<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (o) Sunday, May 16, 724 CR Sunday morning dawned chill with a thick blanket of fog that left the Keep, even awakening to the Worship day, muffled and quiet. The tolling of bells, the singing of hymns, the chants of praise, prayer, and supplication, whether Lothanasi or Follower, could not pierce the misty gloom that captured the morning. Nor could it dispel a certain sleepiness that had settled on many of the revelers even after they had dragged themselves from their beds to attend to morning worship. Charlie yawned hugely as he slipped from beneath his warm quilts and stretched out his arms. Morning had already come and with it a febrile gray light filtered through his windows only to leave his chambers in a sombre gloom. A slight headache pulsed between his ears and pressed at the back of his eyes, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to the soreness in his muscles and the throbbing discomfort of the bruises he'd suffered from Bryn's whacking. He had a dreamless night, rare enough, but for once he welcomed the chance to know a surcease to his ever thinking. It allowed him to take stock of the morning fresh and without a continuous stream of evolving plans as if he were locked in an endless game of chess. His mother insisted that the serving staff always have one day of rest both for the sake of the servants and for the edification of their family. His father agreed as it was best that Charlie and Suria be forced to fend for themselves from time to time. In a house as generous with its comforts as theirs, it was not difficult to do so. With his father returning some time that day the staff would return for duties in the afternoon. The morning was theirs alone. This did mean that he would have to select his own clothes and find something to eat and drink to break his nightly fast. Doubtless his mother would prefer he join her and his sister for that morning meal and after failing to join them for yesterday's midday meal, he had no intention of missing. His paws rubbed over the parts of his face which didn't hurt as bleary eyes took stock of his surroundings. Last night's clothing was discarded in a path from his door to his bed and he chuckled to himself as he recalled his drunken haste to escape to sleep last night. He would need to place them where his body servants Hogue and Jackson could find them when they returned to their duties that afternoon. Nothing else appeared out of place. With a grunt Charlie stood, long tail sliding from beneath the quilts while he stretched his arms high into the air, fingers spreading wide, before bending over with legs straight to reach for his toe. His tail bumped the back of his legs as the claws tipping each fingers poked at the longer claws tipping each of his toes. He repeated the stretch ten more times until he felt limber and loose. All the while his mind ran through his responsibilities for the day. Normally on Sundays, after breaking fast with his family, he would, with his father, attend Duke Thomas for a time on whatever matters needed attending. Often it was merely an excuse for the noble families to share a relaxed afternoon together to allow the burdens of state to weigh less heavily on their shoulders. This often involved musical performances from Charlie and his father, as well as games of chance or skill such as chess, or the telling of stories of far away places or of the history and lore of Metamor and the house Hassan. For Charlie, it was a welcome respite he looked forward to. He dressed himself in a modest open-sleeved crimson tunic and vest patterned with stylized Pyralian flowers and a matching, though plain, pair of breeches. Around his neck he dangled his crescent moon medallion, and after a quick brush of a comb through his head and cheek fur, emerged from his room to find his family. With the servants off for most of the day their home was very quiet and large. His ears turned to the sound of his sister's barking laugh coming from the kitchens and Charlie followed that sound and the intense pungent aroma of coffee that made his nostrils and chest swell. Normally the abode of the servants, the kitchens featured a small circular table about which his mother and sister were seated, snouts leaning over plates of bread, cheese, and egg, with cups of juice and coffee to wash them down. “Charlie,” Suria barked in delight, ears perked as he entered. “Good morning! Did you and Bryn have fun last night?” “Certainly,” he replied with a smile as he glanced at the counter and ovens; he knew how to stoke them and had helped his mother from time to time in the past, but it had been many months since his paws had last touched any of the wood or coals. A helping of cooked eggs sat on the counter still warm and salty to smell, while a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese waited to be sliced next to it. The only thing he did not see prepared for him was the coffee. “What blend are we trying today?” “Something with vanilla and mint,” Misanthe replied as her paws cradled her cup and tipped the narrowed lip to her snout. “Father Felsah says it is how they drink it in Yesulam.” He smiled as he imagined the jerboa Questioner giving a lecture on the proper way to prepare coffee. His father had a begrudging respect for the Questioner, confessing his reputation for honesty and generosity were well-deserved, while in the same breath dismissing him as a zealot and warning both Charlie and Suria to keep their distance. Charlie shared his father's assessment, but could not help but like his fellow rodent who never spoke ill of anyone and who had impeccable taste in food and delicacies. And his suggestions to improve the rather bitter flavor of coffee never failed to please. “Then I will definitely have a cup,” he said as he took a small cloth and opened the stove to see how well the fire burned. He had to add another pair of logs and squeeze the bellows a few times to coax a reasonable conflagration into being, but soon he had a pot of water boiling. While the water heated he sliced himself bread and some cheese and scooped the rest of the eggs onto his plate. “Is there any word on Father?” “This afternoon!” Suria yipped and wagged her tail. “Lubec came last night while you were out to say that Father was on his way and making good time.” “Lubec?” Charlie blinked; the cormorant had been sent to Pyralia with communiques over two months ago whereas his father was only in Weislyn, a couple of weeks slow travel at the most and usually a few days faster. “I thought Kurgael was with him?” Misanthe nodded as her clawed fingers cradled her cup of coffee, a rivulet of steam rising from its surface to curl around her black nose. “He is. Lubec returned early with news from Pyralis and so your father sent him on to Metamor to deliver his other messages too.” “What news from Pyralis?” “Duke Kurt Schanalein is inviting you and your father to Breckaris to celebrate the marriage of his daughter in August.” “We might even be able to attend. It would be good to see Duke Schanalein again.” Although Breckaris was a rival to Father's home, the Duke there, Kurt Schanalein, had always been well disposed to Keepers and had taken it upon himself to visit Metamor twice since he had become Duke ten years before. And knowing his daughter was to marry someone else – for a time his father considered betrothing Charlie and the girl that had screamed in fright the first time she'd seen him – was a huge relief as well. “I love weddings,” Suria mused wistfully. “Do you think we could go?” “You would have to ask your father when he returns.” “And he's returning this afternoon. Good,” Charlie said with a broad smile. He found the coffee grounds his mother mentioned and trembled as the piercing but pleasing odor tickled his nose. “I was worried he might be delayed again.” “No delay this time,” Suria continued, before shoving a bit of bread in her maw and chewing quickly. “And,” she added with an almost uncontrollable glee, “he says he won't need to return south again next week. The negotiations are finished!” “Wonderful!” He felt his heart swell as large as his chest. So often the endless negotiations and squabbles drew his father or the other noble lords Thomas relied upon to mediate disputes away from home; much of the time they would only receive short reprieves from their duties before tensions would flare again in the southern fiefs or with their neighbors. In another few years Charlie himself would be one of those negotiators; it was a prospect he did not much look forward to, but it was a necessary duty to protect his home, family, and friends. He set his plate on the table opposite his sister, and then returned to pour his coffee. The mint was particularly strong and his whiskers twitched in anticipation. “Do we know when exactly to expect Father?” “Only sometime this afternoon,” his mother replied in a more reserved tone. “Suria and I will make sure everything here is ready for his return; I have asked your brothers to return after Liturgy to help as well as the regular staff.” As scions of a noble house their presence to welcome the master of the house to which they were fostered as pages was expected. “Thomas expects you to attend him as usual.” He set the pot of water where it could cool and then lifted his coffee cup to his snout. The stirring sands of the desert, the blossoming of strange flowers, the dry wind carrying an array of exotic spices, and the waves of hymnody washing from churches all filled his imagination as he indulged in the sweet odor of the Questioner's recommended blend. This Charlie carried to his seat, and with a swing of his tail, sat with his family. “I thought as much.” He touched his fingers to his medallion before raising them to briefly brush his brow and then kissed them with his nose and teeth, before beginning his meal. They spoke little of their father's negotiations, preferring instead to discuss the summer to come and their hopes for the year ahead. Misanthe reminded them both that the time would come soon that betrothals would be made for them and that both she and their father were diligently examining several possibilities. Charlie was used to such reminders as his father had been trying without success for the last three years to secure him a betrothal. But none of the southern nobility fancied marrying a rat – though at least only the Schanalein girl screamed when first meeting him – let alone risking the sometimes sardonic vagaries of the Curse and the few that were interested sought only their own power and disgusted Charlie. Yet there was little political advantage to be gained from a marriage to one of the houses in the valley already under the Curse and so he tried to resign himself to whatever seemed best for his house and for Metamor. Suria had made it known who her preferred husband would be, and while a marriage to Bryn had many advantages, neither Thomas nor their father was certain it was in the best interest of the duchy nor of their plans to contend with the sometimes warring factions throughout the Midlands. Nor did Charlie think it entirely likely as Bryn saw Suria as a sister and found her affection for him pleasing but slightly discommodious. Nevertheless, he hoped for his sister's sake that both his father and Bryn would come around. When he'd finished his meal and his coffee, Charlie excused himself. He meant to tend to the studies he had left undone the day before, but to his own surprise his feet carried him not to his chambers but to his father's. He closed the door to his father's study behind him and stood for a few minutes staring past the ornate desk to the bookshelf where the black binding of his father's journals stared back at him. He could see the irate equine countenance of his dearest friend warning him away from those books and reminding him of the promise he'd made the night before. Charlie sighed heavily even as he took a step toward the journals. “I'm sorry, Bryn.” He found the one he'd been reading through when Vidika's poke had interrupted him and carried it with him to a corner where the morning light shone. The fog was still thick outside, but it was enough for his eyes accustomed to the dark to make out his father's script. He flipped the well-worn pages to where he had last read and resumed his skimming. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>