Page 13 of Claiming the Tower
Tilson snorted, though he seemed amused and willing enough to stay put for the moment. She wasn’t trying his patience too badly. FitzHugh coughed, though. “What sort of principles?”
“If you wish people to have a conversation, one that stretches the mind and the assumption, the proper space is part of that.” She nodded at FitzHugh. “You mentioned, sir, that a fortnight ago, the meeting was down the hall, on the other end of the building. It is a lovely room, with windows on three sides. But at this time in the afternoon— the time all three of you were available— the light can be glaring. It can become uncomfortably warm in the summer, even with suitable charms. No one need spend a meeting squinting against the sun or with a headache forming behind their eyes. It’s not at all good for the conversation.”
Hereswith took a brief pause for a proper breath, but none of them interrupted, so she went on. “If that were the only room, of course, we’d take steps to make it as comfortable as possible. This room is most pleasing at this time of day, and just as well fitted, though admittedly it lacks something in terms of the view. But for a working meeting, not one designed to impress foreign dignitaries, that is less of a consideration.”
Now, she’d definitely provoked Tilson to amusement. He glanced over at Magistra Ventry, his hand moving in what Hereswith thought was an acknowledgement of some kind. She inclined her head. “Go on. I’m certain there is more.” Her voice was deceptively quiet now. Honestly, Hereswith wished she were brave enough to inquire if she might have an hour or three of the woman’s time, and the generosity of her expertise. But that was absolutely not something she could ask for.
“A meeting like this is, hmm. Somewhere in the middle realm for planning. It is not a regular standing meeting among peers or people who work in the same department. Those, someone would see to having a tea tray, to having someone to take detailed notes, that the necessary maps or other diagrams were made and enlarged suitably.” She gestured at where a map of the current relevant locations hung on the wall, one of the bottom corners curling up slightly in the heat. Someone had brushed by it on the way out, and she suspected Marcus had used the less effective of the charms.
“Similarly, you are not a formal diplomatic delegation. Those need far more in the way of arrangements, precise choices about food and drink. The planning should consider foods someone does not eat, of course, but also there are delicate touches to acknowledge the country they come from, and so forth.” Now that she was in the midst of it, laying out the details was rather pleasant.
Hereswith considered which example to draw on. The French would be easy on one hand. She had all the current diplomatic staff’s preferences top of mind still. But that would irritate Tilson, and that wouldn’t do. “On a purely beginner level, though one surprisingly many people neglect, we would not serve alcohol to diplomats from the Ottoman Empire. Depending on the event, we might serve alcohol to our own people. But we would make certain there was not just one drink that suited the diplomatic guests, but a choice. Of course, sometimes we know something about a particular person’s preferences. Every hostess in Albion knows you dislike marzipan, Council Member Tilson. No one who wanted you to think favourably of them would serve it to you.”
That now got an outright laugh from him. “True, true. Do you all share notes, then? I have never been entirely sure how such things are conveyed.”
“Within the Ministry, sir, we share our knowledge. There are several secretaries and assistants whose entire duty it is to record such things in ways we can refer to at need. Food, drink, where someone’s home is located, if there are any particular enmities or alliances. The names and ages of children, or if a relationship with a wife or brother or some such is difficult.”
Magistra Ventry had been observing her. “And we have had changes since the last meeting.”
“My condolences again on the Council’s loss, Council Members.” Of course, all of that had been expressed weeks ago at the death of Theseus Harrington. Hereswith had not attended the funeral. Far too many other people had more right to be there. Even the Great Hall at Dinas Emrys, the Council Keep, could only hold so many.
He had been the first one to propose that there be a regular meeting with the Ministry for the duration of the war, to coordinate materials and information. Hereswith inhaled once, pacing her comments, but went on. “But yes, that required some rearrangement of some of our plans, how to best arrange the specifics of this meeting.”
She hesitated, then trusted the spark of instinct that so often kept her on course in this sort of conversation. “I suspect that the staff at Dinas Emrys do many of the same things, preparing for gatherings there.”
Council Member Ventry smiled— a rare expression for her, Hereswith suspected. “Oh, yes. It is part of why there is a pause between a death and the Challenge. The Challengers need time to prepare, of course, but we also need time to make things ready. Some matters are tended to by the Council alone, and we are always busy.” Then she lifted her chin. “Speaking of, gentlemen.”
Finally, she stood, permitting the other two to rise. Hereswith did the same, though she stepped back from her side of the table, so they would have room to move freely despite the broad skirts. Council Member Ventry turned, making it seem artless. “Mistress Rowan, if I have notes for matters we’d like to discuss at the next meeting, when would it be best to get them to you?”
As soon as they were known, but of course Hereswith couldn’t actually say that. “We prepare the notes two or three days in advance, and the maps. Earlier than that permits us to have additional research and materials at the ready. But of course, we understand situations may change rapidly, or some news may arrive that disturbs a number of plans.”
“Just so.” The older woman inclined her head. “I will let your seniors know we are well pleased with your work.” That had a bit of pleasure in it. Hereswith was as human as anyone else and liked praise. And it had a bit of terror. She would be expected to exceed what she’d done today next time. There were those in the Ministry who would see her as that much more of a threat. She stood and waited until they’d all left the room, then escorted them down toward the central stairs.
Only then could she come back and do the final tidying. One of the staff would come and actually clean, and there were marks from one of the teacups on the wood. That was a pity. But it was Herewith’s duty to make sure that there were no confidential documents left behind. And that the map was rolled up and returned to storage for future use, and so on. With any luck, by the time she’d done that, Marcus would be back from his own particular quest and they could compare notes.
Chapter 10
Later that afternoon at The Field
“Magistra Rowan asked if you’d mind a private room today.” Adelaide looked up from her place by the entrance. “She’s running a little behind, she said by note, but we’ll bring the food right up.”
“Ah.” Bess was a little off-balance. “If that’s what she prefers, that’s fine with me.” She wondered how long Hereswith might be. Bess had to count the minutes, precious as they were. Hereswith had her own obligations. Bess had a book with her. Every chance to read without interruption was precious as well. She might as well make the most of it.
Twenty-five minutes later, Bess was still alone with her book, the untouched tea cart, and the decided lure of the drinking chocolate. She was a mature woman, able to delay her pleasures. Though if she had to wait another twenty minutes, she wouldn’t hold herself to waiting on the chocolate. The smell filled the room, with every kind of comfort and luxury she never got to touch.
Then there was a rap on the door, a quick “It’s me.”
Bess set the book in her reticule. “Come in.”
There was a flurry of colour, first. Nothing bright, but Bess thought it all specifically chosen. A deep green, subdued, but a shade that made Hereswith look vibrantly healthy in a quiet way. Not any of the arsenic greens, of course, Hereswith would have more sense than that. Hereswith hesitated, then pulled the gloves off her hand and undid the ribbons holding her summer straw bonnet in place. She set both on a side table, nudging the door closed with one hand, and then calling magic to her fingers so quickly it almost sparked visibly. A second later, a cloak of quiet privacy settled.
Bess blinked. “A complicated day?”
“I am so sorry I’m late. And yes. Oh, you haven’t even started. Come on, you aren’t a woman above temptation, are you?”
“Not above all temptations.” Bess tried to keep her voice dignified, but she was laughing by the last word. “If you’d been another twenty minutes, though, I was promising myself the chocolate.”
“Ah, well. You should have the chocolate, then. Or, wait.” Hereswith brought the cart over with a gentle push. “Can you pour the tea, though? I’m not sure I trust my skills. All used up.”
