Turtledove, Harry - Darkness - 01 - Into the Darkness by Turtledove Harry

Author:Turtledove, Harry [Turtledove, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780613279017
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1999-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Eleven

WHEN VANAI heard the knock on the door, her first thought was that it meant trouble. She’d grown quite good at telling Kaunians from Forthwegians simply by the way they knocked. Kaunians did it as softly as they could to make themselves heard inside, almost as if they were apologizing for causing a disturbance. The Forthwegians of Oyngestun came less often to the house she shared with her grandfather. When they did, they forthrightly announced themselves.

This knock—it came again as Vanai hurried toward the door—did not seem to fall into either the apologetic or the forthright school. What it said was, Open up or suffer the consequences, or, perhaps, Open up and suffer the consequences anyway.

“What is that dreadful racket?” Brivibas called from his study. “Vanai, do something about it, if you please.”

“Aye, my grandfather,” Vanai said. Brivibas sensed something out of the ordinary, too, which worried her. He paid as little heed as he could to such mundanities as knocks on the door. No ancient Kaunian author Vanai knew and no modern journal of things anciently Kaunian mentioned them; thus, they might as well not have existed for him.

She opened the door, telling herself she was imagining things and a Forthwegian tradesman would be standing there irritably wondering what took her so long. But the man standing there was no Forthwegian. He was tall and lanky, with a red chin beard and mustaches waxed to needle points. On his head, cocked at a jaunty angle, sat a broad-brimmed hat with a bright pheasant feather sticking up from the band. He wore a short tunic above a pleated kilt, and boots and knee socks. He was, in short, an Algarvian, as Vanai had feared from the first.

She thought about slamming the door in his face, but didn’t have the nerve. Besides, she doubted that would do any good. Trying to keep a quaver from her voice, she asked, “What—what do you want?”

He surprised her by sweeping off his hat and bowing almost double, then astonished her by replying in Kaunian rather than the Forthwegian she’d used: “Is this the home of the famous scholar Brivibas?”

Was it a trap? If it was, what could she do about it? The occupiers had to know where Brivibas lived. They didn’t need to waste time on politeness, either. Had they wanted her grandfather for dark reasons of their own, they could have broken down the door and sent soldiers storming in. Despite the obvious truth in all that, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more than, “Who wishes to learn?” She kept on speaking Forthwegian.

The Algarvian bowed again. “I have the honor to be Major Spinello. Will you do me the courtesy of announcing me to your—grandfather, is that correct? I wish to seek his wisdom in matters having to do with antiquities in this area.” He kept using Kaunian. He spoke it very well, and even used participles correctly. Only his trilled “r”s declared his native language.

Vanai gave up. “Please step into the front hall,” she said in her own tongue.

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