Death After Death-Chapter 337 - A Little Too Quiet

When Simon returned to the capital, the most common reaction was surprise. Some, including the remaining acolytes of Dionia, assumed that he’d perished from the same curse he’d seen previously. “You wouldn’t be the only one,” a fresh-faced boy explained. He’d been just another acolyte a few months ago, and the fact that he was their high priest now meant that everyone above him was no more. “Many have suffered for the curse that’s been placed upon our temple.”

That angered Simon, and while he vowed to do something about that, it was the other group he felt bad about. They included Eddek, Kayla, and all the other friends, and most of his business associates. They assumed that he’d finally had enough of the country’s politics and left for greener pastures. Most of them were happy to see him; only a few creditors who had looked forward to not having to pay him were less so, but Simon didn’t care much about money these days.

“I just stopped to help some people in need and try to figure out some things,” Simon explained to Kayla when she made it very clear how angry she was that he’d abandoned them.

“Be that as it may, you could have said something!” she protested. When he tried to point out that he hadn’t known he’d be gone so long, she insisted he could have sent a letter, which was ironic, given that she was only barely literate.

Ironically, out of everything, it was his printing press that was doing best of all. That didn’t mean that it was making him the most money, because it only ever cost him money. It was just the farthest ahead of schedule. Not only were they printing so quickly they’d almost run out of pages, and caught up entirely on the block prints, but they were sewing the various chapters into signatures, and stacking those up for the day when they would become full-fledged books.

His workers on that project had started for the pay, but after they saw his vision beginning to materialize, they’d become true devotees to what he was doing. Even in Simon’s absence, a zeal had developed that he would have described as nearly religious. They no longer seemed to care whether he was an outsider; they certainly didn’t care why he’d been gone for so long as long as he was back.

“Did you bring more pages?” the foreman asked when he returned, before he’d even finished getting an update about everything else. “We expected that you’d have something new when you returned.”

“It’s all I’ve thought about,” Simon lied. “I’ve seen plenty of new things to inspire me along the way, and you’ll have more words to set soon.” That part wasn’t a lie, but it would take days to complete. Since he’d finished the ABCs and the myths and legends, he’d be getting into history and the basics of laws and math, and even though he’d already done all of the research he needed on the topics, finding clever ways to weave all of that together would be tedious.

Other than hunt for his enemy, that was really all that Simon did until the snows started. He worked clever word games into historical events, turned some of the most important laws into nursery rhymes and memorable sayings, and in general, did his very best to make other parts of Charian culture as interesting as the bloodsport that was their legal system. While he would never succeed in that, he did his best, and even if his illustrations did the heavy lifting, he felt like he'd come a long way.

“When this is done, history and law will no longer be the domain of Karls and their sons alone,” Simon declared as his foreman took the manuscript and started to read it.

“That’s the least of it,” the man answered, before waxing about identity and belief. He used clumsier words as he compared Simon’s book to a hymnal, but when he declared that “when every clanhold has read from it we will all sing together,” Simon realized he probably should add a few songs to it.

He’d need help for that, of course. He was a rank amateur when it came to instruments or singing, and he knew nothing of musical notation, but in a city of this size, there would be many skalds and other entertainers who could help him with that.

He was in the midst of a conversation about that just a few days later with a few men at a local common room, when he received the last invitation he would have expected. Simon was sitting there, in front of a roaring hearth while the snow fell outside, and he bought drinks for a few of the locals while they debated which songs weren’t just the most widely known, but the most important to their people.

Simon listened a lot more than he talked; while he might have been able to join such a conversation about potters in Ionia or historians and philosophers in Brin, here he was out of his depth. That meant he was more than happy to pay for an education with as much mead as it took to drown the skald that had been entertaining them, along with a few of the most entertaining patrons. That was when he noticed the messenger waiting respectfully in his field of view without joining the conversation. He didn’t approach Simon until he was beckoned for, earning himself a tip in the process.

“What’cha got there?” the skald asked as Simon broke the green wax seal of clan Himar and opened the scroll.

“An invitation to a Yule feast, apparently,” Simon answered.

He wasn’t surprised by that; this time of year, such things were common. He was surprised only by its sender. It had been years since he’d had it out with them over their treatment of his charge, but in all this time, they’d never seen fit to try to mend fences. That hadn’t changed, no matter how rich he was making their allies and enemies. Now suddenly they wanted to talk to him, and in such a public way?

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Simon set the issue aside for now and promised the messenger he would send a response, but he couldn’t do that until he talked to Eddek. Though he didn’t spend much time with the boy anymore, he spent time with their scions daily. If there was anything to hear, then he would have heard something.

Eddek's response was the opposite of knowledgeable, though. It was pure surprise. “Really? I thought they’d never want to see you again. While they still aren’t happy with clan Eddek, you’re an entirely different story.”

The boy explained several recent incidents where Simon had been used as the butt of a joke. It was the first time in ages that he’d heard anyone refer to him as a hapless outsider, and he smiled along as the schoolyard jibes strengthened his resolve.

If this is the worst they have to say about me, then whatever happened is water under the bridge, Simon assured himself, and whatever they want is something new.

The invitation didn’t say what that was, no matter how much he reread its spare sentences. Even when he responded that he would attend, and asked what the purpose of his invitation was, the only answer he got was a very brief, ‘matters of mutual interest, and putting an end to past unpleasantness.’

While that was cryptic, it was promising, so Simon decided to put his best forward. Clan Himar represented one of the only major clans in the city that he hadn’t done some kind of business with. He even had a few finds on their land to offer them if they could come to terms; really, anything to mend fences would help his efforts to tie the nascent nation together a little tighter so that they could stand against the Murani, and any future dangers they might face together.

When Yule night finally arrived weeks later, Simon attended in his best outfit of winter furs and a fine wool tunic beneath. Between the way he dressed and his well-trimmed beard, the average person he passed in the street no longer recognized him as a foreigner. The only real giveaway was that he wore no clan patterns, though he sometimes thought of changing that; he worried it would alienate some families if he tried to found clan Jackoby as an outsider.

That and just thinking about the name feels weird, he thought as the snow crunched beneath his boots. Technically, he still had a last name, but he used it so rarely that it felt like it belonged to someone else.

Clanless or not, Simon made every effort to get into clan Himar’s good graces when he showed up that night. He even brought a copy of his book for the clan to review; it wasn’t finished yet, but every section he included in this leather-bound copy was, which made it look almost as professional as he did.

Though his entrance earned him some looks and a few people chose to walk away rather than shake his hand once he’d introduced himself, it was friendly enough. Clan Himar’s wealth was on full display tonight of all nights, and no matter how many well-heeled guests they invited, there was always more food and drink for them.

So, for every person that wanted nothing to do with Simon, there were two or three more who wanted to talk to him, and before the bell for dinner was rung, he was fairly mobbed by people who asked him questions about everything from Brin to paper making.

In a show of goodwill, Simon was seated at the left hand of the Karl, only two down from the man himself. Though women ate in another room so men could talk, there were plenty of attractive young women to serve them each of the extravagant courses.

Unfortunately, each course came with its own drink, and though they were delicious, Simon was well on his way to getting drunk by the meal’s third course of squash soup and spiced croutons. Normally, he would have fixed that with a word of lesser clearing, but these days, he didn’t take off his ring without good reason.

That made conversation harder, but not exactly difficult, as he did his best to stick to safe, well-worn topics for the most part. “And your book?” the Karl asked eventually, throwing that strategy out the window. “Have you finished it yet?”

“Soon,” Simon agreed, smiling as he realized the man didn’t even notice the gift he’d left for him earlier; had he seen it, he never would have asked the question. It was plain that the Karl didn’t care about him, which made it an open question as to whether or not this would eventually resolve into vengeance or violence.

Neither his host nor any of the other Karls seemed to be in a hurry to get there, though, and course after course passed by without quite resolving into either. The closest it ever came were questions about his paper mill or one of the bridges he was trying to finance. One of the men to his left joked that it was very strange that none of Simon’s projects had much to do with each other, but Simon merely shook his head ruefully.

“Everything is connected, don’t you see?” The bridges will use lumber, at least for now, and all the waste wood from that will be ground down, combined with rags, and then turned into paper to become books. Nothing is wasted.”

“You say for now,” a red-haired Karl added, “What do you plan to make them with later? Paper?” That caused a wave of uproarious laughter, and Simon smiled along as several older, and presumably wiser men than he explained to him the vast difference between pictures of bridges and bridges themselves.

In that moment, Simon considered explaining his plans for a blast furnace and how cheap he expected iron ore to become now that several mines were opening up. He thought about going on to explain how they could use paths of steel to cross some canyons quicker and easier than any rope or timber bridge.

In the end, though, he decided against it. Though he knew it could be done because of his life on Earth, his own personal designs were still far from complete, and he didn’t wish to open a new avenue for ridicule. He would save that for later. So, instead, he endured it, trading jokes, and eventually, the east was at an end.

At least he thought. When Simon started to rise, his host, Karl Himar, said, “Stay a little longer, there’s one more matter you and I have to discuss, in private.”

Despite the Karl’s neutral facial expression, his words felt ominous, but as the rest of the men emptied from the room, Simon didn’t feel the need to retreat with them. He’d come all this way. He might as well hear what the man had to say.