“Clothes,” Krasta answered shortly. She had as little to do with Merkela as she could. It was either that or claw her, and Merkela would delight in clawing back.
She clawed now, with words instead of nails: “Oh, aye, for your bulging belly. At least I know who my son’s father is. Don’t you wish you could say the same?” Krasta snarled an unpleasantry at her and stalked-as well as a pregnant woman could stalk-into the mansion.
Fernao’s head ached. Like a lot of the mages at the hostel in the Naantali district, he’d had too much to drink bidding Ilmarinen farewell the night before. He looked at the mirror above the sink in his room-looked at it and winced. “Powers above,” he muttered. “My eyes are as red as my hair.”
Pekka came up beside him. The bed they’d shared was narrow for two to sleep in, but they’d both poured down enough spirits to keep them from moving much. Pekka also winced. She said, “My eyes are red, too, and I haven’t even got red hair.”
He draped an arm around her shoulder. “I like what you have,” he said. “I like everything you have.”
“Including red eyes?” She made a face at him. “I don’t like that, and I don’t care what you think. I need strong tea, maybe with just a splash of spirits in it, to take the edge off.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Fernao limped over to the closet and chose a tunic and kilt. He would limp for the rest of his life, and one shoulder wasn’t everything it might have been, either. He’d almost died down in the land of the Ice People, when an Algarvian egg burst much too close to him. For quite a while, he wished he had. No more. Time-and falling in love-had changed that.
Pekka kept a couple of outfits in his closet these days, as he had a couple in hers. That helped them spend nights together and maintain the polite fiction that they were doing no such thing. She changed her clothes while he got his cane. He wasn’t an old man-far from it. Not so long before, he would have shaken his head in sorrow at the sight of someone his age who needed a cane to get around. Now, he counted himself lucky. For a long time, he’d been on crutches. Compared to that, a single stick didn’t seem so bad.
After running a brush through her hair, Pekka looked in the mirror again. “It will have to do,” she said sadly.
“You always look good to me,” Fernao said.
“I hope you have better taste than that,” Pekka said. “My one consolation is, everybody who was at the farewell will be feeling the same way we do.”
“I have trouble believing Ilmarinen is really gone,” Fernao said as he went to the door. “The project won’t be the same without him.”
“That’s why he left-he said the project already wasn’t the same,” Pekka answered. “It won’t be the same for me now, I’ll tell you that. With Master Siuntio dead, with Master Ilmarinen gone..” She sighed. “It’s as if the adults had all left, and now things are in the children’s hands.” She walked out into the hallway. Fernao followed and closed the door behind them.
As they headed for the stairs that would take them to the refectory, he said, “We aren’t children, you know.”
“Not for everyday things,” Pekka agreed. “In this, next to Siuntio and Ilmarinen-what else are we?”
“Colleagues,” Fernao answered.
Pekka squeezed his hand. “You do sound like a Lagoan,” she said fondly. “Your people have their share of Algarvic arrogance.”
“I wasn’t thinking about me so much,” Fernao said. “I was thinking about you. You were the one who made the key experiments. Siuntio knew it. Ilmarinen knew it. They tried to give you credit. I honor them for that-a lot of mages would have tried to steal it instead.” Several of his own countrymen sprang to mind, starting with Grandmaster Pinhiero of the Lagoan Guild of Mages. He doggedly plowed ahead: “But you don’t seem to want to take it. What’s the opposite of arrogance? Self-abnegation?” The last word, necessarily, was in classical Kaunian; he had no idea how to say it in Kuusaman.
Pekka started to get angry. Then she shrugged and laughed instead. “Kuusamans see Lagoans as one thing. I don’t suppose it’s any surprise that you should see us as the opposite. To a mirror, the real world must look backwards.”
Irked in turn, Fernao started to growl, but checked himself and wagged a finger at her. “Ah, but who is the mirror-Lagoans or Kuusamans?”
“Both, of course,” Pekka answered at once. That made Fernao laugh. He’d never known a woman who made him laugh so easily.
When they walked into the refectory, he saw right away that Pekka had known whereof she spoke. All the mages already there looked subdued. Some of them looked a good deal worse for wear than merely subdued. No one moved very fast or made loud noises of any sort. When a mug slipped off a serving girl’s overloaded tray and shattered, everybody flinched.
Fernao pulled out a chair for Pekka. She smiled at him as she sat. “I could get used to these fancy Lagoan manners,” she said. “They make me feel. . pampered, I think, is the word I want.”
“That’s what they’re for,” Fernao agreed. His leg and hip yelped as he too went from standing to sitting. Little by little, he was getting used to the idea that they would probably do that as long as he lived.
After a quick nod, Pekka frowned. “Maybe you have them and we don’t because we have an easier time with the idea that women and men can mostly do the same jobs than you Lagoans do. Do the fancy manners and the deference men show your women help keep them from thinking about things they can’t have?”
“I don’t know,” Fernao confessed. “I haven’t the faintest idea, to tell you the truth. I never would have thought of connecting manners and anything else. Manners are just manners, aren’t they?” But were they just manners? Now that Pekka had raised the question, her remark made a disturbing amount of sense.
Before he could say so, one of the serving girls came up and asked, “What would you like this morning?”
“Oh, hello, Linna,” Fernao said. “How are you today?”
“My head hurts,” she answered matter-of-factly. She’d been at Ilmarinen’s farewell celebration. For all Fernao knew, she’d given the master mage a special farewell of her own once the celebration wound down. Fernao wondered just what Ilmarinen had seen in her: to him, she wasn’t especially pretty or especially bright. But Ilmarinen had bristled like a young buck whenever anyone else so much as gave her a
“He’ll miss you, too,” Pekka said.
“I doubt it,” Linna replied with casually devastating cynicism. “Oh, maybe a little, till he finds somebody else to sleep with him up in Jelgava, but after that?” She shook her head. “Not likely. But I
“There
“You’re right there,” Linna said. “He’s even good in bed, would you believe it? I finally told him aye as much to shut him up as for any other reason I can think of. He’d been pestering me for so long-I figured we might as well get it over with, and then I could let him know I wasn’t interested any more. But he fooled me.” She shook her head again, this time in slow wonder. “Once he got started, I never wanted him to stop.”
Fernao coughed and looked down at his hands. That was more than he’d expected or wanted to hear. Kuusamans-especially their women-were a lot franker about some things than Lagoans. Casting about for some sort of answer, he said, “Ilmarinen would be good at anything he set his mind to.”
“He probably would,” Pekka agreed.
Linna didn’t say anything, but the look on her face did argue that Ilmarinen had indeed been good at something. Recalling herself-she needed a moment to do so-she said, “What can I bring you? You never did tell me.”
“Tea. Hot tea. Lots of hot tea, and a jar of spirits to splash into it,” Fernao said.
“Same for me,” Pekka added. “And a big bowl of tripe soup to go alongside.” Linna nodded and hurried off toward the kitchens.
“Tripe soup?” Fernao echoed, wondering whether he’d heard right. But Pekka nodded, so he must have. He gave her an odd look. “Do Kuusamans really eat things like that? I thought you were civilized.”
“We eat all sorts of strange things,” Pekka answered, a twinkle in her eye. “We just don’t always do it where foreigners can see us. Chicken gizzards. Duck hearts. Reindeer tongue, boiled with carrots and onions. And tripe
