10
CHOICES
Swinging his leg over the kindia’s neck, Bardon dismounted.
“I’ll take him,” said Ilex, removing the reins from the squire’s hand. “I’ve got a fine bed of hay, a bin of bossel, and clear water waiting for him in the barn. This boy is going to have a rubdown, too, and I’m going to sing him the songs my pa sang to me.”
Ilex patted Ten on the neck, reached up to scratch behind the animal’s ears, and led him off, chuckling to himself. Bardon watched as they pushed through the crowd, and the old farm worker greeted those eager to heap praises on the winner.
Bardon eased between mingling farmers and townspeople, edging his way to the porch. Hoddack pointed his finger at one of the revelers, a neatly dressed young marione with a thick thatch of slicked-down, golden hair. Hoddack hooked his finger in a “Come” gesture and pointed to the front door. Then the kindia breeder turned abruptly, signaling with a wave of his hand for Bardon to follow. He marched into his house without looking back to see if his silent commands were obeyed.
Now what?
Bardon’s boots thumped the wooden steps as he climbed to the porch. He met the summoned young man at the top of the steps. The marione’s jaw angled just like Master Hoddack’s, and he had the same deep-set eyes and large, straight nose.
Bardon slowed, allowing the young man to go first. Hoddack’s son? First Hoddack looks as though he has swallowed a drummerbug, then he calls for his son to join us. I hope this isn’t going to be unpleasant. He shook his head as he tried to determine the type of person the son could be. He doesn’t look as contrary as the father. In fact, he looks rather soft, as though he isn’t used to laboring beside the farm workers.
The son held his shoulders straight, but they weren’t as broad as his father’s. He wore tailored clothing without one grubby mark on him. Instead of commonplace boots, he wore shiny brown shoes of tooled leather.
He looks as though he enjoys his father’s success but doesn’t help with the business of running this kindia farm. But then, all this is supposition. “Judgment passed before facts are known judges the judger.” Principle sixty-eight.
Inside, the refined décor of the home surprised Bardon. Hoddack had disappeared, but the young man led the squire into a side room. An older woman sat in the dim light on a brocade-covered settee.
“Mother, may we disturb you for a moment?”
She lifted her chin and smiled toward the voice. “Of course, Holt.”
He took her extended hand and raised it to bestow a kiss.
Her other hand came up to briefly caress his cheek. “I suspect you’ve brought one of the riders to meet me. Perhaps, the winner?”
Bardon stepped forward with the assurance of years in Sir Dar’s court. He bent over her hand and brushed it with his lips.
“I beg your pardon, Dame Hoddack, for coming into your presence in such a state. I must smell like the kindia I rode. A fine animal, but not one that should be brought into a lady’s parlor.”
The genteel woman wrinkled her nose delicately and chortled. “And with my sight gone, my sense of smell is most keen. But I am glad Holt brought you to meet me. Are you the same young man who tamed the kindia in such an unusual manner?”
“Not exactly.” Bardon looked over to Holt, who nodded his approval of telling the story to his mother. “I spent the first day convincing Mig to accept a working relationship, using the common procedure. My friend, N’Rae, has a gift for dealing with animals. She tamed five in less time than I took with one.”
“The lovely emerlindian girl?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Excuse me, Dame Hoddack, but how do you know of her?”
She straightened the lace shawl draped over her shoulders.
“I have many visitors, and most of the servants are aware that I enjoy knowing what goes on beyond the walls of this house.” She’d answered almost immediately, but Bardon detected a slight shuttering of her open friendliness. “I’m glad Holt brought you in. I am very interested in this N’Rae.”
“It is my turn to beg your pardon, Mother. Father will be waiting for us in his study.”
She reached for him, and he gave her his arm, which she patted. The pleased smile on her face transformed a weary expression to one of loveliness. “Yes, go, dear. See what he wants.” She turned slightly toward Bardon, and the mask of the grand lady slipped back in place. “Good luck to you, young man.”
“Thank you, Dame Hoddack.” Squire Bardon followed Holt to another room on the ground floor.
Hoddack sat behind a large desk cluttered with papers. A sack of coins spilled across the top. Seven neat stacks of five shiny gold pieces, each large coin worth one hundred grood, lined up across the front edge of the desk. A thick, dark purple rug muffled their footsteps, but the kindia breeder’s shaggy head jerked up as they entered.
“Took your time.”
“We went to see Mother.”
Hoddack grunted and waved an impatient hand, urging them closer. “Have a seat, Squire Bardon. I have an additional proposition for you.”
Holt took a chair, lounging with a look of disinterest on his handsome face. His fingers played with the fringe sewn into the armrest. His foot silently jiggled.
Bardon remained standing. “My companions and I are on a journey. We’ve delayed long enough.”
“This won’t take much of your time, and what I have to offer might make your trip less taxing.”
Bardon wanted nothing more than to collect his earnings and leave the crotchety old kindia breeder to stew over whether he’d been shrewd in their interchange. Or, whether he appeared a shrewd businessman in the eyes of the populace. Bone-weary and uncomfortable in his sweaty, dirty clothing, the squire wanted a bath, a meal, and to begin arranging for the transport of his companions down the river to Ianna. He sat on the leather chair next to Holt and waited to see what the farmer had in mind.
“I’m interested in the emerlindian.” Hoddack leaned his stocky frame toward his visitor. “If you have an arduous journey ahead of you, you don’t need to be encumbered by females.”
Bardon remained silent. The sooner he had the money in his hands and got away from this man, the better. He noticed that Holt had ceased fidgeting. He stared at the tip of his shoe, but his stillness belied his lack of concern.
Hoddack picked up an empty money purse and a stack of coins. Through the wide opening, he let each grood piece drop into the soft leather sack. The first coin landed silently, but each one after clinked against the others.
“My son is of an age to marry. As is our tradition, I will arrange for a suitable bride. I find your emerlindian to be suitable.”
Bardon clenched a fist, but he voiced his words in calm tones. “Her name is N’Rae, and it is not our tradition to arrange marriages. Furthermore, I am not her guardian.”
Hoddack picked up a second stack of coins. “Then you shall propose my offer to the granny.”
Bardon stood. “I think not.”
The money ceased dropping into the purse. “Why? This alliance would bring her comfort and prestige.”
Holt came to his feet, hooking his thumbs into his finely crafted belt. “I don’t understand your sudden desire to marry me off, Father.”
“You have nothing to do with it.” Hoddack snarled his contempt for his son. “It’s a matter of business. Do you realize what this emerlindian girl can do?”
“She tames kindias.”
“Yes, and we want her to tame kindias for us, not for a competitor.”
Holt’s hands came away from his waist, and he clenched his fists. Propping them on the desk, he leaned across the clutter of paper and stacks of money. “That’s preposterous! Why not just hire her?”
“Hired hands can walk away.”
“And a married woman is trapped.”
Hoddack stood and glared, his stance mirroring his son’s. Inches separated their red faces. “It’s business,” Hoddack shouted. “Cool, calculated business without the niceties you and your mother prattle on about.”
Bardon scooped up two stacks of the money and dropped them into the spacious pockets of his tunic. “No need for a family argument.” He smiled at them both as he pocketed two more piles. “N’Rae has a plan in mind for her immediate future, and it does not involve romance, kindia farms, or business.” He plucked the leather purse out of Hoddack’s hand and gathered the last coins. “It has been interesting, if not a pleasure, doing business with you, Master Hoddack. I wish you well in your endeavors. All those that do not include me or my companions.”
He turned on his heel and marched out before either father or son could make further comment.
Granny Kye and N’Rae waited for him in the front yard of the stately farmhouse. The younger emerlindian carried Jue Seeno’s basket hooked over her arm.
“You look angry,” commented N’Rae as she fell in beside his quick step.
Granny Kye ambled along behind them, seemingly more interested in the scenery than the young people.
He slowed. “Hoddack is an unpleasant marione, insensitive and prone to think first of money and not of people at all.”
“His son is nice.”
Bardon cast her a quick glance. “You met him?”
“There was little to do all day while we waited for the race to end. Dame Hoddack ordered a feast with roasted pig, duck, and goose. The neighbors brought all sorts of food, and Holt Hoddack made sure Grandmother and I had full plates and plenty to drink in the hot afternoon. He brought cushions from the house for us to sit on in the shade.”
Bardon stopped and turned to face her. “So, do you want to go look for your father or stay here and dally with a farmer’s son?”
N’Rae crossed her arms over her chest, swinging the basket recklessly. A squeak of protest came from within. “I want to find my father, of course. You can be so prickly. Whatever happened to ‘Maturity wears well in soft words and even temper.’ Principle thirty-something?”
“How do you know the principles?”
“My mother taught me. I told you I wasn’t ignorant.”
Bardon stomped down the lane toward the smaller barn. N’Rae and Granny Kye had to hurry to catch up. “We need a few basic supplies, transportation to Ianna, and that map.”
“You need,” spouted N’Rae, “a bath and clean clothes.”
Bardon turned abruptly into the barn.
“Where are you going?” asked N’Rae.
“I owe a man some money.”
“Our money?”
“His money. If it were our money, I wouldn’t owe it to him.” He paused inside the door. Several farm workers busied themselves with taking care of the kindia stock. “Ilex?”
“I’m here.” Ilex stepped out of Ten’s stall, a brush in his hand.
“Where can I find that man who gave up his chance to ride in the race?”
“Blosker. His cabin is down the east road just past the puny monarch tree. It drops a limb every time there’s a wind. He ought to cut it down.”
Bardon touched his forehead in a gesture of goodwill. “Thanks.”
He turned to leave, but Ilex had one more thing to say.
“You’ll be passing Cise’s place as well.”
“Who’s Cise?”
“The breaker Mig broke.”
Bardon looked into the old man’s eyes for a moment. “I’ll see to it.” He walked more slowly out of the barn.
Ilex called after him. “There’ll be a passel of kids in the yard and a swaybacked, piebald horse tethered under a trang-a-nog tree.”
Bardon waved without turning. Not far from Hoddack’s gates the road came to a crossing.
Bardon paused. “I have some errands to run before I go back to the inn. You ladies needn’t walk the extra way. You can go back to Norst, and I’ll be along in a little while.”
“I want to come,” protested N’Rae.
The older emerlindian nodded. “A walk is good for the soul.”
Bardon cocked an eyebrow at the basket N’Rae carried.
“Perhaps Mistress Seeno is tired of being jostled.”
“She sleeps when we travel,” N’Rae said. “In fact, she sleeps more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Granny Kye touched her arm. “You’ve met very few outside of the ropma, infant.”
“That’s true. But isn’t it also true, Grandmother, that Mistress Seeno sleeps a great deal?”
“I think she sleeps when we are awake, and she stands guard while we are sleeping.”
“Really?”
“Of course. She is your protector.”
N’Rae nodded. Bardon shook his head. He still found it absurd that the tiny minneken thought she could defend anyone. He led the way down the darkening road, beneath ancient trees rattling their leaves in the light gusts of air.
A clutch of o’rant children clambered in and around the trang-a-nog tree and over and under the swaybacked, splotchy horse.
Bardon asked the group in general, “Is your father at home?”
“He’s sick-a-bed,” answered one.
“Can’t get up,” said another.
“I’ll fetch Ma,” said a scrawny boy whose twin nodded vigorously and then raced the slightly smaller child to the door.
The slender woman with graying hair took the five hundred grood gratefully.
“It’s half of what I won in Hoddack’s race today,” explained Bardon. “If Mig hadn’t trounced your husband, he might have been riding the winning kindia.”
She wrapped the coins in a scrap of cloth and tucked them into her apron. “You could step in for a bit of supper,” she offered.
Bardon smiled. “Thank you, Mistress, but we have another errand and then some work to be done in town.”
As they walked away, N’Rae said, “The horse and the dog were content but hungry.”
Granny Kye looked back over her shoulder. “I imagine the children are the same.”
“Did you not mindspeak?” Bardon asked the granny. He knew Kale might have used her talent to gather as much information as needed from the poor family.
“As little as possible. The older I get, the more I’m inclined to think it’s often an invasion of privacy.”
In memory, Bardon heard his own voice repeating a principle to Scribe Moran. “Draw the boundary of the mind that keeps you whole and respect the boundary drawn by another.”
Not much farther, they passed a woebegone monarch tree. Many rough stubs showed where limbs had cracked and fallen. Uneven patches of good growth revealed the heart of the tree to be sound. A man and his dog came out to greet them. Blosker took his half of the one-thousand-grood prize money readily.
“I knew that would be one whopper of a race,” said the man who’d given up Ten so Squire Bardon could ride. “I’ve done that course plenty. It’s punishment for rider and kindia.” He grinned and bounced the sack of coins in the palm of his hand. “It’s good to have the money without the soreness you’re going to feel tomorrow.”
Bardon laughed and agreed. Already his muscles ached for a hot bath.
“Why did you come home?” asked N’Rae. “Why didn’t you wait at the finish line to get your money?”
The weathered man pressed the bag of coins against his chest and pondered for a moment before answering. “Why, to give your friend here a chance to do the honorable thing. Then again, Hoddack might not have given the squire here the purse to carry to me. Then the old man himself would have a chance to show his core is aboveboard even if his style of dealing with folks makes you think otherwise.
“Master Hoddack’s a strange boss,” added Blosker. “Prides himself in being honest because his own family weren’t known for being straightforward. When he married to get the farm, everyone thought he would be a stain on the neighborhood. But he’s honorable in his begrudging way.”
Blosker tossed the bag in the air, caught it, and slipped it inside his shirt. “The dame’s father ran the business with a smile. It was right prosperous. Hoddack’s kept it making a profit, but he doesn’t have the genteel feel about him. Works hard, just doesn’t know how to relax and enjoy what he’s worked for.”
Drummerbugs and crickets sang as the three walked back toward town.
“What did you learn, infant?” asked Granny Kye.
N’Rae shrugged.
“I won’t take that for an answer.” The old woman spoke softly as if she did not want to disturb the music of the night air. “Think of the people you saw today. The seven high races have much in common. All are prone to err. Not one of the high races is more righteous than another. Without fail you may count on individuals to sometimes make mistakes and sometimes do things right when dealing with their lot.”
Bardon thought N’Rae would not answer, but eventually her small voice mingled with the cool breeze. “Hoddack does not enjoy his life and seeks to better it. The children of the injured man enjoy without having much. The mother sought to share what little supper she had. It’s choices, isn’t it?”
Granny patted her arm. “Yes, choices.”
Bardon wondered what choices Hoddack would be making. He couldn’t get the last thing Blosker said about the kindia breeder out of his mind.
“Hoddack holds on to an idea like a bodoggin. Once he’s thought of a plan, he don’t give up.”