Seeklight

Fascinated, Daenek watched as the man’s face paled, as if the blood were falling back to his heart. Slowly, the ruddy complexion returned and the mertzer leaned back heavily against the wall with his eyes : closed.

Several minutes passed with no further change. He must’ve fallen asleep, thought Daenek. He turned away, feeling a little disappointed, and started to walk quietly out of the room.

“A cold thing,” rumbled the mertzer’s voice behind him.

Daenek looked over his shoulder and saw him lean forward, his eyes blinking, and run his thick fingers through the tangled grey hairs of his beard. Back to the edge of the blankets Daenek walked, and looked down at the mertzer. “Why did they kick you off?”

The mertzer gazed at him with a puzzled expression, still blinking furiously. The look disappeared as the eyelids slowed and finally stopped. “Eh?” He shook his head. “The captain—that young fool. Been two years since his father, the old captain, died and already his ears won’t open to anything anybody else can tell him. Knows it all, he thinks.”

Daenek sat down beside the man, drawing his legs up beneath himself on the blankets. “What did you try to tell him?” He was absorbed in what was the longest conversation he had ever had with anybody other than his mother, the Lady Marche.

“Ahh, the engines.” The mertzer scowled, gazing sourly at the empty space before him. “All rusted and patched together, exploding and falling apart with every cog’s turn. Metal so fatigued you can write your name on it with a sneeze. Lay up for a year, I told him, spend the last run’s profits on parts, go in debt to the buyers in the Capitol, if need be. Better that, than to soon trudge with every damn village’s : wares loaded on our backs!”

He struck the wall behind him with his fist—his face was even redder than before, the skin darkening with the pressure of his anger.

“And what did the captain say?” Daenek leaned forward eagerly.

The mertzer sat without speaking for a few moments. His face was paler, almost ashen, when he finally spoke. “That the engines were running so well as to need one less machinist tending them.

And not one of those fine fellows I’ve lived and worked with all these years would say a word for my sake. So here I come walking up to you and your mother’s house, a mertzer with only his own legs to move him about. Irony, of a sort.” He fell silent, then very softly spoke a few words in that other language.

Daenek recognized the words. It was a line from one of the songs he had heard that night, years ago, when he had watched the Lady Marche pose in front of the mirror with the veils from her locked trunk. Without knowing what any of the words meant, Daenek carefully pronounced the next line of the song. It was the first time he had ever said any of the remembered words aloud but they came from his lips clear and with no hesitation.

The broad face of the mertzer turned towards him, the eyes widened a fraction. “Your mother’s taught you the Capitol tongue as well, then?” He smiled for a second and then the eyes shifted away, following some path of his thoughts. “That’s a good thing, to know a language just for its songs.”

“She’s not just my mother,” said Daenek. “She’s a lady—the Lady Marche, and—”

The mertzer turned quickly and studied the boy’s face. “She’s who?” Without waiting for an answer, his blunt finger tapped the boy’s chest. “And if that’s her name, then who are you?”

Daenek shook his head and tried to stand up, but the mertzer’s hand gripped his shoulder and pressed him back down onto the blankets.

“The Lady Marche,” said mertzer, marvelling, “and she didn’t even tell me. Though what was I supposed to think when those wretched stone-cutters told me a woman lived up here who spoke the Capitol’s tongue, and might have some hospitality for one who was also born in that city. The Lady Marche…” He turned Daenek around to see him better. The mertzer’s face was transfigured, his mouth slightly open. “Then you must be,” he said, “of course, you’re—”

“My name’s Daenek.” He looked warily at the mertzer, wondering what change would strike him next.

“Yes.” The mertzer nodded, Ms face grown solemn. “The thane’s son.”

“So what of it?” said Daenek sullenly. He twisted free of the mertzer’s hand and stood up.

Sad eyes followed him as he backed away. “Ah, child,” murmured the other. “What have they told you here, about your father? What lies rotted that part of him that’s inside you?”

“Nothing,” said Daenek truthfully. “They never told me anything.” Suddenly, like a hollow space opening in his body, he felt a sense of shame. Shame at the way he had felt before.

“That’s how it’s done.” The mertzer’s gaze didn’t move away from him. “Slandered well, when the details are left for each to fill in with his own little fears and hates. Until a thane’s memory is painted over with a traitor’s.” He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall.