Wherein the prologue pays off somewhat. (Ch. 6)

“10:00 – The meeting’s appointed hour has come. So far, I, Berrington, Lawful, and Gertrude are placed at our regular seating. None of the dignitaries and court officials for whom this meeting has been scheduled have arrived.

10:07 – Gertrude has been staring at the gardener through the window for some minutes now. He’s looking a bit uncomfortable, as I would in his situation. Once you’ve earned Gertrude’s attention, it’s difficult to lose it. I suspect that in fact she’s looking on in approval of his masculinity, but I’m not confident enough in this to reassure the poor gardener.

10: 10 – Eddre has just walked in with a plate full of what seem to be jam pastries. Upon seeing the rank of the assorted company, she’s making an attempt at escaping without taking excessive attrition to her stores of carbohydrates.

10:12 – Eddre has been successfully lured into conversation with Berrington, his tactics unknown to me. Perhaps I’ll endeavor to learn something this time. After I’ve taken part in the spoils.

10:16 – Prince Wilk has stumbled into the room, hungover from excessive debauchery last night. He’s yelling something barely comprehensible about Marsh monkeys. I’m relieved and slightly disappointed that Pilly isn’t here to hear the tirade.

10:23 – Gertrude has given the prince an appropriate dressing down. He’s just revealed that he was drinking with the visiting Danubian dignitaries.

10:24 – Gertrude orders Berrington and Lawful to raise the poor Danubian visitors from their beds. They make a fuss. Berrington is still occupied with distracting Eddre. What from I’m not sure anymore, we’ve stolen all the pastries.

10:26 – Lawful gracefully agrees to take on the delicate diplomatic task Gertrude has assigned them. Completely coincidentally, Eddre has only just successfully extricated herself from Berrington’s grasp and is headed back to the kitchens.

10:31 – The prince has worn down Gertrude, and they’re both gossiping about their favorites at court. They are both rather vulgar when they believe the twins can’t hear them. Why I don’t matter is a question only philosophers can answer.

10:41 – Berrington and Lawful have returned with what can only be described as sorry excuses for men. Eddre has come with them. She’s whispering something into Berrington’s ear. The Danubian diplomats are each holding mugs of something black, the exact concoction a secret to me.

10:46 – Gertrude is done scolding the prince and his companions, none of whom are yet wakeful enough to notice she holds no authority over them whatsoever. How the prince is still so inebriated is beyond me.

10:48 – Berrington has opened with the first order of the day, the disappearance of the Ivory company’s winter convoy. The Danubian diplomats have sobered up rather quickly now that they believe their status may be at stake.

11:27 – I have been instructed to strike the details of the argument from the official record, as they pertain to matters of royal security. I’m unconvinced, but Gertrude will have my head should I disobey her in this.

11:36 – A preliminary agreement to form an investigative committee in each polity has been reached. Gertrude seems pleased. Lawful and Berrington less so.

11:45 – The prince is calling for a lunch break. Gertrude fails to point out it’s not yet noon; the gardener is back outside the window in front of her.”

-Official minutes of the eighth meeting of the twenty ninth tri-annual Danubian – Kargian cooperation summit. The minute taker was properly reprimanded for his lack of professionalism.

 

Pilly was nervous. In general, his nervousness was self-explanatory: he held an esteemed and mildly powerful position in the Kargian bureaucracy, he had few friends and allies, and he seemed to have less and less every passing day. And yet, he’d stubbornly held on to this position for coming on two years now. This was considered rather impressive in such a role that had a turnover rate somewhere in the range of three months.

 

If he was asked what his job exactly was, he’d mumble for a bit about his unique qualities and qualifications before sinking into a morass of self-deprecation and self-pity.

 

These unique qualities that set him apart from the ravenously hungry crowd of aspiring paper pushers were two: his unique connection to the marsh city of Kadyp, and his devoted understudy who had become the favorite of third prince Wilk. Which of these was truly responsible for keeping him in his position was up for debate, but in Pilly’s mind it was the former. To that end, had made his annual trip to the marsh city in hopes of mutually good feelings between Karg and the Marshes. The mission statement was so vague because if properly interrogated, the Kargian royalty couldn’t have placed Kadyp on a map, let alone stated foreign policy goals in relation to it. Luckily for Pilly, the Kargian royal family only signed the bills and the cheques: the strategy all came from the senior cadre of bureaucrats. They too cared little for the Marshes, but through some confluence of belief and confusion, Pilly had been named official expert and emissary on Marsh matters.

 

“Ah, Opal is missing? I was under the impression that wasn’t allowed.”

 

He began his first proper conversation of the mission in the worst possible way: asking tactless questions about matters of cultural propriety. Luckily for Pilly, his hostess was positively delighted to be so affronted.

 

“Yes, Opal is missing. It’s such a shame, we were just talking about you. And then you failed to show up. For weeks. I’m afraid Opal got so unbelievably worried that she sacrificed herself at the altar in hopes of swaying the old ones’ will to your side!”

 

Eva was joking. Yanking his chain. Rattling on his desk. Causing him much inner turmoil and grief. Pilly was unsure whether to humor her, acknowledge her jest while laying down a more serious tone befitting the company, or to muddle along in hopes someone saved him. He ended up having to do none of these, as Eva wasn’t one to stop talking when there was so much muddling to be done.

 

“Twelve of the fifteen sacred orchards have burned down since last year. It’s probably because of the coming end of the world. I’ve tried to warn people, but everyone’s so complacent and stuck up their own asses! What we… no, what I need is someone to jolt them all to action!”

 

This last sentence was spoken softly in the most innocently feminine of voices, carefully nurtured and developed for needling the kind of men who sit behind a desk all day and dream rather than know of women. In this case, Eva’s feminine charm was hopelessly outmatched by Pilly’s nervous analysis and note of every word she uttered; flirtation only works if the other party has turned part of their brain off. Pilly’s brain was already at 200 percent capacity recalling the myriad favors he now had to fulfill for friends back at court.

 

“And the streets! You wouldn’t believe it, but crime has soared since last year! Myriad gangs and cartels have set up shop right in the heart of the world’s cultural pinnacle. Could you have ever imagined such depravity when you left on your noble journey this year?”

 

Pilly couldn’t. Mostly because saying that crime existed didn’t really prove much of anything, and he probably would’ve been more worried had there been no presence of anything untoward whatsoever; a crimeless street was a boring one to any Kargian bureaucrat. Which was just as well, for proper Kargian bureaucrats loved boredom more than any earthly vice. At least, until a certain seniority of position was reached.

 

“More than crime, I find your flippancy distasteful. You’re treating my serious diplomatic mission like a playground for some fantasy version of your city. There are no sacred orchards, because there aren’t any orchards at all. As for a fire, I don’t know that a Worstone fire ant could burn down a blade of grass in Kadyp. That is, if Kadyp had any grass to burn.”

 

Again, Eva only glowed stronger under Pilly’s dry gaze and cadence. The game was clear to her: get him emotional, get him talking. Then business. They’d all be more at ease that way: Pilly wouldn’t fear making a fool of himself, and Eva wouldn’t fear she was missing an opportunity to entertain herself. Towards both these ends, Eva sighed heavily and slung her head out the window, allowing it to fall limp. Her vision filled with nothing but an upside-down tangle of foliage and branches, she found herself hearing Pilly drastically and decisively switch note.

 

“Could you please bring your head back inside? Doesn’t the fall scare you?”

 

Eva smiled, though of course Pilly couldn’t see it. It was about the only thing about her he couldn’t see, but it was the most important. For in that smile, he could’ve seen exactly her intentions in this meeting and every subsequent one. Eva knew herself well to the point she knew how much her face revealed, which made this thin defiance of it all the more thrilling.

 

“There’s nothing to fear good friend. Everything to fear is in the hearts of men and beasts, not height. We’re two fearless adventurers, the climb up and down scares us not. So we shouldn’t fear a limb dangling here and there, should we?”

 

“Yes, but it’s not a limb that’s dangling, it’s your head. In what seems a rather uncomfortable position in my estimation.”

 

“Do I strike you as easily swayed or unbalanced? A life in the treetops makes one used to heights, in the same way that a life in Netk makes one used to crime.”

 

Pilly sensed that he should be offended by this. A careful consideration of his feelings on the matter was quickly supplanted with the suspicion that when Eva referred to crime in the Kargian capital, she wasn’t referring to the petty street kind. Dishonest merchants, he thought, that must be it. The worry that she was alluding to any other kind of mistreatment was quickly washed away as if it had never been.

 

“Don’t remind me of Netk. It’s taken me nearer two months than one to reach this marshy haven. And it’s going to be a while longer before I’m back home. I’ve tried to be polite, but it really has irked me that your city council is so ill prepared to receive me in this time of great need.”

 

Pilly sighed deeply and stared around the room. It was stark, brandishing nought but the bare necessities: water pitcher, waste hole, wool mattress. Supposedly, Eva and Opal lived in rooms much like these ones for most of their lives, playing games of rote memorization and creative improvisation to keep each other sharp. For all that Pilly believed in specialization, as anyone as useless as a middleman must, he did draw the line at human sharpening stone. Couldn’t the storyteller just use a library? Couldn’t she just have friends? Why the constant companion, almost indistinguishable in abilities and lifestyle? To have a backup? Of course! To have a backup! Pilly perked up at the realization and did something he was somewhat unaccustomed to: poking back.

 

“Despite my complaints, I’m sure I’ll enjoy the best hospitality you have to offer. I’ll be living like royalty, won’t I?”

 

Eva had since rocked her head back into the room and was staring intently at something just above Pilly’s head. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead, and like a mountain goat found swift purchase every step of the way up. Curiosity at Pilly’s intentions clear on her face, he tore on in a haze:

 

“I’ll be living just like you, won’t I? And I can’t imagine a much better respected position than that of storyteller, now, can I? I suppose Pontiac, but anyone would have a hard time living up to her standards.”

 

Eva’s eyebrows descended to equilibrium as realization dawned. Pilly believed that Opal was gone, and Eva had supplanted her. Never mind the jab at their living conditions, Pilly knew full well that the storyteller was kept in boring incontinent isolation for most of the day. He was just trying to get her to correct him! And she loved it. If only that other Kargian was just as amusing, her trepidation around proposed plans would evaporate.

 

“It would be nice to see Opal again though… so different to anyone else I’ve ever known.”

 

The sentimentality evident in his longing tone struck Eva as entirely inappropriate. She couldn’t say why it was so much worse than her earlier teasing, but she suspected it had something to do with that mutual knowledge of the role she was to play in their future. Recoiling at that future weight, she tipped her chair back. This time instead of resting easily on the wall, the headrest slipped leaving Eva on the floor in a blink of an eye. In a flash, Pilly was at Eva’s side, concern lining each utterance and trembling movement of his.

 

“I… said nothing so horrible, did I? Eva! Eva, you’re going to be alright, aren’t you?”

 

Still in a heap on the floor, Eva mumbled on in a strained whisper.

 

“Nothing so horrible could become a companion, dear Pilly. Only losing sight of the storyteller could put me in as much distress as hearing her spoken of in such a tone as yours.”

 

Pilly stepped back, letting Eva get to her feet on her own. His nervousness around the woman, although slightly alleviated by the obvious familiarity she showed him, still barred true intimacy or ease. As Eva dramatically staggered to her feet, accompanied by no lack of fanfare in the form of sighs and grasping for handholds that weren’t there; for of course, the art of storytelling was more than just knowing the words and cadences that tales took but the whole human experience that each one captured. Towards that end, even this tumble told a story, one extenuated by a timely flail and groan more than a litany of complaints ever could. Pilly stepped back and observed the show, appreciatively in Eva’s estimation.

 

“How do you always make it seem so effortless? Seem as if you’re doing nothing at all? I can’t do that even when I try, even when I say what I mean, the emotion doesn’t feel as real as when I’m watching you!”

 

Eva smiled but was slightly disconcerted that she was so easily rumbled by this mousey man.

 

“There’s no trick Pilly. It’s all real, every ounce of emotion you see? I feel it, every last scrap and gesture. From the heart, no string attached.”

 

Pilly stared. What he was staring at mystified Eva, as it seemed he was staring straight through her. But Pilly never looked at her so piercingly, it seemed wrong. A short pause, and Pilly slowly uttered his mind:

 

“But that’s not quite the same as being genuine, is it?”

 

Eva considered, turned around to stare out the window once more, this time the right side up. And just as slowly, she confirmed his suspicion:

 

“No, not quite that same.”

 

Pilly visibly relaxed, though visibly to who is unclear as no one was watching him.

 

Eva sighed contentedly: she’d won. She’d gotten Pilly emotional and sincere. Now he’d spill whatever she’d want him to spill, and she’d get him genuine about it too. Turning with a vigor unexpected of one so seemingly emotionally distraught, she made her demand.

 

“You’ve been coy with me long enough Pilly: what took you so long to reach Kadyp? And where’s the Worstone man, Miles? I know he’s not in Kadyp, else the welcoming party would’ve told me.”

 

Pilly visibly shriveled, this time visibly to Eva so there was no confusion. But in the spirit of the conversation, the coyness continued just a tad longer; Pilly asserted, though less than confidently and lacking eye contact:

 

“Well you weren’t quite in the welcoming party, were you? Back in Netk if even my understudy informed me of a missing dignitary, I’d assume at the very least an honest, blundering mistake, and more probably that I was the butt of some joke on the tame end to maliciously deceived at the harsh one. How can you just accept the word of a keeper, a warden? You’ve no enemies if not them Eva.”

 

Ah, not quite. Seems it would take a push more to get what she wanted. Just a moment, just another moment of weakness and timidity and he’d start talking. Maybe he’d talk until she forgot, or maybe the great litany would have one chapter more. But first, to push! She pushed right up to Pilly and poked him in the chest, throwing his tactic right back at him.

 

“You’re talking all formal Pilly. Save it for the council chamber, here it’s comradery, even conspiracy, all the way down. Why don’t you want to tell me what happened to you? It’s not trauma, it’s not because it endangers the mission or even the plan. So what? Not versed in storytelling? There’s no teacher like experience, and in storytelling no teacher like myself. So speak, damn you! Has all that pressure done more to your head than bald it?”

 

Pilly looked across at Eva, now in breathing range. Eyes meeting briefly, he again turned his head away, abashed. And still, he mumbled on!

 

“That’s a very confident assertion Eva. Maybe it was trauma. Maybe it would damage me or you or the trust between us if I were to tell you of what happened to me?”

 

But Eva just shook her head, the joy and calm returning to her voice if not her accusing aggressive posture.

 

“Doesn’t fit the structure! It can’t be, makes no sense as a place for subversion. It would undermine the emotional core.”

 

Now Pilly stared, not aghast but shocked, nonetheless. Emerald eyes on that fluffy head finally put a smile on his face as he let himself fall to the floor from his standing position. Eva took the bait with relish and rushed to his side. Her voice brimming and then bursting again with emotion of every appropriate, feminine kind, her delight shone through.

 

“Pilly! Now that’s just unbelievably shrewd of you, isn’t it? You’ve truly come to appreciate the culture of storytelling. It’s the only real way to show emotion, isn’t it? The only way to feel alive? When it comes to you naturally every second feels like a dream and when it’s done with intention every indivisible shred of you delights in the majesty you’ve imbued the moment with. Lovely lovely lovely!”

 

Pilly thought this speech either practiced or entirely insincere, possibly both. But the emotion she showed seemed real enough, so he humored what seemed to be a delusion.

 

“It’s not that deep. Just repeating a pattern doesn’t make said pattern a motif, does it?”

 

“That’s not for you do decide! If I see in it something, it’s as real as when you see it!”

 

Pilly considered this and nodded. And broke. Sitting up such that both he and Eva were on the floor and not a kick away from each other, finally he gave the western witch her heart’s desire.

 

“Anyways, if it’s so important to you, better Wilk learn it than I. There’s so much that he could learn if only I gave it the thought to teach it to him somehow. Stories! It’s stories you live for, you marsh monsters.”

 

“Not all of us, not at all.” Eva muttered under her breath. Pilly took note of both words and tone, storing them for some later use or connection he could not yet fathom.

 

“You wanted to know why we were so late, didn’t you? It’s a tale, but… ah, how to tell it Eva? It has to be told well.”

 

Eva smiled at this conundrum. There were so many ways to open, so many possibilities. And somehow with each line there would be infinitely more possibilities while constraining oneself to that which had just been stated. A true conundrum, yes. Pilly wasn’t too experienced at such a thing in her estimation, and so she recommended what masters without pupils always recommend to that first guinea pig of a student that they get.

 

“Start simple Pilly. There’s no need for complexity when you’re starting, in both senses. Where does this begin?”

 

“Ah. It begins at Netk.”

 

“Too early for the kind of story you’re telling me. The machinations at Netk are sure to fascinate someone, perhaps even me. But that’s not the story you have to tell, is it? You weren’t stuck in Netk, you were stuck in the marshlands.”

 

“I’m… not sure I understand why this is the direction this time, but you’re the master. Ah, you mentioned a thing from the journey already, that it was stuck in the marshlands. Well, that’s not quite right, we got stuck in the forests.”

 

“Oh really? The marshland forests?”

 

At this a pause, an obvious internal debate before a quick concession.

 

“No. Meyrkopp.”

 

Every sentence in a story leads to infinite possibilities. And yet, every sentence written is a sentence not written. Every idea brought up is another discarded. And once a world, a character is in place, oh so much is impossible! And yet, once the world and the people are there, they can do anything, and they can do so much more for every additional tidbit added about them. So, do the words constrain or do they free? Do they create futures or destroy them?