AVisitToGiulianThe day after the Bahlmis Salon, Decuma gathered up John Hoberty, who had business of his own to conduct, for a trip to Anderon House. The trip was pleasantly uneventful, and soon enough Decuma found himself standing in the courtyard to watch his groom negotiate with his Anderon counterpart over the proper care of horses, then moving forward to where one of Giulian's staff would surely be on hand. And indeed, Decuma recognized the dark, powerfully built man in Anderon house livery who stepped forward to address him as Peterson, Giulian's bodyservant. "Lord Decuma," the man greeted him, bowing. "May I say how good it is to see you home, my lord? Lord Giulian told me to expect you. If you would come with me?" "Thank you, Peterson, thank you. You're looking well." Decuma answered the request to follow Peterson by following Peterson. Peterson led the way across the courtyard to a side door, whose heavy, carved wood showed signs of a recent coat of varnish. Beyond this was a long hallway that led past a staircase on the right before opening out into a sort of foyer. It was apparent that they'd come in the back way; the door opposite, at the other end of the entrance hall, was larger, more heavily carved, and flanked by two narrow windows of decoratively colored glass. Decuma politely noted the things that had changed, and the things that had stayed the same, although he did not let them slow his stride. Decuma had not often had occasion to visit the south wing previously in any case; since Delan's elevation to the Headship of House Anderon -- and, more importantly perhaps, since his marriage -- it had been unoccupied. However, Decuma's memory of the place showed him bare floors and walls throughout. Now there were colorful rough-woven mats in front of each of the entrances (presumably for wiping one's feet), and in a staggered line along the wall to his left hung a collection of the Nobukai theatre masks that had previously adorned a wall in Giulian's old bedroom. Peterson, however, walked only partway down the hall to a door on the left, knocked briefly, then opened it. "Lord Decuma is here, my lord." He stood aside for Decuma to enter. Decuma walked inside. "Indeed he is. Good day, Giulian, you're looking well. What I've seen of the Wing agrees with you." "Decuma, I'm glad to see you." Giulian, seated in a caneback rocker by the fire, smiled and stretched out a hand to his cousin. "Do you want the half-stanner tour now, or after you've had a drink?" he asked. Decuma reached out to take his old friend's hand, in a firm, steady grip. He moved to sit down and said, "I'm eager to see the place, but the trip was dusty. A drink would be a blessing." "Peterson." Giulian nodded to his manservant, who stepped over to a polished oak sideboard and proceeded to pour two glasses of sherry, which he then served to the two young men. Giulian waved Decuma to an armchair opposite to his own. "This is one of the rooms I've done the most work on anyway," he commented, and indeed to one who knew him well, its present appearance accurately reflected his tastes and sensibilities. The furniture was a hodge-podge of styles, no doubt culled from a combination of the House attics and the secondhand shops of the capital, but it was a harmonious hodge-podge, and every one of the chairs and sofas grouped around the handsome fireplace or underneath the tall windows was built for comfort. Decuma had once heard Giulian remark, "I really don't see a need for further mortification of the flesh in my daily life, thank you very much." Giulian had also brightened his sitting room with various works of art. Pride of place was given to a rugged, fantastical mountainscape that hung above the fireplace. On the mantelpiece below it stood an ormolu clock and a fine Classical-style bronze of a charioteer. Leaning back in his chair, Giulian took a sip of his sherry and then regarded Decuma over the rim of the glass, eyes dancing. "So, has Aunt Nira yet shown you the running diary of your offworld travels that's been appearing in Aquila Awake!?" he inquired blandly. Decuma sat gracefully as Peterson served them both, taking in the ambience of the room, noting the play of like and unlike, all matching what he knew about Giulian's tastes. He was taking his first sip of sherry, about to phrase a question regarding the picture above the fireplace, when Giulian mentioned something about a running diary. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "No, friend. Do tell." Giulian clucked his tongue in mock dismay. "Do you mean to say that they published it without your knowledge? So like them, I'm sorry to say... I saved the entire series, as the editor recommended," he went on. "It was so entertaining. I'll want to hear more about the rural paradise of Balachine, and those lovely, peaceful asteroid settlements off Galfracia," he informed his cousin, in a tone of guileless innocence. Decuma's eyes remained narrowed. "Balachine," he said with some degree of acidity, "is no more a rural paradise than Aquila is a technology exporter. We studied its history extensively as an economic success story of housing and development. What rubbish is this, that has been penned in my name?" "You may call it rubbish if you like, but it's been tremendously popular," Giulian informed him blithely. His eyes, too, narrowed slightly as he went on, "It's kept you, and your offworld travels, continually in the public mind." "And when the Papal envoy arrives to find me quoted as describing one of the most heavily populated areas in that region of space as a rural paradise?" Decuma was not upset at Giulian, of course. But there was a certain pride of name and honesty to maintain. "I did not travel off world gallivanting to Balachine," he said in a more even tone. "Nor even simply to press a case with the Church. I went for an education." "Of course you did. And I doubt that Papal envoys read the local scandal sheets much, or put much credence in them if they do. But the populace at large can't be expected to understand the difficulties and restrictions of interstellar communication ... and someone apparently thought it important to suggest that all the time you were thinking of the folks back home. Even if it meant getting a bit ... creative." "I could have sent back a copy of 'On the Calarco-Janulis Effect and Neglected Trade Links' to prove I was thinking of home, but I thought it would make for rather dry reading," Decuma responded. "At least I actually wrote that." Giulian chuckled. "I'm afraid that wouldn't have had quite the same mass appeal," he admitted, "though I'd be interested in reading it." "I'll have a copy made and delivered to you. Of interest mostly to economists, I should think," Decuma replied. "All Anderons are economists, after a fashion," Giulian said lightly. Decuma spread his hands evenly. "So you are, of course." "I did actually clip the series if you want to know the worst," Giulian continued. "It's in one of the desk drawers in the study." "I shall look forward to it, vastly." Decuma paused. "Was it all that far out of date?" Giulian spread his hands. "Whoever did write it," (in point of fact he strongly suspected his uncle Josh Salter, but wasn't about to reveal this to Decuma) "presumably had to hand only those references available on Aquila. And not the University library, either." Decuma gave a long sigh. "All right. It's done. Conceivably, it shall stay buried and in the background." He paused. "Shall we start the grand tour?" "Certainly." Giulian lifted himself from his chair with a practiced motion and reached for his crutches. These were held ready to his hand, Decuma could now see, in an ornate brass stand that had probably started life holding fireplace tools (and in fact, an object not unlike it stood by the fireplace doing exactly that). Peterson was ready by the door to hold it open for the two young men. "I haven't done much with some of the rooms yet," Giulian commented as he led the way out the door and across the foyer, past the foot of the staircase and into a short hallway opposite the door of the sitting room. "The sitting room, of course ... that's where I entertain people I want to see." He chuckled. "The ones I don't want to see go in there." He tilted his head briefly toward a door on the left. "It's really the butler's room -- has a fireplace and a couple of chairs -- but it's also useful for letting uninvited visitors cool their heels until I'm ready to deal with them. Over here is the study." Decuma suppressed a smile, badly, which left it to come out as a rather wry smirk. There were reasons he and Giulian were friends. Peterson, who had accompanied them, opened the door on the right. This led into a room a little more than half the size of the sitting room. Bookshelves occupied the entire right-hand wall, floor to ceiling. A burnished oak desk stood under the large mullioned window in the wall opposite the door; the fireplace was to the left, with an armchair facing it. "Sit down a moment," Giulian invited, indicating the armchair, "while I look out those articles for you." He swung around behind the desk, sat down, and started rummaging through one of the drawers. And then, Decuma's smile lost the wry edge to it. Although he had likely carried more information in his vest pockets while studying off Aquila, his upbringing had left a permanent association in his mind: the scent of cover leather and paper was the scent of erudition. Decuma heard Giulian's invitation to sit, but it had been a long time -- years, in fact -- since he'd had the reason and means to browse a case of actual books. He'd had other things to do since he returned home to Lagoran. He nodded to Giulian, but moved absently to the bookcases, looking over the contents. "Marvellous collection," he said. Giulian's response was an abstracted though mildly gratified "Mmm" as he continued to search through the desk drawer. Decuma contented himself with a browse, while Giulian rummaged. It did not take a very close inspection to reveal that the books were arranged in strict order, by subject and then alphabetically by author; Giulian preferred to have his materials where either he or a helper could locate them quickly. There were books on history, political science, economics, estate management, horse breeding, as well as one tall shelf devoted to oversize art books. The books themselves ranged from calf-bound tomes through shabby cloth bindings and the slick plasticized imitation that bespoke an offworld origin. Decuma resisted the puckish impulse to put one out of order just to see how long it would take Giulian to notice. Everyone had islands of order to be maintained -- this was obviously one of Giulian's. "This is the serious collection, of course," Giulian commented after a few minutes, as he straightened with a brown manila portfolio in his hand. "The books I like to read in bed are in the bedroom." "Bad habit," Decuma mused, "at least for me. I find myself sleeping less and less if I permit myself to read in bed." Giulian shrugged. "I find it helps me to relax sufficiently to get to sleep ... mostly. And if I find I can't sleep, at least I have something to do!" "To each his own. But I find that while I can function without sleep, I do not wish to do so," Decuma replied. "I've noticed I become... cranky." He was handing Giulian a straightline, especially in the light of some sharp debates in the recent past, but that was all right. And indeed, Giulian replied dulcetly, "Oh, is that what does it? I thought it was sleeping alone." He extended the portfolio, which was tied closed with string, across the desk to Decuma. "The articles are in here," he said with a grin. Decuma slipped the string off, and glanced through them, skimming and turning leaves rapidly, absorbing the gist more than the details. After a few pages, he shook his head and slipped the string back on. "I suppose it could be worse. I must remember to thank my ghost writer so very kindly, when I have the chance," he said sweetly. "Yes, at least he didn't detail your visits to the fleshpots of the galaxy," Giulian said impishly. "Which I think showed great restraint, when one considers how sales of the paper would have soared!" "Thank you Giulian, I know I can always turn to you to find the silver lining. My privacy remains intact, if not my sense of historical accuracy." He was about to continue, when suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping on the chamber door. "Peterson." The manservant stepped to the door and opened it. It proved to be one of the Anderon footman, who bowed before addressing himself to Giulian. "Your father's compliments, my lord. I have a message for..." He hesitated fractionally and then said, "Lord Decuma. The Lord Regent says he would welcome his calling on him before Lord Decuma leaves this evening. He sends his regrets for having missed seeing him this afternoon." He waited for an answer -- from either Decuma (though he had not addressed him directly) or Giulian. Giulian nodded in acknowledgement of the message. "I had thought you might want to pay your respects in any case," he commented to Decuma. "Of course. I'd be lying if I claimed that it was not part of the reason I came today." Turning to the footman, Decuma said, "I shall be honored to call upon Lord Anderon." The footman bowed. "I shall wait outside to escort you whenever you are ready, my lord," he said. The honorific seemed to come a little easier this time. "That won't be necessary, Sibley," Giulian told the footman. "I'll bring Decuma over myself when the time comes." "Very good, Lord Giulian," said the footman, and with a bow he withdrew. After giving the servant time enough to make his exit, Giulian asked his cousin, "Are you ready to continue the tour?" "Yes, Giulian," Decuma said, "but after the library and study, what have you got that can top it?" "Would you believe ... the upstairs?" Giulian quipped. "No, it's true, I have done the most work on the sitting room and study, but I do have a studio up there." He lifted himself from his chair and reached for his crutches again. "You're racking up quite the quip count, there, Giulian. Despite that, I shall forgive you," Decuma said. "I would be enchanted to see the rest of the wing." Decuma stood when Giulian did, but as was typical, did not move to help him with his crutches, or overly scamper to open doors or clear a path. He never did, excepting those rare occasions when Giulian asked. In any case, Peterson was standing by to open the door for both of them. Passing out of the study, Giulian swung right. "We can take just a quick look into the dining room, then," he said. "I haven't really started in on it because I don't have occasion to host formal dinner parties yet ... so it hasn't changed much from when Father was living here." "In time, Giulian, in time. All things in their proper sequence." Decuma paused. "A word of advice though? Students make poor servers." Giulian chuckled appreciatively, but riposted, "It depends on whether you choose them for their serving ability or their conversation." "True," Decuma said. "The sullen young man with the tendency to spill things, for instance, made wonderful conversation for his position." Giulian might have recalled that the sulky young man in question barely opened his mouth in Decuma's presence. "Oh, I gather he has other talents," said Giulian, remembering Devon's offer to work out with him and Talaren. Decuma shrugged and let that pass. Peterson stepped on ahead to swing open double doors at the end of the hall, which here angled right. The room within was indeed rather bare, though tall windows on two sides kept it from being gloomy. A long table and chairs of dark wood, and a sideboard of similar style, were the only furnishings. "Oh, very nice space to work with, Giulian. A bit threadbare, but this is understandably temporary." Giulian nodded, but said, "I have other priorities, I must say. Though there was an epergne in one of the secondhand shops that I almost couldn't pass up. It was so extravagantly hideous... I decided it would be too much for my hypothetical guests' appetites, however." "I'm sure you do, Giulian. The freedom to indulge ourselves in this fashion is compensation for our responsibilities. Something of a social contract. Has the Lord Regent begun increasing those responsibilities already?" "Let's say I'm studying for them," answered Giulian, adding with a nod toward his cousin, "as you've been doing." He swung around and headed back down the hall toward the stairs, continuing as he went, "I haven't done my stint clerking in the bank yet, and it's rather a family tradition for that to precede any other serious work. I'm not sure how much our 'experiment' will hold that up..." "Et tu, Giuliane?" Decuma asked with an exaggerated sense of woundedness, then sighed. "I don't know whether to be surprised, or not. Which, as it happens, bothers me more than either." "Oh, you got it right at the salon," Giulian assured him. "I couldn't pass up the chance to learn ... well, if I could make my way in the world, if I weren't the heir of Anderon. Find out what it's like. That, and..." His expression turned speculative. "...well, think of it as an initiation of sorts. Take their challenge, prove that I'm willing to look at things from their point of view, meet them halfway, and I figure I'll have a much better chance of having them listen to me, afterwards." By this time he had reached the foot of the stairs and began climbing, one slow step at a time. Decuma strolled amiably beside him, considering. "Part of that, I understand, Giulian. The measuring of self. The challenge. We all do that, by one fashion or another, or we'll careen from experience to trouble to doubt and catastrophe for the rest of our lives. But to be challenged by some pugnacious servant, taken into Lady Bahlmis' service as an act of charity? Not I, my friend. I've had challenge enough off-world, and I'll see challenge enough before all this is through. But a word of advice, Giulian? When you're done measuring yourself to your standard -- and you shall -- remember you've done it for yourself, not for this Miss Starr's goad." "Of course," Giulian answered, as if this was self-evident. "The challenge is a means, not an end... But I don't intend to underestimate Miss Starr, either. Lady Bahlmis's temporary help at her salons are University students, remember. That means that whatever their background, they're the educated class of tomorrow -- of our generation." "Their education, to now, seems sorely lacking. Tell me, before I arrived, had Miss Starr even bothered to ask anyone's opinions? Or had she started with the idea that everyone surrounding her was a fool?" "Or a foe, at the very least," agreed Giulian, going on to quote, "'And her wel-pointed wepons did about her dresse.' Though in such a company she may have had some reason. But she's reading Economics, anyway, so can be reasonably said to have started doing her prep. on the subject." When Giulian mentioned economics, Decuma's brow raised, but he didn't address it directly. "The best way to ensure that everyone in the room is against you is to walk in with that assumption, and act on it." Giulian nodded, saying also, "Some people thrive on that sort of thing." "I suppose, then," Decuma responded, "that the question is whether she wants to feel good about herself, or whether she wants to accomplish something. Ambition makes politicians of us all, noble and cit alike." "That's one of the things I'd like to find out about our Miss Starr," agreed Giulian. Decuma sniffed. "When you find out -- if you find out, because she might not even understand the difference yet -- do let me know." "I may be able to detect the difference even if she can't," Giulian pointed out. "I wouldn't doubt it, old man. Another reason you've taken up this challenge? And what are you going to do once you've found out?" "That will rather depend on what I find out, wouldn't you say?" responded Giulian. "And what you might happen to want out of her. Or for her." "That too," Giulian agreed. "Besides..." The corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile. "...she interests me." "Oh does she really, now, Giulian? Pray, tell, exactly how?" Decuma was very good at suppressing his smiles. "Well, you know how difficult it is to find good sparring partners nowadays," Giulian answered, his smile broadening. "Why yes, Giulian," Decuma drawled, "I've been looking for one for twenty-odd years, now." "Funny thing about that," Giulian riposted. "So have I!" Decuma finished with a stop-thrust: "I shall let you know as soon as I find one." "Oh, do you share?" Giulian asked sweetly. Decuma favored Giulian with a glance. The last remark, he thought, had been unworthy of Giulian -- better to lose that point on this match and start again than keep pressing it. By this time they were at the top of the stairs. Giulian hesitated for a moment, then swung right down a hallway that shortly made another right angle. "You may as well get a glimpse of everything," he told Decuma. "This end is a couple of bedrooms -- not much done with them yet, though I could put guests in them at a pinch." Between the two doors on their left was a narrow staircase leading up, presumably for the use of servants. A glance through the doors indeed revealed two sparely furnished and nearly identical bedrooms. The hall angled right again around the stairwell, passing two more doors on the left -- "Bathroom, linen cupboard," Giulian noted with nods of his head as they went by -- then again, completing the circuit back to the head of the main stair. Giulian now turned left, down a hallway that had two doors on the left, one on the right, and another narrow stair at the end. Peterson, who had accompanied them, went to open the nearer door on the left. "This one is my bedroom," Giulian said. Many of the furnishings here Decuma recognized, since they had been carried over from Giulian's old bedroom in the west wing: the bed, the bookcase that stood nearby, the worn prie-dieu at the foot of bed and the carved and painted wooden crucifix that hung on the wall above it. The armchair next to the fireplace also looked familiar. The small writing-desk under the windows at the far end of the room was new, however -- or at least, it was not something Decuma had seen before -- as were the curtains and the bright woven rugs in front of the hearth and next to the bed. The bedspread was new, too, and in the exact center of it lay a large grey tabby cat, curled up asleep. "Very nice," Decuma said. "Comfortable, as a place of rest should be." Presumably at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, the cat raised its head, regarded the newcomer with large and distinctly baleful yellowish-green eyes, and gave out a loud, low-pitched "Mrrrow!" "That's Magnus," Giulian said happily. "He's adopted me." "Hmm," Decuma said. "I see. A predilection for balefully staring creatures becomes evident." Giulian laughed. Decuma reached out a hand gingerly to stroke the cat once between the ears, but he had no intention of covering himself in cat hair before meeting with Lord Anderon. The cat's ears flattened warningly at being reached for by someone it didn't know. It gave out with a menacing "rrrrreow." Giulian perched on the edge of the bed so that he was closer to Magnus than Decuma was. "Get used to him, Magnus, he's family," he said cheerfully. Decuma gave the cat a raised eyebrow, and idly considered whether to make a fool of himself by grabbing for a hostile cat that was only likely to jump away. He decided not. "Your loss, Magnus," he said. "I don't reach out and pet just any old cat." Back to Giulian, he said, "It's a lovely place, Giulian. I expect you'll entertain famously here. But as much as I would like to stay and talk, I expect I shouldn't keep the Lord Regent waiting much longer." "You'll at least take a look at the studio, won't you? It's just next door," Giulian said, indicating a second door that presumably connected the two rooms. "Of course I will," Decuma said. "And time permitting, I can come back and we can talk more as well." Giulian grinned. "Yes, now that you're home, there'll be plenty of time for that, I hope," he said. "We'll make time, I suspect," Decuma said. Giulian got back up off the edge of the bed and led the way toward the door he'd indicated. The room beyond, by its placement and situation, had fairly obviously been meant as a second, connecting bedroom to Giulian's. Giulian, possibly somewhat daunted by the implications of this (or perhaps just taking advantage of a corner room, amply provided with windows on two sides and convenient to his own), had turned it into a private studio. The furniture, so far, was mostly utilitarian: a drafting table, an easel, the chairs that went with them, shelves and cabinets for the storage of art supplies. On the easel was a half-finished study of the Nest, taken from the west face and with the suggestion of early morning light on it. "Oh, very nice, Giulian," Decuma said, probably as regards both the painting, which he inspected, and the room itself, which he admired. "Now this, with my preference not to read in bed, is likely where I would have situated my library. Brilliant light during the day, and a marvellous view by evening." Indicating, the drafting table, he added, "What do you intend to draft? Have you any projects underway?" "Pen and ink drawings, mostly," Giulian responded. He gestured toward the wall behind the drafting table, where a number of pen-and-ink portrait sketches were hung. Most of them depicted members of his own family, but there was one of Lady Bahlmis, one of Renata Tremontaine and a couple of Harry. Decuma inspected them all in detail -- Decuma always looked in detail even when it might seem he had only glanced somewhere -- but lingered a touch over the Lady Renata. "Excellent likeness, Giulian. You've captured her eyes, especially." Giulian grinned. "You don't want to know how many tries that took me." Decuma chuckled. "I can imagine, actually. There's a challenge in capturing the playful and adventurous nature, without exaggerating it." "Adventurous ... yes, exactly," said Giulian, thinking about how Renata had been the first of all of them to take up Jovanna Starr's challenge. Which was precisely what Decuma had been mindful of as he spoke. He and Giulian could see things from frighteningly close to the same perspective, at times. But, as with any worthwhile debating partners, only at times. After giving Decuma time to examine anything else he seemed to want to look at, Giulian said, "Well, I think you've seen just about all there is to be seen. Shall we join my parents and Master John?" He tilted his head toward the far door of the studio, that opened out onto the hall. "There's a connecting door to the rest of the house across the hall, if you don't mind going through the kitchen wing." "I think we must. In fact, I have something of a command performance scheduled with your father." Giulian gave him a sympathetic grin; he'd been subjected to a few of those himself, over the years. The kitchen wing was easily negotiated through a long upper hallway, and it was not long before Giulian was showing his guest into the sitting room in the west wing where his parents were entertaining Master John Hoberty. "Good evening, Mother, Father, Master John. See, I've brought Decuma to you safe and sound," Giulian greeted them. He crossed the room to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. "Good evening, Giulian," Bea responded, accepting his kiss with a smile. "Lord Decuma ... welcome home," she added. "I trust you had a pleasant visit?" "Thank you, my Lady, I had a wonderful visit, and Giulian's work in his wing has been impressive. And thank you, my Lady, for the welcome, here and home. It's good to be back after so long." "And in good time you return," said Delan. "Perhaps we might have a word?" He indicated the door to his study. From beside his mother, Giulian gave Decuma a droll, well-you-knew-that-was-coming look and mouthed 'Good luck' before turning to greet Master John. |
