AN: I’m posting this in two parts, but I’ll only send an email for the first. It’s out of chronology for where we are in the story, but I don’t want to go too long without some Academy Days updates and I’m still working on the new bits.
Also, it’s relevant to the main story, where we’ve just gotten one of our first mentions of Servan, who has an important role to play in the plot…
Enjoy
“And for you,” Cole said, laying one dried, paper-wrapped sausage on Nika’s chest, like one might law a long-stemmed flower on a lover’s grave.
It could have been Nika’s grave, very easily (it was his bed) for he was lying in it (distinctly alive) as if he were dead, and wishing just slightly (previously it had been somewhat sharply, but Cole had walked in (and given him sausage)) to actually be dead. For a little bit, at least (like an hour or two, tops – he had things to do).
Nika wanted desperately to say it wasn’t his fault, the fatigue and stinging back, but it really was. He wasn’t going to get leave anyway, as it wasn’t his turn, so he had felt absolutely free to correct a classmate’s verbiage by nearly suffocating him with grass. It WASN’T his fault that his classmate was not better at grappling, or at least good enough to avoid being pushed face first into the ground for long enough he almost passed out. It was really the length of the time that was Nika’s fault, which the grappling ollamh knew very well (thus, punishment), and that it was rather too dangerous to be throwing anyone head first into anything when they were practicing on hard ground (thus, non-trivial amounts of punishment).
That the grass was so verdant as to be suffocating was the fault of rain, and therefore up to God. If the Ainjir had a problem with that they could come to faith and take up their own arguments.
Cole threw himself into their one intact chair and started picking at a piece of flatbread ragged with the bits he had already taken out, pinching and flattening and taking fingertip-shaped crescents out to press onto his tongue. It was barbaric (but it did make it last longer, which was probably the only reason he still had sausage to give to Nika). And, really, given their mutual lack of funds, it was impressive he had gotten the sausage at all.
“Well,” Cole sighed, taking a haphazard bite out of the remainder of his bread and slouching down, casting his head over the hard chair back, face turned upward so that he, too, looked a little dead, “that was a waste.”
Nika sniffed deeply. The sausage didn’t smell right. Or, rather – “This is Servan’s?”
Cole lifted himself up so as to not choke on his next little medallion of bread.
“Yes, I did try, and I did try to be very discreet…” Cole insisted, quite unnecessarily (he didn’t realize or had not conceded to the fact that Nika had, from the moment he had said it, ceased giving any thought to Cole’s utterly mistaken notion that he could possibly be discreet enough for it to matter),
“…but the first time I went ‘round the butcher was too distracted to serve anyone. Just utterly preoccupied with some problem with his hooks, or his supply of meats, or something – I’m afraid I didn’t catch any familiar words.”
“You don’t know any,” Nika said, picturing (he could only see the ceiling) and ignoring the collapse of Cole’s face and the start of his protests. To give him something else to say, Nika asked, “And then?”
Cole had another bit of bread and said, “Closed.”
Nika sat up (he caught the sausage).
“–quite early, but I suppose that’s what the fuss was about in the morning – must have run through his supplies.”
“You went?” The badly formulated question Nika blamed on his surprise, but luckily Cole understood.
“In the morning?” Cole said. “I would say around ten.”
“And you returned?”
“Around three?” But this one, Cole did not understand – but that wasn’t his fault, even Nika had to admit. He meddled in matters beyond even his considerable comprehension.
Nika’s exclamation was not a result of curiosity, but of shocked disbelief. Shocked disbelief that Cole did not understand the gravity of the slight to which he had been subjected. Nika’s eyes narrowed as he watched Cole contentedly nibble his bread (he knew something had upset Nika, but would wait to see if it was something in which Nika wanted to involve him. Both because he was lazy, and because Nika hadn’t approved of the whole mission to try a new butcher’s wares anyway).
And No – Nika wouldn’t involve him. In part because he was already involved, he just didn’t know. Because it wouldn’t be Cole who had been insulted – how, after all, could a Midraeic butcher expect a faithless Ainjir to behave politely and respectably? – it would be Them.
Better that Cole didn’t know it was Them, or he would be reacting much more severely. As always, Cole said nothing, but as if Nika didn’t know Cole had broken another cadet’s nose just last week for some unwise comment (he, too had lain on the bed as if dead (but not because he had been punished for that. He had been punished for some other thing – not, inevitably, for any actual rule he had broken, like sneaking down to the cellars to steal food, but for being in a place he shouldn’t have had access to or some such lesser trespass he was continually committing). No – Cole also had a happy talent for convincing, intimidating, or somehow shaming those whose impudence he corrected into not wanting to admit to the correction, even if such a confession should see him punished for it. He also had a happy talent for not doing things as forthright as smashing someone’s face into the ground for a near-fatal period of time in front of an ollamh in the middle of class.
…Why Nika bothered with and endured the punishments for such correcting idiots he had no idea. It’s not like anyone learned anything – anyone who hadn’t, by now, stopped running their mouth at Nika was never going to – it was just personally satisfying. (And Nika sometimes called Cole a fool!)).
Better that Cole not be involved, anyway. What could he do? Cole didn’t understand, and Nika doubted he ever really would. Even Nika didn’t want to understand. It was incredibly stupid. But then, it felt incredibly stupid that Nika was so compelled to fix the situation (a disturbance in the community was a threat; Midraeic food, in addition to being good, was also some of the only food they could afford). So they were all incredibly stupid together, as a community should be.
“Do you want your sausage?” Cole asked.
In answer, Nika shoved half of it into his mouth in one ferocious bite. With a disappointed frown and delicate noise of discontent, Cole let his head fall back again.
“Faer.”
Two weeks later, the time had come. Faer started as his name was called, probably out of surprise and not fear. If there was anyone who didn’t jump when Galen called out his name with purpose, it would be Faer.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t (very wisely) somewhat hesitant in answering.
“Galen,” Faer said, to the fearsome figure stalking up to him before the gates.
“Come with me,” Galen said.
“Well, such invitations you give!” Faer said, but jovially, shoving his hands in his pockets and falling into step beside Galen as he strode out the gate. “Will this take all day?”
“No,” Galen said. “I need two favors.”
Perhaps it was a trick of the perspective, but Faer almost looked disappointed that these tasks would not take all day.
“The first is very awkward,” Galen admitted.
“More or less awkward than the second?” Faer asked, still cheerful.
“I don’t know yet,” Galen said. He glanced up again at Faer walking beside him. “I don’t know what the second favour is yet. It could be very awkward.”
“Intriguing.”
He waited, but Galen didn’t seem to want to actually ask his favour. Unlike every other Ainjir Galen had ever met, though, he was not inclined to fill silences with chatter. It was probably very smart, but at the moment, Galen had trouble appreciating it.
“I need you to buy something for me,” Galen said.
This was very serious indeed, and the bounce to Faer’s step departed for a long, sombre stride, which was also slightly annoying since Faer had much longer legs than Galen and it made their pace all funny. But Galen couldn’t complain – almost all the not-rich cadets knew that Faer was the one to ask for purchases outside their means, as his father’s law practice had generated considerable credit among the city merchants for the family. Despite being not at all rich, his reach was, in practice, second only to the most wealthy of the noble cadets. And he wasn’t a dick about it.
“So… like, how expensive? What is it?”
“A sausage.”
Faer stopped. A few moments later, Galen stopped as well. Then a few more moments later, he walked back to where Faer was.
“Is it, like, a very special sausage?”
“No,” Galen said, not certain Faer would understand the nuances of the situation, and slightly embarrassed that he felt compelled to add, “I don’t think it will be better than Servan’s, anyway.”
“But you need me to buy it?” Faer asked. He did not offer to lend Galen the money; he was, in fact, very smart.
“Yes, and it’s far – across the city.” Time was precious – they only ever got a few days of leave, and really only hours in each day.
“Sure,” Faer said, and resumed a position beside Galen, so they could continue walking. “Is this… related to the second favour?”
“Yes.”
“Is it… well, do I need to change, or like…I don’t know…”
“No,” Galen said, after a moment’s thought. “Better to be in uniform I think.”
They took a few more steps in silence.
“Is this going to get me in trouble with Servan?”
Galen scoffed, but because it was Faer, had the decency to look apologetic as he explained. “You’re Ainjir, it’s fine.” He paused, “but go to him next.”
Faer nodded, tension easing. “So, go buy sausages at two places and save one for you? That’s the mission? Honestly, I was going to go to Servan’s anyway. Anything else?”
“No, but don’t go to Servan’s now,” Galen said. “I need to speak with him.”
“Meet up later, then?”
Galen nodded, and all Faer’s cheerfulness returned.
A little more than an hour later, Nika sat at one of the high, tiny tables perched just inside the wall of Servan’s open storefront. This part of the wall backed to the tiny alley, in the depths of which Servan and his wife did their slaughtering, carving, grinding, and casing (at least part of this illegally, but that was none of Nika’s business). This half of the front of the shop folded up into an awning – much needed for the sun was bright today – but Nika had chosen the relative privacy of the smaller table and the shelter of the wall. There he drank tea in a leisurely fashion, all the various accoutrement of herb, citrus peel, sugar, the little dishes and spoons and sticks, arrayed before him, pretending (or not having to pretend so hard) to be too tired for much more strenuous activity on the first day of his leave.
Nika never allowed himself to be served all of the accoutrements of Midraeic tea. He also never sat inside the shop – not if he could help it – if there weren’t others with him to force his hand.
Servan knew when the gates opened to let cadets out on leave, so Nika had dallied as to not show up too early. They had passed their usual greetings, which had taken probably a half an hour – relatively brief, but Nika had the excuse of having the much reduced volume of letters from his family meaning there was not much to share that was not awkward, even for the canvassing of a butcher.
Now, Nika waited. Not because Servan was busy – it was not a particularly busy morning, but that didn’t matter, because Nika would always get a second slice of his time. Usually, if he was alone, he tried to leave before the second canvassing and would be caught, taking tiny steps backward out of the shop, having pastries or new medicines or herb bundles or off-cuts stuffed into his hands for at least another ten minutes (God help him if he ran into anything because he would be made to sit to be examined and served more tea (a whole pot!) and Servan’s wife would inevitably emerge and then all the Midraeic ladies would come to offer their opinions of his grievous injuries and really mostly gossip about everyone over his head occasionally clucking at him and telling him to sit and rest like he was an infant and it was a whole extra half-to-full hour).
Staying after of the second canvassing (never quite as long – perhaps only fifteen minutes at the most – and again, only when he was alone, and the social rules reverted back to all Midraeic rules), was an even clearer signal; Servan would present himself again, ready to stay.
“Puer, it is a fine day,” Servan said, bringing down the serving tray shielding his eyes as he moved from sun to shade around the edge of the wall.
This was not a pleasantry (‘ah,’ the voice of his father cautioned, ‘maybe not only, not only, not “not”’) – not only a pleasantry, but also an accusation. It was a fine day, why wasn’t he out enjoying it? It was a fine day, he should be spending it improving himself. It was a fine day, worth thanking God over, why wasn’t he observing while he had the chance?
“It is,” Nika said, but volunteered no more, as Servan had already settled himself into the tall chair across the table. Preoccupied with cleanliness, like a good Midraeic butcher, he kept a second set of pockets, protected by his apron, tied around his waist, from which he now took a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow, and which he carefully replaced, making sure he wasn’t sitting on it.
“Ah,” Servan said knowingly, “you are having a hard time with your lessons?”
This was a bit silly. Servan always clucked sympathetically but never said anything about classes at the Academy, not even that he knew nothing about them – he would say, that was how much nothing he knew! – despite surely having heard enough years’ worth of complaints to be able to sketch the curriculum, if not pass the tests.
“Eha,” Nika said easily, “no more than usual. I know my sermones already, what else should I know?”
“A good boy, fili’s skola,” said Servan.
Platitudes – but then, so had been what Nika said.
“Not all would say so.” Nika said, switching to Midraeic.
“Let them say it to me!” Servan said, switching over himself as he thumped a fist on his chest, then tucked his serving tray under his arm.
“They would, if they were done eating,” Nika said with a deferential smile, “but then, they might not want to.”
“A loyal boy – you warm my heart, you know, in this place, it’s not like your towns – eha, your villages,” he corrected, in deference to the tininess of Nika’s home community. “We have to compete!”
While he was never rude, Nika was – even he had to admit – not usually this polite, which Servan’s self-correction noted. Servan was not fooled by this politeness (cooperation, maybe? Nika would like it termed cooperativeness instead of politeness), either. Of course Servan knew that Cole had visited some other butcher. Of course Nika knew who buttered his bread – or cased his sausages, rather. Truly, even more than a regular butcher, Nika was under Servan’s loving thumb.
“Compete for what?” Nika said. “The Ainjir?”
Servan made a wry face and waggled a finger at Nika, who sipped his tea. “You laugh, but every half-trained fool with a sharp enough knife tries to set up here, in the Capitol, where all the people are!”
“Why? Everybody’s settled, who are they going to take in?”
“Eha, clever boy,” Servan said, seeming to scoot towards the edge of his stool as if he might leave, “you just want to know who the new butcher is.”
“I have the word of God, I want for nothing,” Nika said quickly, “and anyway I can’t know who the new butcher is.”
At this, Servan pushed himself back onto his stool, but Nika took another sip of tea rather than continuing directly. He didn’t even look at Servan. The ‘can’t’ was doing work it could only do in Midraeic, when paired with everything else he did. Nika’s staunch and utter lack of interest in the new butcher – or Servan’s acceptance of such – meant that they could talk about him. Gossip was, after all, forbidden (a claim disputed in the commentaries, as it was not direct speech of the Prophet (obviously a result of the recorder’s hysterical grief (also disputed, several other tenets – some for which the punishment was death [citations of historical events to prove it] – were also so recorded (also disputed, definition needed: what is a tenet?))) look, was any of this really needed when the People exist in a perpetual state of sin? (disputed) Or was gossip inevitable, like sex outside wedlock? (disputed, disputed, disputed, and so on…)
“I only get leave every three months.” Nika set his teacup down. “What should I know, anyway?”
“Well,” Servan said consolingly, “not everyone understands.”
Ah, thought Nika, dully disappointed but not surprised – it was his relationship with Cole.
“It’s a posted schedule,” Nika protested, knowing very well that wasn’t what Servan meant, and also that Servan knew that Nika knew that wasn’t what Servan meant.
“Eha,” Servan said, almost as a grunt, waving away this protest, “everyone knows the cadets.”
“They know all the cadets?” Nika said, brows raised over his teacup. About as close to ‘have you gossiped about me outside of the acceptable radius of your couple hundred customers to the unacceptable radius of the whole city – I am a very private person’ as he could ever get.
Servan raised his shoulders and readjusted the tray under his arm as he made an equivocating gesture. He said, in an (insincere) apologetic voice. “They probably learn more things than they should really know, and think they know more than they really learn.”
“Prophet guide us, our neighbors’ fruit isn’t ours to taste, even if it falls into our hand.” This was, perhaps, the most annoying thing Nika could have possibly said, not only because it was (in context) an intensely vague parable, but because it was, technically, part of the teachings, though it was the kind of part that only a teachers’ son would bother to quote, and only in a bad argument (it wasn’t disputed but ALL of the later commentaries stopped by to make fun of it).
“What should I say?” Servan asked, in that kind of conversationally pleading tone one takes up when they won’t admit to a mistake. “I can’t stop my ears like a rabbit, to sleep.”
See – said Nika to the shadow of his father observing in his head – this is what I mean. Servan was a very good Midraeic butcher. He was the kind of Midraeic butcher that argued with you in your own voice (and he always argued) and put lesson up to lesson like a card player matching suits. But the Prophet willed it, had he gone to Academy instead of Nika he would have excelled. Their butcher back home had been a comparative idiot, and he only had so many families to track and they were all intermarried anyway.
“So they gossip?” Nika said, dropping the word in his best ‘teacher’ voice, making Servan blameless in this insidious practice.
“The Ainjir gossip,” Servan corrected, as if no Midraeic person had ever in their life gossiped. “The Ainjir gossip about all things.”
“What ‘all things’ do they have to gossip about,” Nika said, genuinely disgruntled. Of course, he already knew that (Cole had told him of the things they not just talked about but published, might God be blind). He meant it more as a rhetorical complaint, but Servan only raised his brows and looked away, at the ground.
“Eha! They do not!”
“They do,” said Servan.
“And this is all the way across the city?” said Nika, meaning, of course, only the Midraeic people in the city. It was about sex (and it was only more proof of their godlessness that the Ainjir would gather up, typeset, and print about it. Cole had told him not to worry – it wasn’t that Nika had worried, but he had been certain there was nothing truthful to put in about HIM, at least).
“You know all it takes is one visiting sister and opa,” Servan made a little explosion with his fingers, like a dandelion head bursting in the wind, “all over town.”
“So, what – they believe the little books and gossiping sisters about my business?”
“Child, your business?” Servan shook his head, then tilted it and held out mirrored hands. “Your friend, though?”
This time Nika really was caught by surprise. “Cole?”
“He has a bad reputation,” Servan continued. “It’s not for me to say, but it’s being said, you know.”
“Whose business is that?” Nika asked accusingly. (The answer being, of course, that it was his business, and his business alone. True, Ainjir were always open for discussion, but among the people certain niceties should be observed).
Servan turned his hands out as if to defend himself, then took the tray out from under his arm for a fan. “You’re a nice boy. You’re sacrificing for the people. You could be married ten times over, have twenty little children, and have your own skola, but you have this Ainjir, and, oof, this Ainjir.”
“This Ainjir what?” Nika said angrily, at some point having passed over into just genuinely complaining to his butcher.
“The mind dances and the heart stumbles,” Servan said with a sigh. “You know you’re smart, they know you’re smart, but you wouldn’t be the first! Not even the first with just this one.”
“Oof,” Servan said again, for emphasis, as Nika stewed.
It was a testament to his investment in Nika that Servan waited for him – fanning himself all the while with his serving tray – to get a grip on himself.
Nika, for his part, felt both the gentle, early stab a headache and a ferocious, aching, emptiness in his chest. He rubbed his forehead and tried to ignore both.
“I am not a fool,” Nika said.
“I know that,” Servan said, pointing emphatically at himself, then at Nika. “You know that.” He gestured expansively out with his tray at the city at large. “Them? They only know this boy is no good for you.”
“Eha,” Nika sighed, dropping his hand back to his tea, “no good? What do they know about no good? Isn’t the whole thing no good?”
Servan shrugged with divine complacency. “The holy seek to drown in the ocean of being loved, and loving.”
That was some Ainjir-Midraeic bullshit (it wasn’t, it was a near quote of a very well respected Comidrian poet-theosopher blessed to know the Prophet in visions soon after His death; Nika couldn’t even say it was disputed. It was just… argued about heavily between branches).
Nika grunted, arms folded. “Maybe they should think I’m no good.”
“Never, my child.” Servan laughed, heartily, and slapped Nika on the shoulder as he pushed himself off the high chair. “Even if you were no good, could they admit it?”
Nika smiled as Servan went, waving him off, then leaned back against the wall to rest.
He shouldn’t be so upset. It wasn’t the worst problem.
They thought Cole was a slut.
This was not an issue he had been expecting. The issue he had been expecting was that Servan’s uncanny protection would not withstand public knowledge of his taking up with Cole in the first place. That Nika would be rejected, perhaps not from the whole, but from significant parts of the Midraeic community in the city. It was nigh miraculous to Nika it had lasted at all. Even now his face heated the way it had when he had come to Servan’s knowing that Servan knew.
Because of course Servan would know, eventually. There was no way to hide from a Midraeic butcher. Even with the Academy walls. Not for long, anyway.
And had Nika wanted to?
Maybe. A little. For all it felt like home now, he had hated the whole system of butchers for most of his life. He hated the roundabout words, that his business wasn’t his own, that any little thing became the whole town’s concern (and big things – actual sins – sometimes these fell to the butcher before to the priest, IF they even came to the priest at all (lay your sins at the feet of the Prophet! (the patient face of his father rose before his mind, holding his hands up like Servan had, asking for peace (and HAD Nika laid his sins at the feet of the Prophet? (his face burned even more now)))).
Back home, it would be different. With his siblings behind him, he would have marched to the other butcher and accused him of passing tales of no significance. It would have been a great row; Catillia and Ursula would be delighted. Nothing would be concluded, of course, but he would have had his say – directly, the way he wanted to.
Because then, his mother would have reported on the whole town’s reaction and settled any lingering disputes in quiet teas with neighbours. His father would disapprove of the whole thing, but only say so if things got so that he actually heard about it from someone else. But his father would studiously avoid hearing anything, because he, too, would only want to hear what Nika’s mother would have to say and hope that settled it well before it got to him.
(Would they now, though? Would his family – his siblings – be behind him?)
Servan had done well by him. To a degree second only to his father, Servan grasped and believed in what Nika’s purpose at Academy had been (and what was it now?). He didn’t have to be as supportive of Nika as he had been, but he was, even in the matter of Cole (he wasn’t pleased – nobody would be pleased, would they? – but he understood).
Many things were different for the people of Midras in the city, who lived so close among the Ainjir. Just… Not, apparently, this:
IF Nika was a Good Midraeic Boy, Son of a Teacher, etc (which he was, thanks in no small part to Servan’s patronage)
AND the people Must Accept he was courting Cole (a severe disappointment – they had daughters!),
AND Cole was an Ainjir (less trustworthy at the base of it),
THEN it was clear that the Good Midraeic Boy Nika had been Fooled by the Licentious Ainjir (eha! A familiar tale!).
THEREFORE Cole was an Unfaithful Slut Who Would Break Nika’s Heart (this was Not Allowed because it would be a blow to the pride of the city’s Midraeic people).
In this, Nika was doubly an innocent, because his father was Geronese Midraeic. A teacher, even, whose teaching was, in their kindest estimation, of a tradition they would ascribe to only the most ascetic penitents (ludicrous, and anyway, he had his mother, too (God, they knew fucking everything)). This only made the situation more tragic.
And what could the people do? They couldn’t say anything to Nika – it wasn’t any of their business(!), one didn’t meddle in affairs best left to family(!!) – but not only did Nika have no family here to protect him (!!!) they were under no obligation to the Ainjir. But, as Ainjir, Cole wasn’t privy to the business of the people so it’s not like they could just talk to him, either. So, Cole was being gently ostracised for his amorality in community affairs.
Honestly, this could have carried on for years without them noticing. Except that Nika wasn’t willing to have his access to Good Food threatened, and thus was interested enough to try to solve the issue.
At least, that was the reason at first. If he and Cole wanted to live on suspicious meat pies on leave, they could.
But this was still a slight against Them.
If Cole and Nika were a Midraeic couple, the people in the city would understand it that way, too. To question Cole’s faithfulness – to pass stories about his reputation in anything but the Most Hushed tones – was to insult Nika. They were insulting his fidelity, insulting his intentions in the relationship, insulting his judgement and partnership, to act as if he would not respond to aspersion cast upon his partner. Nobody would tolerate gossip that labelled their daughter unfaithful, promiscuous, and nobody would expect the one courting her to accept such a thing.
The people should understand that he viewed it that way. They should see it that way.
Because they didn’t get to apply some Midraeic rules and not others to Nika’s relationship. They didn’t get to pick and choose how Midraeic he was, or in what ways. That wasn’t the way It Worked, or it certainly wasn’t the way he was going to allow It to Work.
And, purposefully or not, Servan had given him an idea for how to Make His Point.