Saturday, February 25, 2012
Section 3/B/B
Kestrel shook her head. What was she doing? Now was not a good time to annoy Boron, and he was very particular about everything in its place. Besides, she didn't know where Boron was, and the best place to find someone to help her out was through the back door. She tucked the note that the driver had given her into her sleeve with the handkerchief.
"Why Kestrel, it's nice to see you here," said Mrs. Plover, the cook. "It's been a while and no mistake. Would you care for something to eat? I haven't quite finished the lunch by now, but I have plenty of bread and fresh milk."
"Thank you, Mrs. Plover," Kestrel said, "but I don't have time at the moment. The Domini Son sent for me."
Mrs. Plover pinched her lips. "What about?"
"I expect it's more lessons," Kestrel said simply, trying her best not to blush. "What else could it be?"
Mrs. Plover looked like she wasn't very happy about what else it could be. "Now you're a good girl," she said, "and you just watch that you stay one."
"Mrs. Plover," Kestrel said, suddenly red with embarrassment in spite of her efforts to tell her cheeks to cool themselves off. "I certainly have no intention of any misbehavior. Thanks to my mother, I speak a language that the young Domini wants to learn. I am grateful for the work. That's all." As soon as she said it, Kestrel wished that she hadn't added the last line. It sounded so guilty, as though she knew exactly what Mrs. Plover was getting at--which was true--and was guilty but professing her innocence--which was not true. The problem was that it was close enough to true to make her cheeks burn red, make her awkward at speaking, and make her look generally like a girl caught in a haystack with a boy.
"My girl," Mrs. Plover said seriously. "You just watch yourself. I won't say a word against the Domini Son, but young men don't see life in the same light as young ladies. Just you make sure that you know what you're about."
Kestrel nodded and scuttled for the door. It occurred to her that she should have asked Mrs. Plover for directions, but she couldn't bring herself to, not after all that had happened.
Section 3/B/A
Well, what did it matter? The front door went into the House just like the back door. In fact, she really ought to get used to the front door if she would soon be using it as the upcoming Lady Domini. Kestrel straightened her back and tossed her head to get the wind-blown strands of hair out of her eyes. When she took a step forward, it felt like a lead weight dropped into her stomach, but she told herself to ignore it. If she was going to become a the wife of a Domini, then she had better start acting like it.
When Greystone answered the door, he looked right through Kestrel. The silence stretched. For one moment, Kestrel almost turned and fled, but she forced herself to tighten everything inside of herself into a solid core that was cold and didn't care about the disdain of butlers.
"I'm here to see Dominison Boron," she informed him at last.
He nodded and paused again. Then he said in a voice as cold as a mausoleum, "I believe that Mrs. Plover can help you. If you would be good enough to go through the garden, you will find her in the back kitchen." There was just enough twist to his tone when he said "back kitchen" to make it feel like a slap in the face.
Kestrel lips pressed into a thin line. She may have come here before with baskets of herbs or her mother's old books to teach from, but her father outranked Greystone by a long way. With a graceful gesture, she slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out the note that the driver had given her. Without a word, she handed it to Greystone and folded her arms. Inside, she was shouting, "Take that, you pompous, stuck-up, ugly, rude, bald, little man!"
Greystone folded the note, added an extra layer of frosty formality to his attitude, and tipped his head to her ever so slightly. "If you will come this way," he said.
Inside, Kestrel was jumping up and down and shouting insults about how she had won. Outside, she nodded back and stepped after him as if she had been doing it her whole life. Greystone lead her through the passageway that was lined with waist-high pedestals. Each one was topped with a glass dome and showcased a small automaton. Kestrel had never seen them before, because she had never been in this part of the house before. There was a life-sized mouse, a miniature dancer, and other animals and people. Kestrel longed to see if they were powered by crystal chips of magic. Some of the simpler ones were powered by a wind-up key, but these would be the highest quality ones. It seemed a shame to keep them frozen and still, as though they were dead. Automatons were meant to move, to come alive.
As she marveled at the creations she slowed down. Greystone almost inaudible clearing of the throat brought her back with a start. She couldn't believe it, beautiful or not, she shouldn't have let him win a point. She had just proven that she was indeed a backwards country girl who was impressed with curiosities. She should have ignored them, should have pretended that she saw pieces every day that each cost more than a horse.
She could have been an automaton herself, she moved with such precision and had a face like a brass mask as she entered the library. "Wait here..." he paused, and she held her breath to see how he would address her. He seemed to search for words for just a fraction of a second too long before he finished, "I will return shortly." He raised one eyebrow fractionally; she narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. And then he was gone.
The door closed on her, and she listened for footsteps and then tried the door. Locked. He had locked her in. "(suitable expletive)" she growled.
From across the room she heard laughter. "I couldn't agree more," said a deep, smooth voice.
Kestrel's scream just managed to dig its fingernails into her throat. But she couldn't help jumping as she turned around. At first, she still couldn't see who was there, but then she realized that the voice was coming from a wing-backed chair in front of the fireplace. "Forgive me for not standing up," the voice told her, "but I'm having a bit of trouble with my foot, which is why I'm here in the first place. Ghastly thing, but there really is nothing to be done about it."
A hand over the back of the chair waved her toward the fireplace. "Well, don't cower in the corner. I'm afraid that I can't chase you down. Come over here where I can see you."
Her feet moved before she had time to think about it and she found herself standing before a man with very black hair and very pale skin. She didn't even remember his asking, but she heard herself tell him her name, where she was from, and why she was there.
"I see," he said when she had finished. "And old Greystone locked you in here. He's a stupid butler, petty too. It really is too bad that I'm trapped here just as much as you are," he said waving a hand toward his bandaged foot. "Otherwise, I'd go take care of him for you. My name is Weatherson, by the way, a house guest here." He smiled a humorless smile. "I was a house guest for a party that ended three days ago, but I can't seem to get well enough to make it home."
"You have gout?"
"I'm afraid so. Laid low by a bandaged foot. I was once skewered right through the shoulder, and I was up and riding the very next day. To think it's come to this," he said rubbing a finger between his eyebrows. His forehead wrinkled for a moment, as if he suddenly had a headache, and then he looked up at her again.
"Well, how long have you been on an adjusted diet?" Kestrel asked. Then she looked around. "And I don't see any tea. How many cups have you had today? You can't get better if you don't drink it."
"Diet? Tea?" Weatherson asked. "How can tea help my foot?"
Kestrel shook her head. "What kind of medicion or green woman has been to see you?" she demanded. "Even I know what to do for gout."
"Indeed?" asked the man. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case and extracted one, white cigarette. He closed the case with a little click and tucked it neatly away.
"Well, to begin with, you would have to stop smoking," she told him as he took an ornate silver lighter from another inside pocket. He flipped open the lid to reveal a magic crystal. The shiny crystal grew brighter until Kestrel had to blink. Weatherson seemed oblivious to the brightness. He touched the tip of his cigarette to the crystal for a moment, snapped the lighter shut, and then put the cigarette to his lips and pulled in a breath, enough to make the tip glow red.
"Smoking really isn't good for you," she said, "though you must know that much."
The man gave a his head a little tip sideways that seemed to mean the same thing as a shrug. Then he gave a little wave with his hand to indicate that she should continue. "Well, if you really want to get better," she said, suddenly self-conscious. What kind of man would be a house guest of Boron's father? He was obviously very rich, and she would be very surprised if he didn't have status as well. He must have color status, and not just a yellow like her father. Weatherson must be an orange or even a red. She cleared her throat. "You would have to make a lot of changes. The first things to go are alcohol and," she tried not to look at the glowing tip of his cigarette, "smoking. That's why so few people get rid of their gout," she told him. "They have to give up everything that they like and eat everything that they don't like. No red meat, no fatty foods of any kind. And you have to drink tea made with herbs all day long. Nettles, dandelion, ginger--they all make good tea for gout as long as you drink enough of it. Vegetables are the main food, especially green vegetables." She stopped and looked at his impassive face as he blew out a stream of smoke. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"Who are your parents?" he asked.
"My father is Grant Ambergris," she told him. "And my mother's name is Zephyr."
"Is your mother a greenwoman?"
"No. She dries herbs and makes a few potions for this House and the village. Not magical ones, but healing herbs. My grandmother was a greenwoman though," she said, trying to keep her voice from giving her away. "She died not too long ago."
"Really?" Weatherson said, sounding more interested. "And what was her name?"
"Anen."
"Ah." His eyes grew wider for a moment and then half closed like those of a sleepy cat. "I have heard of her."
Kestrel nodded. She didn't trust herself to talk about her grandmother right now.
"And she taught you a lot about being a greenwoman?"
Kestrel shrugged, "Not much, really. I'm better at sewing."
Weatherson closed his eyes all the way. "Oh," he said. His voice sounded suddenly tired. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
After standing for a moment, Kestrel swallowed. "I'm sorry. You should rest. I'd leave if I could."
He didn't say anything, so Kestrel took small steps and gradually moved herself over to the other side of the room. She didn't know how long she would be trapped there, but Greystone wasn't likely to rush back to get her. If only Boron would come. She looked around. The walls were covered with bookshelves. The room was accented with reading chairs, little tables, rugs, and a couple of desks. All of it was very muted and dark, if it weren't for the long wall that was nearly all windows and glass doors opening on to the patio, then the room would be too dark to read in. Kestrel's eye was drawn to a single splash of color in a corner of the room. Rather than a map or a painting or even a shadowbox filled with gears from some old bit of machinery, this was cloth. Kestrel thought it was an unusual choice for the Domini, especially to put in his library. Maybe the Lady Domini had left it.
She moved over to what turned out to be an embroidered shirt in a frame. The shirt was square in shape, with embroidery around the neck and sleeves: flowers and vines woven around geometric patterns and lines. The stitches were invisible in the thread picture; it was beautiful. Kestrel touched the glass that covered it. It looked like, she wasn't sure, but it reminded her of the handkerchief. Kestrel opened her bag and took out her letter. She pulled out the carefully-folded square of fabric and touched her finger to the border. It looked the same. Could her grandmother have made this piece as well? Why did the Domini have it? Why was it hanging in his library?
"Interesting," said a voice behind her.
Kestrel jumped, dropping everything. How could a man with a gouty foot sneak up behind her? He was supposed to be an old man asleep in his chair. Except that now that he was standing in the light, Kestrel could see that he wasn't old, not at all. He might be ten years older than she was, but not more than that. She had assumed that he was infirm because of his foot, but he wasn't, not at all, and he smelled like cologne rather than medicine. He was standing too close to her, so Kestrel took a step away from him.
"That's an interesting handkerchief," he said. "The pattern is of course the symud style, quite old, and rare. Where did you get it?"
"I...my grandmother gave it to me," she managed, snatching it off the floor and stuffing it into her bag. "It's an old family trinket," she lied without knowing why. He had scared her for one thing. That word symud. Her grandmother had taught her that word. She just didn't know that anyone else knew about it.
He nodded at her.
"I...you know, I really should go. Greystone really is taking a very long time. Do you think that he has forgotten me? I'm really here to see Boron--he sent for me." As soon as she said it, heat rushed up her cheeks. Why had she said that? "I tutor him in (language)."
"Really? You speak it?"
"Not very well. My mother lived in Terrence Hill when she was young. She taught all of us some so that she could remember it."
He looked at her for a long time. Kestrel took one little step back, and then another.
"Forgive me," he said suddenly, "for having extemporaneous thoughts. I'm afraid that you've come all this way and endured being shut up in the library with me for nothing."
She looked at him, confused.
"Boron took his leave of me just a few minutes before you came in. He had one or two little things to finish up, but I believe that the car was already out front and waiting for him."
She continued to stare.
"He's quite gone."
"Oh," she finally managed to say. "I see." She finally broke away from his stare and tuned away to think for a moment before turning back to say, "Did he say where he was going?"
"Some business in Gordian's Knoll," apparently. His father is friends with the Domini there."
She nodded.
"He's not expected back any time soon."
She nodded again.
"I'll just ring for Greystone then, should I?
Suddenly, Kestrel realized that she couldn't face seeing Greystone, not now that Boron's note had been so important that he left without seeing her. She was an idiot to think that someone as important as he was could put off sudden travel plans just to...or even to...talk to her. Maybe she had been wrong about what he had asked her there for. Maybe she was just an idiot in general. "I think I should just go," she said, and then realized how that sounded considering that the door was locked. She went to the terrace doors. One of them had to be unlocked--but they weren't. She looked back at him. He had his cane in one hand, and the other was pressed to his mouth, doing a very poor job at containing a smile. If she could have fallen over dead, it was a very good time for it. She had to get away.
"You know," she said. "I really am in a rush. I don't know what could be keeping Greystone. I really do need to get home." There were plenty of windows open, and they were only knee-high from the floor. She sat on an open sill, swung her feet around to the other side and managed to hop down without tripping. A small struggle through peony bushes did not help her mood, but she could only hope that he wasn't watching. Even though of course he was.
The important thing, she told herself as she ran down the hill and across the grounds, was that she was away, that Greystone wouldn't have the chance to look smug or leave her locked in for half the day. The visiting rich guy was someone she would never see again, so he didn't matter. She told herself that eight or ten times on the way home, and she nearly believed it.
It wasn't until after she made it home and up to her room that she opened her bag and realized that she had dropped the letter from her grandmother.
1) Kestrel sat down on her bed and dug the fingers of both hands deep into her hair. She should be crying, but she wasn't. She felt flat, tired. lost. Boron was gone. Anen was gone. She couldn't go back to the house, not today. In a little while, when she'd had some rest, she would write a letter to Mrs. Plover asking her to look out for it. If she did it now, she would make a mistake, say or do something wrong. She could afford that, not when she had already made such a large mistake already.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/03/chapter-1-baa.html
2) Kestrel paced back and forth. She couldn't lose that letter. She just couldn't. The bed creaked as she sank down onto the coverlet, but she immediately stood up again. If she stopped now, if she let herself sag in any way, then she might never get up again. Now, before she could change her mind, she had to go back and get that letter.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/03/chapter-1bab.html
When Greystone answered the door, he looked right through Kestrel. The silence stretched. For one moment, Kestrel almost turned and fled, but she forced herself to tighten everything inside of herself into a solid core that was cold and didn't care about the disdain of butlers.
"I'm here to see Dominison Boron," she informed him at last.
He nodded and paused again. Then he said in a voice as cold as a mausoleum, "I believe that Mrs. Plover can help you. If you would be good enough to go through the garden, you will find her in the back kitchen." There was just enough twist to his tone when he said "back kitchen" to make it feel like a slap in the face.
Kestrel lips pressed into a thin line. She may have come here before with baskets of herbs or her mother's old books to teach from, but her father outranked Greystone by a long way. With a graceful gesture, she slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out the note that the driver had given her. Without a word, she handed it to Greystone and folded her arms. Inside, she was shouting, "Take that, you pompous, stuck-up, ugly, rude, bald, little man!"
Greystone folded the note, added an extra layer of frosty formality to his attitude, and tipped his head to her ever so slightly. "If you will come this way," he said.
Inside, Kestrel was jumping up and down and shouting insults about how she had won. Outside, she nodded back and stepped after him as if she had been doing it her whole life. Greystone lead her through the passageway that was lined with waist-high pedestals. Each one was topped with a glass dome and showcased a small automaton. Kestrel had never seen them before, because she had never been in this part of the house before. There was a life-sized mouse, a miniature dancer, and other animals and people. Kestrel longed to see if they were powered by crystal chips of magic. Some of the simpler ones were powered by a wind-up key, but these would be the highest quality ones. It seemed a shame to keep them frozen and still, as though they were dead. Automatons were meant to move, to come alive.
As she marveled at the creations she slowed down. Greystone almost inaudible clearing of the throat brought her back with a start. She couldn't believe it, beautiful or not, she shouldn't have let him win a point. She had just proven that she was indeed a backwards country girl who was impressed with curiosities. She should have ignored them, should have pretended that she saw pieces every day that each cost more than a horse.
She could have been an automaton herself, she moved with such precision and had a face like a brass mask as she entered the library. "Wait here..." he paused, and she held her breath to see how he would address her. He seemed to search for words for just a fraction of a second too long before he finished, "I will return shortly." He raised one eyebrow fractionally; she narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. And then he was gone.
The door closed on her, and she listened for footsteps and then tried the door. Locked. He had locked her in. "(suitable expletive)" she growled.
From across the room she heard laughter. "I couldn't agree more," said a deep, smooth voice.
Kestrel's scream just managed to dig its fingernails into her throat. But she couldn't help jumping as she turned around. At first, she still couldn't see who was there, but then she realized that the voice was coming from a wing-backed chair in front of the fireplace. "Forgive me for not standing up," the voice told her, "but I'm having a bit of trouble with my foot, which is why I'm here in the first place. Ghastly thing, but there really is nothing to be done about it."
A hand over the back of the chair waved her toward the fireplace. "Well, don't cower in the corner. I'm afraid that I can't chase you down. Come over here where I can see you."
Her feet moved before she had time to think about it and she found herself standing before a man with very black hair and very pale skin. She didn't even remember his asking, but she heard herself tell him her name, where she was from, and why she was there.
"I see," he said when she had finished. "And old Greystone locked you in here. He's a stupid butler, petty too. It really is too bad that I'm trapped here just as much as you are," he said waving a hand toward his bandaged foot. "Otherwise, I'd go take care of him for you. My name is Weatherson, by the way, a house guest here." He smiled a humorless smile. "I was a house guest for a party that ended three days ago, but I can't seem to get well enough to make it home."
"You have gout?"
"I'm afraid so. Laid low by a bandaged foot. I was once skewered right through the shoulder, and I was up and riding the very next day. To think it's come to this," he said rubbing a finger between his eyebrows. His forehead wrinkled for a moment, as if he suddenly had a headache, and then he looked up at her again.
"Well, how long have you been on an adjusted diet?" Kestrel asked. Then she looked around. "And I don't see any tea. How many cups have you had today? You can't get better if you don't drink it."
"Diet? Tea?" Weatherson asked. "How can tea help my foot?"
Kestrel shook her head. "What kind of medicion or green woman has been to see you?" she demanded. "Even I know what to do for gout."
"Indeed?" asked the man. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case and extracted one, white cigarette. He closed the case with a little click and tucked it neatly away.
"Well, to begin with, you would have to stop smoking," she told him as he took an ornate silver lighter from another inside pocket. He flipped open the lid to reveal a magic crystal. The shiny crystal grew brighter until Kestrel had to blink. Weatherson seemed oblivious to the brightness. He touched the tip of his cigarette to the crystal for a moment, snapped the lighter shut, and then put the cigarette to his lips and pulled in a breath, enough to make the tip glow red.
"Smoking really isn't good for you," she said, "though you must know that much."
The man gave a his head a little tip sideways that seemed to mean the same thing as a shrug. Then he gave a little wave with his hand to indicate that she should continue. "Well, if you really want to get better," she said, suddenly self-conscious. What kind of man would be a house guest of Boron's father? He was obviously very rich, and she would be very surprised if he didn't have status as well. He must have color status, and not just a yellow like her father. Weatherson must be an orange or even a red. She cleared her throat. "You would have to make a lot of changes. The first things to go are alcohol and," she tried not to look at the glowing tip of his cigarette, "smoking. That's why so few people get rid of their gout," she told him. "They have to give up everything that they like and eat everything that they don't like. No red meat, no fatty foods of any kind. And you have to drink tea made with herbs all day long. Nettles, dandelion, ginger--they all make good tea for gout as long as you drink enough of it. Vegetables are the main food, especially green vegetables." She stopped and looked at his impassive face as he blew out a stream of smoke. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"Who are your parents?" he asked.
"My father is Grant Ambergris," she told him. "And my mother's name is Zephyr."
"Is your mother a greenwoman?"
"No. She dries herbs and makes a few potions for this House and the village. Not magical ones, but healing herbs. My grandmother was a greenwoman though," she said, trying to keep her voice from giving her away. "She died not too long ago."
"Really?" Weatherson said, sounding more interested. "And what was her name?"
"Anen."
"Ah." His eyes grew wider for a moment and then half closed like those of a sleepy cat. "I have heard of her."
Kestrel nodded. She didn't trust herself to talk about her grandmother right now.
"And she taught you a lot about being a greenwoman?"
Kestrel shrugged, "Not much, really. I'm better at sewing."
Weatherson closed his eyes all the way. "Oh," he said. His voice sounded suddenly tired. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
After standing for a moment, Kestrel swallowed. "I'm sorry. You should rest. I'd leave if I could."
He didn't say anything, so Kestrel took small steps and gradually moved herself over to the other side of the room. She didn't know how long she would be trapped there, but Greystone wasn't likely to rush back to get her. If only Boron would come. She looked around. The walls were covered with bookshelves. The room was accented with reading chairs, little tables, rugs, and a couple of desks. All of it was very muted and dark, if it weren't for the long wall that was nearly all windows and glass doors opening on to the patio, then the room would be too dark to read in. Kestrel's eye was drawn to a single splash of color in a corner of the room. Rather than a map or a painting or even a shadowbox filled with gears from some old bit of machinery, this was cloth. Kestrel thought it was an unusual choice for the Domini, especially to put in his library. Maybe the Lady Domini had left it.
She moved over to what turned out to be an embroidered shirt in a frame. The shirt was square in shape, with embroidery around the neck and sleeves: flowers and vines woven around geometric patterns and lines. The stitches were invisible in the thread picture; it was beautiful. Kestrel touched the glass that covered it. It looked like, she wasn't sure, but it reminded her of the handkerchief. Kestrel opened her bag and took out her letter. She pulled out the carefully-folded square of fabric and touched her finger to the border. It looked the same. Could her grandmother have made this piece as well? Why did the Domini have it? Why was it hanging in his library?
"Interesting," said a voice behind her.
Kestrel jumped, dropping everything. How could a man with a gouty foot sneak up behind her? He was supposed to be an old man asleep in his chair. Except that now that he was standing in the light, Kestrel could see that he wasn't old, not at all. He might be ten years older than she was, but not more than that. She had assumed that he was infirm because of his foot, but he wasn't, not at all, and he smelled like cologne rather than medicine. He was standing too close to her, so Kestrel took a step away from him.
"That's an interesting handkerchief," he said. "The pattern is of course the symud style, quite old, and rare. Where did you get it?"
"I...my grandmother gave it to me," she managed, snatching it off the floor and stuffing it into her bag. "It's an old family trinket," she lied without knowing why. He had scared her for one thing. That word symud. Her grandmother had taught her that word. She just didn't know that anyone else knew about it.
He nodded at her.
"I...you know, I really should go. Greystone really is taking a very long time. Do you think that he has forgotten me? I'm really here to see Boron--he sent for me." As soon as she said it, heat rushed up her cheeks. Why had she said that? "I tutor him in (language)."
"Really? You speak it?"
"Not very well. My mother lived in Terrence Hill when she was young. She taught all of us some so that she could remember it."
He looked at her for a long time. Kestrel took one little step back, and then another.
"Forgive me," he said suddenly, "for having extemporaneous thoughts. I'm afraid that you've come all this way and endured being shut up in the library with me for nothing."
She looked at him, confused.
"Boron took his leave of me just a few minutes before you came in. He had one or two little things to finish up, but I believe that the car was already out front and waiting for him."
She continued to stare.
"He's quite gone."
"Oh," she finally managed to say. "I see." She finally broke away from his stare and tuned away to think for a moment before turning back to say, "Did he say where he was going?"
"Some business in Gordian's Knoll," apparently. His father is friends with the Domini there."
She nodded.
"He's not expected back any time soon."
She nodded again.
"I'll just ring for Greystone then, should I?
Suddenly, Kestrel realized that she couldn't face seeing Greystone, not now that Boron's note had been so important that he left without seeing her. She was an idiot to think that someone as important as he was could put off sudden travel plans just to...or even to...talk to her. Maybe she had been wrong about what he had asked her there for. Maybe she was just an idiot in general. "I think I should just go," she said, and then realized how that sounded considering that the door was locked. She went to the terrace doors. One of them had to be unlocked--but they weren't. She looked back at him. He had his cane in one hand, and the other was pressed to his mouth, doing a very poor job at containing a smile. If she could have fallen over dead, it was a very good time for it. She had to get away.
"You know," she said. "I really am in a rush. I don't know what could be keeping Greystone. I really do need to get home." There were plenty of windows open, and they were only knee-high from the floor. She sat on an open sill, swung her feet around to the other side and managed to hop down without tripping. A small struggle through peony bushes did not help her mood, but she could only hope that he wasn't watching. Even though of course he was.
The important thing, she told herself as she ran down the hill and across the grounds, was that she was away, that Greystone wouldn't have the chance to look smug or leave her locked in for half the day. The visiting rich guy was someone she would never see again, so he didn't matter. She told herself that eight or ten times on the way home, and she nearly believed it.
It wasn't until after she made it home and up to her room that she opened her bag and realized that she had dropped the letter from her grandmother.
1) Kestrel sat down on her bed and dug the fingers of both hands deep into her hair. She should be crying, but she wasn't. She felt flat, tired. lost. Boron was gone. Anen was gone. She couldn't go back to the house, not today. In a little while, when she'd had some rest, she would write a letter to Mrs. Plover asking her to look out for it. If she did it now, she would make a mistake, say or do something wrong. She could afford that, not when she had already made such a large mistake already.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/03/chapter-1-baa.html
2) Kestrel paced back and forth. She couldn't lose that letter. She just couldn't. The bed creaked as she sank down onto the coverlet, but she immediately stood up again. If she stopped now, if she let herself sag in any way, then she might never get up again. Now, before she could change her mind, she had to go back and get that letter.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/03/chapter-1bab.html
Section 3/B
She took a deep breath before she felt that she could speak. "Thank you," she told the man, "I'll just get my coat, if you don't mind."
"Certainly," the driver told her. "I'll be outside waiting in the transport."
Kestrel nodded and turned to pull her coat off of the hook, and more importantly, the small bag that was hanging under it. She slipped the letter inside. How effective today's lesson would be, she didn't know, but the letter couldn't change anything that had happened in the past. If she was to have any chance for the future, she had to take care of that first, and that meant that she couldn't keep Boron waiting.
They drove in silence. Kestrel made one or two attempts to make conversation. The driver was polite, but not inclined to talk, so Kestrel gave up. However, she did let herself take glances sideways when she thought that he wouldn't notice. At first, she had assumed that he was just an ageless servant persona, but once she got past the driving coat and the hat, she realized that he wasn't much older than she was. He wasn't exactly handsome, not in the way Boron was, for example, but he looked like he had feelings and was keeping them in, not like most servants who looked like they didn't think or feel anything. She kept wondering what he was thinking about, but she didn't dare ask.
When they arrived at the House, the driver pulled up on the gravel in front of the house. He stepped down, touched his hat and gave a small nod and then disappeared around the side of the house. Kestrel stared after him and then squirmed around in her seat to see how to get down without falling on her face or tearing her dress.
The descent was ungraceful, but not a disaster, and since no one was watching, she decided that no harm was done. Once down, she straightened herself and looked up at the house.
She had never been through the front door before. The housekeeper and the cook had been kind to her on her first visit, and so she naturally went to the back entrance. But here she was at the front door. The driver seemed to think that she would be going in that way, but maybe he wasn't the best person to rely on.
1) Well, what did it matter? The front door went into the House just like the back door. In fact, she really ought to get used to the front door if she would soon be using it as the upcoming Lady Domini.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/02/chapter-1ba.html
2) Kestrel shook her head. What was she doing? Now was not a good time to annoy Boron, and he was very particular about everything in its place. Besides, she didn't know where Boron was, and the best place to find someone to help her out was through the back door.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/02/chapter-1bb.html
Section 3/A
She took a deep breath and then said, "Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but will you tell him that I will come the moment I can? If it weren't truly important, then I would certainly come with you now, but I should be able to leave within an hour. There is just one small piece of business that I absolutely must attend to first.
"As you say, Miss," the man told her. "Only I wouldn't take too long if I was you."
"I promise that it will not be two hours until I arrive--even with the walk."
The driver nodded, put his cap on, and then climbed on his transport. Kestrel watched as he shifted the gears, and cranked the starter wheel. For one moment, the machine sat silent, then the transport began to hum and click as the magic fueled the mechanism.
Kestrel almost called to him to wait. She didn't know how Boron would take her being even an hour late. It wouldn't be worth it for something that wasn't vitally important. Kestrel felt the letter in her hand. She could feel that this was important.
As quickly as she could, Kestrel raced back to her room and locked her door. She didn't want anything to interrupt, especially since she expected that she wouldn't be able to keep from crying, and she hated the way she looked when she cried. Already, she was planning the cold water on her face and brisk walk outside that could make her presentable as well as present at the Domini House in two hours time.
And then she held a penknife in the corner of the envelope, and everything else vanished from her mind. The knife made a whispering rip of paper and then clattered to the floor when Kestrel tried to set it back on her desk and missed.
Kestrel pulled out the letter. There was only one sheet, written closely on front and back. What had made the envelope thick was a handkerchief of unbleached linen, embroidered with her grandmother's sewing. Kestrel lifted the piece of cloth and breathed in the smell of her grandmother. Her eyes pricked, and her throat hurt. She kept the handkerchief in one hand while she held the paper closer so that her untrustworthy eyes could focus on the words.
My Dear Grandaughter,
This will be a shock to you, but there are secrets I didn't want you to know until after I was gone. I know that they will find me eventually; they're getting close, and I can't have you involved. Maybe someday when you know more, if I had had the time to teach you more, then you might need to know who is following me. Until then, keeping you ignorant--or maybe innocent is the better word--kept you safe. Now that I am gone, they won't be looking for you, and I deem that it is the right time for you to begin to learn what I wish I could have taught you in person.
Do you remember where you and I played that afternoon? You called it the longest day of your life, and I laughed and said that you must not have lived very long. Do you remember? Do you know the place? I left something for you there. Something that will teach you--I won't mention it here because this letter may have to sit a while and even well-laid plans go astray.
My little bird, though I am gone, you do not know how I have thought of you. I have bottled my words, to keep them for a day when I from the past and you from the future can meet. Look back at what you never knew, and you will find me. I am waiting for you. You are written more deeply into the fabric of my life than you know.
Your Loving Grandmother,
Anen
It took longer than she had planned before Kestrel could gather herself.
She knew that her face would be pink and puffy, so she took a cloth, dipped it in the wash basin, and pressed it against her eyes. She had to stop thinking, had to stop feeling. Boron wouldn't wait for long.
She knew the place. Of course she knew where to look. It was just that it would have to keep until after she had seen Boron. Whatever her grandmother had to teach her, it wasn't likely to have much to do with money, and she had spent more time on family today than she could afford. She tucked the letter back into the envelope, slid it under the books on her shelf, and then tried to keep from thinking about anything at all while she quickly straightened her hair and clothes.
The small clock next to her bed had only ticked out a few minutes since Boron's driver had knocked at the door. At least she didn't have to ride on a transport with a driver who was pretending not to notice that she had obviously been crying. Hopefully after a walk, Boron wouldn't notice it either.
Kestrel tucked the handkerchief in to her pocket but then thought better of it and slipped it under her pillow. She didn't want it to become a common-place thing, not yet.
She walked quickly, over the scrubby grass that was kept short by sheep and lack of rain. She avoided the creek where the willows were the thickest, but she was in a hurry and didn't want to walk around to the wooden bridge that was really no more than a glorified plank. It was supposed to keep sheep from crossing as well, but sheep are good at getting into trouble and it wasn't uncommon for a few of them to wander over until a boy and his dog sent them scurrying back.
Kestrel's fingers worked fast as she unlaced her boots. Since no one was looking, she threw them across the water instead of tying the laces together and stringing them around her neck. Of course, if someone had been watching, she probably would have taken the effort to go all the way to the bridge.
As it was, she felt free to hold her skirt up to her knees, and brace herself for the first shock of the cold water. She walked carefully. Today wasn't a day that she could splash her dress or even slip on the moss-covered stones at the bottom of the creek bed and fall in.
Once she was safely across, she dragged dry stockings over wet skin and laced the boots again. The cool air helped to cool her face, and having the challenge of getting across the creek gave her something else to think about. She wanted to think about her grandmother, there just wasn't time right now. Later, she would go to the attic, to the trunk where her mother kept all the old things that she couldn't bare to part with. Kestrel would lift the lid that was held on with old, leather hinges. She would pull out her grandmother's old clothing--it had been Anen, and not Kestrel's mother that had taught the girl to sew. While her little fingers made tangled knots with needle and thread, her grandmother had told her stories and had even talked to her in an old language, a speech from a far away place. Anen said that her people came from there and that Kestrel shouldn't talk to anyone about it, not even her mother. She hadn't understood why--she still didn't--but she liked the sounds of the words.
She caught herself just as the tears were welling up again. She tensed her face and willed them to go away. Her breathing had quickened, but she forced it down, breathed in and out slowly. There wasn't time right now to deal with it. First, she had to arrange her future. Once that was done, she could think about things that she couldn't change.
The Domini House stood to attention on a small rise in the ground. The white exterior and surrounding gardens couldn't ever change what Kestrel thought of as an old general, standing to attention. She didn't especially like the house. Why would someone have spent so much money on a building and not make it pretty? But she respected it. It never looked old or dirty. The Domini never allowed shabbiness anywhere near his...home? The place wasn't, couldn't really be a home. It was a place where work happened, where important people met to discuss trade and sit rigidly at dinners, but she couldn't imagine sitting with her feet on the sofa while she read. Of course, once she was married and a lady, she wouldn't anyway. A Lady Domini didn't sit at home and read half the morning some days. Instead, she wore grey gloves and made social calls. She poured tea. She talked to all the right people about little chatty things that sounded like the weather and people's health, but in reality changed the destinies of the worlds--not just Gideon's Stream, but other and bigger worlds as well.
Of course, the current Lady Domini wasn't alive any more. But Kestrel remembered Boron's mother. She had always been so graceful, so beautiful. She had known exactly what she wanted but made you feel like you were doing her the greatest favor in the world by giving it to her. She hadn't been like Kestrel's mother or like any other mother she knew. And someday Kestrel was going to be exactly the same.
Kestrel thought about the Lady Domini, and about becoming the Lady Domini as she walked up to the House. Usually, she headed straight to the back door whether she was there to teach a lesson to Boron or whether she was delivering some of her mothers herbs and medicines to the housekeeper. Today she wondered, though. Would it be look right to sneak in the back like a kitchen girl when she had been specially sent for? Maybe Boron would prefer to have her go up to the front door since after today she would always use it and never touch the doorknob herself. Well, she amended, that was what would probably happen after today.
But on the other hand, she considered as she trudged up the grass halfway between the gravel drive and the flagstone path, Boron also didn't like things to be out of order. He liked things to be clean, to be organized, and he was never familiar with any of the servants. Maybe he wouldn't like it if she assumed too much too quickly. He might want to give her a chance to be grateful for the change he was going to make in her life.
1) Kestrel stood still for a moment. The breeze picked up and blew through her dress, but she stiffened her back and raised her head. She was the future Lady Domini, and she was not going to let anything bring her down or tell her otherwise. Kestrel walked with quick, sure strides to the front door and rapped the knocker.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/02/chapter-1aa.html
2) Kestrel stood still for a moment, a slight breeze gaining strength enough to make her rub her arms and jump up and down once or twice. She couldn't act like something that she wasn't. After all, what if by some chance she was wrong? But she was so sure. He had acted so...well, he was sure that he liked her, and why else would he call for her if he liked her so much? Still, it would be embarrassing for the servants to question her when she wasn't their mistress yet.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/02/chapter-1ab.html
Section 3
The First Choice
Kestrel held the pebble in her hand and blew gently on it. It began to glow a warm yellow-orange, like a coal in a fire. It warmed as well, but she kept her hands cupped tightly around it, keeping the heat from escaping. Any warmth that escaped to heat the goat shed would be sleep lost for no purpose to Kestrel.
Her mother wondered why she slept so much. But magic was forbidden to all who did not have strict training and a license--and there was no way she could begin training, real training, until after the exams.
Assuming that she did well on the mathmagics section of the exam. If she were higher born, then maybe it wouldn't matter so much. She could afford a tutor; she would have connections. Maybe you get a license and not be in a Domini family, but without top scores, you certainly had to be in one of the circles of color. Even though Kestrel's mother had been in the upper shades of a Yellow House, her father was nothing more than a wealthy farmer. How could she hope to ever be allowed to train as an engineer or even a green woman?
Kestrel closed her hand on the button just as light came in through little window of the shed. It was time to go dress. Kestrel smiled at the small slice of wood that held her entire night's sleep. She would have to sleep later, when she had time for it. If today went according to plan, then it wouldn't matter because she would have everything she wanted. But whether through marriage or career, she was not going to start her life as a farmer's wife. For a moment, her face looked much, much older than her seventeen years. She carefully pocketed her button and ran inside to do what she could to look pretty enough to propose to.
***
"Kestrel," her mother called, "There's a letter for you."
Kestrel sighed at her reflection and set her dress down. She wanted to decide what to wear without interruptions. Boron wanted to see her. How important could any letter be compared with that?
Her footsteps were a little louder than they should have been as she tromped down the stairs to the kitchen. She hadn't seen Boron in over a month. Of course, he had told her that he would be away. But his note said that he had something special to tell her. She tried to convince herself that it couldn't be, that he couldn't really mean to...
No. She wouldn't let herself think it. She didn't want to let herself get excited about what was probably just another lesson in Galliun verbs. That's probably all that Boron wanted. Unless all of his recent hints really did add up to something.
"Okay Mother, what is it? Is it something about graduation and the exams from the IE?" Kestrel began, but she stopped when she saw her mother's face. The small woman's eyes were bright with pent-up tears, but she was smiling.
"What is it?" Kestrel asked. "Who is it from?"
"You're--" her mother's voice broke. She took a moment to pull herself in, and then she tried again. This time her voice was carefully neutral. "It's from your grandmother." She held out the thick envelope, but Kestrel didn't touch it.
"It can't be," was all she could manage.
"I don't know how she did it," her mother said with a tight little smile, "but your grandmother is--was--a remarkable person and a greenwoman. She must have known that she would have something else to tell you."
The letter seemed to press itself into Kestrel's hand, and her mother was gone. Kestrel looked down at it. There, on the heavy paper, was her grandmother's handwriting. It had changed slightly over the last few years, becoming just a little bit shaky. No one would have noticed if they didn't know how strong of a hand it had been before. Gruin Anen didn't have beautiful penmanship, but it was pronounced and easy to read. Kestrel touched the ink with one finger, trying to pretend that it meant that that there was still someone behind those words. Through the envelope, Kestrel felt a faint warmth; it told her that some kind of magic was part of what her grandmother had to say to her.
A knock at the door made Kestrel look up. She exhaled air that she didn't know she had been holding in and took three quick steps to answer the door.
"Good morning, Miss," said the driver. "The Domini Son had some errands for me. He sent me with a message for you. I was to say that if you was ready now, I was to drive you up to the House." The driver stood in the doorway, waiting to see what happened next.
Kestrel looked down at the letter, then back at the driver. In spite of how much she had seen of Boron over the last year and a half, she knew that a suggestion from the Domini Son was the next thing to a command. But if she went now, she would have to wait to read her letter.
1) She took a deep breath and then said, "Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but will you tell him that I will come the moment I can? If it weren't truly important, then I would certainly come with you now, but I should be able to leave within an hour. There is just one small piece of business that I absolutely must attend to first.
"As you say, Miss," the man told her. "Only I wouldn't take too long if I was you."
"I promise that it will not be two hours until I arrive--even with the walk."
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/02/chapter-1a.html
2) She took a deep breath before she felt that she could speak. "Thank you," she told the man, "I'll just get my coat, if you don't mind."
"Certainly," the driver told her. "I'll be outside waiting in the transport."
Kestrel nodded and turned to pull her coat off of the hook, and more importantly, the small bag that was hanging under it. She slipped the letter inside. If she was right about why Boron had sent for her, she couldn't keep him waiting, no matter how hard it was to wait. The letter couldn't change anything that had happened in the past. If she was to have any chance for the future, she had to take care of that first.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/02/chapter-1b.html
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