There was silence for a moment, then she said tentatively, “Have you any charities on Grass?”
“Charities, ma’am?”
“Good works. Helping people.” She shrugged, using the phrase Rigo often used. “Widows and orphans?”
He shook his head at her. “Well there’s widows, right enough, and occasional an orphan, I suppose, though why they should need charity is beyond me. We commoners take care of our own, but that’s not charity, it’s just good sense. Is it something you did a lot of, back where you came from?”
She nodded soberly. Oh, yes, she had done a lot of it. But no one had thought it important enough to take her place. “I think there’ll be a lot of empty time,” she said in explanation. “The winters sound very long.”
“Oh, they are long. The aristos have a saying in Grassan: Prin g’los dem aufnet haudermach. That is, ‘Winter closeness is separated in spring.’ Let’s see, maybe you’d say it, ‘Winter liaisons sunder in spring.’” He thought this over, wobbling his eyebrows. “No, perhaps a Terran would more likely say ‘marriages’: ‘Spring loosens winter marriages.’”
“Yes, we would probably say marriages,” she agreed somberly. “How did you learn to speak diplomatic?”
“We all speak it. Everyone in Commons does. The port’s very busy. Shipments in, shipments out. We’ve got more brokers in Commons than you’d suspect. We order things from off-planet. We sell things. We need to send messages. We speak diplomatic and trade lingua and Sembla and half a dozen other languages, too. Grassan is very ponderous and uncertain. It’s a language invented by the aristocrats. Like a private code. I will teach it to you, but don’t expect it to make sense.”
“I promise I won’t. Do you make your living teaching Grassan?”
“Oh, by the marvelous migerers of the Hippae, no, Lady. Who would there be to teach it to? Everyone here knows it and who else cares? Hime Pollut the woodcarver is a friend to crafts-master Roald Few, and I am Pollut the woodcarver’s son, and he is making use of me during a slack season, that’s all.”
She could not hold back her laugh. “You are a woodcarver, then?”
His eyes went soft and dreamy. “Well, more that than anything else, since I haven’t made my fortune yet.” He paused, then sat up, bringing himself to attention. “Though I will. There’s money to be made in Semling silks, take my word on it. But I will make some panels for your study, Lady, since we must have some reason for my being here if the Grassians are not to know that you are learning their language.” Besides, since he had seen her, he had wanted to do something for her. Something quite surpassing.
“What shall I do when Obermun bon Haunser recommends a secretary for me?”
Persun nodded in thought. “Tell him you will consider it. Outside of Commons no one moves very quickly on Grass. So I have heard from a few people coming from off-planet who have to deal with the aristos. They get very impatient. So, let the Obermun wait. He will not be annoyed.”
She reported all this to Rigo and sent the suggested reply in response to the Obermun’s recommendation of a certain Admit Maukerden when, eventually, that recommendation arrived.
With one thing and another, several days passed before Marjorie had time to ride. Anthony and Rigo had gone out several times, and even Stella had been unwillingly forced into exercise duty. The day after the craftsmen departed, Marjorie went out with the men of the family. The morning was bright, clear, and warm, and she found herself wishing Stella would join them, though the girl had refused their invitation with a certain hauteur. Stella rode brilliantly, but she had made it clear that she would not enjoy riding on Grass, that she would not enjoy anything on Grass. Stella had left friends behind, one friend in particular. Marjorie had not been sorry. Perhaps Stella’s ostentatious lack of enjoyment was to punish Marjorie for not caring, but Marjorie could not, knowing what she knew and Stella did not. The best she could do was wish that Stella were with them as they walked down the winding path to the newly built stables.
The stable hands had done what they had been told to do: They had cut grass of certain types and filled mangers with it, mucked out the newly built stalls, and provided locally grown grain of three or four types in small quantities in order to observe which were eaten. They watched as the Terrans saddled three of the horses, asking questions in trade lingua without embarrassment or shyness. “What is that for?” “Why are you doing that?”
“Don’t the bons ride?” asked Tony. “Haven’t you seen a saddle before?”
Silence fell while the two men and one woman looked at one another. It was evidently not a topic they felt comfortable discussing. Finally the woman said, almost in a whisper, “The Hippae would not … would not allow a saddle. The riders wear padding instead.”
Well, well, well, said Marjorie to herself. Isn’t that something. She caught Tony’s eye and shook her head slightly just as her son was about to say something like, since when did a horse decide what it would allow.
“Our horses find the saddle more comfortable than they would our bony bottoms,” she said evenly. “Perhaps the Hippae are constructed differently.”
This seemed to smooth things over, and the hands went back to their questions. Marjorie noted which
