Chapter 11: Dinner at the Chandlery
The Uthbanen Chandlery was in a shabby part of old Peltarch, where low tradesmen sold their wares and kept their shops. It was not quite the slums, but not quite the Commerce district either, occupying instead a kind of dreary middle realm between poverty and respectability.
Aldous made his way toward the chandlery in the twilight hours of the evening. The streets in the Docks district were narrow and winding, an easy place for the casual visitor to wander astray, but Lenkas had given him explicit directions and had marked the chandlery door by hanging a bright lantern outside. Aldous found the place easily enough. He carried a wicker basket on one arm and a long parcel under the other. The parcel was wrapped in dark oil cloth and tied with blue yarn.
Aldous approached the door to the chandlery. He tucked the parcel under his opposite arm, freeing up one hand, and knocked.
The door rattled momentarily and a deadbolt snapped open inside the wooden frame. The door swung free to reveal a middle aged man in a brown smock and wax-stained apron. Aldous immediately marked him as Lenkas’ father; the resemblance was unmistakable.
“Good evening, Master Uthbanen,” Aldous bowed low, balancing his various encumbrances with practiced grace.
“Good evening, my lord, and welcome to the house Uthbanen,” said Master Uthbanen. “Please come in. Lenkas is upstairs in the kitchen.”
Aldous had long since given up correcting people concerning his social standing. For some reason, the denizens of Peltarch had a tendency to address a man as “lord” simply because he wore clean boots and a well-laced shirt. He had decided the cause was a lack of formal nobility in Peltarch society. Instead, wealth served as a proxy for high birth. From the point of view of the common man, it was better to err on the side of caution than to risk offending someone important, so any gentleman with the appearance of breeding was automatically addressed as “mi’lord”.
Master Uthbanen ushered him inside the chandlery, which smelled strongly of beeswax and tallow, pleasant in a homespun way. The place was of course well illuminated by candlelight.
“Our living quarters are up the stairs in the back, mi’lord,” said Master Uthbanen, securing the door. “Go on ahead and I’ll be right behind you. I’ll need to tidy up down here a moment and blow out the candles.” He directed Aldous toward the rear of the building.
Upstairs Aldous found Lenkas and his mother in the kitchen, busily preparing dinner. They worked at a short counter, Lenkas cleaning fish and his mother stirring a cast-iron pot. Their backs were to him, and they did not notice his arrival.
“Margaret, the young lord is here!” The elder Uthbanen called from downstairs.
The older woman looked over her shoulder and started.
“Oh, mi’lord, I did na’ see you there!” She turned and laid her wooden spoon in a clay rest on the counter.
Lenkas glanced briefly at Aldous and made a quick wave before turning back to his work at the counter.
Lady Uthbanen dried her hands on a nearby dishcloth and then approached to greet Aldous. She gave a credible if wobbly curtsy and smiled charmingly. Aldous bowed again, once more balancing the basket and parcel while somehow managing to make a graceful obeisance.
“Oh, let me take those, my dear.” Lady Uthbanen rushed forward and caught the handle of the basket. Then she colored, “I mean, mi’lord.”
Aldous smiled and gave her the basket. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mistress Uthbanen. Please call me Aldous.”
She hefted the basket. “My dear, this is quite heavy. What in the Realms have you brought us?” She placed the basket on the counter and smoothed her apron once more.
Aldous smiled again, and was about to speak when Mr. Uthbanen arrived at the top of the stairs.
“Gods, Margaret, take the man’s cloak,” he grumped. He held out one hand, and Aldous handed him the parcel.
“You can just lean that in the corner, Master Uthbanen,” he said.
Margaret hustled to help Aldous with his cloak, lifting the heavy wool garment from his shoulders and hanging it on a hook by the stairs. Aldous unbuckled his sword belt with his rapier and boltcaster, and hung these on a free hook as well.
“There’s a fine bottle of port in the basket,” offered Aldous. “I also brought a wheel of dry Norwick cheese, and two bottles of Rawlins wine.”
“Very kind of you, mi’lord,” said Master Uthbanen.
“Please, call me Aldous. Your son and I are good friends. ”
The older man nodded and scratched his chin. “Very kind of you, mi’ . . . Aldous. Very kind. In that case call me Lerris. And please make yourself comfortable. Why don’t you take a seat in the rocker over by the hearth?”
He gestured to the sitting room, which featured a few wooden chairs and a small hearth with a charcoal fireplace. Aldous looked around and was surprised at how diminutive the Uthbanen household seemed. Most essential facilities were crowded into one room, including kitchen, dining area, and hearth. Furnishings consisted of small stick furniture and threadbare cushions.
Aldous moved into the sitting room and took the offered rocking chair, which was surprisingly comfortable if somewhat petite for his tall frame.
“Where are the girls?” he asked.
Margaret and Lerris glanced at one another. “The girls are in their room,” said Margaret. “We did na’ want them to cause a disturbance this eve.”
“Not at all,” said Aldous. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting them.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Lerris, pulling up his chair across from Aldous by the fire. “They’re a handful. Two handfuls, in fact.”
Aldous chuckled. “So I’ve heard,” he said.
“They’ll join us for dinner,” said Margaret. “Until then, they’ve got to work at their lessons. Lenkas has been teaching them to scribe.”
“Is that so?” Aldous arched a brow. “Two more recruits for the college?”
“It pays better than chandlery,” said Lerris. He took an iron poker from beside the fireplace and stirred at the coals. “And ‘tis a better life. Nothing against having an honest trade like waxwork. Just want something better for the girls.”
“How are they coming along?” asked Aldous.
“Credibly well,” called Lenkas from the kitchen.
The elder Uthbanen shook his head. “Not so well as Lenkas, I’m afraid. You know our boy taught himself to read? Then he set his mind to learn writing.” He shook his head. “There was no stopping him.”
Aldous nodded. “Lenkas has one of the best minds I’ve ever seen,” he said, then turned back to the kitchen. “Margaret, there’s a delicious bottle of red in the basket. Would you like my help in getting it open?”
“Got it,” said Lenkas, lifting the lid on the basket and removing two bottles. He held up each bottle and checked the label. “The Phoenix Zalish? Seventeen years old?”
“That’s the one,” said Aldous. He turned back to Lerris. “You are in for a treat, Lerris. This is one of my favorites wines from this region. Have you ever tried it?”
Lerris gave him a sidelong look and a smirk. “I don’t rightly recall,” he said. “Not much of a wine drinker, myself.”
“You’re right fond of the ale,” called Margaret from the kitchen.
“How’s the chandlery business, sir?” asked Aldous.
“Surprisingly good,” said Lerris. “There’s always a need for candles, ‘specially during the winter when the nights run longer. The temples use a good bit of wax, and I get a regular call for special orders from the Enchanter’s Guild. Special recipes with special ingredients blended into the wax. Last week, I made a single half-pillar with diamond powder mixed in. The customer paid the cost of the diamond of course, and that one candle paid for my whole month’s expenses.”
“That’s a good customer,” said Aldous. “Are you the sole supplier?”
Lerris waved a hand dismissively. “They buy from all over the city, and it’s rarely the same fellow twice that places the order. Hard to build up a relationship that way. Luck of the draw when they chose my shop. I’m hoping Lenkas can get me in with the college, though.”
Lenkas came over with wood goblets in hand, each filled with the Zalish wine. Aldous took a sip and found it to his liking. He watched Lerris take a tentative drink from his goblet. The man’s eyebrows shot up and he lifted his head, eyes glazing momentarily, mouth forming into a soft smile.
“Now that’s right fine,” he said. “That’s right fine indeed.” He looked down at his glass. “This must have cost you a fortune, boy. Lenkas can’t afford this, unless he’s making more then he lets on.”
Aldous grinned. “I have a few connections,” he said. “I just wanted to demonstrate my appreciation for all of the support Lenkas has shown me over the past few months at the College. He is an excellent scribe, and he knows his way around the library like a . . . uh . . . like a librarian, really.”
“Isn’t that what he is?” asked Lerris.
“Not exactly,” explained Aldous. “Lerris and I are scribes.”
“Right, a scribe,” said Lerris. “Same thing right?”
“Well, the two roles are related,” said Aldous. “The libraries keep the collection of books, whereas we scribes are responsible for making new copies of books from the collection. So, we actually have limited access to the stacks . . . the, uh, the area where the books are kept. Lenkas is a journeyman scribe. I’m just an apprentice. So he has access to the first two levels of the stacks, whereas I am still waiting for promotion.”
“So Lenkas is your boss?” asked Lerris in a low voice.
Aldous raised a brow. “I hadn’t really . . . I . . . I’m afraid so,” he chuckled.
Lerris smirked at that. “Boy!” he called to Lenkas. “You need to give this one a promotion.” He raised his goblet of wine in the air.
Lenkas gave them a quizzical look from where he stood in the kitchen, and Aldous spread his hands and shrugged innocently.
Dinner was served shortly thereafter, and the girls, identical twins at seven years of age, were released from their incarceration. They were all energy and giggles and were full of questions about Aldous and his fancy boots and cuff links. They were surprisingly well behaved, however, once seated at the table.
Dinner conversation remained fairly pedestrian. Aldous and Lerris continued their discussion of the chandlery business, and Aldous learned more than he wanted regarding the politics of the candle-making guild and the daily aches of pains of working in the shop. The food was credible; a spicy fish stew and plain, steamed wheat berries and leeks on the side. Margaret served the Norwick cheese from the basket, which paired remarkably well with the stew. Soon the whole family was positively glowing from the rich meal. The bowls gradually emptied and the conversation eventually began winding down.
“Well, there’s a little something I wanted to do tonight,” said Aldous, taking advantage of a lull in the discussion. “As you all know, Lenkas has been a great help to me. He has guided me through my first few months at the scriptorium. He lifted me up when I was down. He inspired me when I was exhausted. He taught me how to make it through the afternoon when I could barely hold myself awake at my desk.”
Master and Mistress Uthbanen studied their son with affectionate pride, and the twins beamed at him.
Aldous turned to one of the girls. “Alie, could you fetch the present that’s over in the corner?” he asked.
The girl’s eyes grew big and she shot a glance at her mother.
“Go ahead,” her mother prompted. “Do as your guest asks.”
The girl stood from the table and went and retrieved the gift from where it stood in the corner, her eyes wide.
Aldous pointed. “Give it to Lenkas,” he said.
Alie handed off the parcel and bounced back to her seat, while Lenkas hefted the gift in his hands.
“Go ahead and open it,” said Aldous.
Lenkas untied the blue yarn and slowly unwound the oilcloth wrapper. It was a rapier with a glittering steel guard and hilt, sheathed in a serviceable wood-and-leather scabbard. Lenkas held the sword awkwardly.
“It’s . . . amazing,” he said. “This is a very generous gift.”
“’Tis beautiful,” said Margaret. “The hilt is gorgeous. ‘Tis the finest thing we own.”
Lerris had a skeptical look, but his response was polite. “’Tis a very nice gesture, young lord,” he said. “We are honored by your kindness to our house.”
“Now, I know Lenkas doesn’t know how to fence,” said Aldous. “But . . . that’s the other part of the gift. Lenkas, I’m getting you lessons at the club.”
Lenkas raised a brow. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I remember you had a difficult time getting in . . .”
“I’ve pulled some strings,” said Aldous. “We’ll talk about that later.” He held out one hand. “Here, I’ll show you something.”
Lenkas passed the rapier across the table, and Aldous pulled on the handle, exposing a foot of sharpened steel.
“This is a not a practice foil,” he said. “It’s a gentleman’s blade, to be carried in the city streets for self-defense, and let’s be honest, public image.” He smiled at that, though none of the family smiled back. They seemed bewildered at the sight of the blade.
“This blade is almost an exact copy of my own, so it has a Cormyrian style hilt, although the maker’s mark on the pommel is from right here in Peltarch. The scabbard is ironwood wrapped in leather, and capped with steel at either end. The hilt looks silver, but it’s actually brushed steel. It won’t tarnish like silver, and but it will nevertheless require the occasional polish.”
He then pointed to the blade, which had a single shallow fuller. “This edge is a working edge, not too fine for hard use, but sharp enough to draw blood with accidental contact. So handle with care. It will need some occasional maintenance with a hone, but as long you aren’t cutting vegetables with it, you’ll have no trouble keeping it sharp.”
He slid the blade back into the sheath and handed the sword back to Lenkas.
“It’s all yours now,” he said. “Oh, and I’ll need to get you a proper sword belt. I’ll have one delivered tomorrow.”
Lenkas leaned the sword against the wall behind is chair. “That is a princely gift, friend,” he said.
“And now, for my next trick, something for the girls,” said Aldous. He stood from the table and fetched his cloak from a hook by the door. “Alie and Brie, can you come into the sitting room?”
“Go ahead,” said Margaret.
Aldous hunkered down in front of the girls and pulled his cloak across the front of his body. The girls watched with rapt attention.
Aldous gave them a serious look.
“Remember, this is not a permanent gift. It has to go home with me at the end of the night. But, you can play with her until I leave. Now, I’m going to say the magic chant. When I pull the cloak away, you are going to see something magical. Do you understand?”
The girls nodded in unison.
“Okay, here we go. Abracadabra, primrose and fur, bring me a feline, with the loudest purr!” Aldous lurched to his feet, swept his cloak aside, and stepped back. There, looking disheveled, was a massive gray cat with green eyes. One ear was turned town, and her eyes were narrowed with displeasure.
The girls screamed with delight while Lenkas and the parents cheered and laughed. Lerris and his wife exchanged looks of wonderment. Within an instant, the girls descended on the cat with arms extended
“She’s so beautiful! She’s so soft!” Emma submitted to their attentions with an expression of mixed bemusement and irritation.
You will pay for this indignity, human. The words floated in the back of Aldous’ mind. They were faint, almost impossible to discern, like the vestiges of a dream soon forgotten.
He turned his attention back to the dinner conversation, and watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. Emma paced around, at first discomfited but nevertheless appreciative, as the girls petted her. Soon she settled by the fire, wallowing in the attention. In a few moments, a loud purr emanated from the sitting area.
You are forgiven human; they are a suitable tribute. Once again Aldous shook off the errant impression.
While the girls doted on Emma, Aldous, Lenkas, and the elder Uthbanen conversed well into the night. They discussed the latest news around the city, the recent upheaval in the Senate. Another senator had been killed by an Uthgart assassin, and the city government had announced a state of emergency. The legion had been called up and mobilized and was camped outside the city walls, and rumors were rampant of an impending war against the barbarians.
All attempts to discover the identity and motives of the assassinations had proven futile. Both assassins had been killed in the attack, and attempts the resurrect them for questioning had been unavailing. For reasons that the clergy could not discern, neither body could not be reanimated. Dark magic was at play, but the Mage’s Guild had detected no enchantment on the assassins or their gear. The Uthbanen family worried that war would put a strain on the city’s economy and resources. They had begun hoarding supplies of grain and tallow and charcoal in their cellar below the chandlery.
As the hour grew late, Aldous excused himself at last and bid his farewell to the Uthbanen family. He received a solid handshake from Lerris, and a warm hug from Margaret. He tousled the girls’ heads and headed downstairs into to the chandlery. Lenkas grabbed his cloak from a hook and followed Aldous downstairs for a private word.
Lenkas caught up to Aldous in the dark environs of the chandlery workshop and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Thanks again, old man. You do realize, however, that the Narfell Fencing Club will never allow entry to a chandler’s son, right?”
Aldous turned. “Of course, but you will not be a chandler’s son.”
“I won’t?”
“Naturally not. You’ll be my cousin from Cormyr, on an extended visit to sew his wild oats in the wild North.”
“Ah . . . how will that work? My clothes . . .”
“We’ll find you a suitable costume. We’ll agree on suitable back story, and you’ll need to come up with a fair imitation of my accent.”
“That nasal sounding drawl? Perish the thought.”
“That’s your price of entry into high society,” said Aldous.
“That’s too steep a price, old man,” teased Lenkas.
Aldous turned to leave, but Lenkas stopped him. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I have some information for you about the figurines.”
Aldous paused and leaned on a counter near the doorway. Lenkas was little more than a shadow in the candlelight, but a familiar shadow nonetheless.
“Oh? And you waited all night to tell me?”
“There really wasn’t an appropriate time until now. It’s something I’ve been working on for the past few weeks, but I wanted to be confident in my results. As you are aware, I’ve been making an exhaustive search of the library stacks. My search hasn’t been entirely in vain.
“As you might imagine, there are precious few books on Uthgart creative works. I had to get into some of the ancient chronicles of travelers among the primitive tribes. Few authors describe tribal artwork directly, but they mention it in passing. One of the traveling bards actually made a list of different art forms favored by various clans within the overall region.”
“This seems awfully academic,” said Aldous.
“It is awfully academic,” said Lenkas, “but it gets interesting. Among the Uthgart clans the favored art forms were cave and hide painting, tattoo work, clay pottery, and stacking stones. Notice anything missing?”
“I’m not certain,” said Aldous. “Maybe sculpture? Pottery?”
“I already said pottery.”
“Right, sculpture then.”
“Exactly,” said Lenkas. “Sculpture. The Uthgart tribes didn’t make sculptures of the human form. The figurines you’re looking for are purportedly ancient wood carvings, or . . . sculptures . . . done in the likeness of individual people. The Uthgart people didn’t do works like that until the last two millennia when they came under the influence of foreign races.”
“That seems pretty thin,” said Aldous. “And also, how does this get us any closer to the figurines.”
“Okay, well there’s another layer here. You’ve been told the figurines are carved in the likeness of individual people. Up until the last few hundred years, Uthgart artists were doing crude, iconic work. It wasn’t until recent times that they ventured into anything resembling realism.”
“So you’re saying that the figurines are much more recent that my employer believes.”
“Possibly,” said Lenkas. “But I have another theory. See, the problem with these carvings is that they’re wood. But to this day, the Uthgart sculptures, such as they are, don’t work in wood. They work exclusively in stone. Wood carving has always been considered something childlike and trivial, something for elves and settled men. Stone sculpture, on the other hand, is a warrior’s medium.”
“One can only imagine what they think of chandlery,” said Aldous.
“Perhaps that accounts for their barbarism,” countered Lenkas.
“So what are you getting at?”
“Well, the native tribes of this region are actually quite diverse. The Uthgart tribe is by far the largest cultural group, but there are other, related clans. Have you ever noticed how the last names of the people here tend to start with the same three letters, ‘U-t-h’?”
“I had noticed that,” said Aldous. “I never really questioned it. Every place in the world has its common nomenclature.”
“Well, in this region, ‘uth’ it’s an old word meaning ‘people’. A lot of the native tribes referred to themselves as ‘people’ in their old tongue. So for example, the term ‘Uthgart’ means ‘people of the . . . of the ‘gart’ apparently, whatever that means.”
Aldous folded his arms. “I know you’re going somewhere,” he said.
“Well, the Uthgart had a cousin tribe called the Uthnael, who were just about the polar opposite of the Uthgart tribes we know today. Whereas the Uthgart are numerous and warlike and masculine, the Uthnael were few in number and strangely peaceful and oddly feminine in their culture. Whereas the Uthgart are highly social and outwardly focused, the Uthnael were isolationists and were known for being dreamers and shamans.”
“Alright,” said Aldous. “Two different tribes, very different cultures.”
“Right,” said Lenkas, “and one other thing. The Uthnael tribe was far more advanced than their Uthgart brethren in the realms of art and magic. Their painting, their sculpture, their iconography . . . all of their creative works were more intricate and detailed than those of their contemporaries. They even had a complex system of phonetic writing. For them, art and magic were intricately connected. They couldn’t separate the two. And listen to this . . . they were master wood carvers.”
Aldous nodded thoughtfully. “So . . . you believe that the figurines originate from the Uthnael . . .”
“That’s right,” said Lenkas. “Your employer has been misinformed about their origin all along. Maybe they’re not as important as he believes.”
“You know something interesting?” said Aldous. “I know some people named Uthnael.”
“Really?” asked Lenkas. “That’s odd that you say that. In all of my years in Peltarch I’ve never encountered anyone with that last name.”
“I don’t think it’s particularly common,” said Aldous. “But this is great work, Lenkas. Absolutely capital. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“I do try,” said Lenkas.
“Also, maybe I can use this to keep Johan off my neck. Over the last three months, I have looked under every tile and cobble to locate these figurines, but the trail is cold as ice.”
“Well, I hope it helps.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the Scriptorium,” said Aldous, and opened the door to leave. He paused on his way out.
“Start working on that accent,” he said. “The sooner we get you into the Narfell Fencing Club, the sooner your can meet some real live Uthnael barbarians.”
“Looking forward to it,” said Lenkas.
Aldous stepped out into the cold winter night and pulled the door closed. Behind him, he heard the deadbolt snap back into place.
