Nika’s plan involved wasting some of Cole’s precious leave time. He wouldn’t mind; Nika would make it up to him.
It would also take time – they really didn’t get leave very often, much less have leave together. There was an anticipation of weeks together – truly together, unlike in the Second Year – on the break, but that was a consideration for the future. If it happened. That was a long way off. (Was he planning for a future? By what logic? What were his arguments? Just a mess of black thread in his thoughts he refused to untangle, or look at for too long.)
In the days he had after talking to Servan, however, he could lay the groundwork well enough.
But that was getting ahead of himself.
First he had to meet Faer, and request his second favour (the first, the sausage, he got for Cole, but the sausage wasn’t important except that it meant Faer knew their second theatre of battle).
“You want to… walk together?” Faer asked, grease on his chin as they ambled away from Servan’s, carefully taking bites of too-hot sausages wrapped in thin bread.
Nika nodded, no more dignified in his sausage-eating than Faer, but slightly less willing to blister the inside of his mouth about it.
“But, you know,” Faer said, stumbling somewhat over his words, “I would walk with you anyway. That’s not really a favour, I mean. I would – we could walk…” but he seemed to lose track of what he was saying and gave up.
“No, not like that,” Nika said. “I will need you to walk with me, and then I will walk with some others – I will need you to establish a pattern.”
Faer mulled this over. Or seemed to be mulling it over, at least.
“Sure,” he said. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“I won’t take too much of your time,” Nika promised.
“That’s no problem,” Faer said quickly. “I don’t mind.”
“Eha, ami – protect your time,” Nika said, slightly scolding. “You have people you could visit.”
Faer snorted. “Trust me, my father doesn’t want to see me now,” he paused, looking up as if to judge the weather by the slivers of sky peeking over the buildings’ roofs.
“You know, the fires and the horse fair and the bakers all coming to town at once – even if the horse market doesn’t use the courts, the bakers use it for everything – and then it doesn’t matter if the charges are City charges, anyway. It’s always a mess this time of year.”
“I do not understand the fire jumping.”
“Midraeics are some of the best fire jumpers!” Faer objected. “It’s at least as old an art – smaller fires, though.”
“It is stupid when they do it, too.” Nika sighed, not really wanting to dwell on his memories of fire jumping gone extremely poorly back home (everyone lived, if that’s what they wanted) and reluctant to let Faer scrape by without expanding on his duties to his family.
“You should talk with your father about your interest in the law, but that is not what we are talking about right now.”
Faer, happy to escape the brutal logical assault that was the inevitable consequence of continuing to do something Galen thought you ought not do, bit into his sausage. “We were talking about walking.”
“No,” Nika said, taking his own bite (it fucking hurt but he was hungry). “We were talking about arranging a series of walks – and some sittings, and eatings – with a few different cadets.”
“Oh,” Faer said; then, brightly, “What?”
“I need your help damaging my reputation.”
Faer had been reluctant, but once he realized how low the bar was – how precisely Nika planned it – he agreed to help. (He should have realized Nika was always precise (well, fine – not always precise in terms of consequences, but precise in actions taken (sometimes he stabbed with too broad a blade, but he always stabbed fatally (Faer didn’t like this metaphor At All))).
Anyway, the actions taken would be so slight, by Ainjir standards, it was hard to see how they could have any great effect on that side of things.
So, for the next few days of their leave, Nika met various friends at various Midraeic food stalls and businesses, and spent various amounts of time in varyingly close proximity to them. The real definite measure was the wide swath he cut around Servan’s and the Academy’s neighbourhoods. He definitely took each of his fellow cadets to a particular new butcher’s, though never the same one twice, never at precisely the same time of day, and he never allowed them to be in the lead.
Once he processed the initial shock of Nika patronizing his business, and realized that no amount of his subtle disapproval or coded rejections seemed to dim Nika’s intention to dazzle his new cadet companions with the butcher’s wares, he served them watchfully (of course he served them! Nika was to be pitied in this situation). Nika always made sure to take a table as far away from the stall as possible – once even moving one of the spindly chairs dangerously out into the street – so there was no chance they could be overhead. This was all very normal, of course, though he was breaking so many rules (but how many rules was he really breaking? Was there… an extra rule? Perhaps one they had failed to account for in their condemnation of Cole’s sluttishness?)
This was a twofold ruse, because yes, it made Nika’s behaviour more suspicious, but also, Nika was no good at pretending, and inevitably his conversations with the other cadets would be friendly but not particularly… exciting. Boring. About… assignments and stuff. Not worth listening in to. This was also why Faer was critical; Nika had enough friends to have managed this rotation of cadets without Faer’s help, but he had neither the patience nor the delicacy to make the very deliberate set of steps to be taken sound enticing or exciting to them, either.
He also didn’t want to explain the whole situation to them. It was none of their business. Faer was not a great leader, but unlike Nika, he could propose a course of action and have everyone go ‘yeah sure’. They were always a bit suspicious that in Nika’s plans they would somehow get hurt (to be fair…(they were whiners)).
It really didn’t take that much time, as long as you weren’t Nika, which helped. Of course, Nika didn’t mind both because it was necessary and he was mad. And Cole wasn’t on leave with him anyway, so there was less to do. By the time his leave ended, Nika felt certain the necessary groundwork had been laid.
It would have several weeks to stew. Unless something strange happened, which was possible but not likely this early in the year, leave rotations would proceed through the upper classes apace, and at the very least, more than a month would pass until it came to be their turn again. Though it wasn’t guaranteed, it was likely that having missed a rotation together this time, next time Cole and Nika would be on the same schedule, because the way that scheduling worked at the Academy was an arcane mystery on par with the cycling of the heavens. In the interim, all they had to do was continue to survive their Third Year – admittedly, a challenge enough.
When the next leave announcement placed them both able to depart the grounds, Nika had one further hurdle to jump: convincing Cole to do as he asked.
As proof of God’s love, when Nika proposed meeting Cole at Servan’s early in the day, Cole simply agreed. (There were favourable but unrelated reasons this might be so (Nika had just sucked his dick. (This has nothing to do with other plans – Nika did not plan such things this way – it was spontaneous dick-sucking. He liked kissing and as it turned out, liked using his mouth in general. Like kissing, he was happy to practice, provided his conditions regarding cleanliness, privacy, and time were met and met well. (Cole was probably showering more this year than he ever had in his life)))).
Just as the gates opened the next morning, they wandered down to Servan’s stall together. As usual, Nika chose a seat well away from the enclosed area of the stall; Cole ordered at the counter, something light, and tea, of course. As usual, he waited patiently, sipping, having done a remarkably fitting preparation of his tea while Nika and Servan chatted in mixed Midraeic and Ainjir, depending on what their subject was and whether they deemed Cole’s input – usually just grunts or nods, nothing more needed – was desirable.
Servan indicated nothing of his knowledge of Nika’s promiscuous wanderings to other butchers and vendors – how could he, with Cole there? That wasn’t business to put before the Ainjir. Everything was very normal.
It was, as Faer had mentioned, one of the days of fairs frequent in early Spring, so nice and busy, and promising to get busier. Nika didn’t know which fair; Cole probably did, but there wouldn’t be time to ask him.
Faer was not on this leave rotation, but one of the other cadets he and Nika had recruited was, and he – like a half-dozen other cadets – walked by with a nod to his seated classmates.
“Eha, ‘Ras,” Nika said, regretfully, just as their meagre (but generous for what they had ordered! Servan’s favour was still that secure) plate of meats, pickles, and dried fruits arrived. “I need to go.”
Cole frowned. “Shall we pack this? I’ll carry it.”
Nika couldn’t help but grin – of course he would, and he would eat most of it himself as they walked – but that wasn’t the plan. “Sorry, I’ll try to be quick. Will you wait? I want to enjoy today.”
Though Nika’s behaviour was strange, this was such a statement of mingled promise and mystery, he evaded suspicion. It helped that he had taken Cole’s hand off his teacup, fingertips stroking up into the hollow of his palm to lock them together, a rare, public gesture of affection.
“Sure,” Cole said. “I want to relax, anyway.”
“Relax here for me,” Nika said, bringing Cole’s hand up to barely brush the backs of his knuckles with warm breath and the very edges of his lips. “I’ll order you more tea.”
Nika stood, approached Servan to order as promised, then jogged away. In the same path of the cadet who had passed them. At a good clip.
Meanwhile, Cole waited.
They didn’t have very long on leave – they never did, really – and if one wanted to return to the grounds to sleep (and unless one had very special, very explicit permission, or a lot of money, one did) one had to make it back before they started to close at sunset. Spring was here, but not yet so arrived as to make the days feel noticeably longer – or, at least, to make a bare hour of extra freedom feel like more than it was. So time was precious.
And tea grew cold. Midraeic teapots were very good at retaining heat. One could, in an explicitly designated tea shop, get a little candle to keep one’s teapot warm, with the expectation of a long stay. But not in a stall (the City disliked fire hazards and during the season for fire feasts, liked them especially little).
Servan was a good host, and even without Nika’s involvement, Cole was a favoured guest, so he did bring him more warm tea to tide him over as he waited. But the herbs wilted, and the sugar had to be taken away lest it start to gather bugs, and some of the dishes started to seem especially frivolous as they lay unused.
Luckily the shade moved within the city, so that when Cole started to get a little too hot, a building cast its shadow over him. The red faded from his cheeks a bit, but so, too did his relaxed posture grow a little too relaxed, until he seemed to slouch. Or, at least, to anyone used to watching Cole, his ease would start to seem tinged with slouchy impatience. Dissatisfaction toyed with his expression as he toyed with the teacups, long emptied. Outright fatigue hit around noon, when he would have to order something or go hungry.
He went hungry. This was a very dire sign indeed.
Servan actually came to him again – not, of course, like he would come to check on Nika – one didn’t ‘check on’ one’s Ainjir customers that way – but he did stop by the tables edge and pass a few pleasantries. Roundabout ones, not to point out how long it had been, or reference any potential state of discomfort, but the most bland sort of day-passing-to-cadets-in-the-Capitol comments one could muster. Then he left, only a couple of a sentences said.
And still, Cole waited. He was good at entertaining himself in his own mind; he could compose essays, review battles, re-envision exercises, and play with lines of poetry, composing, juggling lines, mentally reciting, re-leaning from faded memories. Oh, he thought about getting up. He resettled himself in his chair. Once or twice tapped a foot. Clearly stared up into the sky as if threatening to give up on active thought and surrender to daydreaming. But he did none of these things for long. Instead, he just waited.
And then, just barely before one might decide one’s last activities in town before leaving for the Academy grounds–
–when it might become relevant how far one had to walk to get to some as-yet unaccomplished goal
–when it was starting to get a bit uncomfortably cold in the shade because the sun would no longer be passing through buildings to light this particular street–
–just then, Nika returned. He put a hand on Cole’s shoulder, by his neck, touching skin softly, and squatted down by his chair.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He took Cole’s hand again, and did the same gentle gesture of bringing it up to his lips, more definite in pressing them into his knuckles this time. “I didn’t expect that to take so long.”
Cole opened his mouth to say something but Nika cut him off.
“You must be hungry – I owe you, let me take you somewhere nice. I will treat.”
“You don’t have the money to take me anywhere nice enough,” Cole said, but he was smiling, not standing up until Nika made it clear he would stay close and stand with him.
“Then you’ll have to make do with what I can afford,” Nika said, grinning back, “and what else I can do to repay you.”
This was entirely satisfactory. It had after all, not been all that attractive an idea to Cole to wander around all day. His legs were still quite sore, as he had rather too enthusiastically (and repeatedly) thrown a fellow cadet to the ground from his back during Grappling yesterday. (He wasn’t a big cadet, but he had unwelcome opinions, so squatting his weight and flinging him bodily to the ground until he was too winded to continue expressing them had been worth it (It was, maybe, more than the lesson called for, but not too far off. Plus you could get away with a lot more in Groups than regular classes)).
And Nika never promised what he couldn’t deliver; Cole would be well repaid for his time.
“I know you’re up to something, though,” Cole said, as they strolled away from Servan’s, unusually close for a public outing.
Nika had hooked their arms together, so their shoulders bumped as they walked. He glanced at Cole, then raised his brows.
“It was a theological matter,” Nika said. “An argument to be settled.”
“Well,” Cole said, dropping the subject like he had been tossed a bag of horse dung, “I hope you won.”
“I always win.”
“Debatable,” but before Nika could respond, Cole tipped his head in recognition, “though in this matter I am sure you triumphed.”
“We’ll see,” Nika said, mostly to himself. He knew if he framed it that way, Cole would be… disinclined to pry. Anyway, it was true, in a certain sense. And, if he acknowledged that Cole was right, he was up to something, Cole would be even more inclined to let it go. In any case, it was not a matter to concern themselves with; there was a dinner to enjoy.
The next morning, Nika sat at his usual table at Servan’s, sipped his tea and enjoyed peace. Quite reasonably, Cole had been uninterested in accompanying him this morning; they would meet up later. But also, Servan had greeted him – rather stiffly – passed average-customer pleasantries with him (only five minutes or so of prying into his business) and passed back into the dark of the stall, early morning business on fair days being somewhat sparse due to late celebrations the night before.
For once, Nika had leisure to enjoy how well-placed Servan’s stall was. The location really couldn’t be beat. Not quite on a busy intersection, but not so far it couldn’t pull that business – not quite out of the area where most of the food stalls were, but far enough to be an obvious choice. Near enough to the Academy walls to have a clear draw for that kind of clientele, but not so close as to have the weird exclusivity businesses in the shadow of the walls often did. It got good sun in the morning, and cooled in the evening, so you were less worried any fresh meat was festering by the afternoon.
And the tea really was good. It was a shame that Nika’s life was some kind of constant cosmic joke (God didn’t joke – but even the holiest admitted He laughed), because he would really enjoy taking a full tea service and loitering at Servan’s all morning, watching people and absorbing neighbourhood gossip. Well, maybe he wouldn’t really like doing it himself, but he could see the appeal.
Or, maybe, he was just flush with success.
It took nearly an hour before Servan re-emerged, frowning, and sat heavily on the chair opposite Nika, mopping his brow and tucking his little pocket away again.
He scolded Nika in Ainjir, because of course he did (too serious an offense for a light Midraeic scholding, not serious or theological enough for a heavy Midraeic scolding). “My boy, you have behaved shamefully.”
Nika sipped his tea.
“How could you? Before the feet of the Prophet, you family isn’t here, but what would your mother – bless her as the Holy Mother is blessed – say could she hear of your doings? I thought we had come to an understanding, I thought we were of one people. How could you walk under the name of your father and be so light-stepped?”
This was not so bad. He hadn’t, after all, actually laid any accusations about fucking a host of other cadets at Nika’s feet. Probably the other butcher had, because the other butcher was 1) Servan’s rival (may he never realize how foolish a game that was to play); and 2) filthy-minded. Nika had confirmed this in his walking about.
“Uncle–”
“You know I never believe such things,” Servan said over him. “I know you, you’re a good boy – you’ve been raised well, and you serve the people, but you must know how it seems – eha! These people in these places, the way they talk! The things they’ve said! What can I do but say you’re a good boy, and then they say these other stories and how long can I say it, puer? When there are so many stories?”
Nika set his teacup down. “Servan–”
“And I know some must not be true – you have enemies, you know, as we all have enemies, may the Prophet guide them out of the darkness of their own souls, and I know for a fact that you would never do some of the things they say you do, but they say them – and what power do I have against what they say? What should be done–”
“Avuncul’, plachei, listen,” Nika said, hands raised to stop him. “What do you think I’ve done?”
Like a good Midraeic butcher, however, there was no possible way for Servan to actually answer this question in straightforward words – it just stopped him for the moment.
So Nika picked up his teacup again, and took another sip, waiting him out.
“Eha!” Servan cried looking up at the sun, a light lament to the morning. “God sees all, only He can tell us what is true! Of course, you have done nothing.”
“Uncle, what do they tell you?”
“Well, it happens in my own house!” Servan exclaimed, hands outstretched at the currently empty seats around them. “How could you be so callous? To such a patient one?”
Nika grunted affirmatively. “You see he is patient?”
“The whole neighbourhood sees!” Servan pulled his arums in, frowning severely and wagging a finger at Nika. “Such a shameful way to treat a person – it is not respectful, and I think you are a very respectful person.”
“So the whole neighbourhood sees,” Nika said, swirling his tea in his cup. “They see he waits. They see he is quiet, and respectful. They see he is unhappy and still he waits. They see it can be all day he waits. They see…” and he was about to say ‘that he is happy to see me even after all that,’ but that was a little bit too much for him.
Fortunately, Servan ignored that Nika choked slightly and slowly dropped his defensive posture, beginning to nod. Finally he smiled.
“Ita,” he said, drawing out the ‘a’ into a long note of triumph. “You are a clever boy, my child, I know it.” Servan brushed his hands together so they clapped once, like he was starting a dance.
“There is no reason to discuss Cole anymore,” Nika said, knowing it would be clear to Servan that he meant ‘among the neighbourhood people.’ All-Powerful God could not prevent a Midraeic butcher form discussing the love lives of his patrons, so Nika didn’t ask.
“I knew you had some plan,” Servan said, this time wagging a finger at Nika in mock-scolding before wiping his hands on his clean towel and rocking in his seat to get up. “There was some reason to you had to go across town, I know it.”
Nika shrugged, draining his cup so he could pour himself more tea. “It’s no good to leave if they don’t believe I will go.”
Having stood, Servan was half pivoted away. “Smart, but maybe not wise, my boy – it is dangerous to play with your reputation, even for a good result. What if they thought you really were…” and here Servan made a gesture, thumb tucked in a lightly closed fist that he shook back and forth, to suggest HE wasn’t saying Nika had behaved like an incorrigible slut, but Nika had implied his own conjugal faithlessness (lightly). “It’s not so easy to come back in from such opinions, you know.”
He desperately wanted to tell Servan, and the rest of the neighbourhood, where they could shove such opinions, but refrained. Sort of. “Let them think it. If it was of true concern to them they can say it before God and it will be judged, or they can say it before me and we shall come to judgement together. They may think as they like and say nothing.”
Servan’s brows went up and he rocked on his heels. It wasn’t exactly teachers’ son’s words.
“There is always a reason God sets the path before us that he does,” Servan said, more to the sky than anything.
“Either way, the matter should be settled,” Nika said, pouring himself another cup of tea and bringing it up to blow on it. If Servan left now, he could still eke a little peace out of the morning, and enjoy the quiet of his success before anyone else arrived and the necessary currents of gossip would begin babbling to carry stories of Nika’s parable-like rebuttal and Cole’s faithfulness from Servan’s (though Servan’s own mouth) and out to the community. It wouldn’t be exactly the story, as Nika told it, but Cole’s long wait for Nika’s return and the greater strength of Servan’s current in the social stream of the people would ensure the unbelievable slander of Nika’s character was drowned in the reformation – the Midraeic people loved a story of reformation – of Cole’s character by One of The Faith.
The Ainjir had their stories, and the Midraeic people had theirs, and both could be equally beholden to them.
“Eha, but only,” Servan said, turning back to lean on the chair, brows knit, mouth frowning delicately, “puer, so many visits? To another butcher?”
Nika’s sigh caused his tea to slop over the opposite edge of the rim.
Fuck.