Chapter 46 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Debts and Rewards

Temmin was grouped with the postulants for the second half of the day, leaving Anda and Bessa with Barik in the assembly room. But Temmin immediately regretted his wish to be just one of the group. The postulants spent the afternoon scrubbing down petitioning rooms between appointments--changing linens, sweeping, taking out any trash, washing floors when necessary. When it was necessary, it was rather a nasty business, but Temmin had mucked out stables before; by comparison, this wasn’t any worse.

Temmin was to be called last, apparently. He watched as one by one the others were called in to Barik to talk about their exercise of the morning, then came back to the group to continue working. Some returned happy, like Evra. Some returned looking much as they had when they’d left, like Mathanus. Some returned ashen-faced, like Davik. “Right,” he said to Anda when she finally came to fetch him, “why did you two get to help Barik and I got stuck cleaning? I thought we were spared this sort of work.”

“Because you don’t know enough yet to help Barik do the evaluations. If it’s any consolation, Bessa is taking notes and she hates that.”

“Oh, yes, I feel much better now,” said Temmin, rolling his eyes as he gingerly picked up a wet towel and put it in the laundry bin.

Barik was waiting for them in the assembly room, sitting in a big chair with Bessa primly taking notes beside him on a stool. “Not as bad as I feared,” he said once Temmin had settled on the bench before him.

“Thank you, Barik Lover,” said Temmin. “Wait--as bad as you feared? How bad was that?”

“I expected you to be as chuckleheaded as most of the nobility,” Barik answered. “But then, I should have remembered how well you handled yourself with the Embodiments. You behave more like an ordinary person than a prince, Temmin. You surprise me.”

“Ordinary is good, then?”

“Compared to how your kind usually act, yes,” said Barik. “But we look for better than ordinary when it comes to service in this Temple, Supplicant.” Temmin drooped slightly, and Barik smiled broadly. “You are better than ordinary. You are a Supplicant, and you were chosen wisely. We expect a great deal from you. Pay more attention outside yourself and you’ll do well here.”

“Thank you, Barik Lover,” said Temmin meekly.

“Now, open your notebook.” Temmin opened his notebook, and they went over his findings. He had correctly assessed almost half of his partners, “and that’s much better than most of this class of woodenpaws,” snorted Barik. “Most of them couldn’t tell which end of their partners was which. Next time you do this exercise--next time you have a partner for that matter--remember what I’ve told you.”

“But you haven’t told me anything,” said Temmin in surprise.

“I told you everything you need to know when I touched you,” said Barik quietly. “Now, go home. It’s past tea. Anda, take him back to the Supplicant’s Chamber and make sure he gets his tie on straight.”

“He knows the way,” said Anda irritably; Temmin nodded vigorously.

“Take him back, Anda Supplicant,” said Barik firmly.

Anda raised her eyes to the heavens and sighed, then led Temmin out the door. “What was that about?” Temmin’s voice floated back from the hall. Anda’s reply was grumbling and inaudible as the door closed. Their steps faded down the corridor, and the room grew silent.

Barik grinned down at Bessa. “Now, then. Who’s been a very good little girl for me, taking notes?”

“Me, Papa, me!” she squealed, throwing her notebook to the floor and herself into his lap.

“Oh, that’s much, much better,” sighed Temmin, sitting back in his chair before the little table by the windows in his study. He’d been home about an hour, and the remains of a once-sturdy tea littered the tablecloth. “I don’t ever want to have a day this busy again, Jenks.”

“Mm,” said the valet, handing him a stack of letters. “Your post, your highness. If I may be so bold, I would point out the presence of another letter from the Temple, sir.”

Temmin ruffled through the letters until he came to the familiar rose-colored envelope, opened it, and read it quickly. He frowned. “It says I’m supposed to report for Temple duty every day but Vennaday and Eddinday next week and every week thereafter!”

“I should think that’s to be expected, sir,” said Jenks. “You’re a supplicant, after all. It’s a serious business.”
“But how’m I supposed to do this, and train with Imbert, and do my lessons with Teacher? Am I supposed to do all my sleeping and all my eating for the week on Vennaday and Eddinday?! And when can I go riding!”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” said Jenks, turning to go out the door with the tea remains, “but I know you’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll figure it out?” he said to the valet’s retreating back. “Why’s it up to me?”

“Because you’re an adult now?” said the Teacher, striding into the room. “Because it’s time you took these kinds of responsibilities on for yourself instead of leaving them to Jenks?”

“I don’t really see that,” said Temmin. “Papa has Winmer.”

“Jenks is not your secretary,” said the Teacher, perching on the library table. “He is your valet, among other things.”

“What other things?”

“And secretaries are not for deciding what you’re going to do with yourself. They’re for helping you do them.” The Teacher eyed the prince more sympathetically. “Perhaps I can help you with your schedule, or at least make things a little easier. Right now it is more important for you to finish your studies at the Temple than your studies with me. We have many more years together--possibly many, many more years,” said the Teacher wistfully. “We can limit our time together to Eddindays and Vennadays.”

“And you’d be all right with that?” said Temmin skeptically. “You wouldn’t secretly want me studying every spare minute?”

“Believe it or not, your highness, I have other duties as well. Tomorrow is Eddinday. Be ready to work after breakfast.” And with that, Teacher left him alone.

“Well!” said Temmin to no one. “What should I do with myself now?” Ellika was out; he’d already enquired. Sedra was closeted with Brinnid again. Mama was asleep, and he didn’t want to think about what Papa was doing. Instead, he thumbed through his mail. All it contained were invitations to parties he had no desire to attend. He would have to write and decline them, but he couldn’t remember where Jenks had hidden his stationery. “I found it the once, damn it,” he mumbled. He threw himself down on the green velvet couch and opened The Afternoon Spectator. “There’s nothing to do but read the paper,” he sighed; before long he was asleep, the newsprint tented over his head billowing and contracting with his snores.

Meanwhile, in the spacious office of the king’s secretary, two wide-awake heads were bent over their work at a partners desk. One was balding, and belonged to Winmer, the office’s owner. The other was covered in short red hair, and belonged to Fen Wallek, erstwhile junior footman and current sparring partner of the Heir. “There,” said Fen, handing over the paper he’d been working on, “is that better, Mr Winmer?”

Winmer held the sheet out and raised his eyebrows. “Better. Your hand is definitely improving. I can read it this time, for instance. But you have much more practice to do until it is anything more than adequate, Mr Wallek.”

Fen sighed and took the paper back. “Penmanship hasn’t been a skill I’ve needed much.”

“No,” sniffed Winmer, “I imagine not. There’ve been skulls to crack, one supposes.”

“Yes, actually, there have been,” said Fen testily.

The door opened without a knock, and the Teacher entered, nodding to them both. “What do you think of young Wallek here, Mr Winmer?”

“He can read,” said Winmer, ignoring Fen’s outraged look. “He can write after a fashion. I’ve tried to get him to tell me personal things about the Heir and he’s been appropriately vague. He hasn’t the faintest ideas about etiquette, protocol or court politics, but his basic grasp of history is sound, more so than I expected.”

“My brother is in university here in the capital,” said Fen, bridling. “We’re none of us ignorant, even though we are the children of a blacksmith. He’s quite well-read, my dad, for a blacksmith.”

“To be sure,” said the Teacher blandly. “Mr Winmer, what’s your conclusion?”

Winmer stood up and cocked his head. “Well, normally I would say it couldn’t be done, turning a footman--excuse me, a renowned pugilist--into a secretary. But I do love a challenge. All right, I’ll take him on as an assistant and teach him what I know. At least, the parts I can teach him. There are parts of my job, young Wallek, that are off-limits to you. And no part of your time with me may be spoken of, not even to his highness. From now on, you must practice complete discretion. Do you understand?”

“You really think I could do this,” said Fen, searching the faces before him.

“Most assuredly,” answered the Teacher. “You’re a bright young man, Fen, and you’ve already forged a strong personal connection with the Heir. I have no doubts as to your loyalties.”

“Oh, I’d do just about anything for the prince, sirs. And I’ll--eventually--make more money as his secretary than I would as his training partner? Or as a soldier?” he asked.

“Oh, most assuredly,” smiled Winmer.

“And I can still marry my sweetheart?” he said suspiciously.

“Secretaries are not a monastic order,” said the Teacher, “despite Mr Winmer’s bachelor state.” Winmer looked sideways at the figure in black, who simply raised a brow.

“All right, then,” said Fen. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. How long before I’ll be ready?”

“When I say you are,” said Winmer.

“Well, how long’s that likely to be, sir?”

“Two, maybe three years. It depends on you.”

“I’ll be practicing my handwriting for three years?!” Fen despaired.

“At the end,” said Winmer evenly, “you will be able to tell the difference between a duchess and a countess at 50 paces, plot out the seating for a diplomatic dinner, manage his highness’s various intrigues, placate ambassadors and take dictation, all in a perfect hand. In short, Mr Wallek, you will be a gentleman of such upstanding character and discernment as to inspire the confidence of everyone who deals with you.”

“Oh, very well,” sighed Fen. “It beats the army.”

Winmer gave the Teacher a long-suffering look. “You will owe me one.”

“Oh, I’ll owe you several,” the Teacher answered.