10 Ham

CHAPTER NINE

It was argued which came first, Kraagkeep or the School. In truth, it mattered little, for each had grown apace with the other to become seats of capital and knowledge.  

Kraagkeep was a city of stair-stepped terraces that hugged the slope of a mountainside overlooking a forested basin. The upper plateau was the seat of commerce, its dealings, its intrigues, its vices, and its festering discontent. Descending the main road, that snaked and turned, forked and split as it wound its way between the lanes and alleys of the plateaus, one came to the second plateau where resided the factors of the Great Houses, the Guild Masters, Ambassadors, and the wealthiest of merchants living in mansions. Immaculate hedgerows fronted those mansions and competed with one another for distinction and prestige.

The next level below were the townhouses of the master craftsmen and tradesmen, shopkeepers, and Magi who did not reside within the School’s demesne. Moving from plateau to plateau, the dwellings became sparser, less uniform, haphazard in build and design until the road eventually vanished into the overhanging trees of the forest, each plateau marked one’s station in the hierarchy of things.

But what set Kraggkeep apart and made its residents, one and all, take pride in their city, was that on clear, still nights, when hundreds of flickering wicks shone through the windows of the homes and buildings dotting its face, the mountain city glittered like a multifaceted gem. Then, it was known by its true name: The Jeweled City. 

Poe walked the distance from the School to the Last Stop Inn. He walked beneath the outer arch and into the courtyard with a burbling fountain at its center and roofed balcony with apartments facing the courtyard. Beyond that was another court with stalls that lined both sides of a wide lane and a stable at the end.

Two boys prepared a wagon for departure at the second stall. They pulled straps tight to secure large wooden casks and inspected bracings and poles to check their tension. The boys took especial care in inspecting the wheels and handbrake, and only halted their task when Poe stopped beside them.

“I’m looking for Ham,” he said in response to their quizzical appraisals.

The two said nothing for a couple of beats before gesturing toward the stable farther down the lane. As Poe walked away, he could feel their gazes following him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. The question he always pondered when he felt such consideration was whether their skepticism arose from what they considered his privileged position or from the power he wielded, or both. He paused before stepping into the gloom of the stable. Inhaling the musk of animals and hay mixed with dung, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He had no desire to step into a pile of shit.

From the far end of the stable, he heard a soothing voice that he followed to one of the stalls where he found a man squatting beside a large ox.

“A sturdy beast,” Poe said from the open gate.

The man glanced up from his stooped position beside the ox’s right foreleg. “Yes, Dapple’s a good, sturdy ox. He’s a bit jittery and somewhat jealous. I always have to settle him first or he tends to prick with the horns when he’s bridled to others.

“Is there something I can assist you with, Magus?”

“It is said that you are on your way to Rumbole,” Poe got quickly to the point.

“As I usually am this time of year.”  His gaze never wavered.

“Word is that your arrival augur’s good tidings. No more storms; no more closed passes.”

“I have no control over the weather and no way to govern other men’s . . . expectations.” His tone was forthright and uncompromising.

“Not expectations, just observations,” Poe said.

The other man waited.

Poe gave a mental sigh of resignation. There would be no give to this Ham.

“I come to settle if I could journey partway with you?”

The surprise was understandable, but Poe wondered at the show of relief that was quickly masked.

“I do not have enough food for you. You will have to bring your own.”

“That is arranged.”

“Then meet me here at first light.”

“ My thanks.”

“No thanks needed.” His lips split into a semblance of a smile. “I have been in my time subject to the kindness of strangers. My name is Ham,” said sticking out his open palm.

“Poe. On the morrow, then.” Poe said, accepting that open palm with his own.

When he returned to the outer court, he was surprised to find Maggie sitting on the lip of the fountain. Her head was bent in concentration, and her right hand was spread above the surface of the water that pearled from the stream falling from the fingertips of the woman whose arms were spread wide to shelter the boy and girl at her skirts.

Poe waited, impatiently.

Slowly, she raised her hand and the surface of the water followed, forming a small bulge that rose and elongated. Ridges began to take shape and hollows to deepen. A face began to take shape. He recognized it was his.

She was talented in the working of ephemera, particularly water—one of the more difficult of the ephemera to control—but she could not hold the shape for long. The contours of cheeks and eyes smoothed, the ridges and brow flattened, the lips retreated, and the bulge of water fell back with a soft plop.

“Impressive!”

“Yes, it’s something I have been practicing of late. Though I cannot hold the shape too long.” Hip jutting nicely over the lip of the fountain, she turned her gaze up at him. “Something I have been waiting to show you. I find control easier when I can make an emotional connection to the form I shape.” She tilted her head and her lips parted into a smile that made him forget the distance between them, the sorrow. “Isn’t that odd?”

“No, I think it’s wonderful,” and just as suddenly the passion that flamed between them was snuffed by the thought that clouded her eyes and caused her to turn away. Poe stood lost between wanting to pull her up into his arms and sitting down beside her. In that brief, hollow of a moment was a possibility, an opportunity to be filled. Then it was gone, carried away by his indecision, his stiffness, and the cold breeze of the mountain air. He sat down beside her anyway.

“Do you think we began too young?”

Poe considered what she asked before responding, weighing his own thoughts and considerations he had on the subject. “When you teach children, wakening to desires of the flesh how to regulate and control their own bodies. . . .” He shrugged.  “There are bound to be consequences no matter the discipline and mandates that are set.”

“It just complicates things so,” she said, placing her hand over his.

He placed his other hand atop hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go into the inn.” He stood and pulled her up beside him.  

They received a warm welcome from the innkeeper behind the bar. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two here.” Poe mumbled some reply before leading Maggie to a smallish table toward the back of the common area. He knew he was being rude but was impatient of the distraction from frivolous conversation.

Poe slid the black cloak from her shoulders and hung it on a peg beside their table and sat down across from her. He took a moment to admire her beauty before the serving maid arrived to take their orders.

“How did you know where I could be found?” Poe asked after the girl had left.

“The Magister.” She silently perused him before pressing her claim. “You are determined, then, to follow through with this course?”

“It has been approved by the Council.”

“When do you leave?” she asked, and though she did not sigh, he could feel it in the rise of her chest.

“With the coming dawn.”

            “So soon. You have barely had time to recover from your injuries. Why do you task yourself so for another man’s ideal?” And Poe knew that though she said ideal, she really meant benefit.

            “It is not only an ideal of the Magister. It has never been. And I was not convinced until I went to the Old World with its great cities and Estates. I saw the yoke under which the people suffered, the hardships they endured. Not for themselves, but for someone else to grow large from their labors. Then I began to understand why the Magister would fight and scheme to not let this land become a reflection of customs that enlarge only the few.”

            “Where do you get such notions?” Maggie asked, whimsy in her voice, gaze bemused. “It is admirable to believe that the shifting balances and tensions of geography, nations, and commerce shape the affairs and course of a state or country. But in truth, a land is usually acquired by right or dominion and its course is set bey a prince or kings determining.”

            “Fine words; another man’s words. And I get such notions from the same center of learning you do.” His eyes drifted from her for a moment toward the firepit in the center of the room before returning.

“You make my point, however. No prince or king has rights to these lands.”

“That is not a strength! Where are the seats of authority that unites these people to stand against the tide of influence that will sweep over them? Then it will become a splintered, disordered land, its people extorted, its resources consumed.”

It was in these moments that he realized how close they were in thought in some things but so far apart in others.

“Power does not only come from the point of a sword,” she said as if to underscore her point.

Poe cold not help but smile. So steadfast, so unwavering in here conviction—as was he.

“Poe,” she began, voice softening, “I know. . . . I know, but the School should not stand at this crossroad, and no man should be allowed to take her there.”

He chose not to answer that point.

            “There are seats of authority.”

            “Rumbole! That rag tag group? They can rarely agree on when to meet.”

            Poe could only laugh in the face of Maggie’s disdain. “It is a beginning.”

“And the Magister seeks to foster this beginning,” she said leaning back.

“We do nothing more than advocate—”

“And educate the scions of the women and men who wield power here and at Free Hold.”

“We educate more than just the scions of the wealthy and powerful—”

“Which places the School even more squarely at the epicenter of events.”

“It is a just course! Should we be the only ones who wield knowledge to our advantage? Not share what we know? Allow others to strive in ignorance?”

“There is more danger in knowledge than any sword or bow tip. Given broadly, indiscriminately will cause fear for the course the School has set.”

“The School sets no . . . .” His voice trailed off. He knew the truth as well as her. He shrugged. “I can only do what I believe.”  

It was an opportune pause because the serving maid returned with their wine. Maggie took a sip to wetten her lips so as to assail him anew.

“When we became Magi, we gave over those fealties to home and family.”

He was ready for her there. It was, after all, an old argument attacked on a different front.

“But not to the world. No matter the event or circumstance, the Academe’s influence can be traced if one looks deep enough. It has ever been at the forefront.”

“But we are not the Academe.”

He had no answer for that. Did not countenance (allow) that he needed one, not after what he had seen.

“You will go and take The Oath. Then, maybe, you might reckon as I do. Though we may give over fealty to home and family, we are still of them, their small decencies, their hopes, and I saw little chance of hope as I traveled to the Academe.”

“Hope? Is that what we sell?”

He shook his head. She focused only on the particulars, a small detail from the whole.

“If we be merchants, then, is it not best to work from the seats of power so that the goods we barter can have as wide a reach as possible”

“We are not merchants to barter lives!”

“Some will think different, and that will bring the greatest danger. You know full well that many will not accept such . . . notions. We can do better to influence opinion from within than without. To work for the commonweal is a goal we all share, but it is better to work from the seats of power and authority, than from the middens and the kitchens. Much more can be done working at its head.”

“I am no statesman. It was never an undertaking suited to me.”

“No, you are no statesman, but even so, statesmen are needed.”

 “I leave that in others’ hands.”

“That is why I must depart.

Her statement shook him, silenced him.

“This is what I came here to tell you. I have an opportunity for a posting at the Academe. I will not be here for the Unity”

            In his wildest imaginings, he would not have thought she would turn her back to the exigency of the School’s need. Every Mage, every half-trained pupil, all the resources available were needed to overcome the boy, and her decision was to leave. He wanted to be angry, but could not muster the spleen. But he did resent her, resented her right to such a choice, resented her steadfastness against the pressure he knew she must have received when she had made her decision known.

            “How did Master Szatanya take it?”

            “Not well?” she replied with some irony.

He smiled, having been subject to that cold, penetrating displeasure on several occasions

            “I don’t understand. We need you. I need you.”

“You don’t need me, Poe. You have found something else. I can’t compete with an ideal. If it was something tangible, something I have some hope of opposing, I would reconsider.”

“When do you leave?”

“Today.”

He could find nothing to say.

“You tread dangerous ground, Poe. I wish I could make you see. The Magister treads dangerously close to a precipice in his quest to realize his ideals Dangerously close to a precipice that you do not even know is there.. I have goals of my own and will be a tool to no man’s aspirations and goals, not even the Magister’s, or yours—even if I, in some regards, feel the same as you do.”

“I understand the peril, but what he, what we seek is right and true.”

“How easily you let those words slip from your lips. I wish I had your surety to know what is right and true.”

“You know,” he said in hushed tones, “but you choose to follow your own course.”

“I am not as selfless as you.” Though she said it without rancor, there was a sneer in her voice.

“We are on the cusp of vistas undreamed, Maggie. Do you really want to turn your back on that for the sterile pleasures of the Old World?”

Her faced darkened. “You misjudge! Though I have my own ambitions, I will not turn my back on my own land. I was born here too, Poe. Yes, I want to visit the great lands and states of the Old World, its cities and exotic places, but it is there, as I believe and have told you, that we will find a better way to meet the coming future with strength and certainty. Not through secret accords will this happen, or in seeking after new abilities and mysteries from the Source, but with diplomacy and skilled negotiation. It is not the cause I disagree with. It is the Magister’s overweening belief that his is the only way to meet these objectives. Maybe, with us both working toward the same objectives, we may once again find common ground upon which to begin anew.”

Poe made no reply.

Her wry smile returned, whether directed at him or her own thoughts, Poe could not tell. “We are stuck in a maze, turning corners looking for a way out, some glimmer in the distance that we can pin our hopes on only to find ourselves revisiting the some old turns and corridors that we have traveled before. We try so hard only to find our own stubborn ideals pulling us apart.”

“So, this is it? This is how it ends?”

“I would not say this is an ending Poe, only an interlude. We shall meet again and maybe then we may both have grown and come to see things . . . differently . . . then again maybe not.”

She stood and Poe with her. He took her cloak from the peg and placed it on her shoulders. She gave him a gentle kiss to his lips and Poe silently watched as she turned and walked away. After she had left the serving maid brought their order, but Poe found he had lost his appetite.