Gold and Blood [Past Tech]

[Vionna-Frankenlisch]

New Columbia
Pi'oke'Kaw'ko, Border Territories

---

Kaw'Fi'Bena, approaching her twenty-eighth summer, was proud of her achievement - minor though it was. With three warriors and ten trappers, she had held Pi'oke'Kaw'ko for three suns and four moons against the encircling Ura. The tactics that the moon-haired warlord had employed meant that nobody could get in or out of the circular log palisade. Getting a messenger out was impossible and so was foraging. Fi had done what she could for the twenty-eight inhabitants of the outpost but three had been killed by gunfire and three more had died from the poor conditions. Musket fire and arrows had kept the Ura torch parties from setting any major fires but ammunition was swiftly running low and Fi doubted her outpost would last another day. The eldest daughter of Kaw'Dok'Bena, one of the respected elders of Mi'che'Kaw the Kaweni capital, Fi had been honoured on her twenty-fifth naming day with responsibility for the Kaweni's northernmost settlement and she would not disgrace her family by giving in meekly and hoping for her life. As another torch party was seen to be assembling, bigger than any of the previous ones, she braided her raven hair and adorned it with funeral beads. The last of the ammunition was handed to those with muskets and fighting axes were given to the twenty-two remaining at Pi'oke'Kaw'ko. A pair of archers picked away at the approaching torch-bearers while Fi gathered everyone else to charge out of the palisade. She said a quick prayer and told her warriors to leave the moon-haired warlord for her.

---

Midday had been accompanied by a deluge of animals fleeing from the north. Captain Dugholm and the rest of the Royal Sirenport Expeditionary Company initially rejoiced and felled a selection of the wildlife for their meat. Another half-hour's march, however, had revealed the source of the animals' fear. The cracks of musket fire came in short but furious fusillades which, to the few experienced soldiers of the group, had the familiar ring of platoon volleys. There were too many firelocks to be a hunting party and after a while the fearsome war-whoops of tribal fighters could be heard. Though the revelation that Pi'oke'Kaw'ko was under attack was hardly good news, many amongst the party were relieved that they were not too late as they had been at Ja'che'Kaw'to.

Captain Dugholm organised the fighting members of the party together and ordered the hunters to protect those that remained. Weapons were handed out and brandy issued to harden the spirits. However, as Captain Dugholm prepared to lead his group forward to the aid of the Kaweni, it quickly became obvious that the Ura were withdrawing. No doubt intimidated by the sudden arrival of the colonists, whatever savage chief led the Ura had decided to save himself and his warriors by beating a hasty retreat. Triumphant, though admittedly feeling a little silly, Dugholm ordered the weapons stowed away and the march quickened to reach Pi'oke'Kaw'ko as soon as possible.

---

No sooner had Kaw'Fi'Bena finished her prayers and readied herself for a warrior's death had the action ended and she found herself observing the withdrawal of the enemy which, only moments before, had seemed likely to slaughter her whole outpost. She uttered a quick thanks and snapped off a few exhausted orders to her warriors before setting about discovering what had caused the retreat. She ascended her watchtower, the central structure of the outpost, and looked out to the south. A staggered convoy of white men and women and some pack animals were huffing their way nervously towards Pi'oke'Kaw'ko and Fi noted thankfully that they carried the red and gold banner of the southerners and their King Beyond the Seas.

Travelling up a steady incline, it would take some time for the colonists to arrive and Fi used the time to inspect her outpost. The elders of Mi'che'Kaw considered Pi'oke'Kaw'ko a considerable achievement, the high-water mark of their empire. Fi often wondered if they would feel that way if they ever saw the remote little settlement with their own eyes. Dwarfed by the great, grey mountains it sat at the foot of, Pi'oke'Kaw'ko served a double purpose - first as a place of refuge for Kaweni hunters that ventured north, second as a listening post to keep an eye on the Ura - who the Kaweni considered a more dangerous threat than the white men could ever be. Consisting of four huts of wood and mud, a log palisade, and the central watchtower, Fi's outpost was hardly impressive to look at but it had held firm against the Ura and that was all it needed to do. A quick circuit of the palisade brought good news, a covering of damp moss on the upright logs of its construction had kept the palisade wall from sustaining any fire damage. There were a few abandoned torches to be collected, along with arrows jutting out of the moss. The Ura had taken their dead and wounded with them, so there would be no plunder to collect. It didn't matter, Fi was just grateful that she and her charges had survived the struggle.

[Neo Prutenia]

Previous post


“The Arlingtons! Gnädiger Herr und Frau! Junger Herr!“, „The Parkes! How wonderful to receive you. Ms Everheart! Welcome!”, “The Cawthornes! I’m delighted you could make it. Please, this way.”

Kühn greeted everyone, exchanged initial pleasantries as was the custom, and welcomed and received them. There was a lot of ‘welcomes’ and the reception was quite brisk but polite and civil. Ulrich didn’t want his guests lingering on the street; he’d much rather welcome them to his pleasant and accommodating parlour.

He also wasn’t too keen on them interacting overly much with the staff, or rather the ‘retainers’ he had on lease from his friends and neighbours. As his banquets were an occasional treat for the good folk of Annesburg, he never maintained too big a household staff. His servants were already well-trained and used to the peculiarities of his home and business, and how well they were treated and regarded, but for such a surge in logistical needs, they would need some assistance. Truth to be told, he’d rather have his servants in the house tending to the guests. An activity they excelled at. So Ulrich used a favour here and there to get several reliable servants from others and have them handle the coaches, and parking, and housing and storing whatever had to be housed and stored. The people on lease would enjoy a relatively light and relaxing evening, as long as everything went smoothly, and most if not all were familiar with ‘the spice foreigner’ and knew he’d provide them a cold lager and good food for a job well done. Their lessors would get a nice bag of goodies full of spices and similar luxuries for their trouble, so it was a win-win for everyone. As such, everything was handled well and things started good enough.

The reception was quick and methodic. Ulrich and Edith would receive the guests as soon as they were ushered in. Firmed handshakes were exchanged between the man, bows and curtsies for the ladies, as was proper. The Peperkorn parlour was something to behold; a subdued by still noticeable amalgam of Mareylander and Prut styles strongly shaped and influenced by Ulrich’s life and character. It was reasonably spacious for the size of the estate, though Ulrich would likely be able to afford to expand it, he preferred not to. The furniture was mostly Mareylander timber, good quality oak with a few inserts of imported ebony and mahogany in various styles and with Heliandist and mercantile motives, like sunrays, navigational instruments and charts, fire, and so forth. The ‘flashier’ pieces were in Prut style and likely of Prut make but locally produced by Prutonic immigrants or native craftsmen who learned or copied the style. To break somewhat and contrast their elegant but somber hues, the parlour was excellently lit and bright, with indigo-coloured drapes decorating every window.

The furnishings and decorative items were also rather bright and had jovial depictions; many fine items of porcelain depicting various merry figures and literary personas, multi-coloured flowers, fantastical animals, and of course naval and maritime motifs. The finest and most elaborate porcelain piece was a large illustrated plate depicting Ulrich’s home town—many spires, tall and narrow buildings of distinctive red brick, a long and busy harbour, and many ships, some of war, some of trade. Above the city flew a raven trailing a banner behind him that bore the name of the city, Raabshaven. These items were all imported from Prutenia, and served to illustrate Kühn’s wealth and social status as well as potential goods for his visitors to inquire about and import. He’d always be happy to accommodate them and refer them to a reliable colleague.

Opposite of the porcelain items was the fireplace, well maintained and kept in the original Mareylander style as it came with the house. The fire iron was not brass, as would be expected of someone in Ulrich’s position and his wealth, but rather a reliable ‘iron’ one, likely the original one and made here in Mareyland. Ulrich seemed to either prefer or at least like it. On the fireplace however was definitely not something made in Mareyland; a wooden model of a full-rigged cargo ship, similar in look to the contemporary ‘East Indiaman’ vessels. The masts, spars, and hull veneer were ivory and bone, the rigging was horsehair and silk. It was expertly and meticulously carved and put together. Sadly Ulrich was not a hobbyist himself, though he did commission it. He enjoyed it for its craftsmanship and beauty. Next to it were charts and plans showing some of the ship’s details. One showed it dissected lengthwise, with many elements and compartments and ‘typical’ cargo depicted and labeled in the Prut language. The way in which this particular arrangement was placed and maintained, how it was kept dust-free and out of reach of a child’s hands, suggested that Ulrich cared very much about it. And it was truly a masterwork, something to be appreciated by anyone who had an eye and taste for ships and craftsmanship.

The wall on the other wise of the room from the door had the most Mareylander traits and elements. It had several large paintings, mostly landscapes. The centerpiece, and the only ‘permanent’ part of his collection, was a painting of Annesburg harbour. It was somewhat larger than the others. Ulrich had it commissioned some time ago from a local artist who has since then left the city. The painting really does its city justice, showing vivid colours, precise and careful brushstrokes, and an excellent perspective and angle. It shows a merry and busy city, full of activity, life, and wealth. The rest of the paintings were also commissioned by Ulrich. They showed various scenes from various parts of Mareyland; bucolic depictions of an established yeomen settlement, plantation work and life, an assembly of guests playing a parlour game with a comical depiction of a man peeking his head under a female guests skirt, an unusually accurate, realistic, and well-painted hunt scene of a man fighting a truly fearsome looking bear, and a landscape of an Ura village at night with a chief regaling a tale to his tribesmen around a campfire. Ulrich now regretted not having removed the last painting mentioned, given the news that were arriving from the frontier. He failed to consider such until literally now. Ulrich did like to foster local talent, especially young ones, and encouraged them by commissioning or buying interesting paintings. Every few months or so, he’d gift them to his associates, often sending them to Prutenia as ‘images of an exotic land’. And since he regularly changed the ‘exhibit’ so to speak, it always gave someone reason to comment on it. He did prefer to do business with persons who could appreciate art. ‘They had a good Eld’, he’d say.

Currently he was far more focused on being a good host. Edith and Ulrich double-teamed the guests, with Ulrich handling the men, Edith the women. They each had their role to play. Edith for example loved to show off her new ‘fiery’ hair. She even wore an indigo-dress to create a beautiful contrast, letting her hair fall in curls outside her white kerchief. She was rather happy. And she introduced her partner’s lovely niece, Agathe, to the other ladies and gentlemen. She even made an effort to pronounce her name right.

“From the far, far south, having crossed all the oceans—apparently literally in two steps on those long legs of hers—our fair visitor from my Ulrich’s homeland, Agathe!”

The jab at Agathe’s unusual height was done in good fun and an obviously jocose tone. It couldn’t be helped that the woman was statuesque, such was her lot. Because of said height there was no real way for he not to draw attention.

Ulrich did the same with Kenelm. The lad was properly dressed for a banquet. That is matching coat, waistcoat, and breeches in a snugly cut, covered buttons, all in various shades of blue. Ulrich hoped maybe that colour would make the young man behave or at least appear calmer. Kenelm refused the frills and he didn’t even consider the cravat, deeming those ‘too foreign’ for his taste. He was presentable, sure, but perhaps too plainly dressed. His attire did accentuate his physique and vigour however, and gave him an air of practical and rugged pragmatism. Kenelm’s handshake was firm, and under the instruction of his uncle, carefully calculated and balanced to respond to the others and not overdo it. He managed such.

“My wonderful nephew, Kenelm! Crossed an ocean to see his kin and broaden his horizons, always keen and able to learn new abilities and skills. Now this is one whose career you should watch with great interest.”

Ulrich engaged in small talk, answered inquiries and comments, and asked how everyone was doing. As other guests arrived he let them mingle.

“Dear guests, delicious appetizers and aperitifs have been provided for your enjoyment. The cheese course is particularly savoury, and I do recommend the wine. Terrific terroir! The servants will proffer them on request.”

Ulrich didn’t lie. Several servants were in the room, holding plates with tasty treats, waiting to be beckoned by the visitors. Ulrich had a very nice charcuterie prepared; cured meats, thinly sliced, imported Prut cheese, and beef pâtés enhanced with herbs and spices. They were savoury in taste and carefully salted and spiced to encourage ones appetite. As a drink fortified dry white wine was offered, a specific grape from Prutenia, but fortified with local brandy, creating a unique blend, that just so happened to stimulate the stomach in just the right way.

“Please enjoy. As soon as the main course is ready—and in this household that means prepared to perfection—we shall move to the dining room. Afterward the lady folk will have the drawing room to themselves, while the gentlemen shall remain in the dining room. For the younger and more energetic folk, the servants have already prepared the garden for a spirited game of lawn bowls.”

[Mareyland]

News of the Ura rebellion - and that was how it was described, for the Ura were supposedly bound by treaty as a subordinated, subject people under the sovereignty of Mareyland - had spread across the Republic in the time since the first attacks in Franklin County. Newspapers carried stories of horrific atrocities against settler families, and reports of the native warriors’ triumph over Mareyland soldiers. Fort Wilderness, it was said, was practically besieged - no soldier could go beyond the protection of its guns, or they would be killed and scalped by the savages.

The government in Hillsborough was struggling to formulate a response. The Regular Army was small, and widely dispersed. Gathering a force to defeat and punish the Ura would take time. It would also require calling up militia to supplement the regulars. That created dilemmas of a much more political nature: chief among them being, how would the command hierarchy be established? Each county’s militia had its own officers, and these were typically members of influential families who would not easily accept subordinate roles.

Closer to the danger, more immediate decisions were being made. The Ura were not the only native people within the borders of Mareyland. The differences between these nations were not always apparent to white Mareylanders, and many years of warfare had hardened a general anti-native racist hatred among frontier inhabitants. As far as they were concerned, all Indijans (a common name for native peoples, a shortening of the word “indigenous”) were enemies, and the only difference was between those who were open enemies and those who pretended to friendship. The only way to ensure that an Indijan was truly not a danger was to kill them, or drive them far away.

This was the course of thinking in the town of New Gilead, in New Edom County. Gilead was the center of a religious community, the New Saints Church, who had migrated to the frontier to practice their eclectic version of Christianity away from the judgemental eyes of society. They had built a thriving town, surrounded by farms and small villages. A massive stone temple stood on a bluff above Gilead, looking down on the town and the calm waters of Lake Soroni. The New Saints had, for several years, worried about their native neighbors. New Edom County bordered the remaining homelands of the Tepachi people, who had been bitter enemies of Mareyland in two consecutive wars.

News of the Ura rebellion had rattled the New Saints. The danger of Indijan attack had always been a threat hanging above their community. Now it seemed that the madness of savage violence might descend. The Ura and Tepachi had both fought for the Royalists in the War of Independence, and for the Genovians in the Arcadian War before that. It did not take long for the leadership of the New Saints to decide that the best course of action was to strike first. Robert Matthews, the New Saints’ “Prophet” and spiritual leader, tasked his top soldier with forming a plan.

John Farson held the rank of Major General of Militia. He was the commander of the Hutaree, which was the name that the New Saints gave to their very well-armed and well-prepared militia. Farson tasked one of his proteges, a Colonel of Militia named Randall Flynn, with leading a force of Hutaree soldiers to strike at the most obvious threat: the village of Nayawey, the closest Tepachi settlement. Randall Flynn had been a captain in the War of Independence, and his deep faith had been nurtured by the hardships he had endured in the Mareyland Army. He led his force of over one hundred militiamen, and a pair of 3-pounder cannons, on a march through the frontier.

The Hutaree militiamen attacked Nayawey in the dawning light of the early morning. The cannons boomed, firing solid shot that tore through the walls of the Tepachi homes. The surprised Tepachi struggled to defend themselves, but the Hutaree had surprise on their side. Several hours later, Colonel Flynn led his column of soldiers away from the smoldering ruins of Nayawey. Time would tell whether this blow averted a wider war, or inflamed one.

* * *

The guests who arrived at Peperkorn for the evening’s dining and socializing were no strangers to Ulrich Kühn’s hospitality. They knew that a fine meal in luxurious surroundings was waiting for them as they traveled down the streets of Annesburg in their carriages. But their Prut host did have a few surprises in store for them - perhaps first and foremost, the striking new hair color that his housekeeper Edith was showing off.

“What a marvelous color!” That was the opinion of Amy Everheart. “You will have to tell me how you accomplished that.”

“From the far, far south, having crossed all the oceans—apparently literally in two steps on those long legs of hers—our fair visitor from my Ulrich’s homeland, Agathe!”

At the Provincial Congress, the body that had formed to lead Mareyland in its War for Independence, William Lee had consistently been the tallest man in the room. Part of what made him such a powerful leader was the fact that men quite literally looked up to him when he spoke. Seeing Ulrich’s niece Agathe, Edward Arlington had the thought: there’s someone who could stand eye-to-eye with the General.

The visiting women approached Agathe politely but cautiously, uncertain about how best to interact with the tall woman from across the sea. It was Eliza Parke who made the first real effort at breaking the ice.

“Your uncle has a lovely home here,” she told Agathe. “And, I’m sure I’m not the first to compliment his hospitality. You must come out to visit us in the country, so we can repay the generosity. Do you play cards?” Card playing was a favorite pastime of the upper class women in Mareyland.

Ulrich did the same with Kenelm. The lad was properly dressed for a banquet. That is matching coat, waistcoat, and breeches in a snugly cut, covered buttons, all in various shades of blue. Ulrich hoped maybe that colour would make the young man behave or at least appear calmer. Kenelm refused the frills and he didn’t even consider the cravat, deeming those ‘too foreign’ for his taste. He was presentable, sure, but perhaps too plainly dressed. His attire did accentuate his physique and vigour however, and gave him an air of practical and rugged pragmatism. Kenelm’s handshake was firm, and under the instruction of his uncle, carefully calculated and balanced to respond to the others and not overdo it. He managed such.

“My wonderful nephew, Kenelm! Crossed an ocean to see his kin and broaden his horizons, always keen and able to learn new abilities and skills. Now this is one whose career you should watch with great interest.”

“Indeed we will,” Edward Arlington said, as he shook the young man’s hand. He then stepped aside to permit his son to shake Kenelm’s hand. The Arlington scion was about the same age as Ulrich’s nephew, and there was something of a subtle sizing-up between the two young men. Edward hoped the two men would be friends - they were, based on the stories he’d heard about Kenelm, similar enough that they would either bond or become enemies.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jack said to Kenelm. “I’ve heard you enjoy a bit of sport. We’ll have to find some time to use those bowls in the garden.”

“Dear guests, delicious appetizers and aperitifs have been provided for your enjoyment. The cheese course is particularly savoury, and I do recommend the wine. Terrific terroir! The servants will proffer them on request.”

The food and wine on offer was eagerly sampled by many of the guests. While they drank and snacked on the morsels of meat and cheese, they examined the selection of paintings and other curiosities in the parlor. The model ship attracted some interest from John Parke and Thomas Cawthorne, who both had some investments in trade ships. The booming trade was in ships passing the Orient, bringing back exotic goods from far-off lands.

The painting of the Ura chief in his village provoked some comment. “They’re simple people,” John Parke said at one point. “They just don’t understand that the world is moving on.”

“To hear you say it, one might almost feel sad for them,” Amy Everheart commented. “But then the stories from the frontier, the barbaric things they do on those raids…”

“Their way of life is disappearing,” John explained. “And there’s always some fool chief who whips them up and gets them thinking they can fight their way out of it. But it only hastens the end.” He studied the painting again, wistfully. “Yes, I suppose it is a sad story…”

“Hmph.” Thomas Cawthorne huffed in disapproval. The Cawthorne patriarch was a known hardliner on the issue of the Ura and other native tribes within Mareyland's borders. The Ura rebellion had not only lessened the value of his own western landholdings, but it had disrupted his access to the gold deposits in Franklin County, for which he had arranged the marriage of his daughter Annabelle into the Stafford family. “You’ve been listening to Gabriel Martin too much. Those savages are nothing but a menace to civilized people. If they want to bring on their doom, I say good.”

Perhaps hoping to redirect the conversation from that aggressive attitude, John Parke turned to Ulrich Kühn and asked, “Do you have any such problem back in your homeland?”

[Neo Prutenia]

While it could be said that Ulrich Kühn was a man most apt in matters of numbers, logistics, and commerce, one would be mistaken to claim he couldn’t navigate social matters. Kühn was in fact a bit of a stickler for etiquette and propriety insofar such didn’t interfere with business. But like most men from far Prutenia his perception and expression of proper manners was deeply rooted in Prut and Heliandist custom. His heritage and his ‘déformation professionnelle’ caused him thus two headaches. First, he had to condition himself to not jump at every opportunity to talk business—a past time he enjoyed very much, to a degree and love of minutiae that few of the ‘planter elites’ of Mareyland responded well to or in kind. He had friends and colleagues, locals and his kindred, that indulged him in this passion of his. But here and now he had to pretend playing host and banqueting and entertainment was more important and relevant, even though he was just an hour away, maybe two, of the part of this event he was looking forward to the most. For the most part, the most part, he pulled this off quite well. Any quirk of behavior would likely have been ascribed to his foreignness and his mastery of the local tongue being limited to a second language. Practically none of the men of Mareyland ever noticed, and those few time someone did they didn’t mind or didn’t bother to mention it. Key word being ‘men’. The ladyfolk of Mareyland, and especially the dames of Annesburg, were more keen in such matters than their male counterparts, and they frequently did notice when their host play-pretended and when he was genuine. This was a concern chiefly because women talk to their men. And since Kühn didn’t want to be labeled a phony he was extra careful around the women.

This in turn was also influenced by his before mentioned heritage; a proper Prut men is deferential to women. Technically the Prut custom would be for Prut men to show deference to Prut women, but the contemporary mores were a bit nebulous on such technicalities. It would have been barbarous to disregard the local womenfolk. He would have considered it barbarous. So he had to be deferential and respectful to his female guests, without offending his male guests, he had to successfully mask his focus and interests for this evening, while still being genuine enough that no one would become suspicious or uncomfortable.

Headaches.

Luckily for him, he had his lovely mistress to rely upon. Edith masterfully handled the ladies, allowing Ulrich a bit of leeway. He interacted with the women only as much as necessary and as was proper and he could easily excuse himself to focus on the men, thus avoiding overt scrutiny.

And very likely he overestimated how much of an impact any ire or misgivings from the womenfolk could have on his activities. Then again, Ulrich Kühn was very much aware of what happened to colleagues of his who ignored the power of gossip and how relevant hearing something through the grapevine was. Having people talk nicely about you behind your back, having women talk nicely about you behind your back was extremely good for business. As was organising and hosting a good banquet and business meeting.

Slowly, Ulrich was starting to get into his flow state as events and conversations unfolded.

“What a marvelous color!” That was the opinion of Amy Everheart. “You will have to tell me how you accomplished that.”

“This?” Edith playfully went through her fiery locks tossing them in the air and coquettishly pretended that it was nothing of note. “My dear, any women can accomplish this! It’s a learned art, true, convincing your man that thereismore to life that just trading goods and spices, and counting money, but sometimes they need that little push in the right direction to appreciate beauty and enjoy the finer things.”

She grinned, then clarified to Amy.

“I had my Ulrich ship it from his homeland. Such a wonderful material.”

Ulrich seized the opportunity to compliment his mistress. He took Edith’s hand in an affectionate but still polite manner, gave her a lovely smile, then said: “Of course I did. Anything for my darling Edith.”

Edith blushed a little and looked to the side, very much charmed. He entertained Ulrich’s gesture for just a spell, then continued:

“Why! His niece even is an expert in its application!” She beckoned Agathe to join them in conversation. “Agathe darling, am I pronouncing it right. ‘Henna’, yes?”

Agathe had been listening in, and she took the hint to corroborate Edith’s little yarn. “Yes, henna. A natural red dye from the far south.” As Agathe said so, she shook her head a bit and elegantly let her red-dyed lock of hair fall over her face, before she tucked it back.

This was also a great opportunity to introduce Agathe, as Edith now had the attention on her.

The visiting women approached Agathe politely but cautiously, uncertain about how best to interact with the tall woman from across the sea. It was Eliza Parke who made the first real effort at breaking the ice.

“Your uncle has a lovely home here,” she told Agathe. “And, I’m sure I’m not the first to compliment his hospitality. You must come out to visit us in the country, so we can repay the generosity. Do you play cards?” Card playing was a favorite pastime of the upper class women in Mareyland.

“Thank you for saying such. Uncle Ulrich is a wonderful man and delightful host. I am so glad I went on this journey. And thank you even more for your kind invitation!”

Agathe attempted to curtsey to show her gratitude but due to her height and little practice with the custom it appeared a bit comical. Maybe even cute in a way.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with this instrument, ‘karts’. I do play the harp though!”

Edith noticed the misunderstanding and laughed it off.
“Ms. Parke meant ‘cards’, darling. You know, ‘cards’-cards.”

”Spielkarten”, Ulrich clarified.

Agathe blushed and smiled, understanding now the intended message and question. It was a genuine moment of levity, given how unsure everyone was about her otherwise.

“I apologise for the faux pas, Ms. Parke. Yes, I play ‘cards’ too. Although, I’m afraid I’m even less familiar with local card games than the local language. I would appreciate someone teaching me though!”

***

Leaving the ladies on a good note, Ulrich rejoined the men, who had their own conversations going. Kenelm and the parlour seemed to be the current topics.

“Indeed we will,” Edward Arlington said, as he shook the young man’s hand. He then stepped aside to permit his son to shake Kenelm’s hand. The Arlington scion was about the same age as Ulrich’s nephew, and there was something of a subtle sizing-up between the two young men. Edward hoped the two men would be friends - they were, based on the stories he’d heard about Kenelm, similar enough that they would either bond or become enemies.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jack said to Kenelm. “I’ve heard you enjoy a bit of sport. We’ll have to find some time to use those bowls in the garden.”

“Absolutely!” Kenelm shook hands with Jack as instructed by his uncle—he did so firmly, to establish himself as a ‘man of reliable character’ but he took care to avoid overdoing it or hurting the hand of the other person, so as not to appear ‘an uncouth bully’. Shaking hands was a foreign custom to Prut, but one most travelling abroad were familiar with. Same as one would be familiar with, say Oriental bowing.

At least Kenelm put more practice into it than Agathe did for her curtseys. As his uncle introduced him, he properly greeted and responded to everyone. Anyone familiar with martial arts and training, especially swordsmanship, could spot subtle hints and tells in Kenelm’s body language that he was an accomplished fighter—the strength in his arm, the rather specific calluses and occasional scar here and there on his forearm, the way he kept his distance, and how calculated he moved his feet, and so forth. This was of course in addition to his bulky and brawny build, which wasn’t that common among men of his status and pedigree, at least not in times of peace.

Predictably, Kenelm was most interested in Jack, given their age and general attitudes. There was an assumed understanding, maybe even a certain kinship or the beginnings of such; both were young and of untested mettle, currently surrounded by their more established and accomplished elders.

“So, it appears I’ve already gained a bit of a reputation then? I do hope, Jack, you heard good things. Things to your liking.” He grinned. “Enjoying the simple entertainment of the harbour and the woods and the jolly company of the small folk is relaxing and fun. But I do appreciate meeting and interacting with a proper peer. So yes, we absolutely have to find time today for some lawn-related shenanigans.”

The painting of the Ura chief in his village provoked some comment. “They’re simple people,” John Parke said at one point. “They just don’t understand that the world is moving on.”

“To hear you say it, one might almost feel sad for them,” Amy Everheart commented. “But then the stories from the frontier, the barbaric things they do on those raids…”

“Their way of life is disappearing,” John explained. “And there’s always some fool chief who whips them up and gets them thinking they can fight their way out of it. But it only hastens the end.” He studied the painting again, wistfully. “Yes, I suppose it is a sad story…”

“Hmph.” Thomas Cawthorne huffed in disapproval. The Cawthorne patriarch was a known hardliner on the issue of the Ura and other native tribes within Mareyland's borders. The Ura rebellion had not only lessened the value of his own western landholdings, but it had disrupted his access to the gold deposits in Franklin County, for which he had arranged the marriage of his daughter Annabelle into the Stafford family. “You’ve been listening to Gabriel Martin too much. Those savages are nothing but a menace to civilized people. If they want to bring on their doom, I say good.”

Perhaps hoping to redirect the conversation from that aggressive attitude, John Parke turned to Ulrich Kühn and asked, “Do you have any such problem back in your homeland?””

Ulrich was giving his servants some instructions as this particular conversation unfolded. The main course was soon to start, and therefore the guests would slowly have to be ushered from the parlour to the dining room. He excused himself for the short lapse in attention, then replied to John Parke:

“Ah, yes, a rather well-painted piece. It would be unkind to the artist to condemn the artwork just because of the subject matter. And the artist, a good lad going by the name Oliver Thompson” Ulrich looked at the painting and stroked his chin. “Painter’s apprentice, lives here in Annesburg, originally from some thorp somewhere between Morristown and Hillsborough, about the same distance away from the Carter and the Mason rivers. The lad has an incredibly precise and steady hand. He could make a living as a surgeon, even though he has obvious talent for the brush.

I’m afraid we have the same problem in Prutenia. Well, a similar problem. Many talented men and women, but only so many opportunities to join the academy of arts. And it’s just as difficult to find a patron; most moneyed folk have their particular taste and it seldom aligns with contemporary art. So, like Oliver Thompson, many talented artists go to waste for lack of opportunity. It’s a shame really.” Ulrich smiled rather fondly. “That’s why I insist on patronising young artists. They deserve some opportunity at least, no?”

“Mr. Kühn, Mr. Parke meant the Ura. Do you have a problem like the Ura in your homeland?”

Ulrich didn’t quite catch who ‘corrected’ him. It didn’t matter, as whoever did so, failed to notice that Parke wanted to switch the topic, and Ulrich provided a good escape. Now he was forced to address it.

“Well… no, not really. While there are people in Neo Prutenia that play the same role I play in Mareyland, Prutenia itself is a rather homogenous nation. The Prutons are the natives, the original folk of the land. It’s been such for over two and a half millennia. It’s a peaceful land, my homeland.”

Kenelm snickered, drawing attention to himself. Ulrich glanced at him, trying non-verbally to convey what was going on. Kenelm failed to take this particular hint.

“Peaceful, uncle?”

“Of course, Kenelm. We’re a nation of travellers and traders, of poets and producers, are we not?”

“Dearest uncle, I do not dispute that Prutenia bore many a traveller, me included, and many a traders, such as yourself, and more poets and producers than we know what to do with. But I wouldn’t call us peaceful. Internally, I suppose. But we’re not exactly a nation surrounded by friends. We have generational wars with our literal next-door neighbor, and the opposite shore of our most travelled sea belongs to our greatest maritime rival.

How can you call us peaceful, if half your colleagues deal in weapons? Even you, uncle, are very much familiar with muskets and cannons. At my age, you hunted pirates and privateers, with much success I might add!”

Ulrich responded, but addressed everyone listening. “Ah, lad, you’re exaggerating. Border skirmishes are common. In fact, there’s hardly a border where the occasionally bored and drunk border guard hasn’t caused some incident some of the time. You’re just young and ascribe it more importance than it’s due. And pirate hunting? Well, what nation doesn’t engage in such activities I ask you? I would be a very poor shipper and merchant if I didn’t know how to handle pirates. I take it as a point of pride, that no corsair accosts my vessels. That’s just a proof how important a one’s good ‘name and reputation’ are for business. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The last bit was meant for the guests to reply to, and to hint to Kenelm to stop his inquiries. Of course, it went over Kenelm’s head. As much as Ulrich emphasised it, the lad lacked the tact to notice it.

“You literally commanded a ship that carries more cannons than all the fortresses and arsenals in Annesburg combined! And you leveled an entire pirate city—a city!—with a naval barrage!”

“Nonsense. I didn’t command it, I was the quartermaster. So, ‘second’in-command, if you please. And it was hardly a ‘city’, it was an old fortress that had a harbour and small settlement around it, that happened to be a pirate haven populated by pirates. And ‘leveled’ is also a bit much. It was a distraction, so our raiders could liberate our press-ganged and kidnapped countrymen from the pirates’ stockades. You can hardly blame me for their shoddy craftsmanship and lack of expertise in proper military engineering. I mean really, who keeps their ammunition and gunpowder depot unsecured and in an obviously unsafe location? The audacity of some folk, I tell you. The. Audacity. ”

At the last part Kenelm finally got the message. Even if someone spoke proper Low Prut, it was technically just a repeat of the same words but in their shared language. The way Ulrich said it, his intonation, however, was very much clear to Kenelm.

“Well, I guess you’re right, uncle Ulrich. It was some time ago, and I was a child back then, I probably remember everything being bigger.”

“There you go.”

“Those tales of your past did inspire me, however. I intend to make you proud, live up to those tales. And I’m very glad you’ve continued to be a pillar of the community and do good even here, so far from home. Supporting artists, wonderful!”

“Well, I do guess I can consider Mareyland my home now, it’s been quite some time, no?” Ulrich addressed his guests. “If you’ll accept me I suppose. And not just because my salt is locally grown and my spices arrive more reliably than those from the Orient!”

[Mareyland]

Agathe blushed and smiled, understanding now the intended message and question. It was a genuine moment of levity, given how unsure everyone was about her otherwise.

“I apologize for the faux pas, Ms. Parke. Yes, I play ‘cards’ too. Although, I’m afraid I’m even less familiar with local card games than the local language. I would appreciate someone teaching me though!”

“We’ll have to teach you before you play with dear Eliza,” Louisa Cawthorne said lightheartedly. “Otherwise you’ll quickly find yourself asking your uncle for a line of credit to cover your losses. She plays to win.”

Elizabeth Parke laughed off the other woman’s words, which seemed to be more joking than cutting. She did have a reputation as an aggressive player at the card table, and she was always ready to raise the stakes. Her husband sometimes paled at the sums that she wagered, but her balance of gains and losses remained positive.

“Well, one has to find their excitement somewhere,” she said in response to Louisa. To Agathe, she said, “You will have to play something for us on the harp as well. Amy - Miss Everheart - is very skilled on the pianoforte. We love to listen to her play. Perhaps the two of you could play together?”

”I’m afraid we have the same problem in Prutenia. Well, a similar problem. Many talented men and women, but only so many opportunities to join the academy of arts. And it’s just as difficult to find a patron; most moneyed folk have their particular taste and it seldom aligns with contemporary art. So, like Oliver Thompson, many talented artists go to waste for lack of opportunity. It’s a shame really.” Ulrich smiled rather fondly. “That’s why I insist on patronizing young artists. They deserve some opportunity at least, no?”

The attempted evasion was obvious, but John Parke at least gave Ulrich the courtesy of playing along.

“It is a shame,” he agreed. “Especially in a young nation like ours, we have to cultivate our own talents. If we allow artists from Midsomere or Genovie to set our tastes, then are we truly independent?”

Before anyone could answer his question, someone else - probably Thomas Cawthorne - insisted on bringing the conversation back to the Ura. But instead of further conversation about the native peoples of the Mareyland frontier, the room fell into an awkward silence as Ulrich and his nephew had their exchange. The tension grew more palpable as the elder Prut tried, with lessening subtlety, to steer the younger man away from his eager recountings of his uncle’s exploits.

At the last part Kenelm finally got the message. Even if someone spoke proper Low Prut, it was technically just a repeat of the same words but in their shared language. The way Ulrich said it, his intonation, however, was very much clear to Kenelm.

“Well, I guess you’re right, uncle Ulrich. It was some time ago, and I was a child back then, I probably remember everything being bigger.”

“There you go.”

“Those tales of your past did inspire me, however. I intend to make you proud, live up to those tales. And I’m very glad you’ve continued to be a pillar of the community and do good even here, so far from home. Supporting artists, wonderful!”

“Well, I do guess I can consider Mareyland my home now, it’s been quite some time, no?” Ulrich addressed his guests. “If you’ll accept me I suppose. And not just because my salt is locally grown and my spices arrive more reliably than those from the Orient!”

“One could hardly imagine Annesburg without you, herr Kuhn,” John Parke said jovially. The tension from the earlier exchange seemed to abate, as others chimed in with their own affirmations of Ulrich's place in the community.