X.

• Three days later, things had finally settled down.
• Duke Arinold of Rhonteville held a grand ceremony for the welcoming of the refugees, though it seemed more geared to the other Nobles that were in attendance. Tables covering in sheer white satin held platters of polished silver, covered in spiced pork, fermented figs, pickled Sol-fruit, candied nuts, and an ungodly assortment of colorful pastries. The main hall, or Solarium as Vastillion called it, was full of smells that made the mouth water. Players walked through the room in quartets, plucking at strangely shaped instruments, and singing harmonies in other languages. White candles glowed in the brilliant crystal chandelier, each one giving off a slight scent of pillowy-sweetness; vanilla, Jun had heard it called.
• Fish swam in the fountain; attendants wearing black suits of tailored mastery carried silk napkins over forearms, and hefting trays of Solsticean delicacies. The guests mingled, talking it optimistic accents; recounting the highest gossip and complementing each other in turn. Jun walked among them like a ghost in his Green Justice Jerkin, sticking out like a smudge on an otherwise polished window.
• Dresses with flowing silk ribbons, embroidered lace bodies, and multi-colored cross weaved fabrics were myriads of color in the light. It seemed as though the women were competing for the most outlandish look, thick layers of crème covered face and neck. Cheeks were reddened, lashes darkened, even the tips of the noses were tipped with a pearly pink dab. They all looked ridiculous to Jun, and when coupled with their men; they stood out like Flying-flowers in a snowstorm.
• Some men wore white, but an equal number wore black. Suits were military in style, though many were far too fat to have ever been in any sort of battle. While most suits were identical upon sight, each man wore an extremely intricate half cape, draped over the right shoulder. Jun hadn’t had a lesson in social customs yet, but it appeared as though each cape represented a particular family or house. There were pearls embossed in the shape of a horse, set against a sky-blue silk fabric. A glossy red-weave of velvet was stitched to look like a bird on one man’s cape; and another had a green stalk of grain against a white cotton color. While their suits were conservation, their caps smashed conventional attire to Rentis-sphere. Some were so ornate it was a wonder the men could comfortably move at all. One Lordling had a cap of bleached turtle-shells sown into fabric like scales; each one was painted a different color of the rainbow. Despite their ridiculous appearance, every man wore a short-sword on his hip, the scabbard even more intricate than the cape; though obviously less worn.
• When Jun saw the dignitaries mingle, he was reminded of hens, and had to fight off laughter. They were all big-birds, preening their feathers and guarding their women; who were nothing but baby chicks swimming in nests of fabric. Even worse yet was the way they grew into a frenzy whenever a particular mingle grew too large; as if they were fighting over feed. The whole event was ridiculous, and yet Jun dreaded knowing he would be expected to become one of these fools. For the time being, he was left alone; treated by a few passing nobles as a servant. Glanced at as something less than human.
• When the refugees were finally moved into the Solarium, the Nobles were pushed to the boundaries of the great room. They formed a rainbow of colors spanning over a swab of browns and grays; the colors of dirt and labor. The Harvesters were awestruck, some smiled broadly at the luxury of it all; others were less amused. Jun weaved his way into the throng of Harvesters, somehow he felt safer when surrounded by the ‘uncivilized.’ When it came to choosing class or resolve, he would pick resolve every time.
• Yet he was still sure to pick a spot at the front of the group, he needed to be seen.
• There were many ways this night could end, and a bloody massacre was not excluded. The Dignitaries looked at the Harvesters through a lens, blatantly pointing here and there and whispering amongst each other. Some gestures were so rude, it was hard to believe the nobles knew they were in the same room. They gawked at the Harvesters like animals, or slaves up for auction; for a moment Jun didn’t even feel human. Yet when he looked at the array of colors, plumes, laces, hats, capes, silks, ribbons, even furs…he realized just how much more animalistic the nobles were. They were an aviary of grotesquely shaped birds; and the Harvesters were the hungry collared dogs, ready to snap back.
• Only then did the tension become palpable, and it only grew worse when it became obvious that the dignitaries didn’t notice it.
• “Look at that one, can hardly see the face—“
• “My word, the smell is too much.”  “—not fit for slaves.”
• “An odd jibe I’d say—”  “Is this all that’s left of them?”
• “They don’t look like farmers—“  “Pitiful.” “If we don’t drink soon…”
• They went on and on, Jun only caught bits; but it was all the same. He bristled at the remarks, realizing now that he would never truly be welcome among this culture. Yet a part of him yearned for it, to have a name that people revered. Duke Harver of Rhonteville, it had a ring to it. But wait, none would know his true name, would they? To them he would be Hallen Alwice. He would be starting over, borrowing a life of a friend whose blood still stained his hands. He could hardly live with himself, how could he think to live with the ghost of Hal for the rest of his life? An eerie chill shook his shoulders, and he shrugged off the thought with great effort.
• The double doors on the second landing were thrown open, and Duke Arinold of Rhonteville stepped out onto the balcony. The Harvesters stared, the music drew to a melodic end, and the dignitaries craned their necks to look up to him. Their exposed throats looks like those of a poultry, yet Jun found himself staring curiously at the figure.
• And what a striking figure he made.
• His suit was pure satin white; a beautiful periwinkle trim sewn masterfully of royal velvet gave his frame a squared elegance. His white hair was wore down, long and straight; the cape that covered his shoulder was a matching white, the inside a deep purple. There was a long silence, all eyes were on him; and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
• Yet his garb was remarkably simple compared to some of the outlandish guests. He could see the nobles turning green with envy; Arniold truly was the Master of Social customs; mainly because he set all the standards. Jun couldn’t help but smile, the man was sharp; far too wise to be surrounded by bird-men. What Jun wouldn’t have given to have had Arinold born in Harvesthome. He could have been as influential as Manala, perhaps more so.
• Some people seemed destined for greatness.
• With a gloved hand, he swept over the heads of the people; addressing them in kind.
• “Solsticeans, brethren of birth and heritage. I welcome you all humbly once again into the Rhonteville Estate, for this night is an event that has been properly masked in secrecy to many. If you find yourself standing in my Solarium, you will know how cherished I hold you to my heart.” Jun could hear the sarcasm, but word would spread. Anyone not here was not worth a sociable ‘tip of the hat’ from the most important man in the Solstice Upper. This was the crème of the crop, all because the Duke said so. “If you are standing with some of which you have never met: I assure you stand in good company.
• “But the opportunity to be recognized amongst the elite of such a refined social strata is only the fortunate result of the true reason why we are gathered.” The silence grew louder still; furtive looks were glanced at the Harvesters. Jun could read the scorn, and made a mental note of ever person who glanced hatefully. There would come a day when their looks would drive his passion.
• And his passion would drive his knife.
• Yet the Harvesters just stared on confused; they may as well not have been present as far as they were concerned. They hadn’t been served food, nor engaged by the staff at all. They may as well be in their own bubble of existence. “While you all have had ample time to nurture your reputation, culture, and class; there are those who hold such ideals as foreign. Yet I promise you, an oath on my good character: those you see before you are no foreigners. They are our brethren; the hand that feeds our mouths. Just a few moons past, they were as far from us as any would dare to travel; yet now they stand before us, eager to join our world.
• “Yet,” the word hung for a moment, “three nights past, I was paid a visit by an authority. Constable Prebble.” The man Arinold referred to was beaming proudly, standing off to the side in black coat-tails. “While we strut about in the comfort of our social lives, the world moves on without us. Unbeknownst to me, the world outside had been tossed on our head. When Constable Prebble gave me the lengthy report of vandalism and trespassing, I was enraged!
• “Who would do such a thing?! I felt targeted, betrayed, and indignant that such upstanding individuals would stoop so low. So furious was I, that I demanded to see the perpetrators myself. The Constable suggested against it, warned me of the dangers; but I was resolute! ‘Injustice will not be tolerated, but it must be publicized!’ I told him.
• “Imagine my surprise when I looked into the eyes of starving children. Mothers, and elders. Downtrodden by a most unfortunate occurrence; my rage dissipated. A fool I did feel.” There was a collective sigh from the audience, followed by words of reassurance. People encouraged the Duke not to say such things, but he took their praise humbly. “I understand your concern for one’s social appearance, but my guilt was stronger than any single man’s pride could be. I knew there had to be something I could do, these people needed our help.
• “However,” the mummers settled as the word hung, “as Justice demands; there was nothing I could do. They violated our laws, and as foreigners their crimes are irrefutably unforgivable.” The Constable seemed less sure of himself now. “How could we let any go unpunished? Does this not justify the actions of criminals? Does this not encourage banditry? Theft? How could we turn our backs to this injustice, and be expected to withhold peace?” The Dignitaries voiced their approval, some even clapped.
• Jun felt his gut sink. Something wasn’t right.
• “People of Solstice,” the Duke continued, “These are the last survivors of Harvesthome, a town that is crucial to our trade; our very survival. They have been massacred and exiled from their lands; downtrodden and trampled. So we took pity on them. We let them into our lives, gave them access through our gates. We allowed them the chance to turn their lives around.
• “And this is how they repaid us.”
• Jun wanted to scream.
• He had been fooled.
• The Nobles voiced their anger, turning on the Harvesters and hissing in fury and anger. The Duke of Rhonteville stood like a god over his subjects; all the power of their lives rested in his white silk gloves. So this is true power. This is what it means to lead. Jun locked this away in his mind, unable to focus on it now. He had to act. He had to do something fast, before his opportunity vanished. That’s when it hit him.
• He had to save his people.
• “Enough!” The word broke the din of mumbling. Silence fell again, and when Jun stared up at Arniold he thought he saw a smile in the corner of the man’s lips. He had to be brave, he had to fight again; and as always he knew the possibility of death faced him. He couldn’t back down, he couldn’t lose. There was so much riding on his shoulders; he could not fail. “You say you are guilty, yet condemn us in the same tongue? How is that justice?!”
• “Sheeswae, who are you to talk back to the Duke?!” The words came from somewhere in the crowd, emitted from the stuffiest of voices. The urge to kill had never pumped so fast through Jun’s veins. He imagined the blood splattered over the ridiculous clothes; the dripping red water of life. For a second he even saw it. He smiled.
• “I am the Prime Justice of Harvesthome. Hallen Alwice.” There was a mumbling from the dignitaries, but the loudest gasps came from the Harvesters. They knew who Hal really was. Jun wasn’t so sure he did anymore. “We have been brought to our knees, kicked, treated like animals, only to have you spit on us now. We were massacred in Harvesthome, and sought shelter. You let us through your gates, yet you denied us food! You refused us shelter! How can we live with nothing, how can you hold us accountable to your laws, if you won’t let us live among you!”
• The words rang out, the room was tension.
• Then the strangest thing happened. A single man broke off from the Harvesters and stepped forward. He was frail and old; he walked forward on weak legs and collapsed to the marble floor. He wailed in despair and his frame quivered. His hands were folded together, raised to the Duke in a manner of pleading. Jun was by the man in a heartbeat, helping him back to his knees. Tears were in his eyes, he sobbed; words choking in a knobby throat.
• “Ple-ease!” The old man begged. “Sp-are U-us.” The room was silent except for the moaning. Jun held Deon close; the man’s thin frame shook violently. All eyes were on the two standing apart in the Solarium. It must have been a powerful moment, because the Duke just stared down with cold eyes. When Jun looked up, he saw the warning. He saw the threat that followed. In that moment, it was clear that Jun had been out of his league.
• Jun had tried to force the Duke’s hand, by having the Harvesters arrested; but the Duke didn’t call the bluff. His glare said it all, don’t fuck with me.
• He could have executed them all.
• This demonstration wasn’t for the Dignitaries. It wasn’t even for the Harvesters.
• It was for Jun.
• The Duke was teaching Jun his first lesson; what it means to have complete control. It was a lesson Jun knew he would not soon forget, a lesson that the Duke may not realize he was teaching. Yet Jun knew the importance of this fact, and he had to swallow his pride. Deon understood the circumstance, he understood this lesson and Arinold’s eyes further reflected its importance. The coldness remained in the eyes for a moment, but it softened as the façade returned.
• “What is justice?” The words were soft, most had to lean in to make sure they heard correctly. “What sort of monster would I be if I ordered the death of starving miscreants? Where would my heart be, if I demanded that grain be paid with blood? Can any of you here claim to me that he has not committed a crime equal to that of these destitute? Can any of you look these people in the eyes, and tell them they must die for a law they didn’t understand?” The silence was palpable. The Duke lorded over the crowd like a deity.
• “B-but, it’s the law!” The Constable was wide eyed with fear, as if somehow the events had turned on him again.
• “But the crime has been against me.” The duke lifted his chin, “Yes, they are guilty; but it is my choice to decide their fate. And yet….I find myself pitying them. They did not choose this life. It was thrust on them…Perhaps the laws are not Just.”
• “Give us a chance to repay our debt!” Jun shoved the words in desperately. With all these people as witness, it would be cruel if the Duke denied. That would affect his ‘social-strata’ or so Jun hoped. The Duke was still, the corner of his mouth twitched. Jun was breaking their first agreement, he was making the idea appear to be his; but he had to try. He had to show the Harvesters he could care, as well as lead. “Give us a chance to become part of Solstice.”
• There was tension, but Jun knew he had won. I concede to your plan, the terms were back into place. The Duke recognized it, and smiled a compassionate smile. His teeth whiter than his hair. The teeth of a snake.
• “Yes. Forgiveness. Is that not one of the Grand-designer’s lessons? Live life with a heart of forgiveness.” The Duke drew a finger down his jaw. “I had planned to judge these poor souls in front of my peers, so that I may live free of guilt. Yet I find this man raises a point that questions the very moral fiber of my soul.” Perfect, Jun hid his smile deep inside; they were back in business.
• “I shall take in the unfortunate. All of them.”
• There was a collective gasp among the crowd.
• Jun carefully let go of Deon, the man chuckled under his breath.
• “That was closer than you had hoped, I bet.” The man whispered under his liquored breath. “I don’t know what you had planned, but do us a favor, Hal. Don’t bargain with our lives.” He made a show of walking back to the Harvesters, and Jun watched him go.
• He prayed that the others weren’t as receptive to the game of power as Deon had been.
• When he risked a glance toward them, the look in their eyes betrayed their emotions, and Jun saw something he hadn’t seen since his days as a Justice.
• Gratitude.
• And it brought tears to his eyes.
• “You are a tricky bastard, but a bastard nonetheless.” Arinold pulled the hose away from his lips and exhaled the Ghielrout smoke from his nose. “Don’t think I will forget this.”
• “I was afraid you wouldn’t uphold your end of the deal, especially after I got you—“
• “Got me what? Dead-ends?” Arinold inhaled deeply before plugging his hose with a gloved thumb. He gave Jun a courteous nod, and Jun put his hose to his mouth. When he breathed it, the water bubbled, the chard grew hotter, the smoke from the Ghielrout filled his lungs in a burning rush. Don’t cough. The taste was crisp, yet woody and poignant. Jun tried to savor it, but all he could think of was the sluggishness that was to follow. The Duke exhaled lightly through his nose, tendrils of smoke curled about his face like a mustache. Jun choked, laughing hard.
• The Duke chuckled and began to cough as well.
• It took them a full minute to regain composure, a full minute before Jun realized there was no hope of kinship. “I explored those leads, most of which were men would couldn’t understand a single word of my…informants.” Jun knew what they really were. Coaxers, Majore had called them. The two men fought a back-handed war over information, at the moment Majore held all the cards. Including the ones that allowed him to get back into Harvesthome for more grain.
• Oh course, his shipment hadn’t returned yet. Jun smiled.
• “They spoke nonsense, the only useful bit of information I had gathered was a bit useless.”
• “How so?” Jun lifted the hose to his lips and sucked in as Arinold continued.
• “I don’t know,” he huffed in a childish sigh, “one man claimed that Majore paid off a Scigfried Captain. But that’s completely impossible, considering the Regional Grand Judge would have completely killed his own mother if she accepted a bribe. You see? There’s no possible way that Majore could bribe a Scigfried Captain, they are too afraid of their champion.” Jun plugged his hose just as Arinold lifted the hose to his lips. The Obelisk was an amazing creation, it forced conversations to be balanced; since the drug could only be enjoyed by one at a time.
• Jun exhaled the smoke through his next words. “So the man lied, how was I to know?  Besides Majore could have bribed a Scigfried Captain, everyone has a price. And not everyone’s price is coin.” Jun watched the Dukes eyes narrow in thought. He backed away from the hose and held his breath. Jun pulled in a quick hit and held his breath too.
• “I never considered that,” the duke responded. “Let’s say you are right, and Majore found a way to bribe the Scigfried into allowing them to travel together. What do you think it would cost him?” The words hung in the air like the thick white smoke around Arinold’s head. Jun smiled, just because it felt nice.
• “I don’t know how Majore got permission, and he certainly won’t tell me. Not like I asked him, but I’m sure that may give away our intension.” The Duke nodded in agreement, inhaling yet again. “I can’t think of anything tangible that the Grand Judge would hold valuable, he’s too…Honor bound. Which leaves me to think that Majore offered him something intangible.” The duke agreed eagerly.
• “Yes yes yes, like information of some sort.”
• “Everything costs coin, and information costs the most. That is something Majore said to me.”
• “But coin is tangible.”
• “Yes but information is intangible, and Majore considers it to be his best selling ware.” The words floated around for a moment, and the two dug through hazy thoughts to determine what they could mean. “I think Majore gave the Grand Judge some important information. In payment, the Judge offered protection. It’s not technically a bribe, and more importantly it’s free for Scigfried.”
• “But what could he have said?”
• “I don’t have any idea, but whatever he told him was enough to let the Scigfried guards let more traders through the gate. They left with a third caravan last Forte night.” The duke coughed, unable to form words. “Majore Jeleps is a greedy man, he sent a third caravan before he even heard from the second.”
• “This is bad news, my boy.”
• “Not at all.” The duke paused, the hose half raised to his lips. “The second caravan is probably dead.” Jun inhaled the smoke and the duke was left staring, thumb plugging his end. Despite the long pause, the duke didn’t respond; he just gazed off into the distance. “The Woodsmen are still at large. With the town abandoned, they own Harvesthome now. They aren’t going to give up the crop easily. If I saw traders trying to steal my crop…well…I wouldn’t be as gracious as you have been to us.” Arinold waved off Jun as he inhaled, pretending to be humble. “The point is, Majore sending two caravans at once tells us something.” Smoke billowed from the Duke’s face.
• “Huhn?”
• “He’s desperate.” Jun inhaled, the duke watched.
• “I like the sound of that.” Jun coughed, laughing in a childish way. Everything was becoming fuzzy again. The two of them had cut the Ghielrout with a variety of other leaves, and the effect was less harsh. Jun found himself settling into the fabric of his chair, idle thumbing the soft material. What was it made out of? “If he’s desperate, than his moment of glory is near an end. Which means I’ll become the master of trade again!” The duke jumped up in his chair and raised his fists to the glass ceiling above. “Ohhh, yes. Majore, you bastard; your days are almost through.”
• “Problem is, you won’t have access to the crop either.” Jun put in, and the duke just scoffed.
• “Bah, Autumn-grass is natural-gold; but there are other trades in Solstice too.” The words didn’t seem to reassuring. “Sol-fruit, wheat, figs, pigs, cows…”
• “Sure, but all of that will only allow Solstice to survive the winter. You can’t expect to thrive like you have in years past. Without the trade from Harvesthome, diplomacy in the entire region with shutdown.” Jun inhaled, and Arinold clutched at his throat in a ploy of drowning.
• “You’re killing me Hal! Let a man live in reverie for a moment before you bring him down.”
• “I’m a realist.”
• “You’re a pain in the ass. And our region has a name, Hal. It’s Olmeer. Which reminds me; we need to get your education started. I’ll be able to fully exact my revenge then, haha!” The man laughed and slunk back down into his chair. “More Ghielrout, my boy?” Jun nodded, inhaling the last of the vapors from the Obelisk. “I don’t trust you Hal. You’re too smart for your upbringing. I’ve been having years of trouble finding an advantage over Majore, and then here you come and my luck seems to change over night!”
• “I haven’t actually done anything yet.”
• “Ah, but you have. You’ve met with him, something I could never manage. That alone has given me a wealth of information that I would never in my wildest dreams imagine of having. You’re like my little gunge, at the end of my lifelong gunge-chase.” He poked around the shelves of the pyramid, shooing off the servant who offered assistance. “But it’s not what you learn that fascinates me, it’s your perspective. You rationalize things in a way I am just incapable off. It’s in credible. You’re incredible, Hal.”
• Jun just chuckled, curled in a ball; nestled in his chair. “You’re fucked up.”
• “Yes. Indeed. Please try to curb your poor speech habits, it’s only going to be harder to beat it out of you later when I have to. And believe me, I will have to.” Jun didn’t care for the sound of that, so he uncurled and watched the man work. “But you’re right. I mean, about the trade thing. With no grain, the Southern cities of Olmeer will not even bother coming to trade with us. It’s very likely that we will not see them until we can establish trade again.”
• And that’s when Jun felt the world fall into place around him again.
• Suddenly he didn’t feel the affects of the drug anymore, as if his mind had released the drug and cleared his thoughts. It’s very likely that we will not see them until we can establish trade again. That was it. The key. Jun had just stumbled on the bit of information that Arinold could never have understood the value of. Jun had found the key to Solstice, the key to the region. And by destroying the Kingwood, he had shut down the world.
• He wanted to cry. Instead he just smiled. The Duke looked up at him.
• “Want to smoke this red leaf? Never tried it, heard it was incredibly hallucinogenic. Sounds like fun.” Slowly the affect of the drug started to seep into Jun’s periphery; though the affect was dim compared to a moment earlier. “I had it imported from the marshes of Dol’phan…er…what was that place called…Well I must be a mess! Can’t remember!” The duke chuckled and stuffed four fat leaves into a fresh metal net and replaced the last one; now black with sticky residue. “Dol’phan knows their narcotics, some of the most memorable stories stem from the Capitol. Ah, but never you mind that; we’ll cover that in your education. So much to learn! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had a Ward!” The chard was replaced by a servant, and the Duke waited with wide eyes of anticipation.
• Jun trembled slightly.
• He could only imagine what a hallucinogenic may do to him.
• “You’ve grown rather quiet. Everything alright?” Jun felt his gut sink, the Ghielrout made him paranoid; convinced him that the Duke was testing him once again. He couldn’t refuse the offer, it would seem rude. Yet with no control, what ghosts would Jun release? In the back of his mind he heard the screams of the dead, the hissing and popping of the Kingwood as it erupted. No. Things were certainly not alright.
• “Perhaps smoking anymore would be…too much for me in one night.” The Duke twisted the water bulb until it detached and handed it to a servant to clean and refill.
• “The first rule of Social etiquette: never refuse a gift, especially an expensive one.” The Duke gave Jun a knowing look, and signaled another servant to step forward and light the chard. Jun looked at the servants face, but it was completely unreadable. He did not know this man, the Duke did not know this man. He was only another hand used to wipe the ass of the more fortunate. Jun grit his teeth silently. There was no choice.
• “Then what are we waiting for?” The Duke smiled and slapped his knee, a rather folksy gesture for someone of his status. The water bulb was reattached with clean water and the duke inhaled through the hose to test the suction. The water bubbled playfully, and the duke seemed satisfied. Jun couldn’t help but notice the look of blank reverence in the servants face. For a moment Jun searched for a distinguishable feature on the man, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that he could sympathize with. But the man was gone before Jun could even draw the image of his plain face.
• It was like the servants weren’t even human.
• “Hal, there are many ‘social don’ts’ for you to learn. Not to stare is one of them.” The Duke lifted the hose to his lips and gave a few quick puffs out the side of his mouth. He resigned when no smoke was emitted and placed the hose back in its holding arm. “Being patient is another. I am so sorry, Hal. Taking on a ward at my age may have been a mistake. I’ve grown far too impatient to be a good teacher, I can’t even wait for the water to heat.”
• Jun caught what was important, the Duke referenced his age. This set a number of gears moving in Jun’s mind. “There is always something to be learned. Perhaps I will teach you things as well.”
• “Ah, there is truth to that. The best instructors learn more from their students than their students learn from them. That was a famous quote by Marn Gilner, a wise historian; I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him? He passed away some generations ago, but before then he took on many scholars. He would write that each scholar was a new perspective through which he could view the world. With each new ward, he became more educated himself. The world became more defined, more grounded in realism; yet equally expanded in creativity and color.” The Duke pause, a distant look passing his eyes.
• “One of his scholars educated my father, Haribald Arinold the seventh.” The distant look vanished and the duke tapped the glass with an elongated, painted fingernail. “You’ll be reading a lot of Gilner.” Thrilling. “You’ll be learning how to interact with merchants, traders, and barters; and yes, there is a significant difference in the three. And an even greater difference in how to treat them. You will be learning how to properly court a woman, since I assume you are not betrothed.” Jun remained silent, the Duke didn’t wait long to continue. “Though, I will be callus now, it does not matter if you were betrothed. A Harvester is no suitable Lady for a Solsticean. Just be grateful you are not a woman, their training is much more…extensive. Far less enjoyable, and much more difficultly cultivated.”
• “I thought the celebration went rather well?” Jun asked more than stated. The Duke just scoffed.
• “Yes, you may think that; but I assure you, it did not. In your attempt to mingle with the Socialites you managed to gravely offend them all. Yet, this is not necessarily a bad thing. It gives them a point of reference to compare to once I’ve started educating you in Social etiquette.” Jun was slightly taken aback, remembering the friendly encounters of the dignitaries. Sure, most were obviously feigning sincerity; but Jun was sure that a few had genuinely enjoyed his company. When he told the duke, the man just scoffed again.
• “My boy, you’ve fallen prey to the first of many pitfalls of Social strata: Never think for a moment that a man of equal status enjoys your company. I assure you, if they seemed interested at all; it was genuinely a practice of their Social skills. Some of them are well honed, truly. Others probably considered you an entertaining fool’s act.” The Duke lifted the hose to his lips and puffed again, yet still nothing. “Blast, how can I reprimand you and still make myself a fool.”
• “We are all fools in some way.” The duke listened to the words with great weight. He glared at Jun for a moment and then smiled. “No offense.”
• “Oh, Hal. That doesn’t work here, the term no offense is even more offensive than the offense itself. I was just pleased to see how truly hopeless you are. There is so much room for improvement!” Jun glowered, which made the Duke laugh even more. “Perhaps…Perhaps it is for the better than this drug steeps so long. I have many things to ask of you before I get to work.” Jun felt another rush of sobriety.
• “What do you need?”
• “Fabric, mountains of it. A man is only as well groomed as his least groomed servant. I cannot simply abandon all of my previous staff, and those I have abandoned were considerably more fed than your Harvesters. I need more fabric, to create the proper look for our new work force. Vastillion has the numbers, talk to him and he’ll see that you get a ledger. Secondly, we are going to need assign roles. Since you have experience with our new labor force, I will leave you to the task. I’ve had Vastillion outline the positions that will need filling, as well as some supervision roles.
• “Take the Estate Draft to Hespin’s Villa. Coie Hespin’s mute daughter is an exceptional cartographer; see if you can’t get them to make some copies, say two dozen or so. That will help the navigation issue. I believe Vastillion has the Draft—“
• “You rely on him too much.”
• The Duke came up short, glancing at Jun curiously. “Vastillion? Come now, he may seem abrasive but he’s an absolute savant when it comes to paperwork. The man has the patience of stone; the loyalty of a well trained dog. I’ll have no more discussion on the matter.” The Duke glanced at the water, and recognized the small bubbles sticking to the surface. “Ooooh, almost! Almost!” Arinold squeezed the armrest on his chair and the top of the arm rest flipped open. “Dibbit?” The Duke plucked out a small white brick and placed it under his tongue.
• “Too sweet.” The Duke glared at Jun and plucked another fermented brick from the secret compartment. Jun remembered too late, and recovered by soaking his response in sarcasm. “Oh why, yes! Please, oh please.” The Duke just sucked between his teeth and chuckled.
• “You are quite an asshole, Hal.”
• “Such language! I find myself in the company of a barbarian!” Jun feigned insult, fanning his face. The duke scowled, not taking the joke lightly. Jun offered his hand, and Arinold placed the dibbit gently in the center. “If I may ask, when is it proper to refuse a gift?”
• “Never. Now enjoy the dibbit, it is an expensive import from the West; not your dried out sugar-cube from down the road.” Jun pushed the sweet cube of fermented sugar under his tongue, and grimaced at the sweetness. His nose burnt, and his eyes watered. “Ugh! Hal, you must enjoy it! It’s a gift! Gifts must be enjoyed, it is rude to suffer through courtesy!” Jun gave a sarcastic smile and moved the cube around his mouth; where it dissolved quicker. Shortly following his mouth was warn, and Jun could feel his cheeks flush.
• “I hate dibbits, they are too strong for the amount of time it takes to enjoy them. Intoxication should be savored.” Jun watched the duke place a new mouthpiece on his hose and nod in approval.
• “That sounds awfully refined of you, Hal. Not a bad save, indeed. I would agree, but for the drug to take full affect, one must be partially intoxicated. You’ll see.” The Duke raised the hose to his lips and froze. “There is something else I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you have any combat training?” Jun stared at the man for a moment before answering.
• “Yes.” The Duke seemed to want more, but settled for the vague response.
• “Good. Perhaps you should hone your skill. I don’t doubt that Majore knows by now that you are my Ward. He’s going to want you more than ever now. If I know a Jeleps, they are always looking for a way to undermine the competition. I don’t know how he may approach you, but stay alert. Don’t. Trust. Anyone.” The words hung in the air and the Duke inhaled through the pipe. The smoke curled in the water bulb, before Jun released his end and the smoke emptied the chamber in a rush. The Duke moved the hose from his lips and reclined back in his chair with a puffed out chest. He held his breath so long, Jun feared the drug had killed him. “Majore Jeleps is going to use you to get to me.” The smoke escaped his lips with each word. “There may come a time that he tries to kill you.
• “I just thought you may want to be prepared.”
• Jun placed his lips on his mouthpiece and inhaled. The taste of the drug was hot, and sweet; not at all harsh like the Ghielrout. The more Jun inhaled, the more he wanted to take in. When his lungs could hold no more, he removed his lips and stared at the Duke directly; the other watched in anticipation.
• “Don’t worry.” Jun’s words came out in an ungodly low tone, manipulated by the smoke. “When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.”