe lands in the hamper by the bathroom door before he is done going through his trunk. A few of his garments he shakes his head over; he pours cold water into a basin and scrubs at them until the reddish stains have faded to a dim ambiguous beige. It is irksome — the bath is most inviting to his train-cramped body — but it must be done.

Once out of his bath, Shirley indulges in an hour’s nap, curled comfortably under the cool bed-linen. He sternly refuses to allow himself to worry about Margaret and Esperanza in the bazaar. He is the marked man; by rights they should be safe without him. The setting sun in his eyes awakens him in plenty of time to dress for dinner.

He wears, of course, the same impeccably-tailored suit he had donned for Brixby. The effect, however, is wholly altered, owing to niceties of detail: soberer shirt, less elaborate tie, a lighter hand with his hair-comb. Altogether Shirley presents a fine, dignified picture when he rings for the help after a last glance in the enameled mirror.

“Is His Honour at liberty? I should enjoy a moment’s chat before dinner.”

“A moment, please, sir.” The maid disappears, and reappears a moment later. “He would be pleasd to have you join him in his study. If you’ll follow me?”

The maid leads Shirley through some of the same corridors as before, then takes him down a new passage. She announces Shirley and quickly withdraws.

Judge Collins is at his writing-table. “Half a moment, Mr. Addam — just need to complete a few signatures.” He signs a few pages with an enthusiastic flourish, and removes his spectacles as he turns. “Court paperwork,” he smiles ruefully, waving his hand at the impressive towers of paper on the table. “Nothing new to you, I’m sure. How may I be of help?”

The Ellipsoids must indeed have been quite the ravening horde, if His Honour cannot assume any other than a self-serving motive for this visit. “Indeed, sir, I had only hoped to pass a few idle moments talking. But there is one small thing, which I had meant to leave for the morning — we have not yet signed the Ellipse ledger and received our tokens.”

“Ah, of course! Surely, I would forget my own head, were it not attahced.” He pulls a note out of his pocket and copies the receptionist’s record of their arrival into a small, red leatherbound ledger, and signs it. He hands the ledger and pen to Shirley, and reaches into a desk drawer, removing two tokens. “We shall bring the ledger with us for Dr. Byrd to sign before supper.” He hands Shirley one of the tokens and pockets the other. “I trust you shall help me remember her token.”

“Of course, though I do not doubt she will remind you herself.”

“No doubt,” he echoes, with a smile. He waves a hand in the direction of a leather sofa. “Please make yourself comfortable, Mr. Addam, and tell me about your travels. I have been following the Grand Ellipse closely, and I should very much like to hear your impressions of the lands you have seen.”

Shirley takes the offered seat. “Truth be told, sir, I have not given myself much time at the various stops, so my impressions are of the sketchiest. I doubt you can have much interest in the vicissitudes of travel. Speaking of sketches, though — Doctor Byrd’s companion is a talented artist. Perhaps she might be persuaded to show you her sketchbook.”

“I shall do my best to try. Pity you haven’t the time to see more on your trip. Still, I should like to know, if you were to return to any of the places you have seen thus far, which ones would you choose? I quite enjoy travelling myself, and after my time here
ends, I should like to take the scenic route back to London, if you take my meaning.”

> “Quite. Well, I confess to a sneaking sorrow at having missed the Sphinx. But of the places I did see, I thought Gibraltar by far the pleasantest, and I suppose Alexandria the most steeped in history. Though there is much to be said for the Bahrain bazaar, I dare not recommend the place; the British presence there is rather too enamoured of purely English cuisine.”

“I fear I must confess that rumours of Lord Brixby’s excessively boiled dinners strike fear in the hearts of most of Her Majesty’s diplomatic corps. The man’s meals are notorious!”

“You don’t say. Merciful heavens. I wish someone could have warned us! After the bad moment or three we had in the bazaar, Brixby’s boiled beef was utterly beyond sufferance.”

“I am most sorry to hear of your culinary misadventure–you do understand that I use the word culinary only in its very broadest sense, in this case. I suppose everyone assumed that someone else had warned you.” He smiles broadly. “But do tell me about your bad moment in the bazaar–not more of that wretched Addison’s blackguards, I hope!”

“No, not this time, for which I am, I assure you, quite thankful. A lady given to fainting fits suffered one at our feet as we walked through the bazaar to Government House. No harm done, fortunately, but had the doctor not shown considerable good sense there might have been unpleasant repercussions.”

“Again, you should speak to Doctor Byrd, not my ineffectual self,” he goes on, a twinkle in his eye. “She did considerable travelling before embarking on the Ellipse. I am only a raw Yorkshireman; the wonders of the world are quite wasted on me, I fear.”

“I am surprised to hear that from an intelligent man such as yourself, Mr. Addam. Mrs. Collins feels — and I cannot but agree–that everyone can benefit from the experience of travel. Quite an eye-opener, I must say. However, I shall ask her about Alexandria, as you suggest. I have an amateur’s enthusiasm for
Egyptian antiquities.”

Shirley feels the reproach, the more so as it is not unlike the fashion in which he has recently upbraided himself. “Of course you are right, Your Honour; travel must broaden any mind worth educating. I do not say I have learned nothing, only that some of this education I might gladly forego.”

“Mr. Addam, all of us are disillusioned on occasion. If you had truly desired a quiet life, you would have stayed in York, would you not?”

Shirley’s gaze is distant, fixed on some spot outside the open window. “The price is also to be considered. Thus far my education has cost a boy his life, sir.” He tears his eyes away from the lights arising outside, aware that he has spoken out of turn. “But naturally you and Mrs. Collins are attended by no such considerations. Did you speak to the Indian prince about your interest in antiquities? I hear he is a collector himself.”

The judge is clearly relieved to be on safer conversational ground. “Ah, His Highness’s interest seems to be in Oriental art and antiquities, rather than Egyptian. And he did seem rather distracted by his impending nuptial festivities. I suppose some
things are universal, eh what? Her Highness is a lovely woman, I must say. Sharp as a tack, and quite a wicked wit. His Highness is sure to have an interesting time of it.”

“Excuse me, do I understand correctly that Prince Singh is about to be married? Now? In the middle of the race? He said nothing of this in London!”

“Indeed he is, if Her Highness, Princess Pathak, has anything to say about it. I believe there is an article or two in the Times; I shall have the recent issues left in the library for you.”

“Thank you; much appreciated. It sounds, however, as if you have more knowledge of this than the Times will give me. Can you share any of it?”

“Hmmm…other than the articles about the royal wedding, I recall nothing of note, other than Judge Wilcox’s unfortunate demise.”

“Ah, yes, I saw the headline… the less said, the better, I daresay. He leaves a wife and a son at Oxford. I hope they are provided for.”

“As I recall, his wife is a very shrewd woman. I expect she will be able to make the best of the unfortunate situation.”

“Mm.” Shirley decides the earlier subject is the safer one. “One gets the impression that the Prince was rather surprised himself. I suppose there is somewhat of a gap between the knowledge of the impending event and the actual experience of waiting for it.”

“Hm. Are you quite sure he knew? Royal weddings are rarely arranged by the actual participants, here as elsewhere. Poor fellow, he must be in a state. Dare I ask whether his bride plans to accompany him on the remainder of the Ellipse?”

“Perhaps. Surely, he knew he had a fiancee, and that he would have to marry her sooner or later. As for whether Princess Pathak will accompany her new husband… in most cases, I shoulld guess not, but Her Highness is a most intrepid sort. Who knows? She may do exactly that.”

Shirley adopts a bemused expression. “I am finding this curiously difficult to imagine. I suppose that is because I have not met the lady. Still, I should not have imagined His Highness inspiring such attachment. A worthy individual, no doubt, but — not precisely the ladies’ man.”

“All the better for the Princess, then, eh?” He smiles broadly. “Perhaps you shall have the opportunity to meet her after the Ellipse runs its course.”

Margaret and Esperanza, on their way down to the dining room, overhear the voices in the study. As the door is open, they come in. Shirley arises immediately. “Ah, Doctor Byrd! Your Honour, shall we manage the Ellipse formalities now, so as not to disarrange dinner with business?”

She smiles at both of them. “Thank you, Mr. Addam. I had wondered when to best raise that question. Our welcome has been so kind, I hardly liked to mention business at all.”

“Well, I cannot have His Honour thinking I would cheat a fellow competitor, now can I?” Flippant words, but spoken without especial gaiety — almost dull, in fact. Something in Shirley’s face catches her attention; she gives him a brief quizzical look that inquires “are you quite all right?”, but does not say anything.

He turns toward the window for a breath of air; on turning back, he is quite his courteous, self-possessed self again. “My word, Doctor, you are quite splendid tonight!” he exclaims with sincerity, admiring the richly-coloured silks. “Nowhere in all of India, nor even China, could I feast my eyes so. Miss Garcia, as always you refresh the senses.”

The judge senses that something is going on, but chooses to ignore it, covering any awkwardness by handing Margaret the ledger and a pen with which to sign it. Margaret notices that her and Shirley’s arrival time is recorded as the time that they entered Government House, rather than the current time. After she hands the ledger back, His Honour presents her with the token. “And who is this young lady?” he asks, indicating Esperanza. “Shall you sign the register as well?”

Esperanza blushes violently and murmurs something about not being an Ellipsoid herself, only that she has the honour of accompanying two of them.

“Bah! what a rude sluggard I am, to be sure. Your Honour, I am most pleased to present to you Miss Esperanza Garcia y Gutierrez, lately of Gibraltar, artist, avid student of language, and worthy companion to Doctor Byrd.” He takes care with the pronunciation of her name, rolling his double-r’s with aplomb; she cannot fault the result.

Esperanza curtsies nicely and says “Pleased to meet you, Your Honour.” The judge bows in return. “Likewise, Miss Esperanza.” And to the trio “Shall we be off to the salon? Lord and Lady Oglethorpe are expected at any moment.”

“Of course,” says Shirley, stepping aside so that the judge can precede him. As senior gentleman present, naturally he escorts the doctor; Shirley offers his arm to Esperanza. “Quédate conmigo, eh?” Shirley says to her under his breath, patting her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Con todos estos hidalgos, nosotros los plebeyos tenemos que quedarnos juntos.”

Esperanza replies, in Spanish, “But of course. Without us, nothing important would ever get done.”

Margaret clears her throat briefly, to give herself an excuse to cover her grin. She smiles thanks at Shirley, and nods a reassurance to Esperanza. Then she turns to chat with the Judge as they go down the hall. “I have seen flowers everywhere, both here and at Government House. Is it yourself or Mrs. Collins that so enjoys gardening?”

“Mrs. Collins is quite an avid gardener. Got black fingers, myself. Used to have an American cactus, which unfortunately perished as I forgot to water it often enough.” He laughs a bit, and continues. “I expect that Mrs. Collins will require quite the conservatory when we return to London. She has been collecting orchids of late. Are you a gardener, Doctor?”

“I have never really taken the time for it, but I very much enjoy the results of others’ efforts.”

(This was part of the previous scene, following on Esperanza’s desired visit to the bazaar in disguise, but didn’t quite fit into the narration owing to loose continuity requirements in this particular game. It’s good enough to include on its own, though, so here you have it.)

“That is an excellent idea,” said Margaret, “and with your colouring it should not be difficult. Mr. Addam, will you help us to make her appear native?” Margaret looks almost as mischievous as Esperanza.

Shirley looks scandalized. “Me? I rather think not! Have a care, Margaret, for pity’s sake; her honor is your responsibility now.”

At that Margaret laughs outright. “I meant only that you should advise us, not that you should help her with dressing, of course! Really, that was a most absurd conclusion to jump to!”

Shirley flushes under his tan and stares at the ground. Caught. Indeed he ought not have assumed the worst; it looks odd, unsavoury. But Margaret has a free cast of thought — or she’d have nothing to do with him, rightly enough — and she knows just where to have him. More fool he for letting her. His flush deepens.

His discomfiture cannot but be droll; the look of surprised shame on his face, perhaps not so. Margaret sees the shift of emotions across his face, and sobers. She wants to apologize, but fears that if she acknowledges his embarrassment, she will only make matters worse.

He brings both hands to the bridge of his nose, willing the physical signs of his embarrassment to subside. “Yes, of course it was; I do apologize,” is all his response.

And that gives her an opening. “I am sorry, also. I did not mean to cause you distress, truly. We will manage.”

Esperanza looks a bit confused, as if she almost, but not quite, figured out the meaning behind the apparent impropriety. However, she holds her tongue and puts it down to her imperfect command of English.

“Ah, and while I am in an admonitory frame of mind,” Shirley adds, as the moment passes, “Miss Garcia, in future do not leap down from whatever transport we are in until one of us tells you it is safe to do so. The obvious places to reach us are the endpoints of our journeys — the train station, and Government House. If there had been trouble, we should likely have had to drive off in haste, and where would you have been then?”

Margaret sobers suddenly and completely. It is her change in manner that catches Esperanza’s full attention. “He is right, my dear. I know it is hard to keep always in mind, but this journey is most dangerous to us just when safety is in sight. Remember? That is why we must be your aunt and uncle when we travel.”

Esperanza nearly flinches at Shirley’s tone of voice, and both he and Margaret can see the light go out of her eyes at once. She looks down and folds her hands her lap. “I am terribly sorry, Mr. Addam, Señora Doctor,” and she does indeed sound most sincerely contrite. “I… let my excitement get ahead of me and did not think. I forget — forgot — my place; I shall wait for instructions in the future.” She falls silent, and her head remains down, looking at her entwined fingers.

Margaret gives Shirley a quick glare; such a harsh tone was not necessary with a child so eager to please. Shirley knows his own shame and irritation caused a greater harshness than he meant. Still, he cannot quite regret it. As precocious as Esperanza is, she is sixteen, and she comes from a safe, protective family. A kinder warning might not have broken through her youthful self-confidence. If casting him as the villain of the piece will keep Esperanza safe, so be it.

Margaret hastens to reassure Esperanza. “No, dear heart, it is not that. I am not at all concerned with ‘place.’ Frankly, I think it’s a lot of nonsense most of the time. It is that we are concerned for your safety. It would suit those who wish to harm us very well, to hurt you in order to force us to stop. You did not make us angry. We were frightened of what might have happened to you. We were lucky; it was all right this time, and it was good to see you so happy. But please, you must indeed more careful in the future.” Somewhere in the middle of that she has gotten up and gone over to Esperanza, putting an arm around the girl’s shoulders. Now she gives her a gentle hug. “Do you understand? And do you have questions?”

Shirley leaves his chair to kneel on one knee before the Spanish girl. So arranged, he cannot seem terribly threatening. “Escuchame, Esperanza,” he says, the faults of his accent in no way hiding the mildness in his low voice. “Lo que dije fue demasiado brusco, y esto siento; pero como dice la señora doctor, todo es para mantenernos — nosotros todos — en salvo. No quiero que nada en el mundo prevenga lo que tú y la señora doctor esperen. Por eso dije lo que dije. Solo por eso, me oyes?”

Esperanza nods, and apologizes again, in Spanish this time. Switching to English, she says “I understand, but it has been such a grand adventure — so much to see and do — that I feel as if I haven’t a moment to spare. I shall try very hard to be more careful.”

(Doesn’t have quite the same ring. Ah, well.)

Renate’s brother Emil “Will Gerevannin” von Adler has been up to some tricks of his own. Definitely an intriguing read, even if you haven’t been keeping up with things Dragonhuntish.

Dark Eternal is playing a curious double game. For all his apparent belief in the superiority of dragondom to humanity, he’s done an awful lot to enhance individual humans—his own Heaven fighting corps, obviously, and (potential spoiler) eventually someone else as well, at least possibly.

So is he playing a double game, shoving humanity to take the reins from him, à la the philosopher Will was citing? Or is he simply so arrogant that he believes he can always stay one step ahead of humanity?

Renate, if asked, would have a few different answers to the broad questions. First, that there is more to life than dominion; dominion only coincidentally coincides with worth. Second, that if humanity is to throw off the dragons’ yoke, it will have to do so without dragon-granted gifts, insofar possible, or how will it keep the freedom gained? Third—and she as yet only has a vague sense of this—that humanity finds its strength in acknowledging, sharing, and collectively countering the weaknesses of each individual human. That, she and I both think, is what will eventually overthrow the dragons.

In the meantime, she will have to do her best with what little freedoms she has.

Shirley is considerably relieved when the door of Government House shuts behind him — even just being inside the gates feels unsafe.

A well-dressed, rail-thin receptionist asks if he may be of assistance. Margaret, still feeling a little edgy, pulls out a Grand Ellipse token (it happens to be the one from Gibraltar) and shows it to the receptionist, saying, “We would like to see the representative for the race, please.” She is assuming that the receptionist will recognize the token.

The receptionist’s entire manner changes, official stiffness giving way to almost overwhelmingly helpful enthusiasm. He smiles broadly and says, “Ah, another Ellipsoid! I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Jason Straw at your service, Madame, Sir, Miss.” He nods respectfully and extends a hand to Shirley. “His Honour has just stepped out for a moment; I expect him back at any time. If you’ll kindly follow me to drawing room? And is there anything I can bring you while you wait?”

Margaret smiles and holds out her hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Straw. We should be fine here until His Honour is free. If you could just ask someone to bring us some tea, we should be in your debt. We left our trunks in the care of the stationmaster, but we can send a messenger to have them delivered once we know where to send them, if you think they will be safe there for a time.”

Straw shakes Margaret’s hand rather more enthusiastically than she is used to from gentlemen. He is obviously most anxious to please, and very excited to meet the Ellipsoids. “Ever so pleased to meet you, ma’am — quite an honour, if I may say so. I shall have the tea things sent up at once, Doctor! His Honour would be most pleased if you would join him and Mrs. Collins for supper tonight, and you are welcome to stay the night at his house. And, of course, if there is anything that I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask. ”

“We would be delighted to accept both invitations,” Margaret answers.

“His Honour and Mrs. Collins shall be likewise delighted, I’m sure. I shall be sure to send your trunks on to His Honour’s house, in that case.”

“Thank you. I believe they are under the name of ‘Hampstead.’ We did not wish to advertise our presence in public.

“Ah, here we are.” Straw opens the door to a middling-sized room, comfortably and tastefully furnished in classic colonial style. A large picture window overlooks a garden riotous with colour. A lone, ancient gardener is weeding a riotous patch of orange and red poppies at the far end of the clearing. Several shallow glass cases on the wall displays pressed flowers; obviously, someone is an enthusiastic gardener.

Margaret takes a brief look in the cases, but she, too, is grateful to have arrived safely, and glad to relax. She takes a chair near Shirley, sneaking a quick glance to see how he’s doing; he seems quite all right. She looks over to Esperanza. “My dear? You are a wonder! How long does it take you to learn a new language? I am accounted quick at languages by most, but I am nowhere near ready to converse in this land.”

Shirley, too, smiles at Esperanza and says, “Warn me beforehand next time you plan to do something brilliant, will you please? If I had laughed the way I wanted to, we should have had the entire station staring at us!”

Margaret laughs in turn. “Yes, well, I was hard put to avoid doing an excellent imitation of a landed fish, mouth agape!”

Esperanza cocks her head to one side; it isn’t something she has ever thought about. “A few days to a week, I would guess it takes me. I do not know for certain. The more I hear, the easier it is, and I heard plenty of Marathi, Hindostani, and Urdu on the train. I think I was even hearing Urdu in my dreams! My Arabic is ever so much better since Alexandria and Bahrain, but we weren’t in Malta long enough for me to learn much– although Italian is so much like Spanish that I can understand it; I do not think I could speak it fluently, though.” Esperanza looks rather confused. “Señora Doctor learns languages also…”

Shirley is suitably impressed, and looks it. He is no slouch with languages himself, despite his limited opportunity to learn them, but a week’s exposure? Phenomenal. “As do I, when opportunity presents itself — but not in a week!” He reaches into his everpresent valise, rummages around a moment, and comes up with Lord Percy’s gift, the Arabic grammar, which he slides across an end-table to Esperanza. “A gift for your valour, Miss Garcia; you will doubtless make better use of it than I. Do you happen to speak any Russian?”

“Thank you, Mr. Addam!” She pounces on the book and flips through it briefly. “I haven’t heard any Russian, but I expect that it won’t take very long once we arrive in Vladivostok. Until we left Gibraltar, I had only heard French, English, and Arabic for any length of time. And French is enough like Spanish that it wasn’t difficult, although the sounds were odd to me, at first–and the spelling!” She shakes her head slightly, wondering why on earth the French need so many letters in each word, when they don’t even bother to pronounce all of them. Shirley and Margaret both note that although her voice still has a bit of an accent, her English is much improved.

A maid chooses this moment to arrive with an overloaded tea cart. “Mr. Straw said that you had been travelling all day, so I took the liberty of adding a few sandwiches and cakes.” She looks a bit apprehensive; she’s well aware that it verges on a sort of high tea — rather declassé for important guests — but Mr. Straw was most emphatic that the Ellipsoids were to be fed.

“How very thoughtful,” Shirley says. “Most appreciated, I assure you.”

Margaret’s smile is so open that the maid can’t keep worrying. “That was very thoughtful of you. I don’t know about Mr. Addam, but Esperanza and I quite ready to do these justice. Just put the cart over there” she points to a small table near the chairs “and I can pour.”

The maid is visibly relieved as she carefully wheels the tea cart over. “Mr. Straw asked me to tell you that a footman has been sent to move your luggage, and that His Honour has gone to the library. Mr. Straw has gone to fetch him back, and expects to return within the hour. In the mean time, if you should need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ring.”

“The latest _Times_, either of London or India, would be appreciated, but there is no hurry,” Shirley says, resigning himself to an inevitable delay in asking for news.

“I think that His Honour has this morning’s edition in his office. I shall see if I can find it.”

Margaret exchanges a glance with Shirley once the maid has gone. Obviously, Esperanza is a linguistic prodigy. Equally obviously, she has no idea of it. “Well then, dear heart, we shall have to give you the opportunity to learn more languages, since you seem to enjoy it so much.” She is smiling. “I was planning to ask you if you needed any more paints or pencils; I think I shall take you to visit a bookseller as well. Would you enjoy that? I was planning to see if there were any books to assist me in learning Japanese. Shall we make it a joint project?” If Margaret were Esperanza’s age, she’d be bouncing on her chair; at it is, her enthusiasm is probably making Shirley laugh.

“Perhaps you would find me a Russian grammar while you are there,” Shirley says. The first overwhelming relief past, his mind is inevitably turning back to the Addison situation, but he is content to keep his worries and surmises to himself and indulge Margaret and Esperanza’s pleasure. “I daresay it will take the two of us and at least two languages to keep that mind of yours busy, Miss Garcia.”

Esperanza looks a bit puzzled. “As for teaching… I am happy to try, but I do not know if I can teach you to learn by listening. I’m not sure exactly how to explain it–if I listen long enough, I can hear the patterns of the language. The only language I ever learned in a schoolroom sort of way was when I learned to read and write Spanish.” She pauses for a moment. “If I may ask, how long does it take you to learn a language, Mr. Addam, Senora Doctor? And how do you learn?”

Shirley shrugs. “All law students learn passable Latin in their first year. I learned spoken French from a Quebecois client of mine, and filled in the rest with grammars. His case dragged through a few appeals, lasting some months. I studied Spanish from a book on the way from England; I have the grammar nearly under control, I think, but my vocabulary is quite limited and I daresay my accent is an abomination. I’ve no idea what that tells you.”

Esperanza ponders this for a moment. “I am happy to help you practice as much as you wish… I am sure that you will learn it in no time! Spanish is very easy, I think, especially if you know some French already. The patterns are similar, even if the sounds and spelling are not.”

“It takes me a week or two to learn enough to function, but I have to be able to focus on one particular language, and to know what I am hearing. If only Urdu were spoken on the train, I would be beginning to understand, but there were many languages, and I could not sort them out to learn any of them. That is why you can teach me. If you speak to me slowly in one particular language, and let me repeat it until my mouth knows the feel of the sounds, I will learn it quickly. You can learn by listening. I must listen, and have explanations, and practice. I enjoy it tremendously, but I still must work at it.”

“I would be happy to start learning Japanese and Russian. Ought I start studying Chinese as well, for Hong Kong?”

“Indefatigable girl. Yes, go ahead; we shall see if even picture-writing can slow you down.”

“If it can be done from books, by all means! I am afraid I can be no help to you there. But we will look for books to get started. By the bye, Esperanza, if you ever find anything you want to learn about, please do let me know. If I am unable to teach you, I will find you books or someone who is familiar with the matter. It is such a delight to have a companion who wants to learn new things — I will help you any way I can.” It is utterly obvious that this offer is made out of the delight of sharing with a kindred spirit, and not just because she accepted an obligation to Esperanza.

“Of course, I am happy to learn languages to help you on the Grand Ellipse! I don’t think I could *not* learn them; sometimes it seems as though they slip into my head without my notice.” Esperanza beams. “And I should like to visit the bazaar — there is so much to see! And I would like to buy extra paint and pencils for the trip across Russia; the Colonel told me that Siberia is quite desolate, and that I should bring everything I might need with me. Perhaps another sketchbook or two as well; the one I brought from home is nearly full.”

Margaret grins in pure delight. “You shall have them, and some pastels as well, I think — I am not sure how well watercolours will work in the cold of Siberia.” She makes a mental note to write her parents a letter telling them about Esperanza, and asking that they take guardianship of her and give the girl all the education and opportunity she can absorb in the event that anything untoward should befall herself. She will do it that evening, and give it to His Honour to post with his household’s business.

Esperanza pulls her sketchbook out and hands it over to Margaret; it is full of neatly labeled landscapes and seascapes from their travels, street scenes, plants, animals, a few seashells, people, and even a few sketches of Shirley and Margaret. Esperanza has done small watercolour studies in the sketchbook as well, and her finished, loose watercolours are carefully organized in the back of the sketchbook. There are only a few blank pages left in the back of the book. The drawings are creditably well done, and improve noticeably through the book.

“Bah! who is that lanky lout?” Shirley murmurs with a sniff of disdain on seeing one of him. “Mi hija, no debes mostrar éstas a todo el mundo, para no — er, hacer daño a la honra de la señora doctor.” His accent is, as promised, wretchedly English, but his grammar is quite precise and correct.

“Esperanza, these are very nice,” Margaret remarks. “Have you had any formal drawing lessons?”

“My Tia–Aunt–Elena used to teach drawing at a girls’ school, and after my mother died, she let me sit in the room while she taught, so that she could watch me. She would give me bits of paper and small pencils or pastels; just things that were left over from the students. But I never really studied, I only practiced whenever I had the chance.”

“And listened to what your Tia was telling her students, I’ve no doubt. I don’t have your talent, but I do have some formal training; would you like me to work with you until we get back to England? We shall get you a better teacher there.”

“That would be wonderful!” Esperanza bites her lower lip, then blurts out, “I would very much like to go to art school, in England, after the Grand Ellipse — the one that your princess went to.”

“Then you shall; if something should happen to me, I have made sure my family will see to it. In the meantime, though, there is a whole world out there. I have some small volumes of poetry in my trunks; I’m sure you’ve seen them. I think we should read those together. Hmm; I shall have to see if the bookseller has anything by Cervantes, as well.”

“I do know how to read, but mostly in Spanish, and only a little French besides… I haven’t done it much.”

“Like anything, it becomes easier with practice, and I think you will enjoy it very much. There is nothing like a book to keep you company when you are alone. Let us see, you already know plain sewing, but I think you shall learn fancywork, as well. It will help you to learn design.” Suddenly Margaret stops and blinks. “Listen to me go on! But I do think you will enjoy those things, my dear. Would you like to try it?”

Esperanza nods, her head swimming with possibilities.

Margaret looks at the girl’s clothing. “I think I shall buy you some new travelling clothes, as well. You seem to be growing, my dear. We will choose things which are a little long, and I shall put tucks in them so we can let them out when we need to. This is a good place to find cottons and silks, and certain types of furniture as well, and my family’s firm can ship it for us. You shall have your own room in my home when we return to England; if you see things you would like to furnish it, we shall buy them and have them shipped back.”

Esperanza’s eyes go wide; she is beginning to have an inkling of what her life in England will be like after the Grand Ellipse, a subject to which she had not given much thought. She has always shared a room with Tia Elena; the idea of a room to herself is almost beyond belief; furnishing it at the Madras bazaar is pure fantasy.

“But you must do the bargaining, my dear. It will cost twice as much for me, speaking English, as you will be able to get speaking the native language. I shall be getting things for myself, as well, and anything I do not spend paying the European penalty shall be your reward, to spend on yourself as you like.”

“I should dress up like a local girl, as well — they’ll never know; there are so many languages here that nobody could possibly speak them all.” Esperanza is once again enthused; the chance to be helpful in addition to putting one over someone, with adult encouragement no less, is irresistible.

“Margaret,” Shirley says softly, loath to break the pleasant connection between the doctor and her ward, “you might ask your family’s man to wire home to have a trust set up for her. I would gladly fulfill your promises to her — in extremis — if I could, but I am not a wealthy man.”

The look Margaret gives Shirley is very warm. “Thank you for the thought, my dear. If I am not by and you are there, I would appreciate if you would make certain Esperanza is not lonely, nor too rigidly constrained. As well try to bind a nightingale! But do not worry about the financial aspect; it will be taken care of readily. I will compose a telegram to my brother tonight, and send it tomorrow. I believe I shall instruct him, not only to set up a trust for her, but to make her my ward and heir ‘de jure’ as well as ‘de facto’.” Then she laughs softly. “Would you believe, I engaged her originally simply as a lady’s maid and companion? So many things have happened, that I never thought of.” Obviously, she is not speaking only of Esperanza.

Esperanza is once again wearing her mischievous look. “And such a disappointing lady’s maid I have turned out to be.” She gives a melodramatic sigh, then giggles.

Margaret turns back to her. “I am sorry, my dear; I did not mean to talk about you as if you were not here. But that is, indeed, what I have been planning. Do you approve? If you do not like it, I shall find another way to keep my promises to you.”

Esperanza’s eyes go wide. “I believe my head is spinning… Señora Doctor, you have been so kind to me, I… I think that you know far better than I what would be best. I only know that I should very much like to go to England to study, after the Grand Ellipse.”

A sandwich and a cup of tea later, Shirley asks, “Doctor? Were you not planning to send a messenger to your family’s business associate? Now is as reasonable a time as any.”

“That is an excellent thought; thank you, Shirley.” She removes a note she has written while killing time on the train, adds a few words to the effect that they are now at Government House and would like to see the gentleman and rings for the maid. When she arrives, Margaret will give her the note, asking that a messenger be sent to the individual and giving the address. She also asks that the messenger wait for a response. A footman arrives to take the note for Margaret, and suggests that she have the reply sent to His Honour’s house, as Mr. Straw and His Honour are expected back at any moment. “Yes, do that please, and thank you for the suggestion.”

Margaret, Esperanza, and a jumpy Shirley arrive at Madras train station without incident.

Margaret whispers quickly to Esperanza “remember; we are Uncle Gus and Tante Belle, and you are my niece Maria.”

The train station is very crowded with all kinds of people. There are a few police on duty, but they are mostly just observing, as the crowd, while rowdy, does not appear to be violent–just in a hurry. The noise level is quite high, with people shouting in a dozen languages. Esperanza murmurs that she never imagined so many people could fit in one train station.

There are also several vendors around the perimeter of the station, some of the wares-spread-out-on-a-blanket variety, others selling a wide variety of food. Along with the normal smells that the trio has learnt to associate with rail travel, there are all kinds of utterly unfamiliar, but tantalizing, food smells.

Local transport options include hired carriages, a rickshaw-like contraption, carts and wagons drawn by oxen or donkeys, the occasional bicycle, and the universally popular feet. Porters are also available for hire.

All in all, it appears to be a normal train station, albeit a very busy one.

“Right,” Shirley says, under the shrieking of the brakes. “Our goals are to retrieve our baggage, hop in a couple of carriages, and off to Government House as quietly as possible. We will use porters *only* to take our bags to a carriage, so as to avoid mention of Government House — the extra expense is regrettable but necessary. If we can — I am not familiar with Madras — we should give an initial destination near to Government House, and tell the drivers differently later.”

“I think, if we can fit, we would do best to take one carriage,” says Margaret. “As Englishmen coming to take up new post in Madras, our trunks would be completely unexceptional, but money for two carriages most unusual.”

“I agree, but we are rather encumbered. If we should have to take two, I believe Maria should be odd person out.” Left unsaid — Shirley and Margaret are targets; Esperanza is not.

“I have another idea” Margaret says. She is most uncomfortable with the thought of Esperanza potentially on her own here. “It would not be unusual, either. We can check some of our trunks with the stationmaster if they won’t all fit on the carriage, to be delivered later. That is quite common.” She takes his arm with one hand, and picks up her basket with the other…the picture of the young domestic matron. She grins; in spite of the potential seriousness of the situation, she’s having fun with the act. “Well, my dear? Shall we go report to your new commander?”

Esperanza stops abruptly, with a look of sudden remembrance on her face. She enthusiastically fishes around in the small carrying bag that has rarely been out of her possession since leaving Gibraltar. She pulls out a sheaf of slightly crumpled papers. “Uncle Gus? Before we leave, Papa gave me a few maps, his extra copies–Glasgow, Hong Kong, and Madras.” She plucks the map of Madras out of the roll and hands it to Shirley. It is a British Army map of Madras, dated 1880. It is far more likely that the Colonel, rather than her father, gave her the maps, but she is very conscious of the need for discretion.

“Maria, you are a treasure. Bless you.” “Maria” beams, happy to have gotten Shirley’s praise at last, rather than being dismissed like an annoying chaperone or some sort of child. The main courthouse is across the street from Government House, and the records office is ’round the corner. “Hm,” Shirley says, scrutinizing the map. “The courthouse, I think, unless anyone has any objections. Belle? Maria?”

Margaret shrugs. “Neither is likely for a relocating family… but the Courthouse is likelier than the records office. It will do.”

Esperanza shrugs also, with eloquent indifference; in the course of the trip across the subcontinent, she has developed a deep fascination with all things Indian, and is obviously interested in trying to figure out how to get “Tante Belle” to the bazaar later on. Not to mention that the food smells heavenly, and although polite young ladies aren’t supposed to have much of an appetite — especially for spicy foods — she most certainly does. Margaret notices the wistful look. “Don’t worry” she tells Esperanza aside. “Once we have signed in at Government House, we will try to arrange a trip to the bazaar. It does smell heavenly, doesn’t it? And I want to get some silks, even if I have to ship them home. My family has a man of business here; perhaps we can get him to take us around while Uncle Gus is busy.” And she give the girl a thoroughly conspiratorial wink.

The porters all appear to be very busy, and after much fruitless hand-waving, “Maria” gets impatient and calls out in one of the local languages, in a manner as ladylike as possible, considering the volume. This attracts sufficient porters, with whom she bargains in a very animated fashion. The smaller bags go into the carriage, and the trunks begin their journey. She turns around to her putative aunt and uncle and says, disingenously, “To the courthouse?”

Margaret is doing her best not to look completely stunned. This is her “niece”; she should know what the girl is capable of. “Yes, and thank you, dear! You are full of surprises still, aren’t you?”

Uncle Gus suppresses a shout of laughter. “After you, my dear niece,” he says, motioning toward the carriage-stand. Everyone piles into the carriage, which takes off at a brisk pace in the direction of the courthouse. The sights, sounds, and smells are mesmerizing, and Maria delights in pointing out an elephant making its way down a crowded cross-street.

The courthouse and Government house are impressive sandstone monuments, with classical European lines that seem out of place with the Oriental air of the city. The carriage pulls up to the very steps of the courthouse, and Maria happily bounds down to the hot pavement.

“Slowly, Miss Impetuosity,” says Uncle Gus, with a smile just the least bit brittle. This is, after all, the most dangerous place in Madras for them just now. The street is less crowded than the train station, and there is a larger percentage of Anglos in the crowd. However, nobody seems to take any particular notice of
the new arrivals. The crowd appears to be almost entirely focused on its own business. Nobody is scanning the crowd, except for the guards at Government House and the courthouse, and Margaret does not hear anything amiss.