The Obligator's Daughter

Rumours

Bem stumbled numbly through the streets. 

With nowhere to go and nowhere to be, she quickly lost track of time. The afternoon sun warmed the top of her head, and she pulled her hood forward, arms hugged across her chest.

Pages, clerks, merchants, and scribes all bustled about their affairs. Citizens, doing their duties. The passers-by for the most part ignored her, but some stole a curious glance at her cowled, injured, paste-smeared face. She must have looked a forlorn sight. Compellors clanked among them, each faceless helmet seemed to linger too long on Bem, watching, waiting. She shivered.

'Bem!' What now? Jamantha breezed across the street, weaving between people as effortlessly as a dancer, a swirl of maroon lace and creamy taffeta. 'No session today? Did you not repose yesterday?'

'I did Jam, but there was an...incident.' Bem threw back her hood. Why hide it from her friend? She would know soon enough anyway.

'An incident with make-up,' laughed Jamantha, scooping some paste from Bem's cheek with her finger. 'You don't even wear it. But if you've started, it looks like you need some fast lessons.'Bem realised her cheek had not stung when Jamantha touched it and felt her ear; nothing. 

While her body still bore hot stripes, uncomfortable against her clothes, her face felt cool and new, and her ear was not swollen. Not magic, Roonix had said, yet this was beyond her experience.

'I...guess I must,' she forced a laugh. 'Will you show me how?'

'Of course. Seems there is hope for you yet,' said Jamantha, 'but all in time. What are you doing now?'

'Nothing of note.'

'Then I know what we are doing. If it is a day for new things, you must come to the dockyards with me!'

The dockyards. Bem's arms went back to hug her chest. 'I'm not sure Jamantha...father says...'

'Oh, forget what father says! You will be married soon. It is time to spread your wings.' Jamantha prised Bem's arms apart and linked hers with one. 'Come, it will be so much fun!' She towed her down the street.

As they walked, Jamantha chatted gaily about scandals and secrets, whether real or imagined Bem could not be sure. Most of the people she mentioned Bem knew by name only – popular citizens and students from the academy who didn't tend to speak to Bem. Jamantha needed little input from her to keep her momentum up, which was lucky as Bem had little to give. She let the barrage of words roll over her, through her, mumbling the occasional 'oh really' or a 'how interesting'.

And, they say Trilly Jamonstur is to marry Swandon Brillington.' Jamantha whispered in a conspiratorial voice.

That roused Bem's attention.

'He is such a dish, so handsome, and delightful to converse with. He has donned the helm did you know? Not moneyed of course, but from a family with merit nonetheless. And her being well enough off, but to work in the allotment scullery. Can you imagine? She is so lucky.'

'I don't think she is going to marry him.' The words fell like logs from Bem's lips.

'But Bem,' Jamantha stopped and fixed a furrowed brow at her, 'Allicion Prantista told Hennery Hamdumnor after the session yesterday, and she had it from Trilly's sister Yulma so, it must be true...'

'It's not.' Bem stared back at her. 'Father returned from the Connubial Committee yesterday. It seems I am to marry Brillington.'

'You?' Jamantha laughed. 'But that's impossible!' More laughter followed.

'I wish it were,' said Bem.

'You must be mistaken.' Jamantha informed her, all trace of gaiety gone.

'My father is many things, but a liar is not one of them.'

Jamantha looked at her with white lips, and hissed, 'he is far above you. You come not from money nor merit and are a pockmarked frump to boot!' Bem felt the blood drain from her head. 'Your father's obligatorial term is almost concluded, and then he will be back to shining boots. You bring nothing to the bargain. Your union will only serve to weaken his name.'

'My father is a valet. It is honest employment.' Bem's chest was tight with indignation. Since when did a name matter anyways?

'Ugh!' Jamantha stamped a heel and stalked away.

What was that all about? This day could not get any stranger. Bem's pride was stung but it was somehow a relief to hear Jamantha's true, and Bem's oft-suspected, opinion of her. Like an octopus changing colour when threatened. Threatened? Was that the reason for her ire? Bem cared not to ponder it at that moment. Jamantha was as shallow as a plate and her opinion was as valuable as the scraps left on it after supper.

The waft of drying fish and the rustle and clank of derricks alerted Bem to the fact she had arrived at the dockyards. Here the catch was brought ashore each day, the nets emptied onto the stone wharves. Here also came trader ships and folk from all over the realm. The hopefuls dwelled within, fomenting their illicit notions and scurrilous ideas in the maze of leaning shanties and bawdy watering holes. It was a noisy, smelly, dangerous place. Bem had been only twice before, both times on business with her father. The thought of being alone amongst such chaos sent a tingle up her back.