Letters from Armorica- A Talk among the Tombstones (3 October 35 AF)

First Letter

Dear Journal,

I meant to be back in Bois-de-Bas by now—indeed, Bertrand is already on his way, with Patches the Goat in tow—but Lord Doncaster held me here until today. His Lordship wants to have all of the threads tied up neatly, and I, of course, am one of them.

I met with His Lordship this afternoon, after attending divine services in the cathedral. I am not at all sure that His Lordship was present in mind as well as body, for an air of distraction filled his box. Religion is not an abiding concern among the higher folk in Yorke, so he might have been present to show willing, and to ingratiate himself with his Armorican subjects for whom it is very much an abiding concern.

Or he may have been there simply to meet with me in a plausibly casual manner. What is more natural than for two chance-met expatriates to take a short walk on a fine Autumn day and discuss the Old Country amid the tombstones in the churchyard? For walk we did, and for some twenty minutes or so.

His Lordship questioned me about Trout and all of my experiences with with him and at the Farm, and marveled at the doings of Patches the Goat—without, I may say, desiring to become further acquainted with the beast. He also listened quite seriously to my summary of my trials.

"I do not wish to command you, M. Tuppenny," he said. "Indeed I am not sure whether I can in this. Cumbria is in possession, as it were, but until le Parlement takes further action my legal position is uncertain. But for myself, I would say that you should continue your research by any means possible. Further, it is my opinion—and this is the official opinion of His Majesty's government, of which I am the representative, that you are rightfully and by guild-law the grandmaster of the Former's Guild in Armorica. My word on that.

"Mind you," he said with a smile, "His Majesty's government may change its collective mind after I am gone; but it seems that you have a powerful advocate in Yorke, so I shouldn't worry if I were you."

"My father," I said, ruefully. "I'm on the outs with him, you know. I came here intending to drop out of sight and never deal with him again. He's only pleased because my accomplishments here reflect well on him and extend his reach. Or so he thinks."

His Lordship nodded. "I and my father were the same; I was never happier than when I got my commission and was off to the wars. Nevertheless, do not spurn his good will, for it will serve you well, even, or perhaps especially at a distance. If it were not impertinent, I might add that it is clear that he taught you better than to do so."

"Yes, I suppose he did." I shrugged. "They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but you know, I'm doing my best to roll downslope."

He chuckled. "Indeed; and tomorrow you may roll off to your little town. But mind what I say! So long as you have your head above water I've no wish to interfere with you; but should you find yourself in need, ask for my help through your cousin Jack. The work you are doing is too important to be allowed to languish."

I nodded. "Thank you, your Lordship."

"Just so. Now then, I believe that pulls all of the threads into one tidy knot. All of the purely local threads, at any rate," he said. "We may never hear Trout's full story, not if I know His Majesty's intelligencers. If I learn more, I shall tell you what I can; but at a guess it was a plot aimed at the throne through your father. More than that I cannot say."

We had been pacing slowly, and now reached the center of the graveyard, hard by the tall monument of Jacques Durand, leader of the second wave of colonists. It was a fine obelisk of bronze wood, polished and gleaming. His Lordship turned and regarded me, there in its shadow.

"It takes good men to build a land," he said, gesturing at the monument. "I am glad to have met another." And then, with an airy wave he left me.

I dine tonight with M. Fournier, who has somehow acquired a math text for me; I shall sleep at the guild hall; and first thing in the morning I shall set out for Amelie and home.

Next letter

photo credit: SchuminWeb Edge Hill Cemetery via photopin (license)

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