1629, Fire Season, Stasis Week, Clayday
Context
Mellia has settled into life in Wilmskirk after a few days there. Jaldis has just revealed a few potential problems to her, and she wants to write a letter. Session 5.W-13
Events
Later, Venlar comes by in the afternoon to see if Mellia can come home yet.
Mellia is between patients and will gladly come home. “Hello, sweetheart. I’m glad you came.”
“Darling. Father says that I should not get you a chair again, because I should be seen walking with you. I suppose he has a point. How was your day?”
“Better than yesterday. I am thankful that we don’t have many diseased people. We need to get everyone housed before Dark Season.”
“Yes. The property damage is the worst, and coming up to Earth and harvest it seems as if we will have plenty to do. Fire leaves nothing to repair.” Venlar looks wry.
“I need to write to Varanis and I want to ask Father a question first. I will explain in a bit.” That turns out to be as soon as the temple is out of sight.
Venlar is more patient than most Orlanthi, and puts on a calm face. This is helped by deciding to count and enumerate Mellia’s finest points, at least until they are in a helpfully quiet street.
Mellia is blushing furiously as they walk in the quiet street. “I love you. I had a meeting with Jaldis today.”
“Those are not phrases one usually hears in such order.”
Mellia chuckles. “Among other things, Jaldis said we don’t need Varanis here, which means she doesn’t want Varanis here. Now, that could mean that they don’t get along…”
“She had Varanis escort her here. I doubt she is making a play for Wilmskirk’s Hospital, but she did appear in very good time, just when she was needed. It is well known that she does not get on well with the House of Saiciae.” Venlar seems unworried.
“Jaldis is planning to return to Whitewall, so that isn’t it. I wonder if someone is up to something Varanis would not like.”
“It is possible,” Venlar says gently, “That she thinks Thane Varaena is currently doing the best she can for Sartar by being elsewhere.”
“My cousin does have important work to do in Whitewall,” Mellia agrees. “Even if Jaldis is not up to something, I want to write to Varanis.”
“I can help, of course,” Venlar replies stoutly. “I know where to get the messengers.”
“Of course you can, my love! Do you know if there’s papyrus I can use?”
“We can find some. Parchment is easier, but do you know this is Wilmskirk? I suspect we can find more than one variety.” Venlar smiles. “It is hard to walk here on market day without someone trying to sell me at least a votive, painted on the spot.”
Mellia smiles back. “Maybe we should go to the market.”
“We could do it the Wilmskirk way, but that is noisy. Let us go to the market.” Venlar gestures expansively in the right direction.
Mellia waddles in the indicated direction. “I admit that I miss shopping.”
“Parch… no, papyrus, and thick ink. Perhaps a glass stylus. Of course, ordinary materials work, but the ink can run into the surface. Brushes are useless.” Venlar, it seems, has opinions.
“That sounds great. I’ll let you pick things out, Venlar. Thank you.”
After a moment, Mellia asks, “Should we invest in a tube for the message? Papyrus is not as strong as parchment.”
“Oh, we can put a second piece over the first, if we have to. I think we can find a tube at our house, of course. A lot has been piled up for repair, but… let us buy one tomorrow if need be? There is no need to over-prepare.” Venlar considers. “A lot from my room was thrown into the gardens. I can spend tomorrow helping to sort that.”
Mellia nods. “I love the people of Blue Tree, but I miss cities.”
“Dangerford is quiet compared to Wilmskirk. I know this is really a small place, but its style pleases me.” Venlar crosses into the market, such as it is in mid afternoon. “Over that way, I think…”
Mellia waddles over that way and looks around.
There are indeed stalls there, although mostly they are full of people sitting down arguing, and someone is sketching in charcoal on a wooden post.
“Remember to slim it down at the top.”
“I’m not an idiot. I’ll proportion it.”
“Proportion it? You can’t even reach it.”
The artist, a short woman, sighs. “I’m going to take that as the words of a critic. You’re useless at drafting but good at complaining.”
Venlar sighs happily.
Mellia smiles brightly and looks for a stall with extra seats. She is getting a little tired.
Venlar claps his hands for attention, and gestures to the White Lady. Several people stand up, but that just means they are drifting over to the argument. “Honestly, if you’re going to top it with a dragon, you need to start with something bigger than this.”
Venlar says to one of those still sitting down, “I’ve got a few questions about papyrus.”
At least two artists perk up.
“I need some to write on,” Mellia explains, “and a way to write on it.”
“Well, I’ve got some, but it’s a bit rough-surfaced for calligraphy. It’s for -“
“Oh, rough-surfaced is fine. You only need to worry about that if you’re a poet.”
“Shut up. It’s for colour-taking, so you’ll want some coloured inks as well, White Lady, and a polished stone-spike or a really well shaped stick.”
“Do you have a scribe? A bearded one will be able to adv…”
“Doofus! Do you think she would come here if she had a scribe? She’s here for help, not useless advice.”
“We might as well settle in for a long conversation,” Venlar murmurs. “They can’t fix this by fistfights while in the market, so they need to talk it out.”
Mellia looks for something to sit down on. “May I borrow a stool?”
Venlar yoinks one of the stools vacated by the people arguing around the post that might be decorated with dragons. Over there, an argument about the actual ownership of the wood is starting, but the papyrus-fanciers are starting to sort themselves out. “If you’re used to Esrolian papyrus we can get that, but the best comes from God Forgot. We’d have to send away for that.”
“Do you have a favourite quill or stylus?”
“What he means to ask is what do you want it to feel like on the page.”
“… alright, but I was getting there.”
“I am used to Esrolian papyrus. No need to send to God Forgot. I would prefer a stylus,” Mellia says.
“She would do best with a slower ink,” Venlar pipes up.
“Oh, so you’ll want a mastic or a gum. Shellac’s pretty on parchment.”
“Gum of Kaethel, obviously.” They are wrangling again. Venlar sneaks a kiss.
“Alright, do you want it to be shiny and beautifully see-through, but a bit fragile, or are you after sending a letter that’s rolled up?”
“It’s getting rolled up,” answers Mellia. “I need sturdy, not pretty.” Venlar gets kissed back.
“Mmph.” Venlar stops contributing for a moment.
“Gum of Kaethel,” say both of the loudest artists. The others have faded into listening. One of the two offers, “And carbon. I have some mixed.”
“I’ve got parchment. You’ll need to buy a stylus stone, but we can get you the rest.”
“Parchment costs an animal’s life,” Mellia points out. “I would prefer papyrus if at all possible.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. I meant I have papyrus but then I started thinking about an etched and coloured artwork.”
“Idiot. You’ve got Esrolian stuff?”
“I’ve got Right Arm Isles stuff too.”
“Esrolian would be perfect. This is just a letter, not a….” Mellia tries and fails to find the words for illuminated manuscript in Heortling.
“Nothing important…” The artists might not understand. Venlar keeps a straight face.
“I can run half a dozen sheets over to you and let you choose?”
“Stylus. Who’s doing good wood polishing right now?”
“Nobody. You can never get wood done well.”
“Surely we’re not going to go begging for an agate?”
“It is for a White Lady…”
Venlar looks like he is about to stir into speech once more.
Mellia gives Venlar an encouraging smile and a peck on the cheek.
“We can pay for an agate, as long as it’s shaped right. Bring whoever smooths them as well, and a variety of handles.”
“Alright, yes!”
“But where?”
“But where what? I need a little more rest, but I could go to that stall.”
“Oh, his home’s on the other side of town. We’re not merchants – we’re customers.” One of the artists looks around. “Hey, did everyone close up already?”
“Today’s food market day. And shout at bad buskers day, but it’s always that.”
“I beg your pardon. If you would be so kind as to give us directions, I can go there tomorrow.”
“No, no. We can come over.”
“And drink all my father’s wine, no doubt.” Venlar smiles widely. “No more than four of you to come, and you’re not to stay longer than it takes for welcome-joy to turn. You should be able to get a couple of cups each out of that.”
“Our plot is known,” laments one of the artists. “But the parchment’s good.”
“Papyrus.”
“Papyrus.”
Mellia beams. “My love, you are the soul of nobility. Done. Perhaps after lunch?”
“After lunch tomorrow would be good. It will give me time to hide all of the flat surfaces and grease anything that might be drawn on.” Venlar seems to be joking.
