The new year celebrations were concluded tidily on the third day of the Moon, which surprised Aralim. When he asked Hayan about it, he was told that most of Numa’nakres celebrated the birth date of the Eternal Emperor, not the renewal of the Noress Calendar. In fact, many devout followers of the Ascendancy refused to acknowledge the fall of the distant meteor as affecting the calendar at all. Even in Trell, where Aralim hailed from, they recorded Years Since the Orrish.
Over the last few weeks, they had not accomplished anything with the plants they were to grow. Miresh had expressed her frustration a few times, but remained confident she would succeed with flying colours at some point. The books provided by Rattar had been very insightful, though they had required a servant to read them. The script was foreign to Aralim—in Numa’nakres, people spoke an old tongue, uncompromised by the cultural collision following the Orrish. Aralim was well read, both from his days of assisting in the finances and management of a fishing company and his years of pilgrimage since. He could puzzle out a few words from the books here, but not enough to make any progress at reading them.
Rattar kept providing material for them to study, often in the form of literature, but occasionally plant, soil, and water samples. Miresh had followed all of his advice to a letter—she had burned one of her fingers in her lantern staff’s lamp the day after he had suggested it. If any magic was being performed, it was a gradual one.
Every fifth day saw them again seated in Rattar’s orchard, contemplating the steadily growing flowers with boredom. Rattar sat nearby, his knees folded and his feet crossed. In his lap, he held a large tome, and quietly turned each page.
Another voice cleared its throat, and said, “Rattar and company, I hope I am not interrupting.” A newcomer stepped into the grove. He was one of the men from the First Court of Rema, the man with dark skin and dyed white hair. His torso was not muscular, but his gaunt shape was well defined. He took care of himself. He wore a parted robe, that wrapped around his arms and dangled behind his back, while leaving his abdomen and chest open to the humid air. His dark pants reached loosely down to his shins, as he strode into the grove.
“Ovoe,” Rattar said, standing up. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve just come to check up on his Ascendancy’s new guests,” Ovoe said.
“Of course you have.”
The two approached another, and Aralim watched their exchange over one shoulder. Rattar extended his hand, while Ovoe did not accept it. “Please, Rattar. You’ve been trying to grab me for years. You’ll need to try harder than that to determine if I am a magician or not.” The Keeper of Information smiled, and his voice was lighthearted, like this was a game they kept playing.
“How do you know I haven’t succeeded already?” Rattar said, coyly. His back was to Aralim, but his voice sounded like he, also, was smiling. “All it would take is one of your many lovers, in my pocket. How do you know none of them haven’t reported back to me?”
Ovoe’s smile faded. “I know,” he said, quietly. There was no joy in his tone now. “May I speak with your apprentice, and her friend? Or should I seek them out in a more hospitable setting?”
Rattar scoffed wordlessly, and turned around. He walked gently back to his tree stump, and sat down. Aralim climbed to his feet, while Miresh continued focusing on the plant stem in front of her. Her lantern staff rested on her knee, while Aralim’s now supported half his weight.
Ovoe gave him a perfectly white smile, and extended his hand in greeting. Aralim took it, in surprise more than anything. “I thought you wouldn’t let—”
The Keeper chuckled quietly. “No magician may touch me and tell of it, but you are no magician, are you?” He saw Aralim’s reaction, though the walker of the Path tried to keep his bearded face stoic. “I meant no offence,” Ovoe continued. “I’ll trust the Path has no secret abilities to divine such information.”
“Not that I have discovered,” Aralim admitted, smiling. This man was a master of comfort. “I am Aralim, though you already know that too.”
“And I, Ovoe,” the man replied. His white hair was braided like a tightly tied shawl. “And likewise, you are already aware. I wanted to thank you for your contribution to our Master of Maps.”
Aralim shrugged. “It is the least I could do to show my gratitude.”
“This is the Iron Palace, Aralim. You will learn quickly there is no need for, nor any offered, gratitude.” Ovoe’s words were laced with double meanings, though he spoke directly to the point. His narrow eyes did not look away from Aralim, but they did not always look at his eyes. Ovoe was as focused on their topic as anyone Aralim had spoken with and seemed acutely aware of everything else too. “I will give you a tip, my friend. I am the only member of our Court that will come to visit you, unless his Ascendancy visits you. If he does, then all the rest will follow. My advice is this: show them no gratitude, nor kindness, nor bluntness. Answer vaguely, speak like spilled water on a rainy day. Only repeat what is already said.”
Aralim looked at his lantern staff and shrugged. “I follow the Path, which led me here. Deciding what to say in the future wouldn’t be following it.”
Ovoe smirked, but there was a judgement in his furrowed brow. “I wanted to ask you and young Miresh about your voyage. Could you see if she is too focused to speak with me?” the tall man asked.
Aralim nodded, and turned away. “Miresh,” he said, kneeling beside her. Her plant had grown no further, but she looked up at him with a smile. “The spy master wants to ask us about our journey. Is now a bad time? He seems to have planned this whole conversation.”
“I wonder if he expected that last bit you said about the Path?” Miresh said, with a laugh. She stood up, and they stepped closer to Ovoe, who undoubtedly overheard their words. He didn’t react though, just smiled at Miresh. “You’re Ovoe, right?”
“That’s correct, young one,” the Master of Information said, hunching his back. “How long have you known Aralim?”
Miresh frowned. “A while. Do you have any children?”
“I’ve never married,” Ovoe said, his face blank.
“And?” Miresh was still grinning. “In Lantern Town, most of the beggars had never been married, but there were other children.”
“So you knew the beggars of Lantern Town?” Ovoe asked.
“Yes, do you?”
Ovoe chuckled. He glanced at Aralim. “See? She’s much better at this. I learned a little about her, and she learned a little about I. This is how a friendship in the Iron Palace works.”
“We’re not friends,” Miresh said, quietly. “But I don’t mean that meanly.”
“Oh, but everyone is my friend,” Ovoe said, but his eyes resembled tiny chunks of stone as he said it. Aralim could tell the monotone motto was one he used often, to invade the thoughts of those around him, of which none were friends.
“But you meant that meanly,” Miresh said, frowning. “I’m done talking to you.”
Ovoe shrugged. “I preferred talking to Aralim anyway.”
“Enough,” Rattar barked. “Ovoe, enough. That’s quite enough interruption from our meditation for today. If you want to know more about their voyage here, return another day, with a better attitude.”
Ovoe bowed with a smirk. “Master Mage,” he said. “Aura, give my gift to our fine guests. Good day, Aralim. Good day, Miresh.” As he withdrew, two members of the Aura strode forward and set down a small chest. They opened it, as a gesture of its safety, before withdrawing.
Aralim stepped closer. There were three bottles of wine inside, with decorative labels and cloth padding. A handwritten note read, “In celebration of a new year and a new friendship. —Ovoe the Keeper.” Miresh rolled her eyes and sat down in front of the flower stem again.