Just how did Master Michen become so knowledgeable about Blackstone and its surroundings? And what does he actually do?

 
Julina of Blackstone
Her Chronicles

by Julia Phillips


003 - Michen

The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended.
This story is copyright © 2013 - 2020 Julia Phillips. All rights reserved.

It uses some of the associated characters and situations that arise from the world called ‘Anmar’ created by Penny Lane, whose stories
are also copyright © 2010 - 2020 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

When the Baroness and the Prince came down from the Vale with the shocking news of the attack, I don’t think my family realised the changes that were in store for us all. Yes, we, like many others, had heard the pronouncements and seen the demonstrations and we girls had looked into that amazing looking-glass - but we hadn’t really grasped the facts. There was an urgency about how Mylady conducted herself and it took me (and most of the others) a good few days to realise something that she herself had immediately appreciated — her days in Blackstone were numbered from that moment on. Somehow her intensity and her urgency conveyed themselves to others, and it spread.

One afternoon I was at home doing the chores and training my younger sister Kordulet, the next in age to me, to do various of them. Kords (as we called her) was named after my father, whereas I was named for my mother, Julissa. Being two years younger than I, and not having had to care for the seven of us for the past years, Kords needed to learn a lot, particularly as I was soon to be an adult and may not be there for them all should I find a sweetheart or something else happened — although neither event seemed likely to me at that time. Anyway, that afternoon we had no less than 3 events that ended up of significance to the Town. All three were so innocuous, it still amazes me to this day that there was no more fuss, no fanfare.

The first was the visit of a pair of sisters called Venna and Kalisel, who lived up in the Vale itself. Recently their parents had been making more contact with townsfolk and they were staying for a few overnights to learn the town, its people and to pick up what knowledge they could, as well as to visit their sick grandfather Hamenar who had a room in the Bell so he could be handled by the healers.

Someone (I suspect strongly that it was probably Senidet) had told them that I could help them learn their numbers and letters. I replied to them that I would be glad to, but had (then) limited time to do it in as I had a family to run. I suggested they also asked my first guide, Epp as we all called her, and suggested that both she and I could help until Master Jepp and Mylady Merizel set up the school that was being talked about. I gave them directions to Epp’s home and made sure that they understood those directions. I couldn’t forget that they were effectively strangers in our midst. They mentioned a further cousin of theirs called Renys who would also be interested. There were some boys in their family apparently, but they were younger.

It was only later that I discovered they had an elder brother too.

I discovered this when I met the Vale farmer families as a complete group. They were camping up at the campingplace, next to the Cistern, using the wagon left there by Trogan’s men as a shelter in the event of rain. As you will see, the campingplace was also where the younger adults, and soon-to-be adults, would meet to chatter, flirt and inspect each other.

We made general conversation as you do when you meet strangers, but I seemed to be engaged in a longer conversation than might be normal with Denesar, the older brother. He was counted an adult, but was still at that awkward-around-girls stage. I tried to put him at ease by asking him to describe life up there, not being able to imagine living so relatively alone; but the only things he saw from day to day were pakh, dranakh, dungheaps and chores. They rarely saw any strangers, with the possible exception of a woman who rode a frayen and seemed to be interested in insects that flew. She came fairly often, not regularly, but, without coming too near, had made it plain that she would rather be alone; and so they simply waved when they saw her, and they received a wave back. They were sort of looking out for her now they were in town, as she had not been seen since before Trogan came. I wondered who it might be as frayen-riding females were extremely rare, but Denesar could offer no description that could help me.

At that moment, my friends joined me and other subjects took over. It was obvious even to Denesar that all the girls around my age were sizing him up, wondering where this fit and muscular 16 year-old had been hiding. I was aware that I suddenly felt as if I was in a competition to win his favours. This came as quite a shock to me, I can tell you.

These friends had been the second of the three visits I mentioned earlier. I say friends, but there were only three, making, of course, a group of four of us, that I counted as actual friends and just one of those four was a reliable repository of my innermost feelings. So I suppose I should say friends and acquaintances. We had arranged to meet again two bells later, to give us a bell or so together before the evening meal. I had decided there and then that Kords would do that meal for the family for the first time on her own. I would supervise her until it was time to leave to meet the others. Papa would not be there that night, as he had resumed his duties until told otherwise by the Assembly. He told me he would stay one night at the new roadhouse, then ride quickly down to the Chaarn junction and work his way back to the roadhouse, where he would stop a further night. He would return to us on the third day after reporting his findings to the Assembly.

So the third visitor was to be disappointed.

A man I immediately recognised appeared at our door, holding the harness of a frayen. He was drawn, his face lined and he was observably weary. His arm was held across his chest by a complicated arrangement of bandages. I doubted that he could sleep peacefully with such an elaborate weave of fabric which created what were effectively bonds.

“Mistress Julina, good afternoon. Would Master Kordulen be at home?”

“Master Michen, welcome! I regret that Father is away until at least tomorrow. Perchance I may help?”

He hesitated for a moment, sufficiently long for me to realise that he really wanted a ‘man’ chat with Papa. My mind went rapidly and I realised, or at least thought I realised, what the problem might be.

“Master, why don’t you and your father eat with us this evening — we would be pleased of some company and I suspect your poor arm might be troublesome enough to make cooking awkward?”

“Well …,” he started, unable to hide the flash of relief that scampered across his face, “that wasn’t what I …”

“Oh do be so kind as to do so! We would love to hear the stories of your travels,” I gushed. “And without Father here to protect us, we would be a little less scared!” I tried to look worried and put my hands behind my back as I did a girlish sort of wiggle and peered up at him with widened eyes. I could see him draw himself up a little straighter.

“In that case, we would be delighted to be of assistance. May I leave my beast here whilst I go to inform Father?”

“Of course, you may. Put Dralla in the paddock with our other two — or would you like me to do it?”

“No, no, young mistress. I shall do it. Then I’ll go home and help Father get ready for visiting. Thank you so much.”

He led Dralla round the back as I went in to give Kords the bad news that we had two more mouths to feed in a few bells time. She was already unhappy that I had made her responsible for the entire meal for us six and she was getting grumpier by the minute. When I told her that she could start bossing around her sister Kordulissa, she brightened up a bit. I went and fetched the 11 year-old and then told Kords that we two were there to do what she commanded. Kissa pulled a face, but they knew better than to defy me and so we worked together as a team, with me just gently suggesting slight changes. This afternoon actually proved to be a huge bonus for me, because I made sure that Kords got praise (she actually swelled with pride) and Kissa herself was not only praised, but learnt quite a lot about how to plan a cooking schedule and how to cook some vegetables. And I got to sit down a lot, for which my feet were really grateful. Kords actually started volunteering for things after that day, and the two of them somehow became closer than they had been.

Before I go much further with this tale, I should perhaps point out that choosing one’s parents is not a very common option — and it is parents who choose the name by which the world will know you. Kords and I were fairly happy with the names that our parents had chosen for us, but the others cringed a little at the strange notions Papa and Mama had had.

To make it clear to you, this is the list of our family:
Papa is Kordulen and Mama was Julissa. They had a child every other year for a ten-year period.
I was first and am Julina, obviously named for Mama. At the time of writing, I am 15.
Next was Kordulet, obviously named for Papa, but with the female name ending. 13.
Next was Kordulissa, a combination of our parents’ names. 11.
Then came Jululet, another obvious combination. 9.
At last they had a son, who of course had to be named after Papa — Kordulkin. He is 7 at this moment. We girls get quite exasperated with him sometimes, as he is so totally aware that he is the eldest son, and therefore would one day be the head of the family and would then boss us around to his heart’s content. He seems to keep a mental note of when we tell him off, or order him about. Generally his demeanour is serious, but when he lets his guard down and becomes a carefree brother, he is a joy to be with.
And finally another son, our little brat, Korden. 5 years old and as cheeky as anyone. He is a funny little chap, always getting into scrapes and a real handful to look after, but such a laughter-bringer. The world is there to entertain him and with me being ten years older than him, and in charge of the daily chores around the home, I was more his mother than his sister and therefore to be involved in all his little adventures.

Anyway, to get back to the tale, I made sure we had everything needed and that everything was properly underway. I involved the other three children and got them to set the table ready for eight of us. I reminded them that Master Michen’s father was one of the oldest people in the Town and would need the most comfortable chair and be near the ‘facilities’ and so on.

Then I dropped my surprise on Kords when I told her I was going out for a bell or so. She immediately began to panic (as I knew she would) and I just calmed her by reminding her of what still had to be done was actually all underway already. She was somewhat relieved but still worried as I waved good-bye but I knew that the experience would be good for her. I was actually delighted that I could at last have just a bell to myself and as I wandered towards the campingplace, which was the meeting point for the youth of the town, I contemplated letting Kords give Julu ‘The Talk’ next year, I having already done that for both Kords and Kissa.

The time I had with the girls of my age that late afternoon, chatting and giggling while making sure no-one escaped our gaze and gently flirting with some of the boys and younger men, was like a healing cure to me - albeit far too short. What transpired at that meeting will have to wait for another tale; it will be worth waiting for, I’m certain. But I made my way back up the slope to the east to our home with a much lighter heart. So much so that a tiny part of my brain tried to say that something MUST have gone wrong in my absence.

It hadn’t, thankfully, and I reached home from one direction as our guests reached it from the other, the father leaning quite heavily upon the son’s good arm. I ushered them in first and as I followed, my eyebrows shot up. The kids had actually made it tidier (a little) than it had been, and Kissa was smiling as she ushered the men to the table where steaming mugs of pel were waiting. I was so proud of them that they had thought ahead, my approval shone from my smile and my nods; and their body language reflected my approval. This was without doubt a pivotal moment in our family, one which allowed me the extra time to start these reports. From then on, I delegated at least one main meal a week to Kords and made sure I heaped enough praise upon her that Kissa was encouraged to try to get in on the act. It was not long at all before I had three evenings a week ‘free’, half the cleaning was being done by someone else and the easier items were being washed by someone else.

I knew that all my lot knew who Master Michen was, but the frail old man with him was a stranger to the younger ones. As a result, I started the round of introductions:

“May I present my youngest brother, Korden. He is 5 years old. Next to him is my other brother, Kordulkin who is 7. My youngest sister is Jululet who is 9. Proudly waiting to serve you your pel is 11 year-old Kordulissa, and finally I present Mistress Kordulet, our cook this evening. She has done everything for the meal tonight, except the bits she delegated to Kordulissa. So don’t be thanking me, thank Kords and Kissa when you depart.”

I turned away from our guests and looked at the young ones, ignoring the red faces and glares from the two cooks. I knew that Kords was actually very proud to be addressed as ‘Mistress’ for the first time, even if it was just here in our home, but she was also embarrassed to be the centre of attention.

“Family, please welcome Master Michen, whom you well know and this is his father, Master Morden.”

The boys bowed quite properly and the girls curtsied. They all giggled in semi-embarrassment as the men politely returned the bows.

“Now Mistress Kordulissa, I believe you are in charge of the table this e’en, so where would you like us all to be seated?” (Kissa was delighted to be a ‘Mistress’ as well!)

Blushing again, but also with a nervous pride, Kissa indicated our places to us. Korden started to moan that he wasn’t in his favourite place, but a frown and a deep “Grr” from me soon shut him up. Master Michen grinned at me as we shared a smile at that. It was a strange moment because some trick of the flickering light as I looked at him made me suddenly get a fleeting but nevertheless strong glimpse of what his mother must have looked like. I blinked and the image was gone. It all happened so swiftly, I began to doubt my senses just for a heartbeat.

Both men were quick enough on the uptake to praise Kords mostly, but also Kissa; the slightly awkward start to the evening soon passed away into a more relaxed manner. We exchanged stories of our earlier years and the basic family information, but it was Master Michen who talked the most, keeping us enthralled with his tales. We slightly older ones recognised some exaggerations but the younger ones were at sometimes round-eyed in wonder, like in his fanciful tale of the hunt for a blue and green ptuvil in the ‘jungles of central Alaesia’. In the end, the younger ones were vying for the honour of cutting up his food for him, his bandaged arm making it impossible for him to do it himself.

I have attempted to remove such exaggerations and obvious tales-for-effect, and have also attempted to place most of what he said into order of years; any failings must be considered to be my failure of comprehension. The following is a compilation of what happened that evening and from other conversations I had with him over time, both before and since.

Master Morden originated in a village up-river from Tranidor in the Palar valley. This village (whose name I confess I forget) was mostly famous for the roadhouse which was one of the most popular on the entire thousand-mark Tranidor to Tel Botro trade route. It was close, apparently, to where the Palar cut through something called the ‘Stone Sea’, but that seemed impossible to me, how can a sea be made of stone? Everyone knows they are made of water. (I have, however, heard that name on more than just the one occasion, so I keep an open mind about it.) For those villagers, just like for us, the main town is Tranidor. Unlike for us, however, their main road goes straight through Tranidor, with no possibility to avoid the town — not that I could then imagine anyone wanting to avoid it.

Master Morden himself travelled widely with the wagons, having started out as a guard/labourer but had progressed to Wagontrain Master. His wife, Maldenet, came originally from Blackstone, a niece of the Bellringers, but, like many, she preferred the bustle of Tranidor to the simplicity of her home village. And it was there that she and Master Morden settled down, and where Master Michen was born. After the very difficult birth, which had some follow-up complications, she subsequently never became pregnant again. She had been convinced during her pregnancy that she was carrying a girlchild, but she was shocked when the midwife peered through squinting eyes and announced a boy. Much like our parents, they chose a name for their son that (apparently) reflected both of the parents, in that it started with an ‘M’.

Once he had retired, Master Morden and Maldenet decided to settle away from all that bustle, preferring at that stage of their lives to head for the very peace and tranquillity that she had avoided when so much younger. So they came to Blackstone, found an abandoned home that needed renovating, got permission to take the property over and settled down for their waning years, contributing to the township by helping out others when they were ill, or looking after crops when the ones responsible needed to travel to Tranidor or beyond, and so on. Master Morden had amassed a not inconsiderable fortune whilst working so hard, and yet they dressed simply and lived frugally.

Master Morden explained one bitter-sweet moment to us all that affected me personally very deeply. I paid him a lot more attention in the weeks and (few) years following, after I found out that I had been born at the exact moment Maldenet’s pyre had been lit. Apparently, he could never look at me without remembering that moment, so I made certain that I fulfilled the countryfolk’s lore that a baby is born to replace someone whose body had worn out. I had discovered that evening that Master Morden felt that maybe I was a young Meldenet come back to this world, albeit accepting it all as highly improbable if not impossible. Thus we became very close as he settled into acceptance of his fast declining months. Not that I would ever really forgive him for a major mistake he made. More of this will appear later.

Once the platters had been cleared away to leave room for elbows on the table, Master Morden claimed to be “very decently filled. Best meal for weeks!” We all knew this might actually be true, because he was by now so old that I for one was sure he would forget something important, like all old people do. I actually had quite frequently wondered if his memory was so frail, he might burn his house down by forgetting something in the oven or on the range. He had eaten maybe one quarter of a normal portion, probably less than Korden. But his cheeks had a little more colour than I had seen for weeks and he started to nod off in his chair, gently burping.

I made us all some pel and offered the men the rest of a bottle of our home-made wine. Master Morden replied to my enquiry with a gentle snore and our second guest politely declined.

Master Michen started the after-meal tale-telling with a question for me.

“Please my dear, may I call you Julina? And you call me Michen?”

I nodded my assent and he began with a quick early history of his life. He had learned his letters and numbers at his parents’ insistence. He specially emphasised that his parents had been right, and he aimed his somewhat pointed remarks at the two boys to encourage them to learn. He then continued by saying that he started out much as his father had — hired himself out as a wagon guardsman/labourer. They certainly valued him as a guard, as he was quickly observant and intelligent enough to act on his observations. And his sword wielding was quite impressive. But it was another story when it came to the labouring since it was almost too much for his lack of muscle power; his muscles had never developed as other boys’ had, for some strange reason. But his service was valuable enough as a guard for him to be retained.

On one such trip, he arrived for the first time here - the village of his mother’s birth. While here, he met one of the local girls and they seemed to ‘click’, but something made him hold back. In reflection, he said, it seemed she was too desperate to have a man that would not only be exotic to show off to her friends, but who would whisk her away from what she saw as a dead-end town. She seemed almost manic in her desperation that he felt a withdrawal growing in himself. There was also something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but although they ‘clicked’ mentally, that was as far as it went. He was comfortable in her company and that of her friends and acquaintances, in fact almost enjoyed it more than the camaraderie of the barracks, but, but, but … the definition of his discomfort eluded him. Something wasn’t quite right. (That is how he then described it anyway; more information will come to light in later chapters, though.)

Later, when I settled into documenting our town, I questioned him again about this encounter and at first he wouldn’t even mention the girl’s name. I giggled when he came scurrying over one evening after the meal and just said simply: “Jeberset”. We both knew that he had finally decided to break his silence about the name, but had waited for the woman and her son to leave this world.

His duties with the wagontrains had brought him into contact with not a few trained armsmen and he felt a need to be more manly somehow and to learn more of weapons and the like; thus he then decided to offer himself out as a recruit.

On the principle that if you want something, you go straight to the top, he travelled all the way down to Dekarran and enrolled at the castle there. Slightly older than the other recruits, and yet more slender in build, he threw himself headlong into manly pursuits and was considered one of the better in his intake. With the exception of a longbow, which he simply could not pull, he was in the top five in use with the sword, the lance and the crossbow; although he explained that the lance was really too rapidly tiring for his arms to hold for long.

( A note from ‘older Julina’ is required at this stage! --- Some of the following passages and references were totally unclear to me at that time, but I leave them unaltered as it does well to indicate my then naivety! I now understand so much better just what was being referred to, having seen much in my wide travels!)

He and a fellow recruit became very close friends; so inseparable were they that many jokes were made, and much teasing. Apparently they created a familiar name for him, to tease him with — Michet. It seemed very strange to me that this name had an ending that usually applied to girls and Michen said that he was annoyed at first. But he said he soon realised that a byname only sticks if a fuss is made about it, so he just grinned and carried on. One Harvest Festival, he played the joke back on his colleagues and dressed as a woman for the evening’s party. This was so popular apparently that he had to do it every barracks party. His father had woken some few minutes earlier and now cast him a strange glance when he explained this at our evening meal ‘party’. Kords tilted her head slightly to one side and narrowed her eyes as if trying to see what he looked like as a girl, and I had another of those tricks of the light things and again saw his mother in him. But his seemingly endless fund of tales soon distracted our thoughts away from dwelling on it.

In the course of their duties, the armsmen were dispatched to various outflung parts of Palarand, not just North Palarand. Places like the border posts with Brugan and Vardenale. And various duties up all the valleys (this is where I first learned of the Telar River and the Telar Minor which apparently join the Palar at Teldor), to Palarand City itself where he met the King and to the farthest outpost along the Chaarn road. There was also apparently a rotation in place which selected guards from various Palarandi centres to provide escort duties to ambassadors in foreign countries. He once travelled as far as Joth as a result of this policy.

He then made fantastical claims about a guardpost suspended in the sky, high above Dekarran and its castle, and that from there a sharp-eyed man on a clear day could make out Joth. This was enough to tip my balance into distrust of this part of his story, which decision was confirmed by his next assertion that the guards on this hut-in-the-sky always had to keep a lookout down below while being themselves guarded by a special guard squad keeping a lookout up above as well; he said with a straight face that often guards had been attacked there by grakh, since they were so high. The two boys listened wide-eyed and Julu was dragged along as well, but we three older ones knew he was exaggerating just to make a thrilling story of it. I was quite amazed at the imagination of the man, to come up with such a fantastical notion. And I was also amazed at the ease with which he connected to the children. So much so that I decided to allow them to stay up a little later than usual, even though I knew that tomorrow would be hard with the kids being grumpy through less sleep than normal. I doubted actually that I could have got them to go to bed without a major pitched battle, and I chose to avoid that this once.

One day, Michen then related, not so long before I was born, the detail to which he was attached was guarding both a wagon with a valuable load and also the son of the then Duke. The value of the load was sufficient to tempt some brigands to make a try for it and in the battle that followed, Michen was struck in the upper arm by a sword thrust that would otherwise have ended in the Duke’s son. He smiled when he said that, ruefully amused at the fact that it was the same as his currently injured arm. He was acclaimed a hero, and honoured by the Duke himself and by his fellows. What was the most unpleasant part of the encounter, however, was the fact that two of his colleagues died from wounds sustained in this skirmish. One of them was his best friend. This loss affected him deeply and he became withdrawn, angrily brushing away tears when they would threaten for no apparent reason.

He was still under the care of the healers when he heard about the passing of his mother, and he decided then and there to take up the offer from the Duke of an honourable retirement, with two crowns a year pension for as long as he lived, a sum which would probably allow him to buy a basic meal on each of the 391 days in a year. As a further part of his compensation, he was given the choice of a frayen to have. He chose a doe named Dralla, intending to supplement his income by breeding pack animals.

And so he came to Blackstone, pale, thin and wounded both physically and mentally — a Blackstone where his father now lived alone and a Blackstone where of course, Jeberset found another target to belittle, mistaking his withdrawnness for weakness and not actually connecting this injured, slight man with the young wagon man she had met those several years ago. Michen decided, wisely in my view, not to remind her of their earlier encounter. He laughed when I told him about what Epp had to say about her. (Much later still, he told me his ‘professional opinion’ of the crossbow skills possessed by Willen’s band of boozers. It was not flattering, to say the least.)

He assisted his father round the house but spent a lot of time alone up in the high mountain pastures and canyons. He wanted little to do with most people, although he was always polite to them, but preferred being alone, studying those things that had captured his interest. For he had marvelled whilst in his sickbed down in Dekarran at the habits and erratic flights of a tiny flying insect, brilliantly coloured, called a riddin. He knew not why (and still knows not why) it became important to him to study these riddris, but it became his abiding passion.

He now knows that they grow from an enormously tiny egg and turn into little leaf-eating tubes, mostly yellow in colour, some blue, with dozens of little legs. They start out maybe the size of a woman’s little fingernail, but when they have eaten enough to grow to the size of the top joint of a woman’s little finger, then they dig themselves tiny burrows, usually under a rocky overhang, and seem to sleep as the little legs disappear back into the body and the body turns a reddy-brown as it hardens until it looks like a sort of nut. When some time has passed, the nutty case cracks, and the most beautiful flying insect emerges, with glistening sparkly wings. Each has a different colour-scheme, some greens, some reds, some oranges, some yellows, some blues, some whites — none ever exactly the same. He made me want to see one his clouds of fluttering freshly-born flyers, flitting freely here and there, settling now on this plant or flower, now on that one. After maybe a week or so, then these go and lay a fresh tiny egg before their colours, and their lives fade away.

With enough coin to buy a meal just about when he wanted to, and with access to his father’s funds, he did not have to work for a living. He imagined he would take a year or two studying riddris and then do something more ‘normal’, but the more he learned about the subject, the more fascinated he became. And the longer he spent entirely alone, travelling the higher parts of these mountains and valleys. He would never stay away for more than a week at a time, normally just two or three nights, as he wanted to be there for his father.

He had on several occasions observed the so-called huntsmen without being seen himself, and he had no wish to strike up any acquaintance with any of them. With Willen’s passing (it was Michen who had found him, actually), the Willen band had degenerated into chaos. Two of them left after a bitter row, claiming that each had been promised the leadership. One drowned in the river in the rains, having been slightly the worse for wear after a session in the Bell and had slipped on the muddy bank on his way home. The other two lost interest when Trogan confiscated their weapons. (Later, it was Michen who picked up the contract for supplying fresh game meat to the Bell and the roadhouse, and he organised a far more efficient group to do the hunting, and the seasonal game drives.)

But during the Trogan-era, he found himself getting more and more tense for a host of reasons.

Trogan and his mob had burst in one day unannounced and looked everywhere for riches. Fortunately, the two men had hidden the greater part elsewhere, but Trogan still found just over two Crowns-worth of coin, which was confiscated ‘pending a proper assessment’. Everyone at that time, of course, still believed Trogan to be legitimate but it wasn’t long until Michen had his suspicions. Once he had voiced these suspicions, then Trogan was all for locking him up, but realised that that wouldn’t be necessary. All Trogan had to do was threaten Master Morden, and any danger that might stem from Michen was instantly neutralised.

Michen made it seem that his disability that gave him his discharge was far worse than it was, but Trogan took no chances. He forced Michen to accompany him on each house call, to name the people before they went in, and Trogan took pains to make it seem that Michen was directing him. This caused Michen some great difficulties with the townsfolk at first, until the town’s ‘unofficial’ communications told the actual story. Michen also knew that the package containing his two Crowns always arrived just before the rains, but he never saw this year’s delivery.

Once the Baroness arrived, then Michen had the opportunity of showing other, more charitable personages around the town and surrounds. Privately, he had told me never to tell anyone about the missing two Crowns, as he didn’t actually need them, and the ‘poor fund’ would be better off with them still counted as ‘unknown contributions’. Assuming Trogan hadn’t already shipped the coins out of town.

But back to our evening with our guests.

To fill a slight lull in the conversation, I mentioned that I had met the farmer families from up in the Vale that afternoon. For a few minutes, I became the centre of the conversation as I related my impressions. I caught a glance from Michen when I mentioned Denesar and Kords seemed to sharpen her attention a little, but I could not understand why either should react so. To try to divert attention back to Michen, I mentioned that the older son (see, I carefully didn’t mention his name this time — but I still got those glances) had told me of a frayen-riding woman who was interested in insects, apparently. I asked if Michen had ever seen her up in the hills when he was there, but he denied ever doing so with a strange hint of tautness in his voice. When I queried it, he pointed with his other hand to his bandages and claimed that he had had a twinge.

Shortly thereafter, the two men praised the cooks enormously, thanked them first of all, then thanked the others for making the evening so enjoyable and finally thanked me for the invitation. They claimed tiredness, old age and injuries as their reason to have to depart. But we were all told that their home was open to us at any time while they still lived there.

It was a very valuable evening for a whole number of reasons. Not just because the family I had been mothering for a number of years now had begun to stand on their own feet, not just because we had become more familiar with another family who required help, but also because the seeds were planted enabling me to have a little more time to myself.

Which led ultimately to these chronicles.

We six ‘children’ spent bells the next day going over what had been talked about and I was gratified when Papa got home and he approved of my actions. We had the two men over for a meal at least once a week after that.

But for me one of the highlights of the aftermath of that first evening was little Korden.

When Papa got home, then little Kord jumped into his arms and insisted on being the first to tell Papa all about it. Kords, Kissa, Julu and I all grinned widely as Korden explained that “Master Machet had been carried from a nest above the castle at Derrakan to the jungle by a ptuvil so they could hunt a blue and red grakh …”

When ’Kin then tried to correct Kord’s story, the result got so convoluted that we four girls all had to burst out laughing. I indicated with my eyes to Papa that I would straighten it all out for him, once the younger ones were asleep and dreaming, or, as we call it in our family, ‘connected to the moon’.

As mentioned earlier, once life after Trogan had settled down again, and before any large influx of miners could take place, it was Michen who got the contract for game meat from the Bell and the new roadhouse. From that moment on, we found a pair of brifil hanging on our back door-step’s eaves once a week, sometimes even a ganifil. But with his father failing more and more rapidly, and with the extra demands on his time with the hunting, his ‘riddris rides’ as he called them became more and more seldom.

Our freedom of the men’s house was extremely brief, however. They decided, after experiencing our hospitality, that running a house like theirs was too complex for them with their physical problems, and they needed to be nearer others who could help them rather than be stuck out in the comparative lonely parts of town. My invitation had made them see that they needed both help and more company and so an opportunity arose for them to move to a house on the Main Street, which they took some three weeks later. Shortly afterwards, their old house plot was selected for the new ‘Community Hall’ as it was the easiest place to build, the ground already being level and occupied only by a deserted house that no-one wanted any more. That house was knocked down entirely to make way for the ‘Community Hall’.

As was our house — to make way for the access roads to the new hall.

This was actually good for us, as we ended slightly nearer the town, with a larger house, and with specially designed rooms rather than rooms that had been added haphazardly as the family grew. We had a new layout, a new set of beds, and a new table and chairs. We also had a new kitchen, laundry and bath-house block, and a separate stable block. This was wonderful for me, housework becoming so much easier.

So of the three great events that affected the town that afternoon, you could argue that it was my invitation to Master Michen that gave rise to the positioning of the new hall.