The Travels of Anadrasata Nearabhigan: Day 24
Here I am, back from my travels and Anadrasata is still on hers. There is a day of sightseeing, and other events.
This piece runs to 2,663 words and I hope that you enjoy it.
Index Page.
Brogaiday, 5 Naisen, 1893 C.E.
Sebti, 20 Lamtaa, 2157 T.M.L.
Dear Journal,
I fell asleep to the sound of thunder and what I think was the sound of waves on the seawall. I hope it was the seawall - one hears stories about sea storms hitting the shore.
There were no changes to the numbers and dispositions of first class passengers at breakfast compared to dinner last night. Breakfast was a selection of dumplings with different fillings accompanied by small bowls of cloudy soup with seaweed in it and vegetable pickles. I think the dumplings had been steamed, or boiled, and then fried. Mr Taighaign dealt expeditiously with his meal, made his apologies, and hurried off to a morning of meetings. I was not due to meet my guide until ten of the clock so I didn't rush my food or my tea, took the time to wish the Vhestaitairs a safe and happy journey, and then tidied my room and completed my ablutions in a calm and relaxed manner.
I was still ten minutes early.
My guide is an older lady, if not quite old enough to be described as matronly, named Mrs Rumi. She is my personal guide and began by asking what I wanted to do today. I replied that I was looking forward to the standard tour, because I've never been to Palebihen Laingri before, but I would also like to go to an embroidery shop and to have a bath later in the afternoon. Mrs Rumi agreed that all of this was possible, and we set off.
The first thing I learnt was that Palebihen Leningri means 'Pirate Port.' It was a pirate base that caused so much trouble along this coast that the Empire and the Kerajaa conducted a joint operation to put them dawn. At its culmination, the Kerajaan elements of the operation took the port while the Imperial contingent fought the fleet. The Kerajaa then refused to consider giving the port up, and here we are.
Our first stop was the Captain's School, which was founded by the captains to educate the children of the port, which sounds fine and dandy, but it was meant to turn the children born to pirates or abducted by them into pirates. To this end, the subjects included sail making, gunnery, swordplay, shooting, navigation, figuring, writing, and shipbuilding. The School still operates but it is now a higher technical school teaching accounting, astronomy and navigation, shipbuilding, and several engineering subjects. Mrs Rumi told me that the School's fencing and shooting teams are highly ranked within various Kerajaan wide competitions. [Does this mean that they produce dashing accountants? It's such a frivolous thought that I didn't ask.]
From the School it was a short walk to the old pirate docks. There used to be three sets of these, each maintained by a separate pirate faction in different parts of the settlement. The northern most site is now used by the Kerajaan Circle Sea Nautical Fleet. The southernmost is the commercial shipping port, and this centrally located site is used by the fishing fleet - if I lived here, this is where I would come to buy fish. I did comment on how wet everything was underfoot this morning, and Mrs Rumi confirmed that last night's storm had waves breaking over the docks. Some of the men I saw working on the boats might have been conducting repairs.
Our next stop was the Hamada which is named in honour of the pious pirate who insisted on erecting the original worship structure on the site - Sailmaker Harhais the Lefthanded somehow sounds more impressive in Behessa. The current building is a far cry from the canvas and wood of the original. I noticed that our robed guide from the Hamada's staff didn't say anything about the religion Sailmaker Harhais followed, and I also noticed that the relics of the original altar (which are not the current focus of worship) include symbols of the Imperial faith, the Kerajaan one, and the Southern one, along with some I didn't recognise. I surmise that he either had a unique syncretic faith, or he was covering his bets - they tell me that being a sailor is a risky business. At the end of our tour I was given another little talk about the tenets of the Kerajaan faith by a clergyman and offered another copy of the Book of Naish, which I declined because I already had a copy from the Hamada in Sengrangri. He then asked me if I had opened it, to which I replied that I'd read Chapter 4 because our prayer service had a verse from there as the reading. He laughed and told me that he was pleased because so few people of either of our faiths, in his experience, actually read the holy texts.
After we left the Hamada. Mrs Rumi took us to a tea shop between a park and the House of Justice (it contains the courts, some cells, judges' chambers, and a legal and legislative library). We had a pot of spiced tea, Palebihen Leningri morning style with ginger and something citrus flavoured, accompanied by little cakes. Also, there was a lovely, clean ladies' retiring room. While we were talking over tea, I said something about the Kerajaan writing system. Mrs Rumi explained that it's called metif and it originated in an area north-northeast of the Bakmetri Protectorates where they also use it. She told me that, in her understanding, it is widely used in the lands between its region of origin and the Kerajaa for many languages.
After the teashop we went to a museum or art gallery where most of the displays are objects stolen by the city's piratical foundering fathers and never turned into cash. Some of them are unfathomly large or awkward, some of them are so astoundingly ugly I don't know why anyone would want to transport them in the first place. The currency collection is comprehensive, and the jewellery collection is both eclectic and made me glad that I'm unlikely to inherit any from that period. The display of swords, handguns, and cannons is impressive.
After we finished there, we returned to the hostel for more delicious yellowish green soup. No sarcasm intended, it was truly good. The Vhestaitains had departed and apparently the Fairwind Lass has not caught up with us as yet. I believe another ship had come in, but without first class passengers, because I believe that I would have noticed an entire table of habited nuns at breakfast this morning or dinner last night, even if they are sitting in second class. I asked Mr Taighaign if his meetings were going as he hoped, and he hoped that I had enjoyed my city tour. We passed the meal in pleasant conversation, and I discovered that the man-sized ape and snake statue I saw in the museum/art gallery is universally considered to be in bad taste. As Mr Taighaign said, “I've seen it but I would not describe it to my mother," It is also one of the pieces I saw this morning with no known provenance before its theft - probably no-one wanted to admit that they owned it.
After lunch, Mrs Rumi took me to an embroidery shop and translated when I explained the colours and thread weights I needed to the proprietor. She also translated our discussion of whether the threads should be wound, or the threads of the skein/hank simply cut. I also asked if it was possible to get a colour wheel with the colours written on it in Behessa - my pattern book has illustrations with writing on them and I think these might be recommended colours. Mrs Rumi offered to write down the colours and the Imperial equivalents for me, and I thanked her but explained that from my Coatl studies I realised that colours in different languages don't necessarily line up, and, in any case, the differences in shades of colours are difficult even without language differences.
Both the embroidery shop proprietor and Mrs Rumi acknowledged the truth of my point, and the proprietor directed me to an art supply shop one covered laneway across. That gentleman was happy to help us, and we left with a labelled colour wheel and several new sketching pencils. [For roughing out designs. These seem to be better quality than the ones I have, and this shop made me regret that sketching and watercolours are not among my skills.]
We took my purchases back to the hostel, and then Mrs Rumi took me to the bath house. The experience was as good as the one in Sengrangri, but the oil they rubbed into my skin afterwards had a different scent. [Do all the women leave the bath house smelling the same or is there a request process that I missed because I don't speak Behessa?] There was an almost awkward conversation in the soaking pool. Mrs Rumi and I were approached by three young women who said that they were hoping to practice their Imperial. Mrs Rumi looked a little apprehensive, but I said that I was happy to oblige. After a few exchanges, which led to them agreeing that they were unfamiliar with my accent (fewer elocution lessons than my siblings and a provincial upbringing) one of them asked if it had been terrible when my province was conquered by the Empire. I could see from Mrs Rumi's face that this was what she had been worried about, but I simply told them that I was the wrong person to ask because my province had petitioned to join the Empire. The three young women and Mrs Rumi were all surprised, so I gave them a potted history of the fall of our kingdom, and Colonel dh'Ghaivaign's bandit suppressing campaign a generation and a half later, and our nobility's cautious question six months into it of, "So, what do Imperial citizens get for their taxes, apart from bandit suppression?"[The bandits had been a general problem.] I got a chuckle from at least one of them, and a general agreement that I was the wrong person for that question. Then it was time for me to get out of the soaking pool before I fell asleep.
Mrs Rumi told me later that there is a strong anti-Imperial party in the city who make a habit of engaging Imperial citizens in conversations designed to make them condemn parts of the Imperial system. I had, apparently, not done too badly with those three would be agitators. Perhaps they could appreciate that for my people, joining the Empire had meant an improvement in our situation.
I returned to my room after we left the bath house, packed my bags for departure in the morning (I shan't need a porter this time), and then prepared for dinner.
The gentlemen from the Fairwind Lass were occupying a table tonight, and the nuns in second class were still in evidence. There was a third table occupied in first class tonight, occupied by an Imperial family from Mhaiphrial and their Kerajaan escort. The oldest gentleman in the group came around to the other tables and introduced himself - he is Lord Rhainhais dh'Lhathair 'of the Emdhail Square dh'Lhathairs'. [Apparently that is supposed to be significant.] The family is on some sort of grand tour. Lord Rhainhais was asked to take his seat so our meals could be served before he told us everything else he wanted to say. The meal was, once again, a profusion of small dishes but different ones to last night, except for the rice and the fruit pickle. Dessert was based on a white fleshed fruit I've never had before and purple (!!) rice.
After dinner in the parlor, I became acquainted with Lord Rhaindhais' niece-in-law and great-niece, Mrs and Miss dh'Lhathair. Mr Taighaign had gone out for another business meeting and Lord Rhainhais was being jovial at the three gentlemen from the Fairwind Lass, and the other three men of his party. Loudly jovial. Mrs dh'Lhathair explained that not only was Lord Rhainhais her husband's uncle, he is his godfather too, and had generously offered to bring the family with him on his private tour, in his private air yacht. They had travelled from Mhaiphrial north to the coast, then west through the resort towns until they'd entered the Kerajaa and then turned south. Mrs dh'Lhathair said that they expected to travel home via the Southern Ice but that their plans were subject to change. I said that I was travelling to help a family member in Tlemutsiko and left it at that. I followed it up by asking about the younger family members I'd seen at dinner, and was told that they'd been sent off to bed. Miss dh'Lhathair, who is several years younger than me, commented that the Kerajaa must have a lot of warships because there was always a military ship around when she went out on deck. Her mother told her that she was being fanciful, with a 'playful' rap of her knuckles with the maternal hand fan, but I agreed that our ship had been escorted from Sengrangri to Palebihen Leningri by a military vessel. I added that perhaps the Kerajaa didn't trust us.
Mrs dh'Lhathair pooh-poohed the idea, while Miss dh'Lhathair appeared to be considering it when, behind my back, Lord Rhainhais' joviality apparently became physical. I heard something break, and went to turn, but Mrs dh'Lhathair grabbed my hand and said, "No. it's better if you ignore it." The two dh'Lhathair ladies could see what was going on, which I couldn't, and they looked like models of posture and decorum, except their eyes were terrified and they'd gone white around their mouths. I was aware of raised male voices behind me, but I was so focused on the expressions of the ladies that I couldn't tell you what was being said or by whom. There was scuffling, more loud voices, then additional voices and more scuffling. Then it was quiet behind me, the dh'Lhathair ladies relaxed but looked more apprehensive (perhaps they just let it show), and then Mr dh'Lhathair came over to apologise to me - apparently his uncle sometimes has these odd turns, but usually not in company or in public, and he was sorry if I'd been distressed, but everything was all right now. It would have been better if he'd apologised to his wife and daughter, and I doubt that everything is all right.
I excused myself shortly after that, and one of the gentlemen from the Fairwind Lass offered to keep me company while the steward and stewardess from the hostel escorted me to my room. I went to ask what was going on, and he bent forward and quietly told me that he'd explain outside. The stewardess who'd been serving tea came with us so I was agreeable, and surprised when a steward was waiting outside the door. Mr dh'Saigh [don't worry, I'm not important - just a fifth cousin, twice removed (?)] explained that the breaking sound had been a wooden game board breaking over the great-nephew dh'Lhathair's head. Lord Rhainhais had then had to be restrained from doing the young man a serious injury. He was being confined to his room and being given the night to calm down, but there were likely to be legal and even medical ramifications. In case Lord Rhainhais was no respecter of locked doors, we were moving in pairs and under escort tonight.
I thanked my guardians for bringing me to my room, and checking my room for stray ageing noblemen before allowing me to enter it. The three of them wished me a good night, and reminded me to lock my door. I did so while they were probably still outside, and then out the chair under my doorknob.
So far, the most dangerous thing about foreign travel is my fellow Imperial citizens.
Anadrasata Nearabhigan