Through the Darkness

That was another phrase Fernao had learned. “The Principality,” he replied. Grandmaster Pinhiero had grumbled about paying for his stay there, but yielded in the end. Fernao couldn’t very well impose on Ilmarinen (as far as he could tell, no one imposed on Ilmarinen) or Siuntio, and Pekka was staying at the Principality. The more he learned from the Kuusaman mages, the more he talked shop with them, the better off Lagoas would be. So he’d told the grandmaster, and he’d actually made Pinhiero believe it.

Several hostels in Setubal might have matched the Principality, but Fernao wasn’t sure any could have beaten it. The room in which he dwelt was large and luxurious; the food, even in wartime, was outstanding; and he was convinced that at least half the people who worked in the Principality spoke better Lagoan than he did. The doorman was one of those. “Let me give you a hand, sir,” he said, and helped Fernao up the stairs to the entrance. Going along on flat ground, Fernao thought he managed pretty well. When he had to climb stairs, he was glad for any help he could get.

Once he made it into the lobby, he flipped back the hood on his tunic and sighed with pleasure, enjoying the warmth that radiated from several coal stoves. He looked around, wondering whether any of his Kuusaman colleagues were around. He’d thought he might spot Siuntio or Ilmarinen, but didn’t-- though he wouldn’t say they weren’t there till he made a trip to the bar.

He’d taken a couple of hitching steps in that direction when someone called his name. He stopped and looked around--and there sat Pekka, not far from one of the stoves. She waved to him. “Come and join me, if you care to,” she said in classical Kaunian.

“I would be very glad to,” he answered.

She had a skein of dark green yarn in her lap and a length of finished green cloth into which were inserted a pair of crocheting hooks. “If I am not the worst crocheter in the world, I pity the poor woman who is,” Pekka said. “Would you care for a muffler, Master Fernao? You had better say aye, for I cannot make anything else.”

“Aye, and thank you,” Fernao said. “If I asked you for something with sleeves, you would probably knit me to death with those things.”

“Knitting needles are different,” Pekka said. “I knit even worse than I crochet, which is why I do not knit at all anymore.” She pointed to his newly freed arm. “I leave knitting to you. And I am glad to see you are doing it well.”

Reminded of the arm, he scratched it. “A very able lady physician named Juhani took off the cast. You Kuusamans worry less about the differences between men and women than my people do.”

Pekka shook her head. “No, that is not so,” she answered. “We worry less about differences in what men and women do than most other folk. We know there are differences between men and women.” She smiled. “If there were not, the world would have ended a long time ago, or at least our place in it.”

“That is true enough.” Fernao smiled, too.

Pekka rolled her eyes. “I wonder what my son is doing now, down in Kajaani. Something to drive my sister mad, I have no doubt. And, speaking of the differences between men and women, I never behaved that way when I was seven years old.”

“No?” Fernao’s chuckle threatened to become a belly laugh. “Would your mother and father say the same thing about you?”

“I hope so!” Pekka exclaimed. “Their hair is still almost altogether dark. Mine, I think, will be white as snow by the time Uto grows to manhood.”

Fernao ran a hand through his own coppery hair, which was just beginning to be frosted with gray. “I have no children,” he said. “If my hair turns white overnight, it may be on account of what you Kuusamans have come up with.”

“That might do it to me, too.” Before saying anything more, Pekka looked around to see if anyone might be listening. So did Fernao. He spotted no one close by. Pekka couldn’t have, either, but she went on, “I mislike speaking of this in public. Shall we talk further in my rooms?”

To a Lagoan, that might have been an invitation of one sort or an invitation of another sort altogether. Fernao asked, “What would your husband say if he heard you asking me there?”

“He would say that he trusted me,” Pekka answered. “He would also say that he had reason to trust me. I presume you would not try to prove him wrong?”

“Now that you have spoken so, of course not,” Fernao said. “But I did wonder. Customs differ from one kingdom to another.”

“So they do. But I am telling you how things are here.”

“I said all right once,” Fernao replied, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused. “If you do not believe me, take back the invitation.”