The Songs of Loss, book one : Armanth

Chapter 4- The gift

The lobby of the Council of Peers was swarming with people as the public session drew to a close. The exuberance of the attire worn by the participants, merchants and notables alike, gave the impression of attending a pageant, the aim of which was, from the most insignificant of secretaries to the most lavish of master merchants, to flaunt one's wealth and rank in every way possible; including the most vulgar or ridiculous in excess.

In the afternoon heat and despite the coolness of the huge colonnaded air-conditioned hall, this display of outfits, each more gaudy and luxurious than the last, created a stifling atmosphere; indeed, the most lavishly attired men and women in the place had to bake under their heaps of brocaded mantels, laced shirts, gaudy pourpoints, ornamented togas and embroidered tunics.

As for Jawaad, he had made what might be considered an effort. He wore a broad white linen shirt, common enough, but of refined cut, and a bluish-black chamoised leather vest, with shoulders adorned with fine gold braid, which he had embellished with the elaborate brooch and set stamped with the crest of the Master Merchants, in the shape of a ship under the stars. But that was as far as his sartorial goodwill went. A kilt with black leather straps, a little faded and filed, over simple pants and a pair of vaguely polished boots made up the rest of his attire. In the crowded hall, where groups lingered, discussing and commenting on the latest debates at the Council des Peers, he stood out. His sober, unkempt attire, in contrast to the abundance of local suits and uniforms, was a clear thumb in the face of convention and of his colleagues who were swallowing colossal fortunes to compete in the most conspicuous luxury possible.

Yet the arrival of Jawaad, even dressed as a commoner, clearly did not go unnoticed.

For one thing, he was a household name. Armanth had less than a hundred titled merchant-masters, leaders of the Merchants' Guild that had made the city-state the immense city and economic power it was. Jawaad was one of them, and famous for many reasons, starting with his respectable age. He had always been a master merchant and was rumored to be well over a century and a half old, despite appearances; while he wasn't the only one to have an Ambrose as a symbiote, Ambroses have been known to rarely last more than a century and a half without aging. He was a bachelor, with no parents and no heirs; again, an uncommon trait and downright bizarre for any lossyan. But above all, he was famous for having refused entry to the Council of Peers, even though he had been elected to it, when three-quarters of the wealthiest merchant bourgeoisie could only dream in vain of sitting there one day.

Secondly, his arrival came as a surprise, because everyone knew that Jawaad never went up to the Palace of the Council of Peers. In fact, unless he was forced to do so - and even then, it was necessary to succeed in forcing him to do so - the master merchant never went to the terrace of the Elegio Palace, which formed the political heart of Armanth. He shunned politics and hated having to meddle with such vanities and preoccupations; which didn't stop him from having a number of allies and debtors in the corridors of these palaces, tasked with being his eyes, ears and hands.

Finally, accompanied by his usual escort, also quite famous, this time made up not only of Abba and Damas but also his accountant, Alterma, which was rarer, he carried in his hands a gift package. Which was probably the most incongruous when you knew him. The box, lined with satin silk and elegantly closed with an ornate bow held in place by a small silver fibula, all in pastel tones, was obviously a present. Now, if the taciturn and unpleasant master merchant had a reputation, it was that of never giving anything to anyone.

The effect had some immediate repercussions in the multicolored, posh crowd of the vast hall. Discussions suddenly changed topic, and a few dozen pairs of eyes were riveted on the quartet who had just passed through the majestic columns of the wide entrance door. Outside, the crowd was just as colorful, though far less affluent. Citizens, various guards, church priests, street vendors selling sweets and beverages, acrobats and street performers, animal trainers and musicians and, of course, beggars and beggars occupied the entire terrace overlooking the Campo Annuciante district. The whole thing made for a joyous, almost deafening hubbub that crept right down the aisles of the assembly. Yet it would have taken a philharmonic orchestra to deafen Abba's voice: