Disclaimer: I, Andrea Rimsky, author of this scene, do not claim these characters, locales, etc. In addition, I refuse all responsibility for your reaction to this scene and the others in this story. It is a satire, and for that reason the characters may appear in such a way that does not tally with the published books of Tamora Pierce. Tough.

(And please review)

Language II

Lady Sandrilene fa Toren heard the crunch of leaves under her shoes as she walked through the courtyard of the Duke's Citadel. It was almost a shame, she thought, to go inside in this lovely weather. On the other hand, her Great Uncle would worry if she were late.

He was waiting for her in his study, where he always seemed to be reviewing an endless pile of petitions and reports. The grim, elderly duke smiled to see his niece and companion enter.

"Sandrilene," he greeted her warmly, "I trust you have enjoyed yourself?"

"Of course," Sandry replied lightly. "How could I not enjoy myself with my foster-siblings?"

"And is Evumeimei becoming accustomed to her new home?" He always had taken a keen interest in her life and the lives of the girls and boy she had become closer than family too. Since her foster-brother Briar's return, with his student in tow, he had extended that concern to the little girl as well.

"She's quite comfortable at Discipline now," Sandry answered. "She's adjusted to the change a lot faster than anyone thought, Lark says," the girl added. "We think it's because she's used to living on her own. She's really very mature, for only a kid."

"Your pardon, Sandrilene?" The duke asked. "How did our conversation turn from young mages to livestock?" Sandry tried not to roll her eyes. She hated it when her uncle pretended not to understand her just because she used a slang term.

"You know what I mean, Uncle," she complained.

"You are correct, my dear," he admitted, "but-" he held up a forefinger- "I have the experience necessary to distinguish this particular vulgar colloquialism and it from proper language. Were you talking to another," he chided, "you would promote only confusion, or worse, give the impression that the word was acceptable in polite company."

"It's not like I'm swearing," Sandry protested, "It's only a slang term."

" Only a slang term'?" The duke demanded, "My dear Sandrilene, you fail to make even the coarsest differentiation between a den of thieves and a well-bred home and then dismiss it as only a slang term'!"

"Are you calling Winding Circle a "den of thieves"?" Sandry said, indignant, "one of the greatest centers of learning on the Pebbled Sea?"

"Mean phrases are no more acceptable at Winding Circle than here," he clarified, with a hint of shock in his tone. "I am somewhat distressed to learn that you there employ them. You will, nevertheless, refrain from them in all places."

"I will be happy too, Uncle, in formal situations," Sandry conceded, "I do know what is appropriate, after all. But," she continued, "I'm not going to change my normal language where it doesn't matter."

"Am I to understand," the duke asked, apparently changing the subject, "that you regularly utilize neologisms in the vicinity of Winding Circle."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Sandry said: "Words like kid' are general usage for people my age."

"I trust, even so," he told her, "that you moderate your language around Evumeimei."

"Huh?" Asked Sandry.

"That is a most inappropriate and base sound, Sandrilene," her uncle snapped. "How many times is it necessary that I inform you on this point?"

"I apologize, Uncle," Sandry said wearily, "but I really didn't understand what you meant."

"Do you have an aversion to making polite inquiry?" He answered waspishly. Sandry decided to ignore that comment.

"If you please, Uncle," she said, the model of decorum, "would you kindly rephrase your question that I can properly answer it." The duke nodded approval at her language.

"It is of concern to me, Sandrilene, that you, by recklessly employing colloquial terms around Evumeimei, imprint upon that innocent child bad speech habits. Do you such a thing?"

Sandry hesitated.

"Do not lie to me, Sandrilene."

"Yes," she answered wildly. "No. I don't know!" she finished, frustrated. "I don't weigh every word that leaves my mouth!"

"It would not be an unuseful skill, my dear," he remarked dryly. "I cannot, nonetheless, condone your carelessness which, with great certainty, will corrupt the language and innocence of Evumeimei."

"She grew up on the streets, Uncle," Sandry exclaimed exasperatedly. "My using slang around her isn't going to do a whole lot!"

"Your friend Briar hailed from such an unfortunate background as well," she was reminded coldly, "and he has risen from it admirably." If he expected Sandry to pick up his train of thought from the somewhat cryptic sentence, the duke was disappointed.

"And so?" Sandry asked. "Why is that significant?"

"Would you ruin Evumeimei's chances to better herself by demonstrating neologism to her while she is still struggling to grasp the language? I do not think you are that heartless, Sandrilene."

"You just said that Briar turned out fine."

"He was given no other model than that of correct usage." Sandry nodded; it was true.

"But Briar still uses some slang words, that we've all learned from him now," Sandry said slowly. "So," she concluded, "I don't think it matters how I talk."

"No!" The duke slammed his fist into his desk to emphasize the point. "No. It is of even more importance that you set a suitable pattern for the child to follow even as others around her do not. You are a noblewoman; she will instinctively take your lead."

"I don't think that's true, Uncle," Sandry tried to explain, but she was cut off.

"Do not interrupt Sandrilene. You are becoming slovenly in your words, my dear," he chastised. "I have attempted to show you reason, to appeal to your intellect, but I see you do not respond. As such, you force me to resort to command. I forbid you to speak colloquially anywhere for the duration of three weeks. No," he said as she tried to protest, "do not argue with me. There are times and places where it is permissible to speak like an urchin of the Mire-"

"Using one slang word is not speaking like an urchin of the Mire'!" Sandry interjected.

"Be silent!" Was the command. "There are times and places where disreputable language is sanctionable," he repeated, "but neither this citadel nor Winding Circle is among them. You must train yourself to choose your words with precision." He looked into her eyes for a long moment, until his niece looked away. Taking this as submission, the duke dismissed her. "You may go."

The girl smiled. "Okay, Uncle."

"Sandrilene!" Sandry fled to her room, deciding to anticipate the command that was almost certain to come.