Master of Formalities
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
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Off to Be the Wizard: Magic 2.0, Book 1
Spell or High Water: Magic 2.0, Book 2
An Unwelcome Quest: Magic 2.0, Book 3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Scott Meyer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477830918
ISBN-10: 147783091X
Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects
Illustrated by Maciej Rebisz
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015930385
CONTENTS
PART 1
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
PART 2
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
PART 3
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
PART 4
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
PART 5
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
PART 6
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
PART 7
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
PART 8
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PART 1
It is often said that the most majestic tree starts as a mere sapling.
It is less commonly noted that when viewed by an insect, the sapling was majestic in its own right.
-Excerpt from the Academy of Arbitration Instructional Supplement: Aphorisms to Distract and Placate
1.
“Know that two thousand, one hundred, and seventy-one conventional years have passed since the Terran Exodus. Today is the fifty-sixth day of the third month,” the pale man said. He had slick black hair and a sleek black suit, which served to accentuate his lean, gangly frame. “We meet on the planet Apios, in the servants’ hall of Palace Koa, the ancestral home of House Jakabitus and its matriarch, Lady Joanadie Jakabitus. I am Wollard, Master of Formalities for House Jakabitus, and I am currently delivering the daily meeting to the palace staff.”
Wollard recited the full formal greeting, as was customary. The younger members of the staff rolled their eyes and looked bored, as was also customary. The full formal greeting was designed long ago, in the days when interstellar travel still involved time distortion and suspended animation. Back then, it was common to greet travelers who didn’t know where they were, when they were there, or in some cases, who they were.
Of course, those days were long past. In these more modern times the full greeting was only used at the most formal occasions or by the most formal people. The daily staff meeting was delivered by the Master of Formalities, so it always started with the full formal greeting.
Now that the greeting was complete, Wollard looked up from his papers, and his entire demeanor softened. He studied the staff with keen eyes and a warm smile.
“Good morning, all.”
The staff wished him a good morning, more or less in unison, their voices echoing in the cavernous servants’ hall. Like the full formal greeting, the room had been crafted for a less advanced time, a time when it took a staff of dozens to maintain the palace. Things were different now. The ruling family’s personal quarters were maintained quite well by seven people. This made it much simpler to manage the staff and operate as a coordinated team, but it did give the servants’ hall an empty, lonely feeling. The room, like all of the more utilitarian spaces in the palace, had been crammed in wherever it would fit, making an irregularly shaped chamber with one end much smaller than the other. Wollard and the rest of the staff were gathered at the narrower end of the room, with the dual result that they were cozier, but the room looked far emptier.
Greetings out of the way, Wollard moved on to the day’s agenda.
“Today is a momentous day for House Jakabitus,” he said, glancing back down at his papers. “Lady Jakabitus will not be enjoying breakfast with her family this morning. Chef Barsparse has already provided Her Ladyship with a small repast, which should keep her going until lunch. Her Ladyship’s military advisors have requested a supplementary briefing this morning, during which Lady Jakabitus will be updated on the status of this planet’s ongoing war with the forces of the detestable Hahn Empire over the planet Ophion 6. My protégée and I shall attend this meeting, as the Formalities dictate.”
A young woman raised her hand and said, “Query.”
Wollard stopped reading from the agenda and addressed the young woman. “I recognize Shly, deliverer of liquid refreshment.”
Shly was a young woman, pretty by most conventional standards, and confident in a way that either made her seem slightly less attractive or much, much more attractive, depending on the observer. Her hair was light for an Apiosan, which meant it was almost black. She had it pulled back, in keeping with the appearance guidelines for palace staff, and she wore the staff uniform, which was simple, functional, cut to be gender flattering, and made of the absolute finest materials.
Shly lowered her hand and smiled. “Where is your student? Don’t the Formalities dictate that she attend the daily staff meeting?”
“First,” Wollard said, “her title is protégée, not student, as I’ve told you before, Shly. You are correct that in most cases she would be here; however, one of Lady Jakabitus’s ministers will be attending the briefing in person this morning. My protégée is awaiting this minister’s arrival while I deliver the daily meeting.”
“Do they have news of the war?” a second young woman blurted. “Did something happen?” She was roughly the same age as Shly, with essentially the same coloration, but she was a bit less pretty and a bit le
ss confident, and as such, was totally overshadowed by her friend.
Wollard smiled benignly at the woman, but said nothing.
The woman blushed slightly and said, “Sorry. Query?”
Wollard said, “That’s quite all right. I understand your anxiety. I recognize Umily, tender to personal needs. To answer your question, I have no information, nor could I tell you if I did. I doubt, however, that anyone would request a special briefing, travel to the palace, and stand in Lady Jakabitus’s presence in order to tell Her Ladyship that there is nothing noteworthy to report. That said, Umily, we mustn’t get our hopes up. The House Jakabitus has been at war with the Hahn for generations. I don’t see that changing any time soon.”
No one voiced disagreement, and the moment of silence following Wollard’s statement cast a pall over the staff. Wollard cleared his throat, returned his gaze to his papers, and continued.
“Master Rayzo, the heir to the Jakabitus Dynasty, has a sports practice session this morning with his tutor, Hartchar.” Wollard looked up to acknowledge Hartchar, who nodded, signaling for Wollard to continue. She wore the same uniform as the rest of the staff, but it rode differently on her tall, muscular physique. Her flaming red hair caused her to stand out further. Like Wollard and his protégée, she was an import from a different world, so she lacked the distinctive dark coloration for which the people of Apios were known and envied.
“After sports practice and lunch, which will be attended by the ruling family, who will have no guests, Master Rayzo will be competing in a sports meet, which his father, Lord Frederain Jakabitus, will attend. I’m certain we all wish him good fortune.”
The instant the word fortune left Wollard’s lips, a male voice cried out, “Query?”
Wollard grinned slightly, in spite of himself, but spoke without looking up from his papers. “I recognize Ebbler, food delivery.”
Ebbler sat between Shly and Umily, which accentuated the broadness and solidity of his build, but also made him look shorter, as both Shly and Umily were relatively tall, and Ebbler was not.
Ebbler smirked at Shly, then asked, “Will Master Rayzo require extra portions at lunch and dinner to recover from his training in the morning and his game in the afternoon?”
Wollard grimaced at Ebbler. “As you know, the official, sanctioned term for what you refer to as training is, in this case, sports practice. As you are also aware, the official name for the type of sporting event in which Master Rayzo will be competing is a sports meet. I know that in more casual circles, other words are employed, but I must remind you that this household is not a more casual circle. Is that clear?”
Wollard’s words were stern, but his voice was not. Ebbler nodded. Wollard continued.
There was a brief discussion of dinner, followed by a discussion of the importance of standards. Wollard attempted to end the meeting early so he could make it to Lady Jakabitus’s briefing in a timely manner, and was only slightly delayed by a minor debate as to the officially sanctioned term for hurrying.
As Wollard made his exit, Glaz, the palace expediter, turned to face the group and clapped her hands together. She was an older woman of average height and weight, with unremarkable graying hair. She wore the same palace uniform as the rest of them. Nothing about her appearance set her apart, but she spoke with an easy authority, and everyone paid attention.
“All right,” she said. “It looks to be a good day, full of work to be done. We’d best all get to it.”
The group dispersed. They knew where they needed to go, and roughly how long they had to get there, so their pace was brisk, but not urgent. Only Ebbler seemed to hurry, jogging a few steps to catch up with the white-clad figures of Barsparse, the palace chef, and her sous chef, Pitt.
“Pardon me, Chef,” Ebbler said as he slowed to match their pace.
“What do you want now?” Pitt asked before Barsparse could reply.
“I just wanted to say that the family’s dinner last night was amazing. I didn’t get to taste it, of course, but just seeing it and smelling it was more satisfying than most of the meals I’ve eaten.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Barsparse said, not looking at him. She was thin and graceful, but radiated determination. Her manner was not unfriendly, just uninterested. She was all business, and her business was making food, not conversation.
“I was wondering,” Ebbler said, “what are you planning to make tonight?”
“Thank you for the compliment, but we don’t really have time to go over my meal plan with you. We need to get breakfast on the table. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Ebbler said, trying not to sound disappointed or embarrassed.
“Good,” Barsparse said. “See you at service.”
Ebbler slowed his pace. His duties called for him to assist Umily until it was time for breakfast service, and Umily’s job was not in the kitchen. Barsparse’s pace didn’t slow, so she quickly pulled ahead of Ebbler. Pitt, however, paused and turned to face Ebbler. The two were roughly the same age and height, and Ebbler had worked in the palace much longer, but Pitt didn’t let any of those facts interfere with his sense of superiority.
“You will not pester the chef—or me—with your questions again,” Pitt snarled.
“Am I bothering her?” Ebbler asked, concerned.
“Another question. It is not your place to question the chef. It’s not your place to even speak to the chef.”
“I just wondered what you were cooking today. What’s the harm in that?”
“It’s not your place to question me either. You carry the food. You take what we cook to the people for whom we cook it. You’re a beast of burden. You don’t need to know what you’re carrying any more than a cargo hauler needs to know what’s in his hold.”
“A cargo hauler does need to know what’s in his hold, doesn’t he? He’d need to know lots of things about it. Is it legal? Is it dangerous? How much does it weigh? How its weight is distrib—”
Ebbler was interrupted by the distant sound of a clearing throat. Barsparse had reached the passage to the kitchen, and was looking back toward Pitt, waiting.
Pitt nodded and started moving toward her, but he glanced back at Ebbler and said, “I’ll get you for this.”
“For what?” Ebbler asked.
Rather than speaking, Pitt bit his lip and turned away, running to catch up to the chef.
Ebbler caught up with Umily as she was maneuvering a large, hovering grav-platter down the service corridor to the high-speed lifts that would take her to the Jakabituses’ personal chambers. The platter supported a bin to collect used toiletries, sheets, and other detritus for recycling, as well as a small portable bulkfab unit to replace what had been collected. The platter supported its own weight, but it could be quite cumbersome.
“Sorry for the holdup,” Ebbler said.
“That’s fine,” Umily said. “Talking to the chefs, I assume?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d that go?”
Ebbler shook his head. “Let’s just say I miss the old sous chef.”
“So do I,” Umily said.
Ebbler said, “I’m sure you do. How is Gint doing?”
“I’ll find out soon. I got a letter from him this morning. I probably won’t have time to read it until tonight. He’s through training by now.”
“That must be exciting.”
“Exciting,” Umily repeated in a flat, dull tone.
Ebbler said, “I know that being conscripted into Lady Jakabitus’s military was a surprise for Gint, but you have to admit it was very generous of her to reward his new battalion for their service by assigning them a chef trained in the ruler’s own palace.”
“I have to admit that,” Umily said. “You have to admit that it would have been even more generous if that chef hadn’t just gotten married . . . to me.”
“Look,” he said, “I can get us started on the morning rounds. Read your letter from Gint, and when you write him back, tell him I said hi.”
The morning rounds mostly consisted of distributing fresh bedding and towels. While it was true that technology had long ago eliminated the need for something as primitive as bedsheets, the fact remained that one of life’s great luxuries was the use of brand-new, perfectly clean sheets, and the same went for towels. Technology also made it possible for sheets and towels to be self-cleaning, but knowing that the linens you were using for the most intimate of purposes had never been touched by anybody before only added to the sense of luxury.
Umily thanked Ebbler profusely as he took the grav-platter of linens and disappeared into the lift. As soon as she was alone, Umily sagged against the cold, gray wall of the service corridor and pulled out her papers.
Umily’s papers were the standard sheaf issued to all members of the household staff, not as fancy or official looking as those possessed by senior staff like Wollard or Glaz, but still superior to the single dull-white rectangles issued to ordinary citizens. Umily’s papers were four large sheets of thick, cream-colored parchment. They felt stiff and brittle to the touch, but no matter how hard you tried you could not rip or crease them beyond the three neat folds that allowed them to fit neatly in a pocket or purse.
The front sheet always contained her name and the full formal greeting, updated daily, as well as any news bulletins or personal alerts, printed legibly in a hand that spoke of the dignity of the Palace Koa. Page two was the official schedule of the Jakabitus family and the palace staff, updated as conditions warranted. Page three held any correspondence, either personal or official. Page four displayed research material, pleasure reading, and other pertinent information.
She turned to page three, scanned the options, and selected the waiting letter from Gint by running her finger along it, as if reading it carefully. The contents of the page faded away, replaced by a page of text rendered in Gint’s familiar handwriting.
Dearest Umily,
How are you?
I know, that’s a simple way to start a letter, but I can’t think of anything more important. Not a moment goes by that I don’t think of you. The fact that I know where you are and what you’re doing somehow makes it both better and worse. Every time I see a clock, I calculate for local time and remember the daily schedule at the palace. I can see you performing your duties in my mind’s eye, as clearly as if I were there with you.