The March of Tange

Today had been a light day for Granny. A reeve had not yet arrived from Polabi Courthouse. What will be, will be, Granny thought, wearily. Astra had caused no problems so far. She seemed to be a silly, but not a malicious, young woman. If these had been better times, the times when her father were young, she could see Astra becoming a welcome addition to the village. Granny felt a pang of sadness. So many of the brightest and most ambitious of the children had gone, to north Polabi, to Corona, and to points beyond. Either that, or they worked covertly for the alchemists. Bella, Nanva, Fari - they were good souls, but who would keep the town together after she passed on? What she longed for were more people like Bakhtar, and this new woman, if she was whom she seemed. They brought life to the town. But even, if by some lucky chance, that neither the reeve nor the alchemists would be interested in her, why would Astra stay? She thought of her late husband, the one of the pair with all the imagination. She could use his advise now. Carry on, she told herself.

The sun had set, and she was now dressed in a plain robe, ready for a night's sleep. The store was locked up, and she slept in a room in the back. She had drifted off into a half-sleep when she thought that she heard someone banging on the door. Ignore them, she thought to herself. The banging persisted. Granny reached under her bed, and pulled out a knife. The person knocking on the door would soon attract attention. Mary or Fari would take care of him until morning. If he or she broke in, then they would be on unfamiliar ground. Granny could take care of herself.

The banging stopped, and she heard some low chattering. Then she heard Mary's voice. "Khanomam, please wake up. There is someone here, and we are going to need you. He is from Tange."

"I wish that you would not blurt that last fact out to the whole town," Granny thought. She caught herself. That was harsh - Mary had to speak loudly in order to rouse her, and there were few others who could have heard Mary from the store anyway. And the fact that he was from the March of Tange was important. Tange was the land bordering the Satrapy of Polabi on the west. Tributary creeks of the Weedy River cut deep into the soft but barren land, making it a maze of gullies, canyons, brushland, and marshes. Beyond the March were the Trans-Hespanic states. The March had always had a violent history, as the terrain allowed infamous outlaws to hide. The March was held as a personal fief of the King of Hespan. The King's attention had been focussed elsewhere, and the March was always difficult to control in any case. But usually any trouble from the March stayed in the March. The appearance of the alchemists had not changed things - at least not so far.

Granny went into the store, with her knife still in hand. The store was so familiar to her that she could wend her way through the barrels and boxes in the dark. She was not going to rush. Let the man from the west wait.

Granny opened the bolt that held the door, and the door opened a little. A tall, burly man stared at her, and then bowed. His voice was rough, but his speech was polite. "Salam, khanoman. My apologies for disturbing you at this hour, but I have some news from the March that affects our mutual interests. I know, Gola Aftebgarden, that you are a sensible and sober woman. I also trust that Mary can be discreet."

The use of her given name, Gola, surprised Granny. Her eyes narrowed, and she brought the knife to a defensive posture in front of her chest. She asked the stranger, "Do I know you?"

"I believe you do, by reputation. My name is Doazda. I am involved with, but am not, strictly speaking, one of those that you call the alchemists."

Granny replied, "Nonsense."

The man said, "Do you have a piece a chalk and slate, perhaps of the type that you use to add items in your bills?"

"I have been able to that in my head for many years, but I have a piece of coal that may do, and a log from a pear tree."

Mary fetched the piece of coal and the log, while Granny stared at the man, and clenched her knife. The man coolly looked away. Once Mary had brought the log and coal piece to them, the man scrawled, in an unornamented but neat hand, some words on the wood.

Granny suddenly said. "I have seen enough. You are who you say you are. What in the hell has happened, Doazda, to bring you here? I hope that this does not mean that you now think that you all can expand your business into Golabi."

Doazda replied, "I am not a fool, Gola. I am Hespaniad and Tangese by birth, and know what can and cannot be done. What is done in the March should be kept in the March. It is in my interest that my business proceed quietly. It is in your interest that your people do not get involved."

Granny stared at the ground. "Not involved, at least not more than we are already." thought Granny. She knew that certain townsmen and women performed small services, such as digging around the tar. That was fine. It brought much-needed money into the town, and probably had saved a few people from starvation or a life as an outlaw. Granny nodded. "So why are you here?" she asked.

"Strangers have been attracted to Tange. Those who do not know or appreciate the unwritten rules. I have had to come tonight to talk with you personally, to prevent this from becoming very messy. And I have to be off tonight."

Granny stared into Doazda's hard black eyes. He would not have come here without good reason. "Proceed," she said.

Hesht took out his most prized possessions. He had three sheets of costly vellum, a rarity in Golabi. Hesht had performed small services to Bakhtar for years, and in return he begged Bakhtar to teach him how to write. Bakhtar not only taught him simple things like how to write his name, but also to read as well. Hesht's imagination was fired by the accounts of the noble deeds of the calvary of Hespan, and the ceremonies and speculations of the magi of the court. His favourite subject was that of mathematics. Bakhtar's books opened a happy world to him, where he was no longer Hesht the Stutterer or Hesht the Idiot. He sometimes simply ceased to exist, when he was solving a complex conjecture. At other times, he was Hesht the Poet, or Hesht the Paladin. He would quietly work in Nanva's bakery, or in Doazda's refinery, and the pages of Bakhtar's books would comfort him, and drive the drudgery from his mind. He generally considered himself happy. Until he tried to speak.

The beautiful phrases, and the wonderful things that he had thought of, while reading or digging or baking, dissipated. He would shake a little, and the words would not come to describe what he was trying to tell. Not that many people in Golabi were interested anyway. Nanva was a good man, but not especially imaginative. Doazda impressed him, and he was the one man in Tange that he trusted, but he was a man of iron, and Hesht could not talk about the things that he wanted to talk about with him. Bakhtar had seen more of the world, but Hesht had few occasions to visit him.

He had heard rumours about the tall woman with the white hair. When he saw Astra, he felt, in a strange way, something in common with her. He thought that they were both lonely, but in different ways. She was lonely for her loved ones, her family, and her home. Her pain would be made whole if she could get home. Perhaps, in helping her, he could find something to help quell his pain.

He took out one sheet of his valued vellum, and wrote his message in a neat and careful hand.

He had thought about demanding that Astra take him to whereever she was going from here, or about pouring out his lonliness on paper. He thought better of it. Astra might not want him to come to Aqualaria. And he was a stranger to her. He was already taking a huge risk by writing what he had. It was best to keep it simple, and just offer to help her to Petrona.

He placed the message inside his robe. He also filled a basket full of a small balls of a candy, made from molasses and fruit peelings, and set out for Shirini's.

When he knocked on the door, Shirini answered. "Yes, Hesht?"

"Fruh. Fruh. From Bel- la." he stuttered, pointing to the basket.

Shirini let him in, and he placed the basket on a table. However, poor Hesht, in his nervousness, not only upset the basket, sending many little candy balls spilling on the floor, but a vial that had been lying there. Shirini shrieked, and ran toward the shattered vial."

Now was his chance! Hesht stumbled toward Astra's door, and fell on his knees, as if over one of the candy balls. He deftly picked the message out his coat and slid it under the door of the guest room. Done!

Hesht then returned to the room, worried about the broken object. Yet Shirini seemed to be in a much better mood. She shook her head tolerantly. "You need not bother, Hesht. You only lost about a quarter of them. You will never find them all in this straw. And the glass that I had was old, and already useless. Do not concern yourself with it."

"S- s- s-"

"That is fine. I know you are sorry. Thank Bella for me."

Astra heard a quiet scraping sound against the floor. Curious, she looked toward the door and saw the piece of vellum. Fine paper, she thought. She read the message.

Whatever choice you make, I pray that you are able to go home to your loved ones, and are happy. Please destroy this message. I will be at the Western Bridge tonight.

Many thoughts raced through Astra's head. How far could she trust Hesht? Normally she would not trust a young man like Hesht to escort her into a wild area. On the other hand, the implication that she was going back to Polabi Courthouse in the next day or two worried her as well. Astra decided

1. not to act on the message, at least not tonight.
2. tell someone about the message.
3. go to the Western Bridge, and meet Hesht.

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