The Valet Of Anize: Chapter One
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originalsam_backupCHAPTER ONE
On the day I was to arrive in the city of Anize, I woke to find that overnight our train had changed tracks.
We were no longer passing through forest with the coast a distant hint on the horizon, but rather running right along the edge of it, so near we could have tipped into the water if we derailed. My stateroom was on the land-side and I had nothing but boring yellow stone whipping past, but through the door I could see into the empty room across the hall, and out at the gem-blue sky on the other side.
I washed and dressed quickly and ran up the steps to the glassed-in observation car, just in time to catch the mist burn off and the sun make the light dance on the water. In that part of the country it is so blue it seems unreal, and in all my time in Anize I would never become tired of it. As the train veered sharply around a corner, giving us a wide view of the flat becalmed sea, there was a collective sigh from my fellow passengers.
"Beautiful," I breathed.
"Isn't it?" said a man next to me. His plain clothing marked him as one of the pilgrims who had boarded with me in Venia, the prefecture's major port. He stared out at the water almost hungrily.
"Is the entire coast this pretty?" I asked.
"I've never been this way before," he replied, and his expression turned thoughtful. "When I see something like this, I wonder why anyone would even want to inhabit another planet -- let alone insist they exist. How could anyone be discontented with this?"
"I don't know," I replied, keeping my face neutral.
"Sorry, I don't mean to evangelise -- " he said hastily.
I nodded at the little conch-shell necklace he wore. "I knew who I was talking to. I'm not worried."
"Good. Of course you wouldn't be," he answered with a smile. nodding in return at the high collar of my tunic. I was saved from an awkward moment by a chime in the carriage, which indicated we were ten minutes from Anize. "Are you going up to the temple?" he asked.
"Eventually, but I have to stop in town first," I replied. "I'll see you there, though, I imagine."
"Safe journey," he said vaguely, already returning his attention to the view. I gave him a stiff half-nod and ran back to pack my things. I only had the one bag, the rest of my belongings having been sent ahead, but we'd been on the train for two days and I had managed to strew what little I'd brought all over the tiny stateroom.
Through my window I could see the coastline drop away again, and the ramshackle buildings one finds on the outskirts of any town begin to fly past. Soon it was factories and proper houses, then stores and eateries and hotels. Anize seemed as pretty as it had looked in the guidebooks, if a little less clean. Small enough not to need a major urban train system, it was covered with racks for bicycles and even gave evidence of the occasional motorized scoot-along.
The train slowed as I shouldered my bag, then stopped entirely. I exit-scanned my ticket as I disembarked, apparently the only passenger bound for Anize at this time of day. One or two pilgrims waved to me as the train jerked back into motion.
My All-In-One beeped in my pocket, connecting to the station's wireless, but I wasn't interested in a pre-programmed tourist's guide just then, and there would be time enough for newsfeeds later. Instead I went in search of a station agent, and found one young woman sitting at a sad-looking booth near the entrance.
"Excuse me, do you speak Internationale?" I asked, to get her attention more than anything.
"Yes, of course. Can I help you..." she lifted her head to look at me and then fumbled momentarily for the appropriate address, "...visitor?"
Not a bad recovery; I've had worse.
"Please," I said. "I'm looking for a good place to get breakfast."
"Oh, let me cue it up for y -- "
"No," I interrupted, "I mean, a really good place. I can get a list from anywhere."
She gave me a puzzled frown.
"Where's the best place to eat in this town?" I asked, leaning on the desk. "Not the most expensive. The place that does really good food, that none of the tourists know about."
She hesitated, then leaned forward as well. "There's this bakery," she said, in a conspiring tone. It never fails to amaze me -- to please me -- when people take that leap. Just a moment of connection with some random stranger, but that's where you get all the really good information. At school, despite my reserved New Breton inclinations, I excelled at it: eliciting information, gaining confidences. And I've never betrayed them.
Well, until now, I suppose.
"This bakery?" I prompted, lowering my voice.
"Yeah. They do a muffin...thing, with jam in the middle?"
"I love muffins with jam in the middle," I assured her solemnly.
"And sweet pastries, and -- if you go next door there's a place that has wonderful sausage," she added. "My cousin works at the bakery..."
"Sounds like paradise. Can you point the way?"
She beamed and pointed over my shoulder, down the main street. "Two blocks down, the alley past the green house. You'll smell it."
"I appreciate it," I said, and passed her a coin. She took it, stared at it, and then laughed. We don't use currency much, certainly not in New Breton; there are better uses for the metal. But I preferred not to have to take her employee ID number and enter a transaction in my bank and have her bank notify her and tax it and whatever other terrible things happen to credit in the ether.
Besides, coins are pretty.
"Ask for Michelle!" she called, as I left.
I found the green house without trouble, and followed the alley down to a little awning-fronted bakery. The smells of cooking grease and fresh bread battled it out on the front step. Inside there was a long glass display case broken only by the counter for the till.
"Excuse me," I said, hovering at the counter and already impressed by the array of goods on display. "Are you Michelle?"
"Yes," the woman behind the counter replied. "Can I help you?"
"Your cousin at the train station sent me. She said the food here is the best in town," I informed her. Michelle laughed and nodded.
"I think so," she said, in a clipped accent that indicated Internationale was not her first language. "What can I get you?"
"These muffins she says you make, with jam in the middle?"
"Sweet-raspberry or nut-apple?"
"Six of each, please. And are those Sunsoleils?" I asked, pointing to a tray of small yellow-brown discs, made of pastry layered with butter.
"You're from the west, hm?" she asked. "In Anize we call these Butter Rounds."
"Guilty," I grinned. "A dozen of those as well. Do I order breakfast here or next door?"
"Next door," Michelle said, as she scooped the Butter Rounds out of the tray. "Box or paper?"
"How much for the box?"
"Single and a half, and you get a single forty back when you return it."
"Box please."
I pressed the All-In-One to the till machine's little electrical eye while she boxed them, and heard the ding! of approval. Michelle handed me the durable plastic box, which bore the logo of their bakery on the side.
Next door, I found the restaurant was more of a food stand with a few scattered tables, but I ordered a small meal and cued up the local news-feeds, ready to dive into Anize politics and current events with a vengeance.
The governor, my new employer-to-be, seemed to be as popular as politicians ever are, and the Assembled Prefectures had recently given her a grant for expansion of the tiny shipping dock at the waterfront. The senate was preparing to reconvene in another month, and the arrival of the senators and their staff in Anize, all needing places to put their heads, was stirring op-blog pieces about housing shortages. School attendance was high, though school officials felt too much emphasis was being placed on the sciences. Crime was down. The latest census showed an on-target population growth.
Theoretically, valets have no politics; in reality, of course, most of us are conservative by virtue of our education. My views on population management had been considered nearly radical in school, but out in the world I found they were not more than mildly liberal at best.
In all, there were worse places I could have ended up than the capitol of the prefecture.
"Poached on toast and sausage," said a young man, as he slid my order onto the table in front of me. The eggs were small and the sausage an odd shade between brown and scorched, but when I bit into it I almost had to call him back to demand where it came from. My source at the train station had not been incorrect.
I was already making notes and filing away news-articles for later study by the time I finished breakfast and swiped my payment on the way out the door. I could have spent the day in Anize, getting a feel for the city, but that would come soon enough; in the meantime I could see some of it on the walk out of town, and I wanted to see what the temple had to offer as well.
With my bag on my shoulder and the pastries dangling by a strap from my other hand, I saw no reason to hurry. I took in the sights on my way eastward to the temple-path, wondering how often the governor dined in town and whether their household staff included a laundry and a tailor and similar services. The rough sketch of their affairs they'd sent to the agency seemed to indicate an almost medieval self-sufficiency, but had also been somewhat short on detail.
I left town behind after about a mile, and could see in the distance the temple's white-and-gold minaret, an odd and ill-matched twin to the fat, wide dome of the train station nearby. Between the temple and the town lay a narrow rocky pass worn smooth by generations of pilgrims and churchgoers, as well as a field which in summer was waist-high with unmown grass. Charming, I thought.
"You don't want to go wandering around here at this time of day," said a voice, and I started skittishly as a man stepped out from behind an outcrop. Another, a companion of his no doubt, dropped down through a crevice in the stone.
"This time of day?" I asked, as they shoved their hands in their pockets, slouching towards me.
"Well, there's a reason the pilgrims take the train when Senate's not in, and most days but Sunday it's a lonely road mid-morning," the second man said.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," I answered. "This is the way to the temple, isn't it?"
"What, and you're on God's path?" the first man said.
"Just looking for a place to stay, for now," I answered. "I'm here to take up work with the governor."
A flare of nostrils and a look, exchanged around me; this was probably not going to go my way.
"We'll walk you there," one of them decided.
"No, thank you; I'm capable of taking myself," I said.
"We insist," the other said, and grinned sharkishly.
Ah. So it was to be that way.
They fell into step, one next to me, one slightly behind me, apparently walking me to a prearranged place. They had to be fairly new at this, not to wear masks or have been caught by now, and thought I looked like easy pickings. Robbery if I was lucky, what little I carried and the precious All-In-One; rape or murder if I wasn't.
And I was wearing the high-collared red shirt of a valet. Valets are considered...weak, I suppose, perhaps fussy. We really ought to do better PR.
My hands were full and I was smaller than they were, and besides there were two of them. Setting down my things to fight them correctly would have lost me the element of surprise.
I would have to risk the muffins.
After we'd walked for about a minute, the first man opened his mouth.
"Now then, we don't want any trouble," he said. "So if you'll just give us the bag -- "
That was as far as he got. I simply put my weight down on my left foot and swung out my left arm, the one holding the heavy plastic box. It caught the man on my left full in the face with a satisfying crunch at the same time I was kicking backwards to land my boot-heel square in the second man's groin. I threw all my weight against the man now bleeding profusely from his nose and he went over, swearing.
Him settled, I pivoted to make sure I'd hit on target and caught the man behind me a second kick in the kneecap as he doubled over, the flat heel coming down on the sturdy and yet sensitive bone. He screamed. Well, these things will happen.
The first man was laid out flat, and a single stomp was at least enough to crack a few ribs. I considered pulling the knife from my boot and marking him up enough to make him memorable to the police, but there is a fine line between efficiency and sadism and I do try to keep on the right side of it. I studied my work, decided they wouldn't be able to give chase anytime soon, and took off running.
Once I was in the fields, away from the barren pass, I felt I was in the clear. Here I was visible from the minaret, and soon I could see people down below -- the devout standing or sitting in the fields, a chain of novices trailing behind a master from one door to the next, and a few servants or perhaps pilgrims clearing the front porch of the temple. I slowed to catch my breath, straightened my collar, made sure my boots were still immaculate, and after a moment's examination scrubbed a bit of blood from the pastry box with the inside of my sleeve. Who knew what carnage lurked within, given the spatters of jam I could see through the plastic, but the food would eat well regardless.
The temple began to loom before me, an impressive building given its distance from town. The single minaret was the crowning glory, of course, jutting out of the Muslim wing like a light-house or a guard tower, but the ornate neo-gothic decoration of the rest was nothing to sneer at. Enormous brass-riveted wooden doors stood open on a wide granite porch where a pair of brown-robed monks were industriously sweeping. The arch of the gathering hall was buttressed on either side and flanked by the various religious wings, and beyond it the rooftop garden of the library was overgrown with green.
"Hello!" I called, when I was within shouting distance of the two sweeping monks. I gestured at the doors. "I take it this is the main entrance?"
One of them leaned on his broom and laughed. "First time at the temple?" he inquired. "What religion are you then, valet?"
"The kind who has brought you breakfast," I offered, lifting the lid of the pastry-box as I drew closer. He waved it away.
"I've eaten, but you're very kind. Go on through to the reception room, Samaritan," he said cheerfully. The irony of the title wasn't lost on me, but he couldn't know that. As I went inside I passed a tall, turban'd Sikh, who gave me a friendly nod.
The reception room of the Temple Of All Gods was, after the high dome and pristine columns of the entry hall, somewhat anticlimactic. It was small, with a single wooden bench, a desk that looked like it had been rescued from a former life as a hotel counter, and a pair of video screens that rotated through notices about services, events in Anize, and advisories to pilgrims. A slim, ascetic-looking priest in a Catholic collar stood behind it, working at a console. She glanced up when I coughed politely.
"Courier?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Only of a sort," I said, setting the pastry box on the counter. "I've come to request lodging for a night. Butter Round?"
She blinked, then looked down at the open lid of the box. "Don't mind if I do, thank you," she said, delicately dislodging one from under half of a crushed muffin. "What've you been doing, playing football with them?"
"Actually, I should address that first," I said. "There are two men lying wounded on the central road out of town, about a mile from where the bluffs begin. If you would call the metropolitan police and let them know, you can tell them I gave you the information and I'm lodging here. I expect they'll want to speak with me about it."
"Wounded?" she asked, eyes widening.
"They were going to rob me," I said. "I would have seen to their wounds but I thought it was better to come straight here."
"Yes -- yes, I'll just..." she tapped a few commands into the console, then typed fervently for about a minute. I leaned over the desk to see the monitor.
"Valet," I said, when she hesitated over my name. "And my All-In-One code?"
"If you don't mind."
"Not in the least, Father...?" I said, and she cracked a small smile.
"Father Barbara," she said.
"Lovely name. I've yet to be given mine. My All-In-One number's two one five, two one, vee twelve ex."
"No need to ask your employment, then," she said, as she sent off the message to metro. "Are you here on religious business?"
"No, just looking for a quiet place to sleep," I said. "I can pay, of course, or give service. I'm a good cook, and I'm certified to mind children and provide basic medical services. I can also do accounts, and some programming."
"That's well and good," Father Barbara said thoughtfully, "but I'm afraid your...unique situation poses a dilemma. It's been some time since we've had a Valet at the temple who wasn't -- I'm sorry, I don't know the word for it -- when you are traveling...incognito, as it were?"
"We call it Retiring -- you do mean when a valet is out of uniform, yes?" I asked.
"Yes. I'm sure we've had valets of course, but they've all been -- Retired?"
"Retiring. Active verb," I said gently.
"Just so. Now, the trouble is that most of our guests practice some form of gender segregation within the Temple," she continued. "In the sleeping quarters, at any rate. Funny, isn't it?"
"We like to think so," I agreed.
"Oh! Well, I suspect you would poke a bit of fun," she laughed. "I could put you in the men's or women's general quarters, but -- "
"I prefer not to identify," I said. "Could you sling me with the atheists? They shouldn't care, should they?"
"That's very clever -- atheists, yes!" she beamed. "Why don't we sling you with the atheists. You have some wit about you, Valet."
"I have extensive training in dispute resolution," I said gravely, then broke down grinning.
"I'm sure you'll get along well with them, then. Now, do you want library access? You're verified through the agency, I see, so there's no deposit."
"Definitely. No segregation in the library, I hope?"
"Dear me no, what would we do with you then?" Father Barbara chuckled. "It's only for bedtime -- and mealtime for some. Would you care to see where you'll be sleeping?"
"Actually, if there's somewhere I can leave the food..." I nodded at the box. "I did bring it as a sort of -- I suppose you could call it an offering, but it's past breakfast-time now."
"It's always breakfast-time for the hospital staff," she answered. "That's kind of you. I'll take it up to their break-room once you're settled."
"In that case, lead the way," I said.
Father Barbara rose and gestured for me to follow her through the rear door of the reception room, down a narrow white-plaster hallway to the central courtyard. Several small children were playing some torturous version of kick-ball, but they scattered as she passed through. Apparently accustomed to strangers in odd clothing, they didn't even give me a second look.
The tiny sleeping cubby I was given was small but pretty, decorated with ornate faux-carvings of people and animals cavorting on the walls. This being the atheist's wing, the two figures directly above my cot appeared to be arguing furiously with each other. I liked it immediately.
The wing was echoingly empty at mid-morning, as were the washroom facilities, and I was glad after my scuffle to be able to present myself at the library in a clean shirt and with a freshly-scrubbed face. Father Barbara had obviously warned them I was coming; the pretty young man at the circulation desk seemed as unsurprised as the children in the courtyard had.
"Has anyone come asking for me?" I inquired, as the librarian took my All-In-One and coded it for access.
"No, should they have?" he replied, passing it back.
"Well, I thought someone might," I said, wondering if the two men I'd left on the road to the temple had managed to escape, or if the police were just lazy.
"Sorry," he said. "I've put you down in the database as Valet, by the way."
"I'll contact you when I have more details," I promised. "And you are?"
"Tomas," he said.
"After the saint?"
"No!" he laughed. "I'm not religious."
"In a funny job for it, then."
"It was on offer," he said. "Can I show you anywhere in specific?"
"I'll wander, thank you," I replied.
"Well, text the front desk if you need help or get lost. There'll be lunch in the garden in about two hours."
"Thank you," I told him, and took myself off to the stacks.
No matter how sterile and climate-controlled, no matter how freshly-printed the books or how high-quality their paper, there is a smell to a library that's like nowhere else in the world -- at least in Arrival, I can't speak to any other world. A mixture of wood pulp and dust and rarely-disturbed air, it can carry one across the years with a single inhale. The library of the town-house where I was a child, the school library with its hundreds of volumes on service and comportment, the handful of libraries in a handful of towns where I'd served my other employers, all came back with vivid detail.
I hoped the governor would have a library. Surely she must, I thought, but so many cities had done away with theirs during the shortages when the Silence fell, and some people simply preferred to keep all their books digitally.
Every city, I think, has tucked away somewhere a small volume written by an eager armchair historian, a compendium of detail and gossip about how their community had survived the Silence a hundred and fifty years before. The temple's library had a whole shelf full, and that was where I went, to find the story of Anize.
This glorious temple, after all, had stood outside the city for four hundred years, and Anize was obviously an old, prosperous town. Half the buildings looked to be at least partially wood, and I'd seen a few well-preserved prefabs from the colonial era, which meant Anize had never wanted for plastics. They must have had a string of incredible luck, or wise governors, or both.
Mystifyingly, however, I found nothing. I ran my hand along the shelf, studied every title and even took down a few that looked like they might be informative, but there was no volume on Anize in the row-on-row of small shoddy chapbooks about the Silence. Here was one on Venia's survival, but Anize was hardly mentioned -- there was one on Haldria too, the now-abandoned southern stronghold that turned to viking and cannibalism, but Anize was only listed as an infrequent port of call for the raiding ships. My own New Breton's bloody, famine-raddled history during the era had shaped my life as a citizen intimately, and there would be no valet's academy in the New Breton prefecture were it not for the Silence. Yet it was as if Anize had been erased from the period entirely, or written itself out.
Odd. I would have to ask Tomas the librarian about it later.
I was, additionally, certain that at any moment I would be paged to the front desk to speak with some nice policeman about having assaulted two men with a box of pastry. I kept waiting for it, until I realised it was putting me on edge and forced myself to relax into a reading-chair with a copy of Mbatha's Selected Poems (the Internationale translations; I don't speak Xhosa, but as Mbatha had translated them himself I felt confident reading the Internationale).
In this place, where the last flame flickers,
In the final light of the final sun,
I am all the fathers and elders,
I am a body of their wisdom
Lying in the sun,
Yearning for cold water.
Ordinarily poetry is not really my passion, but it is something of a lonely thing to be a good servant, and Mbatha knew how to speak to loneliness and make one laugh a little at it. I suppose he had to; one of five Xhosa in all of Arrival, if he hadn't laughed he probably would have wept.
"Excuse me," said a voice, eventually, and I realised I'd managed to forget the outside world after all. Tomas was standing at the arm of my chair. "Will you come up for lunch, Valet?"
"Is it lunch already? Thank you, I will," I agreed, resting the book on a cart at the end of a shelf and following him up a narrow spiral staircase to the library's rooftop garden. "Oh, this is lovely. What a picnic. Can I help serve?"
"Do you want to?" Tomas asked.
"Of course," I said, and ducked past a pilgrim to take a tray of bread out of the hands of a young woman struggling to balance it atop a basket of fruit.
"Are we likely to see Father Barbara?" I said, following Tomas to a table laid with a simple buffet and setting the tray down.
"No, she'll be on duty until this afternoon," he answered. "Still, everyone's very friendly. Try the communal table," he said, nodding at a table where every seat had been filled, and more pulled up to surround it completely. "All comers welcome. Lively conversation if you can get a word in edgewise."
"I'll have to try my luck," I laughed, gathering up a few pieces of fruit. There was plain cake as well, simple fare, but also milk and a bowl of honey for the tea. I poured a small helping of milk, stirred some honey into it, and carried my prizes to the large communal table. Halfway there I caught the eye of the man I'd spoken to on the train, and sidled around to be near him.
"Is there room for one more?" I asked, and he obligingly inched to one side, his companion scooting the other way.
"You'll need a chair," his companion said.
"Thank you, I'll stand for the moment," I answered, laying out the half-glass of milk, the fruit, and two slices of simple cake on a plate. I took the knife from my boot and began slicing the apple thinly into the milk. A few of the other diners looked on with interest.
"I don't suppose," I said, as I shaved the apple into the sweet thickened milk, "that anyone would mind if I served? It comes naturally. Do you care for apples?" I asked the pilgrim from the train.
"Not really," he answered, looking perturbed.
"I do!" said a child two seats down. I grinned.
"All right," I said, as the glass filled with apple. "You'd like to see a trick, wouldn't you?"
"Yes please," the girl answered. I sliced a last few shreds of pulp into the glass and set the core down. Then I clapped the blade of the knife over the top of the glass, tilted it back, held it at arm's length, and caught the thin stream of milk running out in my mouth, balancing the glass on the flat of the knife. A few people applauded. It's an easy trick with a little practice and more showy than valets prefer, I grant you, but sometimes our employers like a bit of style.
When the thicker honey threatened to ooze past the blade I tipped the glass upright again, flicked the knife around, and speared several slices of apple out onto the cakes. The pale honey-glaze oozed down around the fruit into the pores of the cake, and I tossed the knife into the glass before sliding the plate gently down the table.
"Now I'd like a chair," I said, and the pilgrim from the train laughed and hooked one from behind him, all but shoving it into my legs.
"Showy, showy," he said, shaking a finger at me. "What do you say, Annie?"
"Thank you," the girl mumbled around a bite of apple-and-cake. Next to her, another man speared a bite with his fork and looked approving. Beyond them, I could see Tomas watching me serenely.
"Is that all you're eating?" the man asked, as I picked up a second apple and began slicing it.
"A showy cook, but a simple eater," I answered. "We didn't have time for names on the train this morning, did we? I'm Valet."
"Bron," he said. "How did you like Anize?"
"Very much. I'm taking up employment there, soon," I replied, passing him the salt a half-second before he would have reached for it. "The eggs not well-seasoned?"
"Well, we can't expect anything fancy," he said, sprinkling some on the sliced egg on his plate. "Why stay at the temple? There must be hotels in town."
"Why not? I've always wanted to see the Temple of All Gods, and the room and board are cheap. I'm in with the atheists, who I'm sure will be very interesting."
"You don't have a particular faith?" he asked.
"We're not given religion as a rule," I said thoughtfully. "Though we're trained to adapt to our employers' spiritual requirements, if any. It's more convenient not being formally devout, but some of us manage. I haven't met many Singularists. That's what you are, isn't it?"
Bron grinned. "Yes. Taking the children to see the great wide world."
"Do you really believe there's only one inhabited planet?" I inquired. "You don't believe in the Silence?"
"Well, I believe something happened, but then I'm Reform," he said. "I'm open to the idea that there once were other inhabited planets. I just don't happen to think we should be terribly interested in finding out, when we still barely know anything about this one. Do you know there's an entire island archipelago south of Narika that hasn't even been explored? My church is raising funds for an expedition."
"It must be an adventurous life."
"We like it. Speaking of which, we're holding a sunrise service tomorrow if you'd like to attend. East field, we even have wakers who can come and fetch you."
"I'll consider it and let you know," I said, intrigued. "You're in the family quarters, I suppose?"
"Yes, but you can leave a note at the front desk. Father Barbara's agreed to deliver us a roster later tonight."
"Well, one can do much worse than hear a little about the wonder of the sunrise," I said, wiping my fingers on a handkerchief. "You'll be competing with the Muezzin, I expect."
"You'd think," said the man on the other side of me, another collared Catholic priest who I assumed was pointedly ignoring me -- the second of the two most common reactions to a Valet, particularly among the religious. "But we sorted that out long ago."
"Oh?"
"Wireless broadcast," he said. "Local twelve on your All-In-One. Tune in and hear the call to worship on headphones, if you want."
"Sort of defeats the purpose of the minaret," I said.
"Where do you think the wireless broadcaster is?" he asked drily. "Every faith has its requirements and its workarounds, Valet. We're blessed with patience, among other things."
"It's a nice place to build a house of worship," I agreed. "What does the Governor think of the temple? I wouldn't expect she'd be very devout."
"She can't afford to be," the priest said. "Not with the temple in her jurisdiction. She...rotates," he added distastefully. "I try to be charitable about it but I've always felt a false faith is worse than none."
"I'm taking up employ with the Governor," I remarked, and smiled when he looked embarrassed. "Don't worry, I'm suitably discreet."
"I suppose you would have to be," he said, giving me a dark look. I shrugged to myself and turned back to Bron the Singularist, who was paternally wiping the face of the young girl to whom I'd served cake.
I was just finishing my apple, listening to the talk around the table and considering another glass of milk, when two members of Anize's metropolitan police emerged from the stairwell and onto the garden roof, followed by Father Barbara. A few of the diners half-rose, concerned, and the rest watched warily. The police held a short conference with the priest, who nodded in my direction and gave me an awful kind of reassuring smile. I set down my apple-core and stood up.
"You're the Valet who put in the report this morning?" one of them asked, without bothering to introduce himself.
"Yes, sir," I answered. Bron looked up at the man, his brows darkening.
"Look here, this is the Temple," he said. "You can't just walk in here, you know."
"It's all right," I told Bron.
"Well, it might be for you, but the police don't have jurisdiction here," a woman said. There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the table.
"We don't want to make any trouble," the officer said.
"Bit late for that," and there was Tomas the librarian, sailing into it as well. "The temple is a refuge. It's a matter of principle."
"Please," I said, perhaps a little more loudly than necessary. "They don't mean any harm. I'm sure they have the Father's permission to be here. Officers, perhaps if we left the grounds...?"
They exchanged glances, and one of them nodded to the other.
"After you, valet," one said.
"Keep them out of my library!" Tomas called to Father Barbara. I may have rolled my eyes as we left, but I made sure no-one could see.
"You really don't have a proper name?" one of them asked, as we descended the stairs.
"Neither do you, apparently," I replied.
"Sorry?"
"I think it's customary, in civilised company, to introduce onself," I said, leading the way out of the library's front lobby and through a wrought-iron gate to the outer yard.
"He's lecturing us on civility," one said.
"Please don't gender me," I replied. "The correct address is Valet, even in the third person. Though it is also rude to speak of me as if I'm not here."
"Sorry," he said. "I can fix that. Valet, you are under arrest for misdemeanour assault and -- "
"Arrest!" I said, dismayed, but one of them was already fitting my wrists with restraint bracelets. I tugged experimentally -- they couldn't go more than two inches from my body mass in any direction.
"For misdemeanour assault and fleeing the scene of the crime," the officer finished. "You are remanded to the custody of the metropolitan police. You should be aware of your three basic rights..."
As he recited the list in a bored tone, the other one grasped me by the back of the neck and moved me forward, towards what had to have been one of the only proper autos in the city.
I considered my options. Clearly I would need to sort this out at the police station, so it wasn't like I ought to run away, but I could certainly have made a fuss if I so chose. Still, my very first comportment master had drilled discretion into my head, and had also explained to us children that there were very few situations in which an upraised chin and an erect posture were not the best possible option. I went proudly and silently into the back of the police car.
The route we took into Anize was not the same as the one I'd taken out of it; this was an asphalt road, long since fallen into disuse and disrepair but probably less difficult to drive on than the narrow and more direct footpath. They really shouldn't have taken a car at all, clunky impractical things, but perhaps they were worried I'd beat them senseless like I had the highwaymen.
We slowed, entering the city, foot and bicycle traffic making it perilous to go much faster than walking. The ridiculousness of my situation struck me as funny, but I kept it to myself. When we finally stopped, the building looked nothing like the police stations of New Breton or any other prefecture I'd encountered; after a startled moment I realised we were walking up the wide, well-worn stone steps of Government House, the seat of the Senate and the building which housed the Governor's offices.
My escorts didn't offer any explanation, and I didn't ask for one, just followed them out of the wide front lobby and down a series of hallways, the rabbit's-warren of offices and chambers that hide behind the grandeur of large government buildings. They unlocked an empty, windowless room and showed me into it.
There wasn't even any furniture, and the only feature of it was a door facing the one we'd just come through, with no knob or handle on the inside. They turned to go.
"I request legal representation," I said to one of the officers. He chuckled and shut the door. I stood to attention in the centre of the room and waited patiently.
It didn't take long, though the next person who entered was not a lawyer. The door with no handle opened after only a few minutes, before I even had time to consider sitting down, and a white-haired woman in severe formal clothing entered. She studied me for a moment while I waited patiently, and then passed an All-In-One over my bracelets. I caught them before they could clatter to the floor.
"Governor," I said, giving her the formal bow such people require. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
The Governor, my future employer, may have had some idea of posing as my lawyer to question me. I don't know whether she assumed I wouldn't recognise her. I never asked. If she did, she wasn't at all disturbed by my actions.
"Valet," she said. "You've had a very eventful first day in our city."
"It's a simple matter; I'll soon have it sorted. It's good of you to come, but I would have been finished with it in more than enough time to report tomorrow as requested."
She smiled thinly. "Yes. You would have, I expect. Are you surprised to see me?"
"Yes, Governor."
"You don't look it."
I matched her unamused smile. "You did request a trained valet, Governor."
"Hm, so I did. This way, please."
She led me through the second door, which swung open without any seeming gesture from her, and down another long hallway. Eventually it opened into a smaller lobby, with a woman on duty behind a desk in one corner, in the livery not of the local police but of Government House's special guard. Through another door and we were in a high-ceilinged room dominated by a large staircase, leading up to a second floor.
We had left the public portion of Government House behind, I realised, and entered one of the reasons I had accepted the Anize position: the Governor's private residence and offices, attached to the rear of the Senate. I had felt I could respect a person who lived where they worked. After all, I did too.
Guards stood at a doorway at the top of the stairs, and one of them opened it for her as we ascended. The interior of the room was well-appointed, filled with books and good furniture, easily recognisable as the Governor's private office. There were also two men seated in the office, and it took all of my self-control not to stop in surprise when I saw them but to move forward to what would eventually be my place, when taking audience with my employer; at attention, a respectable distance from her desk, hands at my sides.
The men were in the Government House Guard uniform, one of them with a large bandage across his face, the other with legs spread and one resting on a foot-stool, a prosthetic device covering the leg from shin to thigh and immobilising it.
"I believe these are the men you assaulted this morning," the Governor said, seating herself behind her desk. I didn't look at the men; I kept my eyes on the surface of her desk, respectfully. "Is that so, Valet?"
"Yes, Governor," I answered.
"And what do you think of that?"
I considered my words carefully. "I think a trap was laid for me. I'm not under arrest, am I, Governor?"
"No, you're not. You can dispense with the formal address, Valet."
"Thank you," I replied.
"You're quick, at any rate. I've been watching you since you entered the prefecture; one can't be too careful about the servants one hires, especially foreigners."
We had been speaking Internationale, as had the men when they accosted me; now one of them muttered something in Anisi, to the effect of my being wasted in service.
"And what do you find?" I asked, stiffly.
"Well, you are for the most part discreet, honest, capable, curious, and calm; you react well under pressure, and you have the appropriate skills for a bodyguard. Of all those things only your curiosity worries me," she answered. "And as I'm not going to have you preparing delicate state documents or attending governmental functions, I don't see that it will matter. Yes, I think you'll do nicely for Leigh. You can start at once."
"Beg pardon?" I asked.
"Leigh, my daughter," the Governor said. "I believe she was mentioned in the briefing my office sent to your agency."
"Yes," I answered, stifling the urge to tack Governor on the end of it. "I understand she's an engineer."
"By training," the Governor said, a small smile tilting her lips, just at the edge of my vision. "She works for the city at present. Urban efficiency and expansion, you know. She's a very busy woman. I've bought you as a gift for her."
I was dumbfounded. A valet is contracted to their employer, and expects to serve a household and fulfill the requirements of the employer's family and to some extent their staff, but the contract remains between the valet and the primary. We are not belongings to be purchased. Governor Charlotte Anizin had hired me, not Leigh Anizin. The Governor had come with references. The daughter had not.
I had also come with references, and was beginning to feel slightly angry that the Governor had seen fit to test me without my knowledge, mistrusting my agency and my own good work for prior employers.
"May we speak alone?" I asked. She nodded to the guards, who rose and left -- one walking with the hard posture of a man with several strapped ribs, the other limping. When they were gone, I drew a calming breath.
"While it is true," I said slowly, "That my last employer contracted me specifically to chaperone his children, the contract was drawn up with them in mind, and I was fully briefed on the fact that they would be my concern, not being old enough to contract me themselves. It is unorthodox, Governor, to contract a Valet in this fashion."
There was a sort of startled silence from the Governor.
"Do you object to serving my daughter?" she asked, in a dangerous tone.
"Not as such. I haven't met your daughter, though the briefing led me to believe it would be no less of an honour to serve her than yourself. It's a matter of principle. Trust between an employer and a valet is vital to both. Only with trust can I become an extension of the household. I can safely speak for my agency when I say that the agency has been misled in this. It is not for my employer to create tests for me, nor to give me away as a gift."
"That's a very smooth avoidance of the term liar," she pointed out.
"Well, I did have training in diplomacy," I retorted.
"If that were true we would not be having this conversation."
"With all due respect, you would never hire a diplomat for Anize and then tell them they would be attached to Maupasia," I said.
"You've had training in sophistry, too?" she asked. I could have mistaken the hint of hostility in her voice for amusement, but I didn't dare. "You're not a diplomat, you're a servant."
"That is true. I am paid more than most diplomats."
"And another valet could be hired for that pay."
"Not without extensive negotiations with the agency, after they're informed of this," I said.
There was a long silence.
"That sounds vaguely like blackmail, Valet."
"Facts, Governor," I answered.
"Do you categorically refuse to take employ with my daughter, then?"
"No. But it will require some consideration, and I am not contracted to begin immediately. My belongings haven't arrived, and the clothes and tools I brought with me are still at the temple."
"They were sent for."
"Much obliged, Governor. May I make a suggestion?"
"You've made several already. Some of them implied."
Her tone wasn't lost on me; she felt I'd been telling her to go to hell. I wished I could. On paper she had seemed intelligent and sophisticated, and perhaps she was, but her complete ignorance of the treatment of those in her service made accepting this position a perilous one.
"I am not unwilling to valet for your daughter, but the proprieties must be observed. Traditionally a valet spends the night before employ in contemplation."
"How very religious of you."
I ignored the jab. "If you'll provide me with a room here for the night, I can consider the matter. If I decide to accept, I can begin in the morning. If I decide to withdraw from your service, I'll speak to the agency and ensure that a proper contract is drawn up for one of my fellow valets to serve your daughter."
I will credit the Governor with this: she gave my suggestion immediate and thoughtful consideration, rather than dismissing me or wholesale accepting. It was to become a visible pattern, the longer I stayed in Anize, this immediate decisive action followed by contemplation and a willingness to be corrected. It's not inadmirable; her instincts outside of domestic life were very rarely wrong.
"Your room is already prepared," she said finally. "I'll have your belongings brought to it. You can meet with my head of staff, who will assure you that trust is never an issue with me."
Not likely, I thought, but kept quiet.
"Is that acceptable?" she finished.
"Yes, Governor."
"Very well. Ask one of the guards at the door to show you to Pendleton. He knows to expect you. You are dismissed."
Kind of her.
I gave her a sharp nod, turned, and left the room as quietly as I could, slipping through the door and out onto the landing.
"Can one of you take me to Pendleton?" I asked the guards. Now that it was done and the anger had been successfully restrained, the adrenaline was threatening to make me lightheaded. I curled my hands into loose fists to stop them shaking. Valets are not accustomed to defying their employers.
"This way," one of them said curtly, and marched off to the right, continuing up the split stairs. "Governor give you a special treatment?" she asked, as we climbed.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"You look like you're about to bite your tongue in half," she replied. I kept going, but tried to school my features into something a little less murderous. "That's just her way. You'll get used to it."
"That remains to be seen," I answered.
"Don't bite your tongue in half after all, you might cut yourself on it," she laughed. "I hear you're the one who kicked Stick in the jewels."
"Stick?" I asked, distracted. "Is that really his name?"
"No, that's just what we call him. Stick in the mud, like. He's very...dedicated."
"Lord, what do you call the other one?"
"Bart," she answered, amused. "Here's Pentleton! Oi!"
A stout, sweating man was bearing down on us from the opposite direction, looking flustered. Pendleton Harris, head of staff for the Governor. I had expected someone a little less...chaotic.
"There you are, there you are," he said. "I know everything. Jesus! Did you have friends?"
"Sorry?" I asked.
"I mean when you ripped into the boys. I thought you'd be bigger the way you destroyed Stick and Bart," he said. I blinked. "This way, this way, thank you Guard, back to your post."
The guard tipped me a wink and did a sharp, precise about-face, marching away in a parody of military-time.
"My word, you make a first impression," he said, leading me hastily onwards. "I've heard it all."
"The Governor briefed -- "
"No, definitely not. Bart was listening at the door."
I sighed. I had forgotten, serving travelers as I ususally did, the way gossip travels in a household.
"Right this way, your room is down here," he continued. "Single room, private bath, locking door, intercom, near to the kitchen, all set out to your specifications."
"Hardly necessary anymore, if I'm serving the younger Anizin -- I don't even know if she lives in this building."
"Her workshop is near the kitchens, it has the best ventilation and we haven't used that part of the building since the Silence fell. Well, not for its intended purpose," he amended. "I'll just stop and fetch your key."
I peered through the door to what was obviously his office, staring at the piles of equipment and even paper that filled it. It looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. And yet he went unerringly to one small box among a dozen, sitting on a cluttered shelf, and took a single antique key off a ring of them. No All-In-One scan-locks for the Governor; real metal keys, still an expensive luxury in other parts of the world.
My room, when he unlocked it, was presentable enough. There was a bed, a work-desk, a dresser, and a viewscreen mounted on the wall, with a console below it for my All-In-One. A doorway led to a small but perfectly adequate bathroom. The windows looked out on the central courtyard of Government House -- below I could see people sweeping the walkways and picking fruit.
"Those were planted first year after," Pendleton said, when he saw me looking at the trees. "The whole area went production-industrial when the Silence fell; putting an orchard in the courtyard and turning the rest into a processing plant was the only way to keep them from knocking down the mansion -- it was a mansion then! -- for farmland and hauling the stone off for repurposing. You can still see holes in the walls where the machinery was installed."
"Smart," I murmured.
"That was the governor's ancestors. Clever, clever bastards. They kept the town intact while half the prefecture was being dismantled for spare parts."
"Trickiness seems to be a trait of the governor's family," I observed.
"Governor Anizin is smooth," he replied. "But she protects the prefecture. She takes her job seriously."
"As well she should."
"She's not made a good first impression on you," he said, and continued while I tried to think of a diplomatic reply. "Well, don't judge us all by that. Listen, I have nineteen thousand things to do before dinner and a thousand after. Your bag's in the wardrobe. The wireless will upload the contact list and various schedules to your All-In-One; actually, no, don't access those yet, you'll get those when we know you'll be staying with us. But the contact list and the kitchen schedule. Give me five minutes. Dinner's at seven, we eat in the Senate dining hall when they're not in session, it's two floors straight down, can't miss it if you follow the food carts."
Food carts!
"Now I'm off. Buzz me if you need anything, I'll send someone to see to it. Happy settling!" he called, already on his way out the door, taking a certain sense of instability and hurry with him.
I wandered back to the window. The view was pretty, I couldn't deny, and I watched the fruit-pickers for a while, admiring the easy economy of their motion. They would reach up, twist the fruit off the branch, settle it in their bag with one hand, and already be reaching up with the other. In the warm Anize weather, their bare arms tensed and relaxed in an almost hypnotic rhythm. I wanted to go down and offer to help them, but that would have been a tacit admission of my employ here.
I returned to the computer console and plugged my All-In-One into it, watching the little progress bar as it synced with the household servers. As promised, the kitchen schedule and contact list downloaded at once, but I clicked open a mail window and sent off a quick burst to the agency: Safely arrived in Anize. Some contract negotiation issues; will provide further information tomorrow morning.
Once it was sent, I scanned my messages. A letter from my father was waiting.
My dearest child,
So you have taken your first settled position. I remember mine; the chaos and confusion of early times made me almost doubt the vocation that you've never once seemed uncertain of. I'm glad to see you finally considering a long job. All that hopping from place to place never sat well with me. I hope you find the Anizin household to your liking. Such a prestigious position too -- not that I think you deserve less. If you don't like it, well, sometimes these things happen, but I hope you'll stick with it for at least a little while. Sometimes the hardest jobs are the best.
I've been trying to think of some advice to give you but you've had it all from your comportment masters already. Be humble and obedient, be quick on your feet, fight hard if you have to, love the service if you can't love those you serve. Keep your shirt pressed and your collar tight. Remember your place and be proud of it.
Your great-grandmother came to Arrival in service and when the Silence fell she made a place for herself by being strong and never giving an inch to anyone who threatened her employer. You have her eyes and the set of her jaw. No less than a hereditary governor, you serve your history. I love you.
Dad
I grinned. Dad always knew what to say, half the time before it should be said. The intimacy that exists between Valets is only made stronger when they are blood-kin, because they know each others' secrets. I could have gone running to him to ask what I should do; he'd be awake, and he'd answer if I buzzed. On the other hand, the household was undoubtedly monitoring every conversation held via its servers, and there was no reason for me to seem weak or unguided.
I set the letter aside to reply to the next day, after I'd made my decision, and brought up some music instead. The household server had a whole library of Anisi waltzes, which were a little more melodic than the shrill whistle-and-drum of New Breton's cultural legacy. I lay back on the bed, holding up the key to my room to study its metallic curves and spikes, and let my mind clear of the bustle of the day.
On the day I was to arrive in the city of Anize, I woke to find that overnight our train had changed tracks.
We were no longer passing through forest with the coast a distant hint on the horizon, but rather running right along the edge of it, so near we could have tipped into the water if we derailed. My stateroom was on the land-side and I had nothing but boring yellow stone whipping past, but through the door I could see into the empty room across the hall, and out at the gem-blue sky on the other side.
I washed and dressed quickly and ran up the steps to the glassed-in observation car, just in time to catch the mist burn off and the sun make the light dance on the water. In that part of the country it is so blue it seems unreal, and in all my time in Anize I would never become tired of it. As the train veered sharply around a corner, giving us a wide view of the flat becalmed sea, there was a collective sigh from my fellow passengers.
"Beautiful," I breathed.
"Isn't it?" said a man next to me. His plain clothing marked him as one of the pilgrims who had boarded with me in Venia, the prefecture's major port. He stared out at the water almost hungrily.
"Is the entire coast this pretty?" I asked.
"I've never been this way before," he replied, and his expression turned thoughtful. "When I see something like this, I wonder why anyone would even want to inhabit another planet -- let alone insist they exist. How could anyone be discontented with this?"
"I don't know," I replied, keeping my face neutral.
"Sorry, I don't mean to evangelise -- " he said hastily.
I nodded at the little conch-shell necklace he wore. "I knew who I was talking to. I'm not worried."
"Good. Of course you wouldn't be," he answered with a smile. nodding in return at the high collar of my tunic. I was saved from an awkward moment by a chime in the carriage, which indicated we were ten minutes from Anize. "Are you going up to the temple?" he asked.
"Eventually, but I have to stop in town first," I replied. "I'll see you there, though, I imagine."
"Safe journey," he said vaguely, already returning his attention to the view. I gave him a stiff half-nod and ran back to pack my things. I only had the one bag, the rest of my belongings having been sent ahead, but we'd been on the train for two days and I had managed to strew what little I'd brought all over the tiny stateroom.
Through my window I could see the coastline drop away again, and the ramshackle buildings one finds on the outskirts of any town begin to fly past. Soon it was factories and proper houses, then stores and eateries and hotels. Anize seemed as pretty as it had looked in the guidebooks, if a little less clean. Small enough not to need a major urban train system, it was covered with racks for bicycles and even gave evidence of the occasional motorized scoot-along.
The train slowed as I shouldered my bag, then stopped entirely. I exit-scanned my ticket as I disembarked, apparently the only passenger bound for Anize at this time of day. One or two pilgrims waved to me as the train jerked back into motion.
My All-In-One beeped in my pocket, connecting to the station's wireless, but I wasn't interested in a pre-programmed tourist's guide just then, and there would be time enough for newsfeeds later. Instead I went in search of a station agent, and found one young woman sitting at a sad-looking booth near the entrance.
"Excuse me, do you speak Internationale?" I asked, to get her attention more than anything.
"Yes, of course. Can I help you..." she lifted her head to look at me and then fumbled momentarily for the appropriate address, "...visitor?"
Not a bad recovery; I've had worse.
"Please," I said. "I'm looking for a good place to get breakfast."
"Oh, let me cue it up for y -- "
"No," I interrupted, "I mean, a really good place. I can get a list from anywhere."
She gave me a puzzled frown.
"Where's the best place to eat in this town?" I asked, leaning on the desk. "Not the most expensive. The place that does really good food, that none of the tourists know about."
She hesitated, then leaned forward as well. "There's this bakery," she said, in a conspiring tone. It never fails to amaze me -- to please me -- when people take that leap. Just a moment of connection with some random stranger, but that's where you get all the really good information. At school, despite my reserved New Breton inclinations, I excelled at it: eliciting information, gaining confidences. And I've never betrayed them.
Well, until now, I suppose.
"This bakery?" I prompted, lowering my voice.
"Yeah. They do a muffin...thing, with jam in the middle?"
"I love muffins with jam in the middle," I assured her solemnly.
"And sweet pastries, and -- if you go next door there's a place that has wonderful sausage," she added. "My cousin works at the bakery..."
"Sounds like paradise. Can you point the way?"
She beamed and pointed over my shoulder, down the main street. "Two blocks down, the alley past the green house. You'll smell it."
"I appreciate it," I said, and passed her a coin. She took it, stared at it, and then laughed. We don't use currency much, certainly not in New Breton; there are better uses for the metal. But I preferred not to have to take her employee ID number and enter a transaction in my bank and have her bank notify her and tax it and whatever other terrible things happen to credit in the ether.
Besides, coins are pretty.
"Ask for Michelle!" she called, as I left.
I found the green house without trouble, and followed the alley down to a little awning-fronted bakery. The smells of cooking grease and fresh bread battled it out on the front step. Inside there was a long glass display case broken only by the counter for the till.
"Excuse me," I said, hovering at the counter and already impressed by the array of goods on display. "Are you Michelle?"
"Yes," the woman behind the counter replied. "Can I help you?"
"Your cousin at the train station sent me. She said the food here is the best in town," I informed her. Michelle laughed and nodded.
"I think so," she said, in a clipped accent that indicated Internationale was not her first language. "What can I get you?"
"These muffins she says you make, with jam in the middle?"
"Sweet-raspberry or nut-apple?"
"Six of each, please. And are those Sunsoleils?" I asked, pointing to a tray of small yellow-brown discs, made of pastry layered with butter.
"You're from the west, hm?" she asked. "In Anize we call these Butter Rounds."
"Guilty," I grinned. "A dozen of those as well. Do I order breakfast here or next door?"
"Next door," Michelle said, as she scooped the Butter Rounds out of the tray. "Box or paper?"
"How much for the box?"
"Single and a half, and you get a single forty back when you return it."
"Box please."
I pressed the All-In-One to the till machine's little electrical eye while she boxed them, and heard the ding! of approval. Michelle handed me the durable plastic box, which bore the logo of their bakery on the side.
Next door, I found the restaurant was more of a food stand with a few scattered tables, but I ordered a small meal and cued up the local news-feeds, ready to dive into Anize politics and current events with a vengeance.
The governor, my new employer-to-be, seemed to be as popular as politicians ever are, and the Assembled Prefectures had recently given her a grant for expansion of the tiny shipping dock at the waterfront. The senate was preparing to reconvene in another month, and the arrival of the senators and their staff in Anize, all needing places to put their heads, was stirring op-blog pieces about housing shortages. School attendance was high, though school officials felt too much emphasis was being placed on the sciences. Crime was down. The latest census showed an on-target population growth.
Theoretically, valets have no politics; in reality, of course, most of us are conservative by virtue of our education. My views on population management had been considered nearly radical in school, but out in the world I found they were not more than mildly liberal at best.
In all, there were worse places I could have ended up than the capitol of the prefecture.
"Poached on toast and sausage," said a young man, as he slid my order onto the table in front of me. The eggs were small and the sausage an odd shade between brown and scorched, but when I bit into it I almost had to call him back to demand where it came from. My source at the train station had not been incorrect.
I was already making notes and filing away news-articles for later study by the time I finished breakfast and swiped my payment on the way out the door. I could have spent the day in Anize, getting a feel for the city, but that would come soon enough; in the meantime I could see some of it on the walk out of town, and I wanted to see what the temple had to offer as well.
With my bag on my shoulder and the pastries dangling by a strap from my other hand, I saw no reason to hurry. I took in the sights on my way eastward to the temple-path, wondering how often the governor dined in town and whether their household staff included a laundry and a tailor and similar services. The rough sketch of their affairs they'd sent to the agency seemed to indicate an almost medieval self-sufficiency, but had also been somewhat short on detail.
I left town behind after about a mile, and could see in the distance the temple's white-and-gold minaret, an odd and ill-matched twin to the fat, wide dome of the train station nearby. Between the temple and the town lay a narrow rocky pass worn smooth by generations of pilgrims and churchgoers, as well as a field which in summer was waist-high with unmown grass. Charming, I thought.
"You don't want to go wandering around here at this time of day," said a voice, and I started skittishly as a man stepped out from behind an outcrop. Another, a companion of his no doubt, dropped down through a crevice in the stone.
"This time of day?" I asked, as they shoved their hands in their pockets, slouching towards me.
"Well, there's a reason the pilgrims take the train when Senate's not in, and most days but Sunday it's a lonely road mid-morning," the second man said.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," I answered. "This is the way to the temple, isn't it?"
"What, and you're on God's path?" the first man said.
"Just looking for a place to stay, for now," I answered. "I'm here to take up work with the governor."
A flare of nostrils and a look, exchanged around me; this was probably not going to go my way.
"We'll walk you there," one of them decided.
"No, thank you; I'm capable of taking myself," I said.
"We insist," the other said, and grinned sharkishly.
Ah. So it was to be that way.
They fell into step, one next to me, one slightly behind me, apparently walking me to a prearranged place. They had to be fairly new at this, not to wear masks or have been caught by now, and thought I looked like easy pickings. Robbery if I was lucky, what little I carried and the precious All-In-One; rape or murder if I wasn't.
And I was wearing the high-collared red shirt of a valet. Valets are considered...weak, I suppose, perhaps fussy. We really ought to do better PR.
My hands were full and I was smaller than they were, and besides there were two of them. Setting down my things to fight them correctly would have lost me the element of surprise.
I would have to risk the muffins.
After we'd walked for about a minute, the first man opened his mouth.
"Now then, we don't want any trouble," he said. "So if you'll just give us the bag -- "
That was as far as he got. I simply put my weight down on my left foot and swung out my left arm, the one holding the heavy plastic box. It caught the man on my left full in the face with a satisfying crunch at the same time I was kicking backwards to land my boot-heel square in the second man's groin. I threw all my weight against the man now bleeding profusely from his nose and he went over, swearing.
Him settled, I pivoted to make sure I'd hit on target and caught the man behind me a second kick in the kneecap as he doubled over, the flat heel coming down on the sturdy and yet sensitive bone. He screamed. Well, these things will happen.
The first man was laid out flat, and a single stomp was at least enough to crack a few ribs. I considered pulling the knife from my boot and marking him up enough to make him memorable to the police, but there is a fine line between efficiency and sadism and I do try to keep on the right side of it. I studied my work, decided they wouldn't be able to give chase anytime soon, and took off running.
Once I was in the fields, away from the barren pass, I felt I was in the clear. Here I was visible from the minaret, and soon I could see people down below -- the devout standing or sitting in the fields, a chain of novices trailing behind a master from one door to the next, and a few servants or perhaps pilgrims clearing the front porch of the temple. I slowed to catch my breath, straightened my collar, made sure my boots were still immaculate, and after a moment's examination scrubbed a bit of blood from the pastry box with the inside of my sleeve. Who knew what carnage lurked within, given the spatters of jam I could see through the plastic, but the food would eat well regardless.
The temple began to loom before me, an impressive building given its distance from town. The single minaret was the crowning glory, of course, jutting out of the Muslim wing like a light-house or a guard tower, but the ornate neo-gothic decoration of the rest was nothing to sneer at. Enormous brass-riveted wooden doors stood open on a wide granite porch where a pair of brown-robed monks were industriously sweeping. The arch of the gathering hall was buttressed on either side and flanked by the various religious wings, and beyond it the rooftop garden of the library was overgrown with green.
"Hello!" I called, when I was within shouting distance of the two sweeping monks. I gestured at the doors. "I take it this is the main entrance?"
One of them leaned on his broom and laughed. "First time at the temple?" he inquired. "What religion are you then, valet?"
"The kind who has brought you breakfast," I offered, lifting the lid of the pastry-box as I drew closer. He waved it away.
"I've eaten, but you're very kind. Go on through to the reception room, Samaritan," he said cheerfully. The irony of the title wasn't lost on me, but he couldn't know that. As I went inside I passed a tall, turban'd Sikh, who gave me a friendly nod.
The reception room of the Temple Of All Gods was, after the high dome and pristine columns of the entry hall, somewhat anticlimactic. It was small, with a single wooden bench, a desk that looked like it had been rescued from a former life as a hotel counter, and a pair of video screens that rotated through notices about services, events in Anize, and advisories to pilgrims. A slim, ascetic-looking priest in a Catholic collar stood behind it, working at a console. She glanced up when I coughed politely.
"Courier?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Only of a sort," I said, setting the pastry box on the counter. "I've come to request lodging for a night. Butter Round?"
She blinked, then looked down at the open lid of the box. "Don't mind if I do, thank you," she said, delicately dislodging one from under half of a crushed muffin. "What've you been doing, playing football with them?"
"Actually, I should address that first," I said. "There are two men lying wounded on the central road out of town, about a mile from where the bluffs begin. If you would call the metropolitan police and let them know, you can tell them I gave you the information and I'm lodging here. I expect they'll want to speak with me about it."
"Wounded?" she asked, eyes widening.
"They were going to rob me," I said. "I would have seen to their wounds but I thought it was better to come straight here."
"Yes -- yes, I'll just..." she tapped a few commands into the console, then typed fervently for about a minute. I leaned over the desk to see the monitor.
"Valet," I said, when she hesitated over my name. "And my All-In-One code?"
"If you don't mind."
"Not in the least, Father...?" I said, and she cracked a small smile.
"Father Barbara," she said.
"Lovely name. I've yet to be given mine. My All-In-One number's two one five, two one, vee twelve ex."
"No need to ask your employment, then," she said, as she sent off the message to metro. "Are you here on religious business?"
"No, just looking for a quiet place to sleep," I said. "I can pay, of course, or give service. I'm a good cook, and I'm certified to mind children and provide basic medical services. I can also do accounts, and some programming."
"That's well and good," Father Barbara said thoughtfully, "but I'm afraid your...unique situation poses a dilemma. It's been some time since we've had a Valet at the temple who wasn't -- I'm sorry, I don't know the word for it -- when you are traveling...incognito, as it were?"
"We call it Retiring -- you do mean when a valet is out of uniform, yes?" I asked.
"Yes. I'm sure we've had valets of course, but they've all been -- Retired?"
"Retiring. Active verb," I said gently.
"Just so. Now, the trouble is that most of our guests practice some form of gender segregation within the Temple," she continued. "In the sleeping quarters, at any rate. Funny, isn't it?"
"We like to think so," I agreed.
"Oh! Well, I suspect you would poke a bit of fun," she laughed. "I could put you in the men's or women's general quarters, but -- "
"I prefer not to identify," I said. "Could you sling me with the atheists? They shouldn't care, should they?"
"That's very clever -- atheists, yes!" she beamed. "Why don't we sling you with the atheists. You have some wit about you, Valet."
"I have extensive training in dispute resolution," I said gravely, then broke down grinning.
"I'm sure you'll get along well with them, then. Now, do you want library access? You're verified through the agency, I see, so there's no deposit."
"Definitely. No segregation in the library, I hope?"
"Dear me no, what would we do with you then?" Father Barbara chuckled. "It's only for bedtime -- and mealtime for some. Would you care to see where you'll be sleeping?"
"Actually, if there's somewhere I can leave the food..." I nodded at the box. "I did bring it as a sort of -- I suppose you could call it an offering, but it's past breakfast-time now."
"It's always breakfast-time for the hospital staff," she answered. "That's kind of you. I'll take it up to their break-room once you're settled."
"In that case, lead the way," I said.
Father Barbara rose and gestured for me to follow her through the rear door of the reception room, down a narrow white-plaster hallway to the central courtyard. Several small children were playing some torturous version of kick-ball, but they scattered as she passed through. Apparently accustomed to strangers in odd clothing, they didn't even give me a second look.
The tiny sleeping cubby I was given was small but pretty, decorated with ornate faux-carvings of people and animals cavorting on the walls. This being the atheist's wing, the two figures directly above my cot appeared to be arguing furiously with each other. I liked it immediately.
The wing was echoingly empty at mid-morning, as were the washroom facilities, and I was glad after my scuffle to be able to present myself at the library in a clean shirt and with a freshly-scrubbed face. Father Barbara had obviously warned them I was coming; the pretty young man at the circulation desk seemed as unsurprised as the children in the courtyard had.
"Has anyone come asking for me?" I inquired, as the librarian took my All-In-One and coded it for access.
"No, should they have?" he replied, passing it back.
"Well, I thought someone might," I said, wondering if the two men I'd left on the road to the temple had managed to escape, or if the police were just lazy.
"Sorry," he said. "I've put you down in the database as Valet, by the way."
"I'll contact you when I have more details," I promised. "And you are?"
"Tomas," he said.
"After the saint?"
"No!" he laughed. "I'm not religious."
"In a funny job for it, then."
"It was on offer," he said. "Can I show you anywhere in specific?"
"I'll wander, thank you," I replied.
"Well, text the front desk if you need help or get lost. There'll be lunch in the garden in about two hours."
"Thank you," I told him, and took myself off to the stacks.
No matter how sterile and climate-controlled, no matter how freshly-printed the books or how high-quality their paper, there is a smell to a library that's like nowhere else in the world -- at least in Arrival, I can't speak to any other world. A mixture of wood pulp and dust and rarely-disturbed air, it can carry one across the years with a single inhale. The library of the town-house where I was a child, the school library with its hundreds of volumes on service and comportment, the handful of libraries in a handful of towns where I'd served my other employers, all came back with vivid detail.
I hoped the governor would have a library. Surely she must, I thought, but so many cities had done away with theirs during the shortages when the Silence fell, and some people simply preferred to keep all their books digitally.
Every city, I think, has tucked away somewhere a small volume written by an eager armchair historian, a compendium of detail and gossip about how their community had survived the Silence a hundred and fifty years before. The temple's library had a whole shelf full, and that was where I went, to find the story of Anize.
This glorious temple, after all, had stood outside the city for four hundred years, and Anize was obviously an old, prosperous town. Half the buildings looked to be at least partially wood, and I'd seen a few well-preserved prefabs from the colonial era, which meant Anize had never wanted for plastics. They must have had a string of incredible luck, or wise governors, or both.
Mystifyingly, however, I found nothing. I ran my hand along the shelf, studied every title and even took down a few that looked like they might be informative, but there was no volume on Anize in the row-on-row of small shoddy chapbooks about the Silence. Here was one on Venia's survival, but Anize was hardly mentioned -- there was one on Haldria too, the now-abandoned southern stronghold that turned to viking and cannibalism, but Anize was only listed as an infrequent port of call for the raiding ships. My own New Breton's bloody, famine-raddled history during the era had shaped my life as a citizen intimately, and there would be no valet's academy in the New Breton prefecture were it not for the Silence. Yet it was as if Anize had been erased from the period entirely, or written itself out.
Odd. I would have to ask Tomas the librarian about it later.
I was, additionally, certain that at any moment I would be paged to the front desk to speak with some nice policeman about having assaulted two men with a box of pastry. I kept waiting for it, until I realised it was putting me on edge and forced myself to relax into a reading-chair with a copy of Mbatha's Selected Poems (the Internationale translations; I don't speak Xhosa, but as Mbatha had translated them himself I felt confident reading the Internationale).
In this place, where the last flame flickers,
In the final light of the final sun,
I am all the fathers and elders,
I am a body of their wisdom
Lying in the sun,
Yearning for cold water.
Ordinarily poetry is not really my passion, but it is something of a lonely thing to be a good servant, and Mbatha knew how to speak to loneliness and make one laugh a little at it. I suppose he had to; one of five Xhosa in all of Arrival, if he hadn't laughed he probably would have wept.
"Excuse me," said a voice, eventually, and I realised I'd managed to forget the outside world after all. Tomas was standing at the arm of my chair. "Will you come up for lunch, Valet?"
"Is it lunch already? Thank you, I will," I agreed, resting the book on a cart at the end of a shelf and following him up a narrow spiral staircase to the library's rooftop garden. "Oh, this is lovely. What a picnic. Can I help serve?"
"Do you want to?" Tomas asked.
"Of course," I said, and ducked past a pilgrim to take a tray of bread out of the hands of a young woman struggling to balance it atop a basket of fruit.
"Are we likely to see Father Barbara?" I said, following Tomas to a table laid with a simple buffet and setting the tray down.
"No, she'll be on duty until this afternoon," he answered. "Still, everyone's very friendly. Try the communal table," he said, nodding at a table where every seat had been filled, and more pulled up to surround it completely. "All comers welcome. Lively conversation if you can get a word in edgewise."
"I'll have to try my luck," I laughed, gathering up a few pieces of fruit. There was plain cake as well, simple fare, but also milk and a bowl of honey for the tea. I poured a small helping of milk, stirred some honey into it, and carried my prizes to the large communal table. Halfway there I caught the eye of the man I'd spoken to on the train, and sidled around to be near him.
"Is there room for one more?" I asked, and he obligingly inched to one side, his companion scooting the other way.
"You'll need a chair," his companion said.
"Thank you, I'll stand for the moment," I answered, laying out the half-glass of milk, the fruit, and two slices of simple cake on a plate. I took the knife from my boot and began slicing the apple thinly into the milk. A few of the other diners looked on with interest.
"I don't suppose," I said, as I shaved the apple into the sweet thickened milk, "that anyone would mind if I served? It comes naturally. Do you care for apples?" I asked the pilgrim from the train.
"Not really," he answered, looking perturbed.
"I do!" said a child two seats down. I grinned.
"All right," I said, as the glass filled with apple. "You'd like to see a trick, wouldn't you?"
"Yes please," the girl answered. I sliced a last few shreds of pulp into the glass and set the core down. Then I clapped the blade of the knife over the top of the glass, tilted it back, held it at arm's length, and caught the thin stream of milk running out in my mouth, balancing the glass on the flat of the knife. A few people applauded. It's an easy trick with a little practice and more showy than valets prefer, I grant you, but sometimes our employers like a bit of style.
When the thicker honey threatened to ooze past the blade I tipped the glass upright again, flicked the knife around, and speared several slices of apple out onto the cakes. The pale honey-glaze oozed down around the fruit into the pores of the cake, and I tossed the knife into the glass before sliding the plate gently down the table.
"Now I'd like a chair," I said, and the pilgrim from the train laughed and hooked one from behind him, all but shoving it into my legs.
"Showy, showy," he said, shaking a finger at me. "What do you say, Annie?"
"Thank you," the girl mumbled around a bite of apple-and-cake. Next to her, another man speared a bite with his fork and looked approving. Beyond them, I could see Tomas watching me serenely.
"Is that all you're eating?" the man asked, as I picked up a second apple and began slicing it.
"A showy cook, but a simple eater," I answered. "We didn't have time for names on the train this morning, did we? I'm Valet."
"Bron," he said. "How did you like Anize?"
"Very much. I'm taking up employment there, soon," I replied, passing him the salt a half-second before he would have reached for it. "The eggs not well-seasoned?"
"Well, we can't expect anything fancy," he said, sprinkling some on the sliced egg on his plate. "Why stay at the temple? There must be hotels in town."
"Why not? I've always wanted to see the Temple of All Gods, and the room and board are cheap. I'm in with the atheists, who I'm sure will be very interesting."
"You don't have a particular faith?" he asked.
"We're not given religion as a rule," I said thoughtfully. "Though we're trained to adapt to our employers' spiritual requirements, if any. It's more convenient not being formally devout, but some of us manage. I haven't met many Singularists. That's what you are, isn't it?"
Bron grinned. "Yes. Taking the children to see the great wide world."
"Do you really believe there's only one inhabited planet?" I inquired. "You don't believe in the Silence?"
"Well, I believe something happened, but then I'm Reform," he said. "I'm open to the idea that there once were other inhabited planets. I just don't happen to think we should be terribly interested in finding out, when we still barely know anything about this one. Do you know there's an entire island archipelago south of Narika that hasn't even been explored? My church is raising funds for an expedition."
"It must be an adventurous life."
"We like it. Speaking of which, we're holding a sunrise service tomorrow if you'd like to attend. East field, we even have wakers who can come and fetch you."
"I'll consider it and let you know," I said, intrigued. "You're in the family quarters, I suppose?"
"Yes, but you can leave a note at the front desk. Father Barbara's agreed to deliver us a roster later tonight."
"Well, one can do much worse than hear a little about the wonder of the sunrise," I said, wiping my fingers on a handkerchief. "You'll be competing with the Muezzin, I expect."
"You'd think," said the man on the other side of me, another collared Catholic priest who I assumed was pointedly ignoring me -- the second of the two most common reactions to a Valet, particularly among the religious. "But we sorted that out long ago."
"Oh?"
"Wireless broadcast," he said. "Local twelve on your All-In-One. Tune in and hear the call to worship on headphones, if you want."
"Sort of defeats the purpose of the minaret," I said.
"Where do you think the wireless broadcaster is?" he asked drily. "Every faith has its requirements and its workarounds, Valet. We're blessed with patience, among other things."
"It's a nice place to build a house of worship," I agreed. "What does the Governor think of the temple? I wouldn't expect she'd be very devout."
"She can't afford to be," the priest said. "Not with the temple in her jurisdiction. She...rotates," he added distastefully. "I try to be charitable about it but I've always felt a false faith is worse than none."
"I'm taking up employ with the Governor," I remarked, and smiled when he looked embarrassed. "Don't worry, I'm suitably discreet."
"I suppose you would have to be," he said, giving me a dark look. I shrugged to myself and turned back to Bron the Singularist, who was paternally wiping the face of the young girl to whom I'd served cake.
I was just finishing my apple, listening to the talk around the table and considering another glass of milk, when two members of Anize's metropolitan police emerged from the stairwell and onto the garden roof, followed by Father Barbara. A few of the diners half-rose, concerned, and the rest watched warily. The police held a short conference with the priest, who nodded in my direction and gave me an awful kind of reassuring smile. I set down my apple-core and stood up.
"You're the Valet who put in the report this morning?" one of them asked, without bothering to introduce himself.
"Yes, sir," I answered. Bron looked up at the man, his brows darkening.
"Look here, this is the Temple," he said. "You can't just walk in here, you know."
"It's all right," I told Bron.
"Well, it might be for you, but the police don't have jurisdiction here," a woman said. There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the table.
"We don't want to make any trouble," the officer said.
"Bit late for that," and there was Tomas the librarian, sailing into it as well. "The temple is a refuge. It's a matter of principle."
"Please," I said, perhaps a little more loudly than necessary. "They don't mean any harm. I'm sure they have the Father's permission to be here. Officers, perhaps if we left the grounds...?"
They exchanged glances, and one of them nodded to the other.
"After you, valet," one said.
"Keep them out of my library!" Tomas called to Father Barbara. I may have rolled my eyes as we left, but I made sure no-one could see.
"You really don't have a proper name?" one of them asked, as we descended the stairs.
"Neither do you, apparently," I replied.
"Sorry?"
"I think it's customary, in civilised company, to introduce onself," I said, leading the way out of the library's front lobby and through a wrought-iron gate to the outer yard.
"He's lecturing us on civility," one said.
"Please don't gender me," I replied. "The correct address is Valet, even in the third person. Though it is also rude to speak of me as if I'm not here."
"Sorry," he said. "I can fix that. Valet, you are under arrest for misdemeanour assault and -- "
"Arrest!" I said, dismayed, but one of them was already fitting my wrists with restraint bracelets. I tugged experimentally -- they couldn't go more than two inches from my body mass in any direction.
"For misdemeanour assault and fleeing the scene of the crime," the officer finished. "You are remanded to the custody of the metropolitan police. You should be aware of your three basic rights..."
As he recited the list in a bored tone, the other one grasped me by the back of the neck and moved me forward, towards what had to have been one of the only proper autos in the city.
I considered my options. Clearly I would need to sort this out at the police station, so it wasn't like I ought to run away, but I could certainly have made a fuss if I so chose. Still, my very first comportment master had drilled discretion into my head, and had also explained to us children that there were very few situations in which an upraised chin and an erect posture were not the best possible option. I went proudly and silently into the back of the police car.
The route we took into Anize was not the same as the one I'd taken out of it; this was an asphalt road, long since fallen into disuse and disrepair but probably less difficult to drive on than the narrow and more direct footpath. They really shouldn't have taken a car at all, clunky impractical things, but perhaps they were worried I'd beat them senseless like I had the highwaymen.
We slowed, entering the city, foot and bicycle traffic making it perilous to go much faster than walking. The ridiculousness of my situation struck me as funny, but I kept it to myself. When we finally stopped, the building looked nothing like the police stations of New Breton or any other prefecture I'd encountered; after a startled moment I realised we were walking up the wide, well-worn stone steps of Government House, the seat of the Senate and the building which housed the Governor's offices.
My escorts didn't offer any explanation, and I didn't ask for one, just followed them out of the wide front lobby and down a series of hallways, the rabbit's-warren of offices and chambers that hide behind the grandeur of large government buildings. They unlocked an empty, windowless room and showed me into it.
There wasn't even any furniture, and the only feature of it was a door facing the one we'd just come through, with no knob or handle on the inside. They turned to go.
"I request legal representation," I said to one of the officers. He chuckled and shut the door. I stood to attention in the centre of the room and waited patiently.
It didn't take long, though the next person who entered was not a lawyer. The door with no handle opened after only a few minutes, before I even had time to consider sitting down, and a white-haired woman in severe formal clothing entered. She studied me for a moment while I waited patiently, and then passed an All-In-One over my bracelets. I caught them before they could clatter to the floor.
"Governor," I said, giving her the formal bow such people require. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
The Governor, my future employer, may have had some idea of posing as my lawyer to question me. I don't know whether she assumed I wouldn't recognise her. I never asked. If she did, she wasn't at all disturbed by my actions.
"Valet," she said. "You've had a very eventful first day in our city."
"It's a simple matter; I'll soon have it sorted. It's good of you to come, but I would have been finished with it in more than enough time to report tomorrow as requested."
She smiled thinly. "Yes. You would have, I expect. Are you surprised to see me?"
"Yes, Governor."
"You don't look it."
I matched her unamused smile. "You did request a trained valet, Governor."
"Hm, so I did. This way, please."
She led me through the second door, which swung open without any seeming gesture from her, and down another long hallway. Eventually it opened into a smaller lobby, with a woman on duty behind a desk in one corner, in the livery not of the local police but of Government House's special guard. Through another door and we were in a high-ceilinged room dominated by a large staircase, leading up to a second floor.
We had left the public portion of Government House behind, I realised, and entered one of the reasons I had accepted the Anize position: the Governor's private residence and offices, attached to the rear of the Senate. I had felt I could respect a person who lived where they worked. After all, I did too.
Guards stood at a doorway at the top of the stairs, and one of them opened it for her as we ascended. The interior of the room was well-appointed, filled with books and good furniture, easily recognisable as the Governor's private office. There were also two men seated in the office, and it took all of my self-control not to stop in surprise when I saw them but to move forward to what would eventually be my place, when taking audience with my employer; at attention, a respectable distance from her desk, hands at my sides.
The men were in the Government House Guard uniform, one of them with a large bandage across his face, the other with legs spread and one resting on a foot-stool, a prosthetic device covering the leg from shin to thigh and immobilising it.
"I believe these are the men you assaulted this morning," the Governor said, seating herself behind her desk. I didn't look at the men; I kept my eyes on the surface of her desk, respectfully. "Is that so, Valet?"
"Yes, Governor," I answered.
"And what do you think of that?"
I considered my words carefully. "I think a trap was laid for me. I'm not under arrest, am I, Governor?"
"No, you're not. You can dispense with the formal address, Valet."
"Thank you," I replied.
"You're quick, at any rate. I've been watching you since you entered the prefecture; one can't be too careful about the servants one hires, especially foreigners."
We had been speaking Internationale, as had the men when they accosted me; now one of them muttered something in Anisi, to the effect of my being wasted in service.
"And what do you find?" I asked, stiffly.
"Well, you are for the most part discreet, honest, capable, curious, and calm; you react well under pressure, and you have the appropriate skills for a bodyguard. Of all those things only your curiosity worries me," she answered. "And as I'm not going to have you preparing delicate state documents or attending governmental functions, I don't see that it will matter. Yes, I think you'll do nicely for Leigh. You can start at once."
"Beg pardon?" I asked.
"Leigh, my daughter," the Governor said. "I believe she was mentioned in the briefing my office sent to your agency."
"Yes," I answered, stifling the urge to tack Governor on the end of it. "I understand she's an engineer."
"By training," the Governor said, a small smile tilting her lips, just at the edge of my vision. "She works for the city at present. Urban efficiency and expansion, you know. She's a very busy woman. I've bought you as a gift for her."
I was dumbfounded. A valet is contracted to their employer, and expects to serve a household and fulfill the requirements of the employer's family and to some extent their staff, but the contract remains between the valet and the primary. We are not belongings to be purchased. Governor Charlotte Anizin had hired me, not Leigh Anizin. The Governor had come with references. The daughter had not.
I had also come with references, and was beginning to feel slightly angry that the Governor had seen fit to test me without my knowledge, mistrusting my agency and my own good work for prior employers.
"May we speak alone?" I asked. She nodded to the guards, who rose and left -- one walking with the hard posture of a man with several strapped ribs, the other limping. When they were gone, I drew a calming breath.
"While it is true," I said slowly, "That my last employer contracted me specifically to chaperone his children, the contract was drawn up with them in mind, and I was fully briefed on the fact that they would be my concern, not being old enough to contract me themselves. It is unorthodox, Governor, to contract a Valet in this fashion."
There was a sort of startled silence from the Governor.
"Do you object to serving my daughter?" she asked, in a dangerous tone.
"Not as such. I haven't met your daughter, though the briefing led me to believe it would be no less of an honour to serve her than yourself. It's a matter of principle. Trust between an employer and a valet is vital to both. Only with trust can I become an extension of the household. I can safely speak for my agency when I say that the agency has been misled in this. It is not for my employer to create tests for me, nor to give me away as a gift."
"That's a very smooth avoidance of the term liar," she pointed out.
"Well, I did have training in diplomacy," I retorted.
"If that were true we would not be having this conversation."
"With all due respect, you would never hire a diplomat for Anize and then tell them they would be attached to Maupasia," I said.
"You've had training in sophistry, too?" she asked. I could have mistaken the hint of hostility in her voice for amusement, but I didn't dare. "You're not a diplomat, you're a servant."
"That is true. I am paid more than most diplomats."
"And another valet could be hired for that pay."
"Not without extensive negotiations with the agency, after they're informed of this," I said.
There was a long silence.
"That sounds vaguely like blackmail, Valet."
"Facts, Governor," I answered.
"Do you categorically refuse to take employ with my daughter, then?"
"No. But it will require some consideration, and I am not contracted to begin immediately. My belongings haven't arrived, and the clothes and tools I brought with me are still at the temple."
"They were sent for."
"Much obliged, Governor. May I make a suggestion?"
"You've made several already. Some of them implied."
Her tone wasn't lost on me; she felt I'd been telling her to go to hell. I wished I could. On paper she had seemed intelligent and sophisticated, and perhaps she was, but her complete ignorance of the treatment of those in her service made accepting this position a perilous one.
"I am not unwilling to valet for your daughter, but the proprieties must be observed. Traditionally a valet spends the night before employ in contemplation."
"How very religious of you."
I ignored the jab. "If you'll provide me with a room here for the night, I can consider the matter. If I decide to accept, I can begin in the morning. If I decide to withdraw from your service, I'll speak to the agency and ensure that a proper contract is drawn up for one of my fellow valets to serve your daughter."
I will credit the Governor with this: she gave my suggestion immediate and thoughtful consideration, rather than dismissing me or wholesale accepting. It was to become a visible pattern, the longer I stayed in Anize, this immediate decisive action followed by contemplation and a willingness to be corrected. It's not inadmirable; her instincts outside of domestic life were very rarely wrong.
"Your room is already prepared," she said finally. "I'll have your belongings brought to it. You can meet with my head of staff, who will assure you that trust is never an issue with me."
Not likely, I thought, but kept quiet.
"Is that acceptable?" she finished.
"Yes, Governor."
"Very well. Ask one of the guards at the door to show you to Pendleton. He knows to expect you. You are dismissed."
Kind of her.
I gave her a sharp nod, turned, and left the room as quietly as I could, slipping through the door and out onto the landing.
"Can one of you take me to Pendleton?" I asked the guards. Now that it was done and the anger had been successfully restrained, the adrenaline was threatening to make me lightheaded. I curled my hands into loose fists to stop them shaking. Valets are not accustomed to defying their employers.
"This way," one of them said curtly, and marched off to the right, continuing up the split stairs. "Governor give you a special treatment?" she asked, as we climbed.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"You look like you're about to bite your tongue in half," she replied. I kept going, but tried to school my features into something a little less murderous. "That's just her way. You'll get used to it."
"That remains to be seen," I answered.
"Don't bite your tongue in half after all, you might cut yourself on it," she laughed. "I hear you're the one who kicked Stick in the jewels."
"Stick?" I asked, distracted. "Is that really his name?"
"No, that's just what we call him. Stick in the mud, like. He's very...dedicated."
"Lord, what do you call the other one?"
"Bart," she answered, amused. "Here's Pentleton! Oi!"
A stout, sweating man was bearing down on us from the opposite direction, looking flustered. Pendleton Harris, head of staff for the Governor. I had expected someone a little less...chaotic.
"There you are, there you are," he said. "I know everything. Jesus! Did you have friends?"
"Sorry?" I asked.
"I mean when you ripped into the boys. I thought you'd be bigger the way you destroyed Stick and Bart," he said. I blinked. "This way, this way, thank you Guard, back to your post."
The guard tipped me a wink and did a sharp, precise about-face, marching away in a parody of military-time.
"My word, you make a first impression," he said, leading me hastily onwards. "I've heard it all."
"The Governor briefed -- "
"No, definitely not. Bart was listening at the door."
I sighed. I had forgotten, serving travelers as I ususally did, the way gossip travels in a household.
"Right this way, your room is down here," he continued. "Single room, private bath, locking door, intercom, near to the kitchen, all set out to your specifications."
"Hardly necessary anymore, if I'm serving the younger Anizin -- I don't even know if she lives in this building."
"Her workshop is near the kitchens, it has the best ventilation and we haven't used that part of the building since the Silence fell. Well, not for its intended purpose," he amended. "I'll just stop and fetch your key."
I peered through the door to what was obviously his office, staring at the piles of equipment and even paper that filled it. It looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. And yet he went unerringly to one small box among a dozen, sitting on a cluttered shelf, and took a single antique key off a ring of them. No All-In-One scan-locks for the Governor; real metal keys, still an expensive luxury in other parts of the world.
My room, when he unlocked it, was presentable enough. There was a bed, a work-desk, a dresser, and a viewscreen mounted on the wall, with a console below it for my All-In-One. A doorway led to a small but perfectly adequate bathroom. The windows looked out on the central courtyard of Government House -- below I could see people sweeping the walkways and picking fruit.
"Those were planted first year after," Pendleton said, when he saw me looking at the trees. "The whole area went production-industrial when the Silence fell; putting an orchard in the courtyard and turning the rest into a processing plant was the only way to keep them from knocking down the mansion -- it was a mansion then! -- for farmland and hauling the stone off for repurposing. You can still see holes in the walls where the machinery was installed."
"Smart," I murmured.
"That was the governor's ancestors. Clever, clever bastards. They kept the town intact while half the prefecture was being dismantled for spare parts."
"Trickiness seems to be a trait of the governor's family," I observed.
"Governor Anizin is smooth," he replied. "But she protects the prefecture. She takes her job seriously."
"As well she should."
"She's not made a good first impression on you," he said, and continued while I tried to think of a diplomatic reply. "Well, don't judge us all by that. Listen, I have nineteen thousand things to do before dinner and a thousand after. Your bag's in the wardrobe. The wireless will upload the contact list and various schedules to your All-In-One; actually, no, don't access those yet, you'll get those when we know you'll be staying with us. But the contact list and the kitchen schedule. Give me five minutes. Dinner's at seven, we eat in the Senate dining hall when they're not in session, it's two floors straight down, can't miss it if you follow the food carts."
Food carts!
"Now I'm off. Buzz me if you need anything, I'll send someone to see to it. Happy settling!" he called, already on his way out the door, taking a certain sense of instability and hurry with him.
I wandered back to the window. The view was pretty, I couldn't deny, and I watched the fruit-pickers for a while, admiring the easy economy of their motion. They would reach up, twist the fruit off the branch, settle it in their bag with one hand, and already be reaching up with the other. In the warm Anize weather, their bare arms tensed and relaxed in an almost hypnotic rhythm. I wanted to go down and offer to help them, but that would have been a tacit admission of my employ here.
I returned to the computer console and plugged my All-In-One into it, watching the little progress bar as it synced with the household servers. As promised, the kitchen schedule and contact list downloaded at once, but I clicked open a mail window and sent off a quick burst to the agency: Safely arrived in Anize. Some contract negotiation issues; will provide further information tomorrow morning.
Once it was sent, I scanned my messages. A letter from my father was waiting.
My dearest child,
So you have taken your first settled position. I remember mine; the chaos and confusion of early times made me almost doubt the vocation that you've never once seemed uncertain of. I'm glad to see you finally considering a long job. All that hopping from place to place never sat well with me. I hope you find the Anizin household to your liking. Such a prestigious position too -- not that I think you deserve less. If you don't like it, well, sometimes these things happen, but I hope you'll stick with it for at least a little while. Sometimes the hardest jobs are the best.
I've been trying to think of some advice to give you but you've had it all from your comportment masters already. Be humble and obedient, be quick on your feet, fight hard if you have to, love the service if you can't love those you serve. Keep your shirt pressed and your collar tight. Remember your place and be proud of it.
Your great-grandmother came to Arrival in service and when the Silence fell she made a place for herself by being strong and never giving an inch to anyone who threatened her employer. You have her eyes and the set of her jaw. No less than a hereditary governor, you serve your history. I love you.
Dad
I grinned. Dad always knew what to say, half the time before it should be said. The intimacy that exists between Valets is only made stronger when they are blood-kin, because they know each others' secrets. I could have gone running to him to ask what I should do; he'd be awake, and he'd answer if I buzzed. On the other hand, the household was undoubtedly monitoring every conversation held via its servers, and there was no reason for me to seem weak or unguided.
I set the letter aside to reply to the next day, after I'd made my decision, and brought up some music instead. The household server had a whole library of Anisi waltzes, which were a little more melodic than the shrill whistle-and-drum of New Breton's cultural legacy. I lay back on the bed, holding up the key to my room to study its metallic curves and spikes, and let my mind clear of the bustle of the day.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-08-14 02:31 am (UTC)In all, there were worse places I could have ended up than the capitol of the prefecture - should be capital. Capitol is the title of a building.
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Date: 2009-08-18 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 02:32 am (UTC)Intriguing... waiting for more...
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Date: 2009-08-18 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 02:43 am (UTC)As for Valet's lack of gender, I think you are handling it well. I have a friend who is neither and chooses "it" as a pronoun. I like, though, how you've simply used the word Valet, as it is incredibly descriptive of the person, regardless of biological sex.
Do you plan on some kind of explanation as to how valets born female hide their secondary sexual characteristics? Androgyny is one thing, but if one is born with large breasts, they can be difficult to hide. This is my curiosity about the world you're building, which means you're doing it right! :)
I can't wait to read more!
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Date: 2009-08-14 02:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-08-14 02:48 am (UTC)And about Carry, too. I like hir already, very much.
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Date: 2009-08-14 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 04:06 am (UTC)It's funny how much the Governor rubs me the wrong way; giving characters 'tests' isn't an uncommon device, but whether or not it's an acceptable thing to do depends on the intent behind it, and I am firmly on Valet's side here, especially given the Governor's attitude towards hir, but I'm also interested in the attitude of the rest of the staff towards the Governor-- it seems very complicated.
I kind of adore Pendleton. Characters like that always amuse me.
On too chapter two!
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Date: 2009-08-14 03:44 am (UTC)I'm enjoying the concepts and the structure built into Valet's life and service. I like the at least surface acceptance of All Gods; it resonates with me as a UU. I would absolutely love to spend time in a temple like that. And being a librarian there would be an absolute dream. Le sigh!
Off to read more!
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Date: 2009-08-14 05:57 pm (UTC)Brilliantly put! I feel just the same way, though I didn't know it until you said it :)
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Date: 2009-08-14 04:03 am (UTC)The construct of the Positions intrigues me, and while I am continually reading Valet as male, I am trying not to fall into that trap. Does this mean that a valet becomes the gender their employer desires?
I hope that the subtleties of religion remain.
I won't lie, I was not pulled in by the first few paragraphs. Reskimming it now, the part that caught my interest and made me /want/ to keep reading was when Valet was talking to the train-stop girl. This line in particular, "Just a moment of connection with some random stranger, but that's where you get all the really good information. At school, despite my reserved New Breton inclinations, I excelled at it: eliciting information, gaining confidences. And I've never betrayed them." It made me want to know more, so I kept going.
I don't know how much of this is helpful, but I hope it'll be interesting, and I will try to comment as to each part that I read.
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Date: 2009-08-19 05:45 pm (UTC)The first few paragraphs always need work, alas. I AM SO RUBBISH AT OPENINGS. :D
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Date: 2009-08-14 04:11 am (UTC)Also, I found a typo that hasn't been mentioned yet:
"I sighed. I had forgotten, serving travelers as I ususally did, the way gossip travels in a household."
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Date: 2009-08-14 04:15 am (UTC)On the day I was to arrive in the city of Anize, I woke to find that overnight our train had changed tracks.
We were no longer passing through forest with the coast a distant hint on the horizon, but rather running right along the edge of it, so near we could have tipped into the water if we derailed. My stateroom was on the land-side and I had nothing but boring yellow stone whipping past, but through the door I could see into the empty room across the hall, and out at the gem-blue sky on the other side.
I washed and dressed quickly and ran up the steps to the glassed-in observation car, just in time to catch the mist burn off and the sun make the light dance on the water. In that part of the country it is so blue it seems unreal, and in all my time in Anize I would never become tired of it.
It makes Valet sound slightly pretentious and it reads awkwardly to me, which is not the best way to open a story. Maybe switch them to 'arrived' and 'never became' instead?
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Date: 2009-08-14 06:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-08-14 04:36 am (UTC)serving travelers as I ususally did couple of typos here.
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Date: 2009-08-16 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 06:41 am (UTC)One question: this sentence:
"Lord, what do you call the other one?"
Is 'Lord' used as a general exclamation? I'm afraid it associates too much with Christianity, especially when used by a character who doesn't practice a religion.
Oh, and a small error:
The tiny sleeping cubby I was given was small but pretty
I'd loose the 'tiny', otherwise you are repeating yourself.
Off to chapter 2 now!
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Date: 2009-08-14 06:52 am (UTC)This I loved: "Mbatha knew how to speak to loneliness and make one laugh a little at it. I suppose he had to; one of five Xhosa in all of Arrival, if he hadn't laughed he probably would have wept."
And the use of "viking" as a gerund.
And this:
"Wireless broadcast," he said. "Local twelve on your All-In-One. Tune in and hear the call to worship on headphones, if you want."
"Sort of defeats the purpose of the minaret," I said.
"Where do you think the wireless broadcaster is?" he asked drily. "Every faith has its requirements and its workarounds, Valet. We're blessed with patience, among other things."
It's so true! Most neighborhood mosques in Pakistan these days don't have minarets that someone can climb up. They're more like tall decorated pillars with loudspeakers affixed to the top. This wireless broadcaster is the next logical step.
A couple of words felt jarring to me: "op-blog" and "PR". They feel a bit business-schooly, too specific to the world we live in and out of place in the strange and lovely place you've built.
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Date: 2009-08-21 01:51 pm (UTC)I was quite fond of re-verbing Viking :D
I'm fascinated by the way that ancient religions find modern workarounds, like Chasidim using crockpots to keep food warm over the Sabbath when they can't turn on electrical equipment (but can use it if it's running).
PR was supposed to be a trifle jarring, to remind the reader that this isn't a medieval fantasy, but I can see your point, too....
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Date: 2009-08-14 06:56 am (UTC)Nice.
The view/setting is outlined perfectly. I'd almost like to see more dry observational wit by the valet, but that's me.
The bit with the coin - loved that. Later on, when you're referring to the real metal keys, I think maybe remarking on their sheen or rarity or beauty might be a little more effective than hitting the point that they're rare because metal is apparently a scarce resource. Unless you tell us why metal is rare somewhere else later...what is is used for? Was it rationed because of a war need? I liked the box cost bit - another little difference seen in this society.
I've noticed a swing in British vs US English in spots; you've used both evangelise and motorized. The same with news-feed and news feed, and another hyphen construction elsewhere that stood out a bit (not because it didn't match up with something else, but because it drew my attention a bit too much.)
"Stick in the mud" sticks out... that's such an English term and it doesn't seem... foreign.
When you say "the world", I'm unsure if this refers to this planet or... is it our planet in the future? Hmm, I don't know. It makes me think of our Earth.
ETA: Thought of something else which sticks out for me, re: the woman at the bakery, and a few other characters. We learn their names and I'm not sure it's important to know them (yet). It's the first act/chapter and it's a lot of information. I don't remember the name of the bakery woman already and I don't know if we'll be meeting her again anyway. The information woman could just describe her. Which brings me to... is there anything else unusual about the way people look here? I know a bit about the Governor and we know the valet is of indeterminate gender, and I know what people are wearing, but Father Barbara is ascetic. Okay. The child is... a girl. Does she have wild black curls or cropped hair and freckles? Seeing the attackers again would be interesting if I know one is stocky and bald. I think you're seeing these characters but I'm not.
Dying to find out what the Silence was.
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Date: 2009-08-16 03:31 pm (UTC)Sam, I'm seconding the request for a teeny bit about why metal is rare.
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Date: 2009-08-14 07:11 am (UTC)You seem to have a Ninja Office Person as a protagonist. I likes.
Love,
An Avid Reader
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Date: 2009-08-14 07:15 am (UTC)Like a couple of others up the page, I found the opening few paragraphs a little wordy and overdescriptive. The long sentences of description seemed rather thick, although once things start happening.
Love Valet - xie has a wonderful snarky sense of humour.
I think you've done wonderfully balancing the amount of world-building and explanation with hooks to draw us into the rest of the story. Looking forward to seeing how things turn out!
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Date: 2009-08-14 07:55 am (UTC)On the day I was to arrive in the city of Anize, I woke to find that overnight our train had changed tracks.
"On the day I was to arrive" feels rather awkward here, I think it would be snappier if you used plain old past tense "arrived". Additionally, if you wrote "morning" instead of "day", you would eliminate the need for "overnight", which also feels awkward. I do, however, like that "woke to find that our train had changed tracks" works as a metonym for what happens later on, in terms of Valet's contract.
Also:
My stateroom was on the land-side and I had nothing but boring yellow stone whipping past, but through the door I could see into the empty room across the hall, and out at the gem-blue sky on the other side.
This feels very unweildy, and it does not read smoothly. It reminds me that I'm reading, rather than letting me get lost in the world. Maybe something like, "From my land-side stateroom I could see nothing but boring yellow stone whipping past, but through the door... [etc]"?
Other than that, I loved it.
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Date: 2009-08-14 08:01 am (UTC)I have to say, once again I am being drawn in by your descriptions both of the places (which sound gorgeous and make me wish I could visit them for real) and the people (I'd never heard the word 'ascetic' before, but I love the image I got after looking it up). I know you've been worrying about your ability to build worlds, but after reading this chapter I don't know why as you make it seem so effortless by conjuring up these gorgeous settings then very subtly getting Valet to show us the differences/newness of hir world.
I'm not an expert on gender identification, but I really, really like the way you're handling both Valet's thoughts and feelings on the matter as well as others reactions which feel very realistic to me. Same goes for the religion stuff. Combining both of those elements I like detail of all the priests being called 'Father' no matter their gender.
I utterly love The Church of All Religions (which is such a wonderful idea) from the look of it (I really want the carving from above Valet's cot for my room) to the people in it.
Tomas was interesting from what little we saw of him (with a job I greatly envy, btw) and I'd love to be able to listen/chat with Bron The Singularist whose one line stating his belief:
"I'm open to the idea that there once were other inhabited planets. I just don't happen to think we should be terribly interested in finding out, when we still barely know anything about this one" is something I've been saying for years and, while I doubt we will, I do hope we get to see more of him.
The only nitpick I have is with this line: "The men were in the Government House Guard uniform, one of them with a large bandage across his face, the other with legs spread and one resting on a foot-stool, a prosthetic device covering the leg from shin to thigh and immobilising it." which is oddly written and took me rereading it two/three times before I realised that it was Stick's foot on the stool and not another guard.
Well, I'm off to bed. Will be sure to comment on Chapter Two tomorrow.
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Date: 2009-08-16 03:57 pm (UTC)Bron in particular I probably won't bring back, or if I do it will be in a small way, but there will be a bit more Singularist religious theory -- and more Tomas, too :)
I do need to work on my description, especially since Bart is turning out to be more important than I thought...
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Date: 2009-08-14 10:22 am (UTC)Interesting that it's more dialogue oriented than Nameless pretty much ever was, or at least feels this way.
I think you do okay walking the line between introducing a new place/customs/terms and over/underintroducing it, essentially you manage to catch and explain enough just shy of overwhelming the reader with information. It's still a lot, as it's somewhat customary of SFF lit. Not sure yet if it's too much, for me you gave me just enough background info at the time where I tried to wrap my head around the terminology and dynamics, but, hmm, fairly sure there are a few areas where you'd do better introducing a detail in later chapters rather than just right there.
Also, I so didn't get the actual dynamics of the trick with the apple and the glass in terms of, what was being doing and what it looked like.
How very you is this. Love that.
That was first impressions of "oh, pick up a new book, let's see what it does." It certainly does enough new and interesting and different stuff to hook me. The idea of, what, a servant, and service as a pride as a kind as a, well, what, it's more than a job really. I do like that. It's hardly unique, really, but I like the pride in Valet.
It was to become a visible pattern, the longer I stayed in Anize, this immediate decisive action followed by contemplation and a willingness to be corrected. It's not inadmirable; her instincts outside of domestic life were very rarely wrong.
This does foreshadow that Valet's staying and I'm not sure if that's, well, it depends really on what kind of story you'd want to tell. I'd probably never write something like that, but you did the same with Nameless, writing it as a story told by the narrator, so naturally he'd know what was going to happen, whereas I'd always write things as a story in progress where the outcome is unclear (hence my preference for the present tense over past in general). But just pointing out that you are, eh, doing it and that there is also the option not to do it, for whatever reason, like ... letting the reader think that he wouldn't be staying.
Not entirely sure yet whether I'm in love with the balance of dialogue and narrative see overexposition, since it's the dialogue where you expose the reader to new things and I'm not 100% sure if you manage to give enough of a breather to digest situations and terminology before going on. I think it worked all right for me, as I said above, but not sure it would for everyone, but again, it's not unusual in SFF for things to only really click in when they are repeated later.
I think you did okay on introducing the character gradually. And maybe I am a total dolt for not properly looking at the title to get "Valet" off the bat so that it only really clicked when Valet was wanting to serve food (and, I know we have talked about this before, the wanting to serve, I love what you did with it here) and I went... "oh", but that's likely me. I'm sure, maybe, other people would have caught that before, and, even then, it made sense in terms of gradual exposition to the character.
Actually, kudos to you for having a 1st person narrator and still managing to reveal the narrator slowly, also in terms of attitude/temperament and sharp tongue.
The letter from the father at the end, not sure what reason you were doing it for, if to explain a bit more about the whole valet...caste? something
I second the thoughts about Valet ringing true of Ianto a bit, and of you, and well, we did discuss stuff re: Dresser, so yeah, not surprised, but rather happy to see it.
The governor seems to be a bit of a bitch. Would have maybe liked to see her more ... human, fallible but with generally good intentions? I don't know. If that is the way you want to go with her, that is. If you want her to be a bitch that's just fine. Also, I should reread that passage.
Poor people though working for her that they get to be beat up because she wants to test someone. :(
Huh, hmm, Wrote more than I wanted to. I'm not doing the sentence-level nitpicking here, lol, so take it or leave it, Sam, just giving you general-idea thoughts of what stands out and what doesn't. Will have to reread for specifics later.
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Date: 2009-08-21 02:11 pm (UTC)I think I have become more dialogue-y since I originally wrote Nameless, it probably shows. Writing more TV oriented fanfic than book-oriented is probably what did it.
Also, I so didn't get the actual dynamics of the trick with the apple and the glass in terms of, what was being doing and what it looked like.
I may have to rework that. Essentially, Carry is tipping the glass up, balancing it on the knife, and letting the milk flow out around it. It's the best silly trick I could come up with on short notice :D
I will probably subdue a bit of the expos in the first chapter, in the rewrite -- right now there's a sort of breathless "I want to explain my WOOOOORLD" feeling, which I'm trying to tamp down as much as possible...
The governor seems to be a bit of a bitch. Would have maybe liked to see her more ... human, fallible but with generally good intentions? I don't know. If that is the way you want to go with her, that is. If you want her to be a bitch that's just fine.
I think part of it is that she's just plain a strong character, she has very firm views and defends them (as you have to, in politics). She is a good person, essentially, but she doesn't make a good first impression. This won't by far be the last we see of her, so hopefully I can soften that edge a little.
I heart your general thoughts, Nick. :D Please keep giving me them!
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Date: 2009-08-14 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 12:46 pm (UTC)More thoughts, possibly, when I've read the next chapter.
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Date: 2009-08-14 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 05:55 pm (UTC)I'm... not that sure I like this story. It hasn't grabbed me yet. I haven't managed to find a connection with any of the characters and the action hasn't swept me along either as the intro seems rather slow paced. I think perhaps my problem is that I have no idea what Valet is like. I only know what Valet is not. The last minute revelation of a father seemed rather at odds with how I was building the character in my mind. I need something to hang onto beyond a high collar and a willingness to serve.
I think the other problem I have is the level of detail. My mind is swimming! There are so many wonderful details of an obviously well thought out world with lots of exciting revelations to come (what was the silence?) but I can't remember them all. I fear I will have to come back to this chapter as a reference for when I forget them later on or can't remember who someone is. At the same time I'm still trying to work out how the trick with the apple worked and could have used a few more details there!
I am going to persevere with this story because to my great shame I never finished reading Nameless and I think I have missed a gem there. I also feel that you have the power to wind me into the story and keep me desperate for new chapters and to find out what happens next. I just haven't quite got there yet!
I hope you don't think this is too forward of me when I'm such a stranger to you!
Elena
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Date: 2009-08-14 11:51 pm (UTC)I did wonder if there was too much detail in the first chapter. I was trying to be more active than my past work has been, because I tend to write very boring passive first chapters, and I may have gone a bit overboard in some things and ignored others too much. Definitely something to consider on the rewrite. I always have rough openings, I'm afraid; I try to fix them later but don't always manage as well as I'd like.
I hope you do persevere -- but not too far if you still don't enjoy it :) Not everyone will, I know that.
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Date: 2009-08-14 06:05 pm (UTC)I love the All Religions temple. And the arguing atheists. And the librarian. And Father Barbara. And the fact that they'd protect the Valet from the police, even though the Valet is new to them personally and weird to them just by existing.
I love the fact that even in this future (or a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away), people are still weird about gender and gender representation, and that responses to Valet are so real.
I love Valet's dry sense of humor, and the conversation with Father Barbara about sleeping quarters.
I can't wait to see why Valets are genderless, and what happens when Valet is named (I'm sure it'll come up. You have a think about names, don't you?).
Basically, OMG!
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Date: 2009-08-14 11:41 pm (UTC)I do have a thing about names, come to think of it....
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Date: 2009-08-14 06:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 07:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 11:03 pm (UTC)