Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance
Chapter 14: Assumption of Risk
In which many doors open and shut and assumptions are made and you know what they say about them.
When we last left Harold and Morgan, Harold had decided to court Morgan. Morgan avoided him. Harold has now presented Morgan with a spectacular gift, if you are AD Morgan of Linch, of erasable, washable ink.
Given how ill it had all begun, with Morgan avoiding him at every turn, Edmund was not expecting anything good to come of the evening. The best he hoped for was some sort of intellectual understanding with her going forward, which was necessary but certainly not what he had sought when he set out for Archenland.
That expectation had sunk further still with now revealing just how wretchedly horrible he had been once been. Having had to chase her down and practically corner her, Edmund expected Morgan to run out in disgust.
Instead, she was staring at the wooden box in her lap containing the bottles of ink he had brewed for her.
"You are making it really hard for me to stay away, Harold," Morgan said.
"I was hoping to make it easier for you to stay, Morgan."
"For how long?"
"I don't know," Edmund admitted. He did know he had to provide a better answer. "I have realized these last months apart that when the winds bring you here, I want you with me."
"It is too quiet in there," Jalur's voice suddenly interrupted from the other side of the heavy, and shut, door. "King Edmund, Banker Morgan, please confirm that you are both alive, or I shall summon a Centaur to kick the door in."
"I told you, they are fine," Jina said loudly, sounding very testy.
"We are both quite alive!" Edmund called. He was not ready for the scrutiny and sympathy of the sensitive Narnians. Once Morgan left, he would not bother with evening courtesies to Lune and would just find some Dwarfs, some Lightning, and get drunk.
"Banker Morgan?" Jalur asked.
"I'm fine!" Morgan called. "Well, no, I'm not fine! I am still alive!"
"See?" Jina growled. "I told you!"
"Why are you not fine?" Jalur pressed. "Should we fetch someone? A physician? Jina? Morgan says she is not fine."
"Leave them be!" Jina snapped.
"Of course, should we wish for privacy, I do not recommend Narnia," Edmund said. In a whisper, he added, "Jalur has been especially protective since I returned from Narrowhaven. He always worries I've been abducted by Otters or have fallen down a well."
Morgan blew out a breath that stirred the straw packaging in the box. "Jalur, I am fine!"
"I believe you are lying and are under duress," Jalur said. "Something is wrong. King Edmund? Are you both are being held hostage and forced to speak lies? I knew we should not have permitted the Otter to accompany us. He is behind this evil. Prepare to die, Otter." There was another growl and the door creaked, very much the sound to be expected as a very large carnivore pressed his weight against it. There were scratches, the noises made by teeth and claws on metal, which meant Jalur was trying to manipulate the door knob.
Edmund jumped up from the sofa before real damage to Lune's castle was done, strode to the door and threw it open. Jalur and Jina both tumbled into the room in a disordered pile of brown, black, white, and golden hair. Tiger and Hound rolled apart and sprang to their feet, teeth bared, and growling at each other.
"You were both trying to eavesdrop," Edmund accused. He would be angry if they didn't both look so comical. Jalur and Jina both shook themselves off, sending fur into the air. "And for nothing, see? Morgan is here. She is fine. I am fine. We have not been savaged by Otters, sharks, or snakes or been abducted by pirates."
"You both make terrible Rats," Morgan said, moving the box of inkwells, very carefully, from her lap to the couch. She was at least smiling at the kerfuffle.
Edmund pushed his irritation at his Guards aside. He and Morgan needed to come to some conclusion, but it would not be resolved this evening with their over-curious audience. It was time for Morgan to return to her card game and he would crawl into a cask of Lightning.
Morgan restlessly twisted between her fingers the green bow Jezebel the Beaver had given her. When Morgan had whipped her head around for some vehement disagreement or another, her braid had hit him the face and the bow had fallen off. As this sort of thing had happened often during their time together, he had become adept at helping Morgan with her ties, bows, and laces.
"Would you like me tie that back on for you?"
"Maybe in the morning," Morgan said.
Imagination, intellect, body, and mouth froze. Unfortunately, frustrated and defeated imagination recovered first. "Whaaa?"
Morgan put her fingers to her right ear and began removing the earring lodged there. All of him knew what that meant.
"I said, 'maybe in the morning.'" She removed the other earring and set them both in the box with the ink.
Flapping of Crow wings interrupted the witty and salacious response his imagination would have mustered and the gracious query he should have posed. Kangee and Harah flew into the room. They were carrying coins in their beaks and claws and so could neither talk nor land at first. Then, coins were falling to the floor as the Birds landed on chair backs and chased down their winnings as they rolled away under furniture, under Jalur and Jina, and behind curtains. The Crows were jabbering about their owed payment in Morgan's hair, she joined them on the floor to scrabble about for their shared earnings from the card game, and Jina and Jalur were trying to explain how they really had not been violating his royal order for privacy.
His imagination was all for throwing the lot of them out, throwing Morgan over his shoulder and making for his bedroom that was behind the far door and only steps away. His intellect was urging patience recognizing nothing would occur without an accounting of the card game first. So Edmund did the sensible thing and got on his hands and knees to crawl under the table to locate the missing coins.
"I'm going to demand a cut of the winnings," he said, igniting another argument and vociferous complaint from the three Crows in the room.
"You missed one!" Kangee croaked. "In the corner!"
Edmund banged his head coming up, coins in fist.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Harold!"
He declined her offer of assistance, which would surely result in more bashing and climbed to his feet unaided. They'd both end up in the physician's office otherwise.
"Those are our winnings!" Harah complained as he tossed their coins on to the table. "Treat them with respect!"
"Oh quiet, you!" Morgan said and tilted her head toward Kangee. "Take another hair and give us some peace. And I saw you eyeing my earrings, Harah. If you steal them, you won't get a Shiny from either of us for a month."
His intellect and imagination both liked the word us very much. But for a month? Only a month? His intellect hoped it was only a turn of phrase even as his imagination complained of the short duration. How long might this last? He pushed it aside. No relevant. They would make the most of the time they had. "We shall make it a two-month penalty," he told the Crows, firmly reminding his imagination that two months was better than nothing at all.
"And now you must excuse us!" Morgan cried, seizing his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom.
"What?" Harah asked. "Why?"
"Where are you going?" Jalur demanded, rising to his feet.
"Mating," Jina said. "They are going to mate."
Jalur sank back down, grumbling. "Why do you always make this so complicated?"
"You owe me a shiny, Harah!" Kangee croaked jubilantly. "I won! I won! I knew Banker Morgan would like King Edmund's preened feathers when he went courting!"
It was embarrassing to be so exposed, but Morgan laughed. "I knew you were looking especially handsome!" Unfortunately, Morgan's enthusiasm was ahead of the practical reality.
"This will not do, Morgan. We cannot," Edmund said, resisting and pulling back just as she fumbled for the bedroom doorknob.
Her look was the one he'd seen her turn on Director Stanleh – furious. And beneath that – and he did not need Jina to tell him so – deep hurt.
"Oh?" Morgan said acidly. "Planning on having one of the ladies from dinner in your room?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." He could have teased her further, but Morgan was distressed and everything was clamoring for a resolution. "This door, however, leads to Lucy's bedroom," he confided, finally putting an arm around his lover and bringing her to his side, where she belonged. "My room is on the other side."
ooOOoo
It was too desperate and too quick, too much and too little, in a strange place and a strange bed. It did not feel as it had and Edmund did not think it was merely as compared to fond, idealized memories of before. Too much hung unsaid between them in the dark.
Edmund was also conscious of the fact that this lovers' talk was not something he excelled at.
There was movement in the next room and sounds of voices speaking. Lucy must have returned. Jalur and Jina would explain, somehow. Tiger and Hound would articulate it better than he and Morgan could.
"Are you…" Morgan began tentatively, speaking in his ear.
"Fine," he replied.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How badly I usually manage this," he admitted. Edmund forced the words he had shied from using even a month ago, before he had understood how close he had come to losing something he had become very accustomed to. "Even when I want it to continue, my efforts are usually met with tears, smashed pottery, and thrown boots."
"And a lover calling you ass or brute."
"Yes."
Morgan shifted away in the bed. He supposed it was progress that he could tell something bothered her. They had had variations on this discussion before so he wasn't sure why it seemed to vex Morgan now.
He reached across the divide and drew her close again. "See?" he said. "I told you I manage this poorly. You must speak, Morgan. I can't know your mind otherwise."
"It's nothing."
"Jina would growl at you for saying so."
"Probably."
He waited and let Morgan collect her racing thoughts.
"I was just wondering…"
"Yes?"
The blurting followed. "Have you been with anyone else? Since you left Narrowhaven?"
He could lie. It would be so easy to lie. But he was not sure the truth was any better for what it portended.
"Once," he admittedly, ruefully. "Leszi trounced me in practice and insisted my recovery hinged upon a drunken night with his fellows and lying with a partner. In my highly compromised state, I couldn't see to refuse a very persistent Naiad, which I soon and thoroughly regretted."
She stirred against his chest. "A Naiad? That must be…"
"Very wet, and not in an enjoyable way."
Morgan laughed.
He weighed the consequences and decided he wanted to know. "And you?"
She harrumphed. "You lived at Linch House. Who? Seth was the only one before."
Seth Stanleh.
Edmund had suspected as much from some careless and boastful talk of Seth's when the men had all gone out together to haunt the taverns and smoke parlours of the lower town of Narrowhaven. He had endured drunken ribbing when the conversation had turned to partners, couplings, and conquests. Is it true, what we hear of the North? Out of doors? With trees? Things with hooves? Among the intellectual Bankers of the Lone Islands, the rumors of Narnia were exotic and decadent.
And so very complicated.
There would come a time when, for Morgan, there certainly would be another. And then he would have to determine if a King of Narnia would lie with another man's wife. It was commonplace in the politics of other courts. It was not something he had thought he would ever do himself. For the first time, Edmund was feeling real sympathy for what might drive such actions – being reconciled to the politics of a convenient marriage for power, and finding your pleasure and companionship elsewhere.
"Has there been any further movement regarding your taking Meryl? The agreement with Alan?"
"No," Morgan replied with a sigh. "We've all been too busy with the Code revisions and the audit."
"Constance is probably doing everything she can to delay it as well."
"She is not the only one," Morgan said. She rolled away and off the bed. She teetered a little, gained her feet and wandered toward the curtained window. There was only a single candle flickering across the room. Morgan was lost in the shadows.
"You do not have to marry Alan, Morgan."
"Of course I do not, sir." The voice that came out of the dark was one Harold the Clerk had heard often, confident, a little arrogant, insightful, and sound. "You ignore that Narnia is in a position to consolidate its financial power and influence for generations to come. Linch can prepare an options analysis but all those options will recommend me as the Head of one of the Houses – if not Meryl then Stanleh or even Sterns which is long overdue for an audit you could order under the revised Code."
"I understand, but Narnia is not driven solely by profit, Banker Morgan."
"I do not make this recommendation only to make Narnia wealthier. Bringing the Lone Island Houses under closer Narnia control makes you more secure. It is in Narnia's best interests to have me there, sir."
Who was she trying to convince? "King, remember? My brother is the Emperor of your Lone Islands. We may determine what is in our own best interests, Banker Morgan."
"You are the King of Narnia, sir, not the Tisroc of Calormen. What you wish to do may be very different from what is best for your country."
"Perhaps. But perhaps not."
She said nothing for a long time. When she spoke, her voice sounded smaller and uncertain. "Do you really believe that? Do you really think that could be true?"
"Yes, I do. So, what do you wish, Banker Morgan?"
She pulled back the curtain and looked outside. "There is work I have to do," she finally said. "Tasks to finish. Here."
Was she expecting him to forbid it? Or did Morgan want the clarity of an order? "And Narnia needs you as well, Banker Morgan."
Morgan probably misunderstood but he chose to not correct her when she returned to his bed.
ooOOoo
Edmund added sugar to his tea and stirred it, plotting his strategy. He poured a half cup of coffee for Morgan and nudged it gently into her hand.
"Thanks," she muttered, taking a deep drink then returning to the ledger spread out on the breakfast table in the common area of the rooms he shared with Lucy.
They had not seen Lucy yet that morning and he had dismissed the Archen servants as soon as they had set out the meal. The castle's gossip mill would already be churning and he wanted to leave Anvard as quickly as possible. It was time to dangle the Shiny in front of the Crow.
"We have received the final reports from the working group on the recommended Code revisions and the Stanleh audit."
Morgan head shot up from where she had been ignoring her breakfast to scribble margin notes in a guild ledger. "You did?"
Her look turned sharper. "Are you saying this so that I have to come back with you?"
"I was not going to carry documents of such sensitivity across the roads and wilds when all you have to do is return with me," Edmund replied.
"How many are from Maeve?"
"At least half of them." That was a reasonable estimate. Probably.
"Oh." Her look turned a little vacant, which meant she was completing in her head whatever calculation he had interrupted. Morgan's ability to hold on to a sum regardless of the distraction was remarkable. She would never say, as any other person (or Crow, Dwarf, or Centaur would), "Let me finish this problem first." Morgan always knew where she was and could return to it after any interruption.
She bent again to her ledger and wrote something down.
He offered the second Shiny.
"The reports are all waiting for you in your office."
"Office?" Morgan said, with the barest scoff. "You mean that rickety desk in the Library?"
"No, I mean your own office. Peter ordered a space be made for you, remember? Before we left for Narrowhaven last year?"
"I remember the storeroom off the Great Hall and a door with a lock."
"It is nothing of the sort," Edmund retorted. "Mrs. Furner and Mr. Hoberry had a work crew in to convert a parlour on the main floor while we were in the Lone Islands."
Morgan deliberately put a marker in her ledger and closed it. She looked up, eyes wider. "Really? My own place? Not just a counting room? Or a closet?"
"I am thoroughly envious of it. The office is very elegant and large, with excellent lighting, and windows on three sides."
"Which I will have to keep shut to avoid the pollen," she grumbled, finishing her coffee and setting it down with a clank on the saucer.
"You are trying to not be pleased," he chided. "As the windows face east and look out over the beach and the sea, allergies should not be a problem. You won't be able to see your home, but you can at least face it."
"Oh. That was very nice of them." She sniffed.
"The Dwarfs made a desk and chair for you. Your desk has more drawers than my library desk and your chair is very comfortable," Edmund said feelingly. Your strong box is larger than mine and it has shelves."
"You sat in my chair?"
"I did! It's a very fine chair."
"And my strong box, did you compare the volume or just the outer dimensions?"
"Yours exceeded mine on all parameters. As King I'm well within my rights to confiscate office, chair, strong box, and desk for myself. But Mrs. Furner wouldn't let me."
"Poor King," Morgan murmured sadly. "Such injustice. And tell me again. Has an Otter ever taken an orange over a mountain pass for you?"
"Does throwing dead fish bits at my head count?"
She laughed. "These are all excellent incentives for returning to Narnia, sir. I'm still holding out for more."
"I have been trying to find volume two!" Edmund feigned a mock whinge. The next book in the series of illustrated Calormene erotic poetry and veritable how-to manual had proven impossible to locate.
"We have not exhausted all of volume one," Morgan reminded him. "Perhaps we could ask the Dwarfs to construct the necessary apparatus for illustration twelve?"
The table, covered with ledger, coffee, tea, fruit, honeyed rolls, and eggs, was between them. His imagination was all for clearing off the surface and undertaking the necessary preconditions to performance of illustration twelve. The rest of him was too happy with the lighter mood to care. Edmund reached across the table, took her hand in his and kissed her palm.
"I will let you try to describe the specifications to our Master Smith."
He was worried when Morgan hurriedly removed her hand from his grasp. Had he said something wrong? What was wrong?
She opened her ledger and turned it so he could see the page.
"I tried to draft a schematic of the apparatus!" Morgan looked down at her drawing and frowned. "It may not be quite to scale."
Her drawing was scaled to Giants, not Humans, though it was a highly flattering comparison. His intellect clamped a hand over his mouth to keep his imagination from sharing the observation, accepting the compliment, and seeking her assistance in confirming the measurements. All of him agreed instead to lean over the table and kiss her on the cheek. "You are incredible."
The words and sentiment felt strange. Had he ever said anything like that to Morgan before? He remembered very clearly the things she had said to him, each time, about him, when and where she had said them, and how he was magnificent, too, in his own way, and was not father, brother, or Peter. She had even said he was handsome last night. Edmund swallowed and nervously added, "You are brilliant and beautiful, Morgan, and I missed you very much."
He knew he was blushing and could feel the heat of her blush more than see it under her dark skin.
There was a growling complaint from the corner. "Oh do be quiet, Jalur," Jina said. Her tail thumped against the stone floor.
"I prefer the bickering," Jalur said.
"Continue criticism of your liege and his…" Edmund stumbled, recovered and continued, "and his Banker, and we will not look for dumb otters today."
"For the prospect of biting into the filthy vermin, I shall tolerate your excessive sentiment," Jalur replied.
Morgan did not look at him; her eyes always glided past his own. "Thank you." She raised her fingers to his brow, pushing the hair away; it felt very tender and intimate. "Is my strong box really bigger than yours?"
"I reserve my sworn oaths for serious matters of duty and state, Banker Morgan."
"It's a serious matter for me, sir."
"Do you really think I would risk your wrath by lying about something so easily confirmed with measuring cords?"
"True. You value future performance of illustration twelve too highly."
Edmund wrapped his fingers gently around the back of her neck and brought Morgan's face closer to his own. "I value you for more even than performance of illustration twelve. Please do not doubt that." His imagination was outraged and prepared to argue the counterpoint but his intellect beat the miscreant back down with a bouquet of roses and lilies from a Narrowhaven greenhouse in winter.
Her brown eyes darted to his and then away; her smile and the way she leaned into him were the better guides. Intellectually he knew that Morgan was entitled to more from him than even what illustrated Calormene text could convey. His imagination seized the moment as opportune for another attempt at illustration twelve.
Pounding feet, the door thrown open, and then "EWWW! KISSING?" interrupted what had heretofore been that elusive thing known as a romantic moment.
They both rocked back into their chairs with sighs.
"Good morning, Prince Corin."
The boy lurched toward the table and Lucy ran into the room after him, Briony with her.
"I won, Lucy!" Corin cried and thrust a dirty hand out for a honeyed bun on the table. Edmund supposed they should make him wash first, but this wasn't the banquet hall.
"Good morning, well, afternoon now, I suppose," Lucy said. She went around the table, kissed them both, and flopped into a chair at the table.
If his sister was going to remark upon the changed circumstance, she would wait until the boy – Corin was what, 7 now? 8? – was no longer with them. Edmund, though, could sense her happiness in her warm smile that included both of them.
"What have the two of you been doing all morning?" Edmund asked. "Terrorizing the ladies of the Court? Raising an army? Plotting acts of piracy?"
Corin shook his head but the best he could manage with a mouthful of bun was, "Mmmfff arwwwwfcchh."
"A little swordplay. And archery," Lucy said. "Corin is doing very well."
"Lil… swot btttt."
"If you took smaller bites you would be able to talk," Lucy said.
Practice hearing Rats speak with food in their mouths had trained him well. "I believe Corin said that he likes sword practice better?"
The boy nodded, took an enormous gulp, and sputtered, "I do, King Edmund!"
"Perhaps this summer you might spend a ten-day at Cair Paravel? We could teach you Narnian swordsmanship. Together, you, Queen Lucy and I might beat the High King to a bloody pulp?"
Corin was so excited he started choking on the second bun he snatched from the plate.
Morgan, who had been ignoring all the armament talk, as she would, suddenly looked up from her ledger. "Did you do all your sums, Corin?"
The room went very quiet with only the sounds of tails thumping on stone, Corin's earnest chewing, and Jalur's heavy breathing.
Edmund had not known that Morgan was instructing the Crown Prince.
"He said he did, Morgan," Lucy put in with a frown at Corin. "That was why we went to the training grounds." Lucy's pointed look was devastating. Disappointing her was a terrible thing indeed.
"Corin?"
He gulped. "Well….. I did them."
"Ahhh," Morgan said nodding. "That was very responsible of you." Edmund had noticed before that she was able to keep better eye contact with Beasts and Birds and now, here, with children as well. "And if you were in a battle with four Giants and you had twelve arrows, how many arrows could you shoot at each Giant?"
Corin began counting on his fingers. "Three?" he finally said in a small, uncertain voice.
"Excellent!" Morgan cried. "Would three arrows be enough to kill a Giant do you suppose?"
She was directing the question to Corin, not to the two people who would know the answer.
"I suppose it depends on where you hit the Giant," Corin said.
Morgan nodded seriously. "Maybe one arrow in one eye, one arrow in the other eye." She made motions as if driving something into each eye. Corin was enthralled and Edmund suddenly realized that whatever other shortcomings Bankers might have, they surely knew how to teach sums to the next generation.
"Where do you suppose the third arrow should go?" Morgan asked her student.
"Mouth or ear!" Corin announced. "Right to the brain."
"Is a Giant's brain is in his head?" Morgan asked. "What if it is in his foot? Or his arm?"
"Head," Lucy and Corin both said.
"So the third arrow goes in the ear or the mouth!" Morgan stuck a finger in her own ear and pulled a face that made Corin laugh hard enough for some bun to go spewing out. They were, fortunately, well accustomed to such things at this point.
"Since you've been out all morning, do you think you can concentrate for a little while on your maths? We didn't do anything yesterday and your father will be expecting some progress by week's end."
Corin looked rebellious until Lucy added, "I need to discuss some very boring things with my brother, Corin. After your lesson, we shall practice shooting arrows while you are riding your pony. Would you like that?"
The exclamation was so enthusiastic, Corin would probably do abysmally at his work now but Morgan did not seem to mind.
Morgan gathered up her things. "Once you're done, Lucy, come by Corin's rooms. He'll be killing lots of giants."
She did not kiss him good bye, but Edmund did receive a nice smile. As they left, Morgan was asking Corin how many arrows one person could carry – probably to help with future arithmetic problems. Jina went with them.
"Jalur, would you stand guard outside?"
The Tiger rose and stretched; his claws snagged the rugs. "We will still go and look for dumb otters for me to eat?"
"Of course," Edmund replied and shut the door once Jalur took his position outside in the hall. The Tiger would keep anyone from getting too close.
"Thank you, my sister, for not being insufferably smug."
Lucy jumped up and gave him an enormous hug. "Oh don't be ridiculous, Edmund. I've liked Morgan from the first day I met her and you both have been miserable since you parted and all the doubters may just go hang."
The last was spoken very fiercely and raised the concerns that had been brewing, even before, in the Lone Islands. Though, it was nice to hear that Morgan had been unhappy with the separation as well. He held out the chair for Lucy and they both sat again. Lucy helped herself to a mug of juice and drank quickly.
"Forgive me, but chasing Corin is thirsty work."
"So, about those doubters?" Edmund pressed. "I have heard nothing, though admittedly I've not been especially attentive since arriving here."
"Patching things up with Morgan is far more important than silly gossip," Lucy replied and stretched out her legs. She was in Narnian trousers and boots that she scraped on the rug, leaving a muddy trail. Lucy tried rubbing the mark out and succeeded in smearing it.
"There was some talk before you arrived, a few things said to me directly and more that Briony and Harah overheard. I admit I don't understand most of it and I do not wish to. What I heard was more of the same from last summer, with people saying beastly things about Morgan and the House of Linch to keep us from working with them."
"That is to be expected, I suppose, and I will need to speak more to Harah." He gestured to Briony. "Lady, please, tell me what you have heard."
The she-Wolf stepped forward and joined them at the table. "Like my Queen, I found it difficult to understand, King Edmund. And it is…" Briony growled a little and looked to Lucy.
"It's all very contradictory, Edmund," Lucy said with a sigh. "On the one hand Harah heard that Linch has, by one means or another, seduced the crown of Narnia to destroy the House of Stanleh, and will rewrite that wretched Code for its benefit."
"But then I heard from others that Narnia has seized all the Houses and is black…" Briony spoke haltingly and looked at Lucy
"Blackmailing," Lucy supplied with a grimace. "Narnia is supposedly blackmailing Linch and we will destroy any others who oppose us."
Edmund shook his head. The rumors were appalling, but not surprising. "We have work to do, obviously. I would put Harah and Kangee on it but…"
With some force, Lucy speared a piece of stray fruit on the table with a knife. She disliked this business. "They've both said people are much more guarded here because everyone knows there are Narnian Crows about."
"A Rat could solve that problem. I suppose I could send a Bird to Cair Paravel and ask Raz to come here."
Lucy shook her head. "By the time you send the message and he gets here, hopefully, we'll all be gone. And you'll write the message in Rat and Crow to Peter and so there's no point to it regardless."
"True. Peter would probably read the message and think Lune needs a recommendation for a cook or send me a remedy from the Physician for warts."
They both laughed. Peter and Lucy were both hopeless at the Rat and Crow cipher.
"Anything else?" Edmund asked.
"I've been hearing grumbling among the ladies that King Edmund is ignoring them," Lucy said wearily. "And I like that talk even less than the snide asides about this banking business."
"I am sorry, Lucy. I know it is poor company for you."
She shrugged and ran fingers through her hair, pushing the loose bits behind her ears. "Lune is a dear but the Archen ladies who wield influence in his court can be very tiresome and are always trying to correct my lack of proper feminine decorum."
Briony growled on her Queen's behalf. "In fairness, they aren't all like that." Lucy tried again to rub the dirt mark from the rug with the side of her boot; she succeeded in cleaning her boot. "I did have a conversation with Beryl this morning while Corin was hacking at straw bales – you sat at dinner with her?"
"The Terebinthian investor?"
Lucy nodded. "She was polite, not nasty at all. She's expecting a ship to be delivered for her fleet and she was very worried because under the revised Code, she doesn't know what tax she will be paying on it. She said that what we were doing was causing a lot of uncertainty. She had some other concerns about the banking houses and I told her to bring the matter to you or to Morgan."
Edmund ran a hand over his face and let out a disgusted sigh. Had he replaced one personal problem with four or five truly intractable and serious ones?
Lucy leaned forward and tugged on his sleeve. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Edmund retorted, trying to keep the scowl off his face.
"Don't blame yourself, don't doubt yourself, and don't for a moment reconsider your reunion with Morgan. We can be fair to our subjects and our allies and be happy, too. Aslan would not wish it any other way."
Aslan.
"Thank you, Lucy. And you remind me of how very remiss I have been. I must bespeak Aslan."
Edmund took a moment, closed his eyes, and focused, beyond the distractions of the immediate, on the image of the Lion. Forgive me, sir, for the wrongs I have done. If it please you, when I return to Narnia, might I make my amends to you?
He didn't feel the presence as he sometimes did, but simply expressing the heartfelt wish lifted a cloud in his mind. He let out a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Lucy nodding vigorously. "I'm glad you recognized that you needed to speak to him, Edmund."
"I have been reluctant and fearful," Edmund admitted to his perceptive sister. "I've been worried Aslan would not like Morgan or would tell me this is all so very ill-advised, just as Briony and Harah have learned."
"Do not fret about that, Edmund." She spoke so brightly and firmly, Edmund wondered if she had already heard from the Lion. "Remember that Aslan loves you very much and so what is pleasing to him is probably pleasing to you. It will be well."
Briony twitched an ear and turned toward the door. "Someone comes."
They heard voices; outside, in the hall, someone was speaking with Jalur. Edmund got up and opened the door but the servant was already hurrying away. Even in Archenland, people often didn't want to speak to a large Tiger, especially alone. Nor did Jalur encourage communication and was not above intimidating others to assure his solitude.
"A Bird has flown here from Narnia and will deliver a message if you go to the balcony outside your rooms," Jalur said.
Lucy hurried to the big doors that opened to the balcony, and threw them open to the spring. Edmund snagged a linen from the table and handed it to Lucy. They both went out on to the balcony and scanned the sky; Edmund sneezed.
"There!" Lucy cried and waved the linen.
One of the Eagles – from the size the messenger was female – swooped down toward then. Lucy quickly wrapped the linen around her arm and held it up. With her talons, her wingspan, and the stone railing on the balcony, the Eagle would have a difficult time finding purchase and would need an arm on which to land.
The Eagle, Edmund now saw it was Trice, slowed and swiveled her talons forward. It took courage to stand, arm upraised, as a huge raptor came hurtling toward you, claws first. Edmund put a hand to his sister's back to brace her. With a rush of wings, weight, and momentum, Trice landed awkwardly on Lucy's arm.
"I'm sorry, Queen Lucy!"
Lucy held her head away so that her face and hair weren't fouled as Trice furled her wings.
They had all done this before and, though it was awkward, order was restored in short time.
"Thank you, Trice, for making the journey!" Lucy said and carried the Bird into the room. Edmund sneezed again and shut the doors as Lucy was setting Trice on a chair back. The Eagle had a message tied to her leg, which she offered for Lucy. As Lucy carefully untied the message, Edmund dumped fruit out of a bowl and poured water into it for the Eagle. Trice was breathing hard from her exertion and her beak was open wide.
"Drink, Friend," he urged the Eagle, looking anxiously at Lucy as she unfolded the message.
"Your Majesties!" Trice croaked, voice hoarse. "It is not ill news!"
"Thank you, Trice," Lucy said, quickly scanning the letter. "Yes, I see that now."
Edmund was grateful for Trice's effort to make the quick clarification to ease their worry. This wasn't exactly common though if it had been a dire emergency it would have been a faster Bird and an oral message.
"What does Peter say?" Edmund asked, going around to read over Lucy's shoulder. Except…"That's not Peter's writing." He went to the bottom of the message but it was unsigned.
"It's Mister Hoberry's writing, I think," Lucy said. "Oh dear."
Your Majesties,
We of the Palace staff hope this finds you well.
At the risk of impertinence and incurring the wrath of our good High King, we write to inform you that your royal brother was accidentally knocked off the walk plank of a ship docked at the Palace quay five days ago. His temper is far worse than the actual injury which is merely inconvenient. The Physician believes the only cure lies in rest, orders which the High King is not inclined to follow. The injury gives him persistent pain, for which he refuses any relief, thereby slowing his recovery.
The concluding sentences were classically those of Mister Hoberry.
Should one or both of your Majesties return to Narnia sooner rather than later from Archenland, we shall all of course be delighted at this unexpected surprise. Upon such arrival you will certainly be dismayed to learn of the High King's minor though very irritating injury and chide him most severely for being such a difficult patient who refused to take his medicine and follow the Physician's orders.
Yours most graciously,
The Staff of Cair Paravel
"Peter is terrible when he's laid up!" Edmund exclaimed. And with none of them there to browbeat and shame the High King into cooperation, it must be ghastly. It obviously was ghastly if the staff had conspired to send this missive without telling Peter.
"Trice, just how bad is it?" Lucy asked, smiling. Edmund took the note from her and would see it burned.
Trice ruffled her feathers and snapped her beak; water droplets and feathers flew about. "The High King made Cook cry. There's been nothing but offal from the kitchens since he was injured."
"Cooked?" Jalur asked, licking his chops.
"Unfortunately, yes," Trice said.
Which meant Cook was very angry as the Carnivores preferred their guts and organs raw and the rest of them preferred offal not at all.
Lucy offered her arm. "Trice, have you drunk your fill? Can I set you outside? I'm sure you are hungry. Do you wish to hunt, or should we bring something for you?"
"Thank you, Queen Lucy, but I'll take advantage of all the dumb game and go find a rabbit. Where should I report?"
"The Narnians are staying in their usual Barrack, so you may rest there," Edmund said. Most of the Narnians liked sleeping in the Anvard castle no more than the Archenlanders wanted to share quarters with a Bear or a Hawk. With the frequent visits, Lune had set aside a building that the Narnians could enjoy according to their preferences – the Barracks had roomy, hay lined stalls, roosts, dark, quiet dens, and no door knobs. Even the Narnians with hands and legs often preferred to stay in the Barrack with their fellows than in the more stilted atmosphere of the castle.
Trice stepped carefully from the chair to Lucy's arm and Edmund opened the doors. This time he didn't sneeze. The Eagle launched herself from Lucy's arm and they watched her fly off over the tree tops.
Lucy carefully unrolled the linen from her arm; it was now badly snagged from Trice's claws. "Well, I am sorry for our poor, abused staff, but I'm not sorry for an excuse to return home." Lucy said.
"This speaks to your discontent, my sister, if you would rather be with our irritable brother than here."
"I doubt Peter will consent to take my cordial even if it is not to cure his ill but to spare everyone else his ill temper. Still, I shall offer it." She leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, watching the dumb birds dart about in the trees.
"I would prefer to stay a little longer," Edmund told her. "Morgan is not ready to leave and I should begin the work of reassuring people like Mistress Beryl that the Code under which they make their livelihood can be both profitable to them and fair to Narnia."
"Of course!" Lucy said. "We can easily split up and I'll take the bulk of the Narnian troop back with me. You can drill Corin some, too, while you're here. He would enjoy that very much."
Below them, three storeys down, spread the outer court of Anvard. People were going about their business, carrying buckets and goods; children ran to and fro. He heard a distant clashing and supposed there was an exercise going on among the soldiery in the Anvard training yard.
The breeze lifted the leaves off the trees and stirred his hair – and did not make him sneeze. Lucy murmured something under her breath.
"Lu?"
"You should leave here as soon as possible. Anvard isn't best for any of us now, including Morgan. But don't hurry back to Cair Paravel."
His sister's eyes were distant and Edmund realized she must be speaking with Aslan.
"So you say?" Edmund asked.
"I do. You will both see Aslan. And Morgan should travel more in Narnia and the Narnians will wish to see their King's new consort."
Edmund opened his mouth to protest, to deny it, that it was not some form of a… relationship as Lucy said, that Morgan was not becoming his … something.
Lucy's disapproving look stopped the words.
"We shall do so."
She smiled widely and this time did look very smug. Lucy patted his arm. "Much better, my brother."
ooOOoo
Two days later, Lucy and most of the Narnians were off to save the Cair Paravel staff from the terror of Peter's recuperation. Edmund would return via the long and leisurely road with a smaller troop. If he went west, he and Morgan might very well meet up with Susan who was making a long overland return from Telmar.
Although Lucy moved out, Morgan did not vacate her own room to share his. Morgan estimated a ten-day to complete her work in Archenland and Edmund found they saw each other even less than before. It was more like the time in the Lone Islands than he would have wished.
Morgan's ease in the Anvard court was a contrast to his own nagging discomfort. Lune was a good man and King, but he was Peter's special confidant and there was an element of formality in Edmund's dealings with him. More troubling was that though he had been kindly encouraging of Edmund's courting of Morgan, King Lune had his own doubts which he had expressed privately.
"King Edmund, you understand that there are matters of importance to Archenland to which my Banker is privy that you are not?"
Edmund had automatically replied that of course Narnia respected the confidential relationship between Lune and his Banker. He tried to allay Lune's worries.
"Banker Morgan was at Cair Paravel all last summer, and she gave no hint that she was councilor to Narnia's closest friend and ally until Peter presented your letter. She volunteered no information concerning Archenland and provided only what you specifically authorized."
Lune had been content with his response, but Edmund fretted over what felt to be a burgeoning problem. In the broader world, his personal … ship… relationship … with Morgan was expanding to signify Narnia's too close ties to the formerly independent House of Linch. He was certain guests of the Anvard court were speculating upon it, but with everyone conscious of the Crows, conversations were very guarded. Harah and Kangee had nothing to report other than furtive whispers and closed doors and windows.
Mistress Beryl of House Park, Terebinthia, to her credit, voiced the doubts forthrightly when he and Morgan met with her.
"Eastern Sea trading interests have operated very profitably for well over a century under the Code," she told them briskly. "I am glad that Narnia has retained competent advice and that the revisions are the product of collaboration among the Houses. But the delay in issuance of the new Code is creating uncertainty that is very bad for business."
Edmund cheered silently when Morgan responded, "I am returning to Narnia very soon to review the working group's recommendations. The new Code should be complete by summer's end."
"It is our intent, Mistress Beryl, to expand, not restrict, opportunity for profit." Edmund hoped that in speaking so, she would then spread the news widely that the changes were for the better. "The penalties for dealing in Narnian goods and currencies are eliminated. The Houses will have more autonomy with greater accountability to the Code itself and will be less subject to the arbitrary whims of Conclave."
Mistress Beryl had nodded approvingly. Edmund wished the meeting had ended there.
"That's all very well," Mistress Beryl replied. "However, where shall I go for advice on the new Code?" I mean no harm to Narnia, of course," she added hurriedly, with a glance at Edmund. "But where to go for an opinion independent of Narnia self-interest? Linch has become too close, Meryl is too conservative, Stanleh is under investigation with a Meryl as acting director, and as for Sterns…" She ended with a mild snort. "I think not."
Morgan assured Mistress Beryl that Linch could easily erect internal walls to ensure discretion and, though it greatly pained her to say it, that Maeve Stanleh or Constance and Alan Meryl could also ably represent the House Park and other Terebinthian interests.
Like Lune, Mistress Beryl had been satisfied, but it was all troubling. Worse, having to say something complimentary about Maeve put Morgan in such a foul mood, she stormed out of his rooms when he told her bluntly that her dislike was making her irrational. Edmund vowed to not do so again unless he was prepared for a tirade that impugned his intellect, understanding, and person. In a repeat of the Lone Islands, Jalur woke him in the middle of the night to say that Morgan had returned to their suite of rooms and fallen asleep in a chair in Lucy's vacated bedroom.
Morgan apologized, though the fight almost started all over again when he tried to caution her against such disproportionate reactions.
As Lucy had said, Anvard was not the best place for them now and it was an unsettled time. He was a King in another King's court, whose lover was part of affairs he was not welcome to join.
He managed occupation of a sort. Edmund drilled with the Narnians and the Archenland soldiery. Having been so spectacularly poor at the Bankers' sport of handball, it was a relief to perform in feats where he could give a credible and, he had to admit, exceptional public performance. This being Anvard, the ladies of the court were always on hand to observe the men's drilling. The women certainly noticed him, even if Morgan never did.
One lonely night his imagination won – if Morgan would not be by his side during the evening banquet and entertainment, why not entertain the comely and eager women who complimented his skill at arms and wit at table?
His intellect was bored by the salads and his imagination gave it up when the scented water was passed. These women demanded he be attentive and their intrigues took too much effort to reach any sort of satisfactory conclusion. He pitied them for they were trying so hard to recommend themselves yet flinched every time Jalur yawned.
Frustrated, Edmund excused himself from the entertainment early with more courtesy than he felt. He coaxed Morgan from the counting rooms where she was viciously calculating columns and read the entire courtship agreement to her, from the recitals of general purpose to the signature blocks.
Through the trying time, Crown Prince Corin was the bright spot. Corin was on very good terms with Lucy and Susan – he missed his mother. Edmund felt a natural affinity for the boy, easily imagining what it might be like to lose a brother. So they tromped about the not-very-wild of Archenland together as Jalur hunted unsuccessfully for dumb otter to eat. Edmund found a mount who was very comfortable with the slower pace of Corin's pony when they went riding. Flurry, his stallion, would have never let Corin's pony win their races.
Edmund spent a whole morning trying to teach Corin how to wield a sword on horseback, and slice the head off a deadly advancing foe while not decapitating your pony at the same time. It was giving him a grudging respect for Sir Leszi who had over the work of years turned two weak, untrained boys and a girl into competent fighters.
When a late afternoon squall blew down from the mountains, it confined a very energetic Corin to the Castle for the afternoon. On the theory that the faster Morgan completed her work, the sooner they would leave, Edmund took it upon himself to instruct (entertain) Corin while his math tutor worked on the Archenland budget for next year. He was very curious about Lune's tax rolls and income from other investments, but he was not going to sneak a look at Morgan's calculations.
He and Corin were sitting on the floor of the counting room, cracking nuts, and Edmund was teaching the boy history. Well, Jina was actually doing the teaching.
"And so it was," the Hound said, "that the second son of Frank the Fifth, Prince Col, led the first humans through the mountains to found Archenland. In this way, and with Aslan's blessings, Archenland became the land of second sons. Though the line of King Frank failed in Narnia, it has remained unbroken in Archenland even on to yourself, Prince Corin."
They all clapped in appreciation for the eloquent Hound. "Well done, Lady, as always," Edmund told her.
"History's much better when you teach it, Jina," Corin said. "It's a lot more interesting than reading it in books or hearing my tutors talk on and on about facts and dates and who begat who."
"Thank you, your Majesties."
Corin put his walnut on the floor and hit it with his hammer. Shell and meat skittered across the floor in separate directions with the force of his blow. Edmund had tried holding the nut steady and gotten whacked in the fingers too many times. Corin was the sort who assumed that if a problem was solved through application of small force, application of bigger, more powerful force would solve the same problem faster.
Edmund rose from his seat on the floor to retrieve the worst of Corin's debris. Without a Rat about, he did this frequently. Through the narrow windows, he could see that the rain was still coming down and it was becoming darker, not brighter. It would be Corin's suppertime soon.
"It's just like how maths are better when Morgan teaches," 'Corin said, removing another nut from the basket next to him. "How come you know so much, Jina?"
"The reason I know these stories, Prince Corin, is because this is how many Narnians learn. Many of us cannot write and do not have the eyes to read. We learn our history through stories and have done so since the day Aslan sang Narnia into being."
"And very well told history it is," Edmund said, reaching under the desk where Morgan was working to retrieve another wayward nut. His imagination grumbled about another opportunity squandered. His imagination was very fond of Morgan's legs, was in close proximity to them, and was able to do nothing about it.
"What about the story of King Gale and the dragon of the Lone Isles," Morgan said. She blew on the page of her ledger to let the ink dry and moved it from the small pile on the left of work to be done to the much larger pile of completed work on the right. "I've never heard you tell that one, Jina."
"Dragon?" Corin asked. "Really?" He enthusiastically smashed another nut so hard it flew across the room and pinged Jalur in the side. The Tiger growled.
"Sorry, Jalur!" Corin said, sounding as if he really did mean it.
Jalur grumbled again and turned his back on them. Edmund was secretly relieved. Corin had been enjoying the smashing far more than the eating and Jalur's reprimand was one the boy would likely heed.
He pocketed the nut then remembered that he had no Rats in Anvard to whom he could give it. "King Gale of Narnia killed a dragon terrorising the Lone Islands and that is how the Islands came to be under our crown," Edmund told Corin. "Jina? Are you tired or would you give us another tale?"
"Of course, King Edmund." Jina stretched out again on the floor and began as Narnians began every story. "Come now good Tiger, come now Sons of Adam and Daughter of Eve, that you might hear The Tale Of How Good King Gale Slew The Wrym. To my puppies I tell it, as I learned it from my Dam, as she from hers, back generation upon generation. The Tale has been told since the day Good King Gale sailed to the Lone Islands and delivered them from a terrible dragon. The Gentle Beasts tell the Tale in cave, nest, and den, in wood, mountain, meadow, and pond, so that we might remember it. For though Dwarfs build, and Birds fly, and Fauns dance, Naiads flow, and Dryads green, the Good Beasts of Narnia remember. So, Friends, heed my words. Stop and listen with your sensitive heart so that …"
Jina suddenly stopped and raised her head, cocking it to the side, listening. "Someone comes." The Hound inhaled deeply. "Morgan, it is Tarkaan Rishta."
"Oh Tash's hell," Morgan muttered sounding like a Dwarf. She closed her newest ledger. Edmund, who had just sat again to hear the story, climbed to his feet and helped Morgan shrug into her green surcoat.
"What's this then?" he asked. Tarkaan Rishta had been at the court some days working with King Lune's Exchequer, Lord Ker. He was young, wealthy, and well spoken. He had beautifully crafted scimitars Edmund had admired and had been quite skilled in their use when they'd crossed swords in the training yard. As companions went, Rishta had been good company.
"Tarkaan Rishta likes Morgan," Corin said.
"Oh?" he directed to Morgan, hoping to elicit more useful information.
"It's nothing," she said dismissively, straightening the pins on her robe. Edmund had been ridiculously pleased to see that she still wore the golden Lion broach he had given her. "Rishta has some innovative ideas about irrigation using aqueducts…"
Corin snorted. "And he likes Morgan a lot."
"Yes, that, too," Morgan said just as the door swung open.
Corin had the manners to jump to his feet; he also dropped his walnuts and they went rolling about the floor.
"Excuse me, your Majesties, AD Morgan," Rishta said with a deep bow. "I understood I was not disturbing your repose?"
"Not at all, my lord Tarkaan," Edmund replied, bowing in kind. With a nudge, Corin executed a sort of bobbing manoeuvre and then kept going down, to his hands and knees, not in obeisance, but to pick up the scattered nuts.
"What can I do for you, Tarkaan?" Morgan asked.
"Actually, if not inconvenient, it is the King Edmund to whom I would like to speak. Your Majesty, you would do me great honour if you could spare a few, precious moments for private discourse?"
Calormenes never said in five words what could be said in ten.
"Certainly, my lord."
"Corin, gather your things," Morgan said. "Let's go to the library."
"Jina, will you finish the story?" Corin asked, nearly a whinge. He was stuffing the walnuts in his pockets.
"Of course, Prince Corin," Jina said.
It seemed to Edmund that the Hound was concerned given how her brows were knit. He glanced at Jalur. The Tiger uncoiled from where he had been curled in the corner and stalked closer, whiskers forward and tail moving faster. There was no threat display, but Jalur was not completely at ease, either. Edmund was alone with someone Jalur did not know who had also acquitted himself well in arms. He trusted Jalur to make his own judgments.
"Good afternoon, sirs," Morgan said and guided Corin out of the room. With a glance back at them, Jina followed Morgan and Corin out.
Edmund thought Rishta's gaze lingered long and very admiringly on Morgan as she left. He felt a prickling of irritation; Rishta indeed did like Morgan a lot. "My lord?" he prompted.
"Yes, thank you, King Edmund." Rishta closed the door, went to one of the chairs, and waited politely for a sign from the higher ranking person.
"Please, sit, my lord Tarkaan. Be at ease." They both sat, facing one another, and Jalur positioned himself between them. The counting room wasn't especially comfortable for a meeting but its chairs would do for a few, precious moments for private discourse.
Rishta carefully arranged his heavy, richly woven robes about him. Edmund felt his nose itch a little for a faint scent of perfume had entered the room with the Tarkaan.
"How may Narnia serve, my lord Tarkaan?" Edmund assumed it was something like what Mistress Beryl had raised – the Code, the ongoing audits, or, since Rishta liked Linch so well, perhaps he was, as a matter of courtesy, requesting that Narnia waive a possible conflict so that Morgan could work on a matter.
"King Edmund, thank you for the gracious time you give my humble person. I am most grateful for the courtesy you extend, as a Monarch upon whom so many prodigious demands are made."
The introduction might have been a veiled insult for Edmund had not had much to do in Anvard. Or, was Rishta merely being excessively polite? It was always difficult to know with a clever Calormene.
"But of course I am certainly no less nor more occupied than yourself as we are both strangers here at the pleasure of our Archenland host."
"Truly spoken," Rishta said, nodding his head. "If you will indulge me, your, Majesty. I beg your forgiveness in advance if I speak too directly but I do not wish to delay you from your more important duties."
"The Calormene are renowned for their conversational arts, weaving words as beautiful as the Vale of a Thousand Perfumes," Edmund replied. He knew Rishta was from that province and so would appreciate the reference; from the smile, he did.
"Still, though we appreciate the wit and wisdom of your country, we Northerners are a plain meaning race, so I shall appreciate your direct speech in the spirit in which it is given and will not deem your economical words uncouth for all that they are spoken bluntly."
"You are truly as wise and fair as your reputation proclaims, your Majesty."
"Coming from one as esteemed as yourself, that is high praise indeed, my lord Tarkaan."
Edmund could manage these preliminary niceties better than Peter or Lucy who both became impatient with Calormene word play. He had barely gotten started but, for a change, the Tarkaan seemed eager to press the matter.
"So what is your concern?"
Rishta's heavy silken robes rustled and his sleeves fell back to show muscled arms. He bore no knife, though Edmund knew from drilling together that Rishta was well-trained. The man was rich and well-dressed, but he was no fop, either.
"I wish to acquire Morgan of Linch from you."
Edmund stared at the pretty Lord for a long moment. Impossible. Surely he had not heard what he thought he had. Jalur's low growl pulled him out of his utter shock.
"Excuse me, lord Tarkaan. I believe you said you wished to acquire Morgan?"
Incredibly, Rishta nodded. Enthusiastically. "Yes, precisely! I have broached the subject with AD Morgan, but she will not even entertain it given her existing relationship with you. Such loyalty is admirable of course and I would expect no less of her. If you were to release her…"
Astonishment rendered him temporarily speechless; he at least remembered to close his mouth. Jalur growled again, more fiercely, and Rishta looked nervously at the Tiger who had risen to a crouch.
"Peace my Guard!" Edmund ordered, trying to order his thoughts that had all but left him in favor of a building, furious rage that clamored to pummel the man across the room, beat him with a chair, and let Jalur finish him off.
This was beyond insulting; it was obscene.
"You and your Guard are disturbed?" Rishta said, sounding very surprised and looking anxiously between them. "I do not understand? I greatly admire Morgan of Linch and would very much like her to accompany me back to Mezreel. I would of course compensate you for the loss of her services."
He had to speak or he would start hitting something. "Narnia does not deal in people as if they were currency and livestock, Tarkaan," Edmund managed to spit out through a clenched jaw. "Further, Banker Morgan is her own agent. You do disturb us, you offend us, deeply, with your proposition and it is rejected, utterly."
Rishta frowned and blinked. "Of course she is her own agent!" he countered. "You suggest I think otherwise?"
"You said yourself you wish to acquire her."
Rishta stared and with the intellect still left to him, Edmund thought that the man seemed as offended by the notion as he himself had been.
"You think I wish to take Morgan of Linch as a slave?" Rishta's voice hiked in disbelief.
"These are your words, lord Tarkaan." Jalur growled again and Edmund did not correct his Guard. He was too angry himself.
"I see," Rishta said after deliberate pause. Edmund's fury rose further as the Tarkaan, incredibly, laughed.
Edmund rose in his seat, Jalur with him. The insult could not be countenanced.
"Forgive me, King Edmund, please," Rishta said quickly, holding his hands. "My deepest, my humblest apologies. In speaking directly, I have offended when I certainly did not intend to."
Edmund slowly sat and with a glance, Jalur also lay back down. "Explain yourself then," Edmund said. He was still very angry, but would at least entertain the apology before taking more drastic action.
Rishta leaned forward. "Again, my apologies, King Edmund. I believed we were both of the same mind with regard to AD Morgan's extraordinary gifts and that we were speaking the same language of commerce. Plainly that is not so. You assumed I wished to acquire her as I might a slave in the market for pleasure? For my personal use?"
And then, amidst another lurking insult, Edmund understood and the anger he felt at the Tarkaan he now directed savagely at himself.
Fool. He had let his personal involvement colour his dealings, had lost his temper, and made the gross, strategic error of a jilted adolescent. Fool.
He had to try to regain the ground and credibility lost in this very slippery conversation. "My lord Tarkaan, in this perhaps you were too blunt and hurried, for the word 'acquisition,' has a very precise and unsavoury meaning in Narnia."
"Yes, I see that now," Rishta said. "It had never entered my mind to consider Morgan of Linch for pleasure as you did." He even grimaced, as if the very notion were distasteful.
"King Edmund, you are fortunately a man of the greater world and so we can overcome this misunderstanding and ill beginning." Rishta waved a ringed hand and the nauseating odor of his perfume intensified. "Any woman, indeed, I shall be inclusive for your Northern preferences and include any being, might sate our passions. Whatever fleeting pleasures others provide, AD Morgan is so far above such common lusts, she brooks no comparison. AD Morgan can spin gold from straw."
ooOOoo
Corin ran off for supper; Morgan stayed in the library and Rishta found her there.
"This is the proposal," he said and handed her the folded paper. "Neither King Edmund nor King Lune wishes to part with your services, but will you at least consider the offer?"
"I will. Thank you, Tarkaan Rishta," she said, cracking open the seal and scanning the proposal. It seemed complete.
He was hovering at her desk. "I am not going to give you an answer now, Tarkaan, so please leave me to my work."
"He is disappointed," Jina said, after Rishta left. The Hound rested her head on Morgan's knee. "Would you really leave Narnia and Archenland, Morgan? Would you really go to Calormen and work for him?
"Oh Jina, it's not like that at all," Morgan told her. She rubbed Jina's ears. "I wanted to see what he would offer, in writing. My Director… Father," she corrected, "always says that it is good to cultivate alternatives and hear what is out there. It establishes my value in the market."
She glanced down at Rishta's careful notations and generous terms. The work was very attractive, the sort that she really enjoyed, in this case looking at the options for financing his plans to turn arid waste into arable land. "I'm not going to forgo Narnia and Archenland for the Mezeer province. I'll counter, agree to a lower payment up front and more limited involvement. But I couldn't propose that until I knew what he was prepared to offer."
"I am relieved to hear that, Morgan. I did not want you to go."
Jina's tail thumped against her leg and Morgan bent down and hugged the Hound. "I'd never go anywhere without you, Jina. Ever. I'd be so lost."
"I feel the same way," Jina said and nuzzled her face. "Though give yourself credit, Morgan. You are becoming better about expressing yourself."
Maybe. "If I am, Jina, it is because of you. Now, let me write up a quick reply to Rishta and then I can finish up and we can return to Narnia." She touched the broach on her robe with the gold lion. It still felt heavy and strange but she knew Harold liked to see her wear his lion. Harold had said they would meet Aslan when they went to Narnia. Jina was very excited about it. Morgan wasn't sure what she thought of Aslan. She did have questions for him and had started writing them down and carrying them in a pocket. She had a lot of questions.
But she wouldn't get to ask them if she stayed here in Anvard. Which meant she had to finish up the last of her work. Morgan carefully uncorked the special ink Harold had brewed. The ink was miraculous in how it didn't stain everything and was probably the best gift she had ever received.
She was drafting her reply to Rishta when Harah flew in through the open window of the library.
The Crow was sopping from the rain and shook her wet feathers indignantly. "Banker Morgan!" the Crow Hen squawked. "Jalur asked me to find you. He says you should go see King Edmund in his rooms right away!"
"What's wrong, Harah?" Morgan said. She jumped up too quickly and Jina had to dart away to avoid the chair landing on her as it fell over.
"I don't know," Harah said, giving herself another shake. "All he did was bare his teeth, snap, and tell me to find you as quickly as possible."
She and Jina raced back to the rooms. "It sounds important," Morgan said, trying to not knock into things and people in their haste to see Harold.
"I hope nothing ill has happened," Jina added, trotting next to her. "Perhaps the High King has taken a turn for the worse? Or something happened to one of my Queens on the road?" They went faster, through the narrow passages and up and down the stairs.
As they went toward the rooms Harold had been staying in, Archen servants were hurrying away from them, carrying bags. When Morgan came to the door, Harold was standing at the table talking to Lune's assistant steward.
"That should do for our provisions," Harold said. "We'll travel lightly and won't starve between here and Cair Paravel, so please err on the side of getting us on the road quickly, rather than with complete supplies."
They were leaving? Now? Morgan glanced at Jina; the Hound's hair was standing up a little, which meant she was responding to something she didn't like. Jalur was in the corner, slit-eyed; his tail was lashing back and forth. The Tiger looked very unhappy.
"Of course, King Edmund," the steward said. "Given the late hour, I do not think we can have you provisioned by tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon, certainly. Though, that means you won't be able to get far and you'll be climbing the pass at nightfall."
"We can manage, but thank you."
Morgan felt a clutch of fear. What had happened? This sounded terrible.
Harold saw her hanging in the doorway and held up a hand. "Banker Morgan, thank you for coming! I shall be done in a moment." His voice sounded odd and strained. Jina's hair rose further and she heard a low growl from Jalur.
The steward showed Harold a list. He looked at it and nodded. "I think that is complete. We brought several horses, dumb horses, with us and they will carry the supplies. We will not need a cart. Speak to Centauress Eirene in the Narnia Barrack. She is seeing to our organization."
The Steward bowed, rolled up his list, nodded to her, and hurried out.
"You're leaving?" Morgan asked, rushing forward. "What happened? Did you get a message? Is there bad news?"
Harold crossed the room in long strides and shut the door with a force that made her wince.
"King Edmund, what has happened?" Jina asked, sounding really worried. "You are very angry."
Jalur growled. "He is. We both are."
"Angry? Why are you …"
"Yes, I am very angry and I'm leaving as soon as provisions can be had."
Morgan was so confused. "Why? What happened?" Was she included? Without even asking if she was ready to leave? He was leaving without her? Again?
"You should have warned me, Morgan." Harold was speaking harshly, with short, clipped words. "I was completely unprepared for Rishta's proposal and looked the fool."
"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "He is just looking for advice on a project. It wasn't anything important. I mean, it is important to him, and it's important to the people of his province, and…"
"Perhaps it is of no consequence to you," Harold interrupted. "But how he presented it to me was another matter entirely." She had never heard Harold sound so furious. Even with Seth and during the poisoning he'd never been like this. "Jalur does not think Rishta meant to give intentional offense, but the whole could not possibly have been phrased more provocatively."
"What?" she repeated. "What happened?" Morgan tried to put a hand on his shoulders but he shrugged her off and moved away. Harold never did that. Ever.
"I believed, he led me to believe, that he wished to acquire you, to acquire your services."
"Acquire?" Morgan frowned. "Well that's an odd way of putting it."
"Indeed. I concluded, at first, he was not referring to financial advice. Or at least not strictly financial advice."
Wait.
"WHAT?" Morgan nearly shouted it. "That's ridiculous!"
"As we were lovers, it is not ridiculous at all," Harold retorted, sounding so cold it made her sick. "He took terrific offense on your behalf, actually, that I would even think so base a thing of the priceless Assistant Director Morgan of the House of Linch."
"Well that was nice of him to …"
Harold was rubbing his forehead and interrupted, again. "The point, Banker Morgan, is that obviously your place is not in my bed and I cheapen you by having you there."
"Harold, this is…"
"My name, please, Morgan. At least now of all times."
He turned away, went to the desk in the room, drew out a parchment scrap and began quickly writing with a lead. It would be his personal packing and task list. Morgan had seen him do this before. He was always very methodical about it; going through ever drawer and looking under every piece of furniture. Harold – Edmund would put out a change of clothes and begin dividing everything else up into neat stacks and each stack would go in different packs depending on whether it would be used during the trip. He would not pack the …
Stop. She pulled her attention back to him.
"Edmund," she said. He kept writing, ignoring her. Again, louder, "Edmund, this is ridiculous."
He tossed his writing lead onto the table. A piece broke off. "It is not. I know what is whispered of Narnians, Banker Morgan. You know the saying? You've seen it on the walls of the Narrowhaven alleys?"
"No, I don't …"
"About the mind and where it is in the man?"
Oh. That. "Edmund…"
"Only the mind of the Banker is where it should be. That is how it begins. Surely you know the rest?"
"No, yes, I…"
"The mind of a Calormene is in his words, the mind of the Telmarine in his arms, and where is it said the mind of a Narnian is? Where?"
He was so bitter. It was horrible. "Edmund, please…"
"The mind of the Narnian is between his legs," Edmund finished with a fierce scowl. "My bed is no place for the likes of you."
She finally had had enough. Her own anger burst out. "How dare you!" she shouted, stomping her foot, tears leaking. "How dare you! I…"
"Oh, I dare, Banker," he broke in. "King, remember? I most certainly may dare."
"Stop it! You…."
"I am a King who would sully a valued woman of the greater world …"
"King Edmund!" Jina broke in sharply. "Morgan is trying to say something. Do not speak over her."
Fury stronger than the inhibitions and Jina's confidence finally gave her a voice to speak. Morgan tripped over the carpet but kept going and marched right up to him. "Don't you dare make that decision for me! Don't you dare do something you think is for my own good or whatever stupid things you are going to say. Just shut up!"
"You said yourself that you should be the Head of the House. You are right and I should have never presumed to court you. This is only acknowledging the truth of it."
She shook her head and clutched on to his shirt. "You're wrong. You're pushing me away because you think it's best for me, not because of what's best for you or for Narnia."
His look turned uglier and angrier. He didn't like it when she tripped him up like that and it didn't happen very often. He tried to pull away but she wasn't going to let him go without a fight this time.
"I do not see that it matters, Morgan. I am too base for…"
"I told you to shut up! How can you be such an idiot? I chose you, remember? I found you, the one who was writing those contracts. You! That's what brought me to you." Her fists were balled up and she beat the point into his chest. "Mine. It's my decision. You can't take it from me. I won't let you."
She choked on a sob. He was being so awful, making her want to go, but she could never go for these ridiculous reasons when he didn't see his own extraordinary goodness.
"I chose you," she repeated in a whisper. "I found you."
And he finally took her hands in his. "If I had been wearing mail, you would have hurt your hands beating upon me that way."
"I could have poked you with something." Morgan sniffed and had to wipe her eyes on her shoulder. "A letter opener or a needle."
He bent his head to hers and put a hand under her chin. She knew what Edmund wanted, to look at her, to see his reflection in her eyes. Morgan tried. And couldn't. All she saw were the Tiger hairs and Crow feathers on his shoulders. How did they get there… She pulled her focus back to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Morgan. The faults are all mine."
"Then I'm sorry you think that, especially since it's not true."
Edmund stroked her face with his fingers, tracing the lines, brushing away the tears, pushing her hair away. "Morgan, I wish you would reconsider."
"You are King, but it's my decision, Edmund."
He was a terrible investment. But he was her investment.
Chapter 15 to follow, Road Trip
I apologize for the long delay. I'd really like to get back to chapters of under 10,000 words, but guilt about updates seems to increase chapter length. I apologize for the erratic pace of updates. I wrote 140,000 words between November 1 and April 15, including 62,000 words of Rat and Sword Go To War from scratch. So, I hope to get back to a more regular schedule. I will finish this arc of Harold and Morgan before I got back to Apostolic Way.
Also, sometimes Harold and Morgan are easy and sometimes they aren't. A huge thanks and call out once again to the Friends list and the reviewers and correspondents who have been so supportive. You can think Clio for this chapter seeing the light of day.
I hope you'll let me know what you think of this. Thank you