July 9 / Hierschtan 16

  For the first time in a Barugalan week, ten days, Alboim was sitting in Aunt Elspith’s office. Harralt had used a mage-circle to implant the written language in his mind, and Oswalt, the heir of one of the ‘Five Ducal Houses’ that ran Barugala under the king, had suggested several books in his library.

  If he was going to survive his forced stay in the kingdom, he had to have a plan, and he had to have something to repay Aunt Elspith for her generosity. Today’s breakfast was part of his plan, and he had practiced his arguments with Bennit, Harralt, and Oswalt.

  The day after his breakdown last week, he summoned the cook who’d baked those bakla-buns. The cook wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hands, eyes darting as if searching for a place to hide, or an excuse to flee back to his basement ovens as he stepped into the Heir’s Suite. He was human, dressed in a thick linen double-breasted shirt and pants despite the heat and humidity. About thirty, he clutched a tall hat in his hands as he prostrated himself on the floor before Alboim. A brass slave collar adorned his neck. “Y-your butler said you wished to see me, My Lordship.” he stammered out.

  “Please, stand. What is your name?” The etiquette book Oswalt had recommended helped. Even with—no—especially with slaves, who cannot talk back, it is important to be polite.

  “Gorram, Your Lordship.”

  “First, I loved those buns from yesterday. They are not quite like a dessert from my homeworld, but they tasted almost as good as my mother’s baklava.”

  “Thank you, Lordship! Thank you for coming and saving us!” Alboim struggled not to sigh; this was not the first time a slave had called him that; some of the cleaning slaves had whispered it among themselves.

  “That remains to be seen; I may not even be allowed to stay in this world.” Alboim tried to push against the rumor, a losing battle if he’d ever seen one. The worshipful gratitude for his very existence unnerved the boy. “I would like your opinion on this.” He handed the cook a recipe he’d translated from the data cube. “Now, this uses chicken eggs in my world, and I have no clue what duck eggs will do to the flavor. I would like some as a surprise for my aunt. Do you think you can make this?”

  The cook stared at the scrap of paper for a long time before nodding. “I think I can make something similar. I will have to speak to someone about the equipment you describe, though. It will take several days.”

  “Good! I look forward to seeing what you come up with. This is one of my favorite foods, so I look forward to it. Please keep it to yourself as much as possible. I’d like to surprise Aunt Elspith with it. Once we’ve gotten it right, I can take it to her.”

  Today was the moment of truth. Dobsen placed one covered platter before Elspith and another before him. Removing the domed lids, the dignified slave stepped back against the wall. Bennit replaced him at the side of the table with hot tea. Alboim watched in anticipation as Elspith stared in confusion at the fluffy thing on her plate. A lump of fresh butter was melting, filling the indentations. A small pitcher of berry compote ready to pour. Too bad they didn’t have maple syrup here, but you could not have everything.

  She cut into it, taking a small, fragrant bite, steam wafting from the plate. Elspith closed her eyes in bliss, chewing the light, fluffy breakfast food.

  “Try it with the fruit,” Alboim suggested. “So, how was your first experience with waffles?” He smiled.

  “Most excellent, my nephew. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank your cook, Gorram. He did the work, got the waffle iron made, adapted the recipe to local ingredients, and came up with the topping. It’s supposed to have maple syrup, but that does not exist.” He shrugged, and dug into his own waffle. They spoke of light, trivial things until the breakfast dishes were cleared, and they sat drinking hot after-breakfast mint tea Bennit poured at the table under the window. Sunshine poured in, filtered by the giant redwood, and the silence broken by the chirping of birds and the drone of insects.

  “Thank you, Alboim. I promised I would not pressure you, and I will hold to that promise. If nothing else, you have given me hope once again for the future. Now, what did you want to speak to me about?”

  “Thank you for giving me the time and space I need. I am trying to understand things here, but it is hard.” Bennit shook his head slightly, no. Alboim ignored it and pressed on. He had to know how things stood and no one else would give him answers. “No one, not even Occam or Bennit, will tell me exactly what happened to your, no, to our family. Why are you so desperate?”

  Elspith set her teacup down, and stared out at the redwood tree for a long minute before answering. “You are my last remaining relative, other than a disgusting little weasel, who is only a cousin three times removed.” He looked confused. “His great-grandmother was my grandfather’s sister.” she clarified.

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  “His grandfather had lusted after Brantle, and he has as well. House Gastap is far to the north, and is in constant danger of dwarven raids. They have been scheming for fifty, sixty years now. Nothing concrete, mind you. Nothing I could take to the king to get that louse stricken as my heir. I can say that slowly, my family has dwindled until he is the closest blood relative I have left. Once or twice is a coincidence, but fifty-three times? That is enemy action.” Elspith stood abruptly, pacing her large study.

  “I can bring you written accounts of what happened to your cousins, Lord Alboim.” Dobsen stepped forward, giving Elspith time to recover somewhat. “Please,” he lowered his voice. “Do not press for details. She still mourns deeply.”

  Alboim nodded in acknowledgement. “Bennit mentioned Sylam to me. I am sorry for your loss. No mother should have to bury their child.”

  “Yes. My son Sylam, and my daughters, Zuzanna and Aronia. My husband, my brothers and their families, my cousins, everyone slowly and surely cut down and only Gastap’s line remained unscathed. The implications are clear. The current Lord Gastap is continuing and escalating his campaign to acquire my legacy.”

  “Pardon, Zuzanna?” It could not be a coincidence.

  “I named her after my mother. Why?”

  “My eldest sister is Susan. Dad must have named her after my grandmother as well.” He dabbed at his eye.

  “I will take you to their graves in the family crypts,” Bennit muttered in his ear. “It is only proper that you pay your respects.”

  “What bothers me is,” Elspith went on, not noticing Bennit’s whisperings, “he has managed to get past all of my wards except those here at Brantle. And I cannot find out how!” She breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly in a technique Alboim recognized from Dad, and now knew was necessary to learning magic of any stripe. “I do not brag, but I am one of the most accomplished mages of my generation, possibly for the last hundred years, and he slips through like a needle through cloth.”

  “And you fear for your people, like any decent person would.” Or are you jumping at shadows? Right now, I cannot tell. “You have responsibilities to people, and I get it. But I have responsibilities too, on Earth. I can no more abandon Susan and Agatha than you could abandon Brantle.”

  Elestrin’s face fell. “You want to condemn tens of thousands to the whims of a megalomaniac. I cannot say that I blame you. You do not know my people, nor do you know Brantly of House Gastap.”

  “And there is also the slavery. It is a great evil, one that it took centuries for Earth to get rid of.”

  “Yes, I had Harralt and Oswalt tell me about your world. Your country fought many wars to end slavery, both in your homeland, and around the world.”

  “Yes. ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’” he quoted. “My religion says that we are all the same. We are all children of God. How can I enslave my brother?”

  Albom looked around the room, stood and walked to his aunt. Looking her in the eye, he told her, “I don’t want to be all preachy about it, but if I stay here, in this system, I fear I would lose my soul and my sanity.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?” Elpsith looked away. “You are my last hope. Please reconsider. We can easily bring your sisters over; as daughters of House Brantle, they would live a life of unparalleled luxury. Or are you willing to look Dobsen, Bennit, Gorram, Suzsise, everyone that your feelings are more important than their lives?”

  “A fair point.” He admitted. “A more than fair point.” When do my sisters become more important than the thousands I could help here? “I don’t know.” God, she’s right about that. If what she says is true, can I really call myself moral and just, if I put my happiness over the well-being of all those I’ve met here? What happens to Suzsise, or her cute baby sister if this Gastap guy is the monster Aunt makes him out to be?

  “There are no easy answers to this. But what I can do is try to help you as much as I can while I am here.” Alboim pulled out a piece of paper torn out of a notebook, where he’d sketched a horse collar. “I have access to a ton of innovations in my world that will help you and yours. This, for instance, will let horses pull twice as much, twice as efficiently as they can now. Horse collars are the least of it, though.” Steam engines, four crop rotation, papermaking, the Bessemer process. The climate is probably too wet for gunpowder, at least until we can make casings and percussion caps. The data cube didn’t have that, though.

  “I don’t have a clue about Barugala’s politics, but can you adopt someone as your heir? Can you bribe the king to let you? If you can eliminate the threat this Gastap guy poses, I won’t have to stay, you have an heir of your own choosing and we can all get what we want.”

  “If you want something like that to work, then you will have to learn magic much more quickly than is really safe. It will be vital in an audience with King Elaboim, which means you have a lot of work cut out for you.” Elspith advised.

  “Without it, you are powerless; with it, you can force the king and the nobles to respect you enough to be listened to. Your bloodline means you will be very dangerous. I will ask Harralt and Oswalt to train you. Just be aware; it will not be easy, and at your age, may be impossible. Your chances of survival are very bleak if you cannot at least handle minor circles.”

  “That should be fine. I don’t know if Mom and Dad were ever going to let me in on the secret, but they at least gave me a solid foundation to work with. If I fail,” Aboim promised, “it will not be due to lack of effort. And the guys are actually pretty fun to be around, though their first impression left much to be desired.”

  Elspith nodded. “It is not likely, I have so few relatives left. Still, it is worth a try. Elaboim may not be so easy to convince, but I am not without allies. We have six months until we must make a final decision. “She smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since that first bite of waffle. “Yours is a suitable compromise. If you succeed, I will be sorry to see you go.”

  Alboim stuck his hand out. “If we succeed, I will not be a stranger. We can write letters, and regular portals, even only twice a year, means I can visit once my sisters are grown.”

  Elspith shook it. “God of Light willing, we will survive these next six months.”