Page 50 of Claiming the Tower
Marcus, at least, didn’t seem to begrudge her the change at all. He was as wholehearted in his support and delight at her success as anyone might want. Their superiors in the Ministry were another question. None of them could quite decide whether they were more glad to be rid of her and her specific questions, or annoyed that she would not be there to do necessary paperwork and evaluation.
Hereswith agreed to consider consulting on a few specific topics if her schedule allowed. But she’d made a point of saying that the rates expected would mean it would likely only make sense for limited hours. She, of course, knew the budgets inside and out by this point.The senior Ministry staff did not like that truth one bit, but she’d already confirmed the customary rates with Blanch.
The celebratory supper had been a brief highlight. It had not been large, just the family and Marcus and William, plus a few other friends of the family. Large enough that the large dining room felt the right size, but not so large they considered opening up the ballroom. In fact, the weather had been lovely, so they had ended up in the gardens before and after supper. That part, being out in the green world, had felt the best.
Bess had thrown herself into the planning of the party with great glee, and she’d also set to figuring out what Hereswith would find actually enjoyable. On the one hand, Hereswith had been unsure about asking or expecting, but on the other, Bess was obviously both skilled and delighted to help that way. More usefully, it had let Hereswith give more of her attention to all the other new aspects of her life. One of the particular considerations was her clothing.
Her dressmaker had come out on the Monday, to work out gowns that could more readily go from a meeting or gathering to a ritual or other bit of formal magic. That meant consideration of the fabrics, the materia used for dyes, and the decorative elements. Hereswith had been warned that the Fatae did not take kindly to animals or birds on hats, not anything that meant the death of the animal. Antler or horn buttons were one thing, but an entire bird was a particular problem, with the plume trade somewhere in the middle. Provenance mattered, apparently.
On Wednesday, she had arrived at the Council Keep early, as requested, and Blanch had given her a perfunctory tour of the private spaces. As they went, Hereswith made note of the details before confirming them. “So you are saying that each tends their own space?” They were standing in what was to be her office. It was a narrow long room with a slit of a window, enough space for a desk at one end, some shelves, and possibly a comfortable chair.
“Yes. The staff don’t come up here.” Blanch glanced around. “Is that a problem?”
“I am just getting a sense of the land.” Hereswith took a breath. “So there are the public spaces downstairs, that anyone can be admitted to, including a space for whoever is hearing petitions or whatever we call them.” That had a rota, though it was apparently often readjusted as specific skills were needed elsewhere. Blanch had been clear Hereswith would be taking up the slack for a while to come, while everyone got a sense of her areas of competence. And Hereswith had the training for that sort of thing. It was certainly fewer people at once than diplomatic gatherings, never mind negotiations.
Blanch nodded, just waiting in the way she did, the one that made everyone a tad nervous. Hereswith continued. “Then there are the rooms that others can come into, on the ground floor, but only with one of the Council’s permission. The various meeting rooms. Along with guest rooms, that way.”
The meeting rooms came in a range of jewel-tone colours and decorative patterns, and were also embedded with history. Soon, she would spend some time getting a better sense of each of them, and of the unwritten rules about which were used for what and who. It was a faux pas to put a family in a room that had some historical complexity associated with it. “Those are also tended by the staff.”
It got another nod from Blanch. “Then,” Hereswith went on, “each has an office here, the meeting room, and the library. And the Council tends those ourselves.”
“Exactly. The staff is excellent, but they are not one of us. That matters.” Blanch shrugged slightly, about to turn away.
“What is the best way for me to speak to the key staff? And to get an overview of the library?” Hereswith’s questions apparently caught Blanch off guard, and Hereswith was going to treasure that for a bit. When her heart stopped pounding, anyway.
“Why— I suppose there’s no reason you can’t. We don’t.” Blanch peered at her, decidedly like a raven dubious about what it found.
“You might not. I do.” Hereswith braced herself slightly, ready for an argument.
“They’ll make you take on all the organising. A lot of ridiculous nonsense, most of that. If you get all of it landing on your head, don’t blame me.” Blanch turned then. “The library, though. I can give you a quick look now. You’ll want to talk to, mmm.” She considered. “Erasmus spends a lot of time there, but he’s focused on his interests.”
“Astronomy and the locational magics. I read a couple of his papers,” Hereswith replied. “Agnes?” Agnes Willings was a historian. Papa didn’t think as well of her earlier work as her more recent, but she’d also moved into a focus on the emplacement of castles and the magical resonances that made. Papa cared rather less about those details.
“Agnes, yes. If you can keep up with her. She has no patience for anyone who can’t.” Blanch opened the door, taking Hereswith out.
“Isn’t that true of all of us here? The Council does not have a reputation for gentleness.” Hereswith offered it as a test, and was rewarded by a definite snort of amusement. No praise, not even any comment, but the snort was something. The library itself was in rather dreadful disarray. In a fortnight or two, Hereswith would probably inquire about what parts could be tidied without causing a problem. She didn’t want to take on the task entirely and be saddled with it forever, but she could use the excuse of being new and figuring out the holdings.
Of course, she didn’t have nearly enough time for a proper look before the meeting began. Or rather, before it began for everyone else. She was left out in the hallway for a few minutes, before being brought in and making the formal oath. There was another round of greetings, a bit of a toast. Hereswith took her seat beside Gervase. The other seating was to some pattern she didn’t understand yet.
The range of topics was, actually, more or less what she’d expected. And from today, she’d have preparatory reading or information to work with as well. For the moment, she focused on listening, not just to who spoke or what they said, but how they went about it. She’d need a lot more time. But she wanted to begin to make the connections of who deferred to whom, who interrupted, who seemed to be allied, at least on a particular topic.
When the meeting ended, everyone disappeared, off to supper or other evening plans. Hereswith waited to see if anyone wanted to speak with her. The answer was apparently no, so she went home. Bess was coming out of the library as Hereswith came up the stairs and took one look at her. “Have you eaten?”
“No?” Hereswith had to think back. “Tea. With not very good sandwiches.”
“I’ll go see about food. Your father’s in bed with his book. He said he was probably going to fall asleep early.” Hereswith nodded, and went upstairs, first to tell him goodnight, and then off to her own room to change. Mary appeared not long after, to help with the various fastenings, but she disappeared once Bess appeared with a tray of food. “Now. What do you need to talk about?”
“Most of it I can’t.” The oath had been clear about it, and she’d certainly felt the biting teeth of the Silence in it. Some people’s fears at such times were obvious ones, losing loved ones. Hereswith’s were more metaphorical and complex, about there being a failure— the sort that came with fires and flood and destruction— that she could have prevented. The Harrowing of the North, the Anarchy, a dozen, hundred, other times in history when people’s greed and certainty had shattered the lives of thousands of others. Hundreds or thousands of thousands. “Oaths.”
“All right.” Bess set the tray down where Hereswith could reach it. “I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me. And I will find some other topic if you don’t want.”
Hereswith shivered, suddenly. “I don’t— it’s not that I don’t want to. How do we build something together, if we can’t talk about what I do most of the day?”
“People do. Thousands of men keep their wives quite ignorant of what they do. Not that I recommend it. Especially since a fair bit of the time it seems to be hiding financial malfeasance or a mistress or scandal or some other problem that will spill over onto the family if not managed sensibly.”
It made Hereswith chuckle. “No mistress, you’ve seen my financial accounts now, and I’m fairly sure I’m innately opposed to scandal. Is innately what I mean?” She took a breath. “Can I try talking some of it out and see where the oath stops me?”
“If that’s not too much for the evening. Are you comfortable? Will eating first be better or worse? Pressing on the oath on a full stomach or an empty one?” Bess hovered for a moment, as if unsure where to sit.
