They ate a nice basket lunch under the shade of some trees, the food good if plain, hand pies from Debbie's for dessert. Karina pointed out that Tor made them himself, which was only partially right. Box had made the peach, you could tell because the consistency in size and shape was lower. His were a more even brown and slightly flakier too.
Sure, he was bragging a little, but no one called him on it, so he may not have been going way over the top. The combat giants acted impressed and so did Trice. Karina had seen him make thousands of the things in the last few days and didn't blink at the idea, but Mutta just nodded, a very matter of fact thing.
“You will make some woman a wonderful husband someday Court Jester. Keeping her home neat and tidy, raising her children and making sure good and nourishing food is on the table at the end of each hard day. Many women will offer your mother many plants and seeds for you. Even the rarest of silk goats and already planted acres of land. Ha!” She laughed suddenly, shockingly, as if just realizing something.
“And get the best of the bargain if they win! Eternally young and lovely, never dying or slowing with age. There is not enough wealth in all the lands for a husband like that. Add your kind nature and soul and…” She looked around, seeing baffled glances.
Apparently, in Afrak, people didn't keep many secrets. Not at all. She explained how she'd tested Tor’s blood against Count Lairdgren's and found that they were both ancients. That they were the Green man himself. Her words confused people, so she went over it and then doubled back. Finally Kolb rubbed his head looking at the tiny woman skeptically.
“Tor's… been alive for thousands of years?”
Tor stuck his tongue out at the weapons instructor, truly lost as to what else to do.
“Obviously not. Come on, you've known me for years and seen me get older. I'm only eighteen.”
Karina didn't let it go at that though. Mainly clarifying for the others.
“But you’re going to live that long, unless you get yourself killed? And Burks Lairdgren has done it already, right?”
Shrugging Tor nodded, it really was something like that. Mutta smiled and agreed happily.
“Yes, and they are the same person. The Court Jester is the Court Jester, and the Count is the Count, but save a tiny difference, you would find more separation between identical twins, they are the same man. Like clones, only not, since Tor was simply born, the pattern carrying true. It's happened before, with the Gray lady. Legend says her daughter is her too, with no difference at all. So it is here. It's most exciting, isn't it?”
Perhaps it was to one like Mutta. Everyone else stared at him suddenly like he was a freak. Wrong somehow. Which was pretty much true. People weren't meant to live that long, were they? No one spoke to him after that, except Mutta, who didn't have a problem making noises at him. Finally, just so everyone would have a reason to ignore him, he started getting her to teach him words and phrases in Afrak. It was an easy language once she slowed it down for him and he could get things committed to memory. They kept working on it as he drove, with her describing things in both languages, so he could get the meaning. Tree, shoe, girl, boy, rock, sleeve, up, down, in and out.
It wasn't possible to drive and focus completely like he should, but he managed to get most of it the first time, shamelessly asking for correction when he messed up. It wouldn't matter if he looked stupid, not with everyone staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking.
He was still him after all.
It wasn't like them knowing this made him any different. Did they hate him now that they knew he was some weird kind of freak? Even Trice rode looking out the window, not trying to even tease him about the “make a wonderful husband” cracks. Mutta hadn't meant them that way though, did she?
It wasn't a joke to her, she just thought he'd be good in that role. It sounded a little boring to him, but it would probably leave him time to work on building at least. Maybe someone in her country wouldn't care if he was different?
Tor kind of wanted to crawl into bed and sleep then, early or not, but had to go to the party later, so just sat alone in his room and waited. Then he remembered that he didn't have an invitation. Last time he'd gotten to the gate of the King’s palace with Collette Coltress next to him, sitting with Count Thomson and his own sister, and been turned away. It had hurt at the time, more because it had ruined Collette's evening. But the reason had been that no one had thought to issue him an invitation. Was the same thing about to happen again? Lying back on his bed he drifted off for a bit. Well, nothing for it now. Sure, he could call up the King or Queen, but what good would that do? It was probably too late for him to get an invitation at all. He'd wanted to ask, but got side tracked, it was when he'd heard about Yardley, so yeah, that took his attention at the time.
Shaking himself hard Tor stood up and got ready anyway. He was a Knight of the realm, they said, a noble by birth, and a friend of the King himself. They didn't have to let him in at the gate, but he had to try and go. No matter what. Even if it meant dragging himself home in shame again. Paying close attention he dressed himself in a very nice outfit of black velvet and silk, a silver and moonstone belt and soft sued boots. At least that's what it looked like. He put it away with a single tap and showered, re-shaving carefully, because coming to any party dripping blood from your face would be embarrassing. This was supposed to be one of the biggest of the year, only Noram day was a bigger deal, so that held doubly or triply so. Then he tied his hair back with a truth amulet and loaded himself down as if going to battle. He hid a second set of items in his pocket, just in case. The rest would handle itself, wouldn't it?
Or not.
At least this year he wasn't dumb enough to try and bring someone else to be turned away if it happened, choosing to go alone, driving carefully through the crowded street in his much reduced carriage, recoloring it to look like it was made of faintly glowing purple glass. It was about a quarter the size of a normal one pulled by a horse, but had the same ball like rounded shape, with a faint pattern of dark looking scrolled glass work in it. People stared, but after days of these things giving free rides around the town no one just stood in the way gawking any more. Kids and adults waved to him, so he smiled and put his own hand up. Tor might as well be kind, he figured, since he'd probably be seeing these people again in a few minutes.
He had a gift that he made, a little device that the King might like, he thought, even if he didn't need it. It was just a decoration really, Something to pass the time. The image of a little dragon that would sit on his shoulder and react a little to his moods and thoughts. A fake pet that didn't eat or make messes. The device wasn't as complex as Trice’s arm, but had a feedback mechanism that could make it seem alive, a bit. It was in a well decorated, he hoped at least, wooden box, with a delicate inlay of glowing white. The whole thing was magic, so anything could have been chosen but this had a, classy was probably too ambitious, nice was a better word choice, feel about it. He hadn't brought anything else this time.
Really he didn't expect to be let in at all.
When he pulled up the gate guard looked at the vehicle and nodded, recognizing him instantly for once, even greeting him by name and with a gentle smile, but couldn't let him in without the invitation. Tor just shrugged and heaved a sigh.
“Well, you know, it's a tradition now, nothing we can do about it.” Twice did make it a tradition, didn't it? He shook his head slowly, trying not to look miserable.
Well, what could he do then?
Follow the rest of the new annual pattern?
There was a line waiting, so he got out of the way, put his miniature transport away, and stood until he saw a familiar carriage. A nice black wood one. Walking up he knocked gently on the door until Count Thomson popped his head out, a polite, but questioning look on his face.
“Hi Tovey. No invitation again for some reason. Here…” Tor handed the amulet to him causing the box to try and float into place.
Hidden from sight at first, a small dark haired head duck around, she looked lovely, wearing a velvet gown of green and deeper green, it worked with her light skin and black hair. Darker skin than his, but still his mother's child and not a freak of nature like he was. Terlee. His older sister. She spoke softly but in the home tongue, which was always faster than Noram standard by about half.
“S'torrance? J'g'ot'n wastha? Not be goin? He'dar! I'm na goin eiter if'n they don h's'Tor! S'right?”
He shrugged, but spoke in the Capital tongue, that being where they were.
“No invitation again, you might as well go though. At least this time I don't think it's actually all that pointed at me. Say, I'm working mornings at a bakery in town again this year, Tovey knows the one, you two met me and
