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 © 2021 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 - 2021 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

Nim was not a happy person. In fact, as he muttered to himself, his gruntle was considerably dissed.

The rain had found a way inside his weather protection, and a drip kept briefly obscuring his already starkly reduced vision from his right eye as it went to join the others in his bushy beard. He was vowing great retributions on his elder, yet smaller, brother Sim, and planning some extremely unpleasant and painful interludes. He didn’t care any more that this might upset his mother, who always seemed to take Sim’s side. How can she be so blind to the smarmy lies and twistings of the truth that Sim continually told her?

His vengeance plans took his mind away from his miserable journey through the rain-sodden streets of Palarand City, so much so that he almost missed his next turning. Cursing gently to himself, he swiftly manipulated the reins so that his frayen, Hendick, turned into the correct alleyway. Pushing his newly-formed vengeance war with his brother to the back of his mind for now, he began counting the property entrances.

… … …

“Shiba-bubufu” screamed Nim at the top of his voice, knowing that the roar of the pouring rain would make it very private. He knew without even checking that his bad day had suddenly got worse. He hoped he would …

“Tut! Tut!” said a girl’s voice just behind his head.

His face flaming, he jerked his head round to try to see to whom it was he had to apologise for such dreadful language.

And in so doing, he jarred his swiftly-swelling ankle again on whatever it was lurking just beneath the surface of all the collected rainwater in the courtyard and over which he had so recently stumbled.

One of the suddenly revealed girls, at whose shrivelled arm he was now suddenly trying desperately not to stare, was grinning at him even though he had used the most powerful of expletives, one that should never be used within anyone else’s hearing.

… … …

Nim sat back, taking stock and glad of a personal break – a relief from the unending stream of amazing revelations and awe-inspiring stories he had learnt during this day’s morning and early afternoon.

The young women who had been there when he twisted his ankle had helped him into a disrobing room where they had then helped peel off his wet weather clothing. They had all remarked on how small and ill-fitting it all was. They got a strong young man in from the barn to lend a hand and support when they ushered him hopping into a comfortable sitting room. He looked around in awe. Never in his life had he been in such a room. He, his brother and his mother all lived together in a tiny hut with one communal room and where they sat on rough wooden benches and stools.

The girl with a withered arm had then smiled at him and asked: “How should we call you, young man? We wouldn’t want to be unfriendly. My name is Davabet and these two are Prevet and Toria, two of the maidservants here. We have sent for a healer. Mistress Dilvia lives close by, so should not be long.”

He had been practically inhibited by his shyness and sense of awkwardness, a sense that had been drummed into him all his life by his mother and brother. He knew he was a failure and always would be, never being able to elevate himself into this sort of company. Stumblingly, murmuringly, he had said: “Nim is my name.”

“Very well, Nim. Now the healer will need to examine your ankle, so you must disrobe enough of that appendage for her to be able to inspect the damage closely. Would you require assistance to do that, and if so, should that assistant be a man, to make you more comfortable. Remember though that the healer is a woman and she might be accompanied by another woman, so eventually your leg will be exposed to females whatever happens!”

Nim had blushed deeply and had been struck silent as his tongue had seemed to swell in his mouth and he had wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

Davabet had kept silent for a good long moment, before she had made the decision for them all.

“Very well! Toria and Prevet shall remain here to help you disrobe while I just wait outside the door until one of them fetches me back in again. The sooner it’s done, the swifter shall your pain be alleviated.”

Numbly, Nim had allowed himself to be manhandled. He had been amazed that the two women had been so calmly … disinterested in the gradual exposure of some of his flesh.

They had smiled politely when it was over and Toria had popped her head round the door. The young woman came back in, this time accompanied by an older one who was introduced as Mistress Dilvia, the promised healer.

“Well then, Nim,” had said that Mistress Davabet brightly, “explain why your wet weather wear is far too small for you to be able to do its job properly.”

His resentment at his brother had at that point suddenly boiled up to the surface and he had spat out: “This is the third time my elder brother has stolen my rainwear. I’m sure he sold the other ones and is probably going to try to sell my latest issue.” He did not realise that his emotions had made him sit straighter and generally act far more forcefully than was usual. His voice was far less diffident too. He had not noticed the significant looks all the women gave each other.

“Issue?” had asked Mistress Davabet, but whom all the others called Davvy.

“Indeed so, Mistress Davabet. I work – worked -” he had added bitterly, “for the Palace and ’tis they who gave me the rainwear. When they knew I was to drive over here the first thing in the morning, they issued me with a comprehensive set of wagoneers protection to take home so I could make an early start. But my brother, being the head of the family now Father has gone to his pyre, commandeered the items this morning. In fact, he got up first and had gone to his work in MY clothes before I had even broken my fast.”

“And do I suspect that your brother, although the elder or perhaps eldest, is in fact slightly smaller than you?”

Nim’s mouth had dropped open. “How on Anmar did you …?”

“’Tis simple, Nim. The clothes you were wearing were too small for you. So I assumed you had to use your brother’s protective equipment to get to your employment. But I fail to understand why they did not reissue you with a better set.”

Nim’s entire body had collapsed at that remark. Sniffing back a few tears, he had quietly and haltingly explained: “They said that this was now too often that I had not looked after Palace equipment, and that once I had delivered the new wagon here and returned their frayen, I should make my own way home as I was no longer employed.”

He had looked up from his defeated posture only to be amazed as he saw Mistress Davabet’s face cloud with anger as she spat out: “We will see about that!”

His senses had been driven awhirl as the other girls and woman had all pursed their lips and nodded agreement with the handicapped girl. Mistress Davabet made a hand gesture and the one called Toria had bobbed a small curtsey and rushed out of the room.

“Right then, young Nim, we must relate this tale to a wider audience.”

Barely had the ensuing silence fallen, and well before it had got in any way awkward, had then come an astounding (to Nim) alteration involving the group dynamics.

Almost immediately Toria had returned and ushered in another young girl who was introduced as Mistress Julina. She had strikingly noticeable red hair and also had a sweet and welcoming smile who greeted all the women nicely. Mistress Davabet had quickly summed up Nim’s story to Mistress Julina, whom the others simply called ’Lina. Her posture had suddenly changed before his very eyes from that of a simple pleasant greeting into a forceful leader.

“And pray tell us the name of your department and your supervisor at the Palace!” It was as though she had suddenly become a mother to them all.

Such was the forcefulness of her demand that Nim, being so used to obeying his own mother, had answered without thinking further. “Why ’tis the General Labour Pool, and the supervisor today is Master Forlan.”

The new girl had then turned to the one with the problematic arm and said: “Davvy, you have an appointment today with Mistress Shelda. I assume you shall be going there with Prevet?”

“Indeed so!”

“Very well, see if you can go a few minutes early and find Mistress Milsy. Tell her that young Nim here has sprained his ankle and, according to Mistress Dilvia, will require three day’s rest before putting too much weight on it. So we have an extra guest in our house for a while. Tell her to see if somehow she can find this Master Forlan and explain a few matters to him.”

“Yes, ’Lina. A good idea. In fact, I must go and get ready about now, so Prevet and I will discuss this as we do so.”

“Very good!” She swung round on the amazed Nim and with a more gentle tone, but nevertheless tones that brooked no objections, she asked: “Tell me about yourself, if you would, Nim.”

One part of his brain had been amazed as he found himself telling this girl – no, not girl, this young woman – his life story; somehow she had a motherly air about her.

It was only later, in that lengthy pause after lunch when he had been left alone for a little while, that he became aware that Mistress Julina had extracted a great deal more information from him than he had realised at the time. But even then, he had not fully realised the complete extent. That realisation came a lot later.

There had been a constant stream of people who had come to see him after he had been installed in the pleasant room and bidden to sit in the most comfortable chair he had ever seen or indeed felt under his bottom. Mistress Julina, he soon discovered was basically the one in control, but she had to go off to supervise the midday meal. A slightly older woman, Mistress Waxerwet and her daughter Mistress Gyth had spent the most time with him, and there were occasional visits from young men in working clothes who apparently worked out in the back they sometimes called the ‘Workshop’, the big barn-like building to where he had delivered the new wagon; the young men were busy there developing something or other. Knowing he was too stupid to be able to understand it, he didn’t even concentrate on what it was they were doing.

He had at first been amazed that they could so easily summon a healer through the downpour, but Mistress Dilvia explained that there was something they called a Walking Canopy which made life a lot easier for many in the City, and so it was no great imposition for her to attend. He wanted to get up to see such a wonder for himself, but the healer had forbidden it. She had tightly bandaged his ankle after declaring that nothing appeared to be broken. “No putting weight on that for a good while yet, young Nim. You will require assistance to get about.” So saying, she had then taken her farewells of everyone and disappeared once more.

It was whilst the healer was investigating his injury and wrapping it up tightly that he had had his next big shock. This house, known as the Blackstone Hotel, he discovered was owned by none other than Princess Garia, the future Queen! Everyone here, in their way, worked for her and therefore for the Royal Family itself.

He had been a little confused though as there were also some distinct foreigners here.

As the day had worn on, he had learnt more and more and more.

He had found out that Mistress Julina and her group had come down from somewhere called Blackstone (Ah hah! Hence Blackstone Hotel!) and had been trapped here by the rains. That Mistress Julina was going to teach Questors no less the language of Princess Garia, but first had to learn it from some Jothan military officer. (How does a Jothan know this language when no-one else nearby does?) That she was a well-known and respected cook. That she had invented several things for which she owned the Exclusivity Licences, and that she owned several hotels and inns, even a brewery. She ran a haulage company. She was also connected somehow to something they called a railroad. His mind was reeling as all this information came at him and blew a lot of his built-in prejudices away.

There had been also some references to a somewhat strange Mistress Milsy, who they claimed was a Guildswoman, but he knew that couldn’t be right - whoever heard of a woman in the Guilds? That was like referring to a female Questor! But she, this Mistress Milsy, apparently lived in another Blackstone building – Blackstone House. It seemed that Princess Garia had left the running of all things Blackstone to this Mistress Milsy when she went off on her mission, the return from which was presumably delayed by the rain.

He swiftly picked up some of those new words that everyone here seemed to bandy about with ease – hours, minutes and so on. He didn’t actually understand them and he filed away in his head a request for clarification to be uttered at a more convenient time. When he could summon the courage to speak up, that was. Privately he doubted such a summons would ever occur.

He further learnt that some of the people were foreigners from a country called Einnland. That they had arrived in Palarand with ANOTHER Princess called Eriana in a ship called the Visund. She, Princess Eriana that is, had then sailed that ship with most of her men up the Sirrel now the war was over to discover more about the Great Valley further upstream. They weren’t however certain of that vessel’s whereabouts as the rains had seemingly prevented them from getting all the way back here to Palarand City in time; certainly communications were always severely interrupted at this time of year.

It took a long while for Nim’s brain to connect the rumours he had occasionally heard of whilst working round the Palace about a foreign Princess with the now-named-to-his-ears Eriana. With so much new information flowing in, ’twas scarce surprising that some delay occurred.

But Nim’s mind had mostly been distracted since he had become fascinated by these mysterious ‘Walking Canopies’.

He was totally oblivious of the fact that everyone he spoke with had been impressed by his grasp of the concept and his questions about the difficulties of making them and also using them. His enthusiasm for the subject was a direct contrast to his normal shrinking and down-trodden demeanour, a manner which made him out normally to be extremely retiring and almost scared to ask questions.

And his gratitude was immense for what had probably been the best luncheon in his life when he had been half-carried into a huge dining room with a table larger than the entire hut in which he normally lived, down in Scullery Alley. There, the dining room that is, he had been introduced to nearly everyone who resided or worked in the Hotel. He was surprised that everyone ate together, even some of the equally astonishingly present guards. Why on Anmar do they need guards here?

His ankle throbbing, his belly full and his forced idleness made him extremely somnolent particularly so once he had been helped back to that sitting room. He leant back in that all too comfortable chair and thought and dozed and wondered and dozed some more. He was just vaguely aware that some people who had come in to keep him company had tiptoed out again when his eyelids had drooped.

… … …

His reverie was broken by the door opening and Mistress Julina and then Toria came in. They were swiftly followed by that Gyth and her mother, Mistress Waxerwet.

And then came in, in dribs and drabs, some of the other domestic ‘staff’.

“We hope we do not disturb you, Nim? We have been requested to attend here for a surprise.”

Gathering his scattered wits, Nim thickly mumbled a reply: “Of course not, Mistress Julina! Er … of course!” He spluttered into silence again, embarrassed by his own confusion.

Just then, Prevet came and stood in the doorway.

“Good, you are all here now. We thank you.” She paused before taking a deep breath and speaking loudly as do the announcers of street players: “My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, be pleased to welcome the new Mistress Davabet!”

She flung out her hand and then immediately scuttled into the room, out of the way.

A blushingly self-conscious Davabet came in somewhat hesitantly, her posture showing a curious mixture of embarrassment and pride, concern and even some joy.

All the women gasped in surprise and delight, squeaking out things like; “Oh how brave!”, “It suits you so well!” and “How lovely you look!”.

Mistress Julina also said feelingly: “Truly lovely, my dear! Added to which, I must point out that that will definitely be a lot easier to manage, what with your arm!”

Davabet’s waist-length hair had been shorn into a Garia-length style that framed her pretty face. She flushed with pleasure at all the compliments.

They came from everyone but Nim, who had gasped in shock. Before he could stop himself, his mouth uttered: “Are you all prostitutes, then? Am I going to die?”