The King's Reckoning
IC time is: evening -- just before sunset
IC date is: mid-January
IC year is: 3186 S.A.
LOCATION:
Gimilbatan: At the Hall of Lore
White paved-stone blocks are laid side to side, composing the Star Street upon which the traffic is flowing smoothly. Richly decorated carriages flash frequently by you, drawn by well-groomed horses of mixed variety that is popular in Umbar. A strange feature of this street, the sidewalks, are a very recent introduction and provide great convenience for pedestrian travellers - not everybody can yet afford the carriages, even in Umbar the Golden.
Along the street, some moderately wealthy dwellings border the expanse of the Hall of Lore. A giant library, a repository of much knowledge and craft of Numenor, a museum holding the memories of ages past - all that the Hall of Lore is. It's occupying a full block along the northern side of Gimilbatan, and its treasures are jealously guarded by an army of librarians.
To northwest, Gimilbatan continues on, and a grey square lies to the east. Southeast, a narrow street branches off, leading into a maze of cramped buildings.
Obvious exits:
* East leads to Obelisk Square.
* Northwest leads to Gimilbatan: Shipwrights' Quarter.
* Southeast leads to Balkumagan Batan: Shipwrights' Guild.
The winter sun is sinking in the western sky, and for many in Umbar this signifies the end of the business day and a return to other pleasures. The white-paved Star Street is busy at this hour, with many wheeled carriages passing too and fro and the sidewalks filled with pedestrians. The seasons are muted at this southern latitude, but nevertheless there is a definite note of chill in the air as the red orb begins to slip below the horizon.
Upon the steps of the Hall of Lore, a grey-cloaked figure stands apparently lost in thought, gazing up at the inscription chiselled in a flowing script above the decorative archway to the Great Library. Scholars leaving the building have to skirt the figure, who makes no move to let them pass, and several mutter to each other in annoyance.
The young healer's apprentice Gimilphel, clad in cloak and gown of blue enters the square from the east, where the grey stone buildings of Obelisk Square can be seen in the distance. She carries a small cloth bag in one hand, and swings this absently beside her as she walks - presumably the contents can't be very heavy. As she passes the looming bulk of the Hall of Lore, her gaze rises automatically - and comes to rest on the unmoving figure. She gives a little start of recognition, hesitates an instant and then makes her way up the steps to stand beside him. "It says, 'Enter here, all ye who seek wisdom, and partake of her bounties'," she tells the grey-cloaked one in a soft voice.
The grey-clad figure turns to look down at the young girl, one of the few in this place whose height is less than his own. As he does so, the swarthy features and twisted lip that set him apart are plain to see in the fading light - it is Barzag, the mason's labourer. He gives a silent nod of greeting, then says, brows lowering slightly, "I can read - much of it." There is a long pause. "But some of the words I do not know. What means 'partake'? And 'bounties'?"
Gimilphel glances over to the doorway, its gold-inlaid lettering partly hidden by the deepening shadow, then back to her companion. "'Partake' means 'take part in' - or 'eat' if you're talking about food. And 'bounty' really just means good things - gifts, I suppose. So it's saying that people who want to learn should enter and -" She stops abruptly, flushing.
The Hillman stares at her, then shrugs and completes the sentence. "But not all may enter, maybe? Worry not, I do not wish to." The way his lips press together at the end of the sentence and the bitterness in his amber eyes would seem to bely that, however.
Gimilphel looks away for a moment, clearly embarrassed. The flush remains in her pale cheeks as she says in an attempt to divert to another topic, "Are you still taking reading lessons? How do you find it?" She twirls the strings of the bag in her hand, and the redolent smell of spices of some sort wafts into the air.
Barzag's nose wrinkles at the whiff of the strange odour; but he answers the question readily enough. "Yes, I still learn - once in every two weeks, now. I can read most times, if I do not mistake the letters, but in writing I am -" he hesitates, searching for a word. "Clumsy," he eventually offers, spreading his calloused hands wide in a self-depreciating gesture.
Gimilphel gives a reassuring, if slightly timid smile. "It will come with practise," she assures Barzag. "I always found the different spellings confusing too, when I was learning." She blushes just a little at this last admission.
"Different spellings?" Barzag repeats, his face blank with incomprehension.
"The letters have different meanings in the High Elven tongue we use for lore and the Common Speech," Gimilphel answers absently, twirling the string of her bag between her fingers.
At this, Barzag's expression darkens. He stares at the ground for a moment, twisted lips pressed tightly together, then raises his head to gaze at Gimilphel, the bitterness in his amber eyes plain to see. "Different letters and different meanings?" he asks, voice hoarse. "Then which do I learn now? And which do I need? I did hope to ... study ..." And then in a half-mumbled aside, despair rising in his tone, "How can I learn a new speech when I do not speak well?"
Gimilphel bites her lip, her attention caught by the worry in the man's voice. "It depends," she answers him. "What do you wish to read?"
For a long moment there is silence. Barzag gazes at the young girl with indecision in his face, perhaps debating whether he can trust her. Eventually he replies, "I wish to learn the ways of building, of stoneworking. I know how to place stone on stone, how to do this or do that - but I need to know why. Only if I know this can I become ... mason." He falls silent again, taking a step back, braced for derision.
To young Gimilphel, however, the desire to study seems a thing wholly natural. Does she not spend her own days learning from the renowned Galenrien? So Barzag's words are answered with a nod and her mouth dimples in a little smile. Her features become serious again as she answers, "Much of what we know of the Healing arts came from the Elves, and so much Healing lore is in their tongue. That is why I studied their modes of speech and writing. But building - that is an art of Men, one we have learned for ourselves, and the records should be mainly in the Common Speech. If you can read the language we are speaking now, it will be enough."
Barzag nods, the shadow of doubt still in his eyes. "I do not know. I will ask the one who teaches me." He gives a sigh, glances round the rapidly darkening square and says, "I thank you for telling me these things," turning as if to go.
"Wait!" calls Gimilphel. "If you need any help, maybe I can assist you? Or my mistress Galenrien - I know she wanted ..." The girl trails off, flushing. "Say you will come to the Healing Houses and seek us out," she instructs the Hillman. "Please?"
Barzag is silent. "Maybe," he offers at last.
"Not just maybe," Gimilphel insists, perhaps mindful of Galenrien's instructions to find out more about the two Rhevain the healeress had encountered recently. She reaches out a hand towards Barzag's arm.
And the Hillman jerks his arm back out of reach, lips set in a tight line.
Gimilphel stares at him in bewilderment, the fiery blush now spreading across her cheeks visible even in the dim light. What has she done wrong? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend," she stammers at last, her own eyes now downturned in misery.
"You offend not," Barzag tells her gruffly, after a short pause. "I am not ... used ... to people. Not to your people," he adds as an afterthought.
Gimilphel swallows, looks up again. "Maybe if you came to the Healing Houses you could explain your customs?" she suggests in a small voice. "We should know; we'll need to treat your people sometimes."
"There are no others of my people in this city," Barzag replies, his gaze remote, bitter beyond words. "But I will come," he adds more gently, "if you and Galen-ren wish this. I exchange you knowledge for knowledge, maybe?"
Gimilphel's dismay slowly changes to puzzlement at Barzag's odd turn of phrase. Her green eyes widen, and she blinks a few times in confusion - then shrugs her shoulders, obviously dismissing the matter for now. She nods, and even manages a tiny smile. "Yes, that would be a good idea," she responds. She looks round the square, which is now much less busy, and murmurs, "I should go, it's getting late." The thought of making her way back to Umbar's New Town alone after dark is not appealing. "Goodnight, Barzag."
"I wish you a good night also," Barzag responds. He turns back to look once more at the inscription over the entrance to the Halls of Lore, but by now it is obscured by deep shadows. The Hillman heaves a sigh, and then starts to make his way southwards, frowning slightly as if deep in thought.
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