He was half drunk. He made fine work of his quill, stabbing it weakly into the back of his other hand over and over as if that pain might distract him from the girl. He said, "What good is a letter to someone who is dead."
"They are dead only poetically-speaking; I wish to breathe better life into our encounters, as though our past ones are dead, and the future ones will be more pleasing. I have prioritized my purposes here in Myrken. I do not have time for squabbles. Master Cherny is well, and it is better I exert my passion into my friendships with him, and with Catch, and with my needlework."
"Because you're so important," the professor said.
"No," she said. "Hardly important. But I am finding purpose."
"I'm going to start charging you," he said, swigging rum -- she had driven him through two bottles in three days with three separate letters. "You keep dictating letters, and I keep not kicking you out of my home, I might be able to get rich."
"We will square up one day," she said. "But now? Write, please."
And because his recent A Study of Curlicues in the Misanthropic Jernoan Slave-Texts had been blamed for two-and-a-half boredom-induced suicides, and his more popular Courtly Love and Friendship in The Miniature Epic Jernoan Poem "Garvak and the Eel" had driven its distant publisher to opium addiction, he thought he could do no more harm to the world by writing the young Jerno's dictation.
The rock-breaker was favored again with couriership, to the only house he knew where elves had been rumored to abide. Maybe it'd never find its recipient. The rock-breaker would have been just fine with that.
To the Lady of Knives, that She may be Considerably Moved by the Written Word and not the Spoken Word (for which She appears to have No Hospitable Patience), a Matter for which the Writer wishes to find Remedy by extending a [Hso’cholq]* Branch.
It is my First Duty to Thank you for Your Willingness to bring my Dear Master C----- to the Rememdium Effectation following His Unfortunate Straits. While You may not like Me, I would be a Fool and Impolite to not thank You for Your Swift Thinking. This, coupled with the Excellent Care the Wellsmiths of the Hospital provided Him, has ensured His Continued Life, and while I have shed Many Tears merely thinking of the Possibility of Losing My Friend, I have wet my Handkerchiefs with Many More shed in Happiness at his Swift Recovery.
You may think Me incapable of Tenderness and Consideration, but the Truth is Quite the Opposite. I would like to tackle the Discomfort of our Previous Dialogues, with the Prayer that our Future Discourse will be more Pleasant. Why. Because as I have said to You in the Past, I am through being Foolish, and with Master C-----‘s Good Health on the Rise, We should shuffle the Sands of Previous Encounters.
That You taught Me nearly to die fly should be forgotten. I believe the Broken Tooth suffered in my Fall gives me Greater Character. Also, your Insistence to Insult my Sensibilities with talk of Perverseness is Something I will gladly forgive. Thirdly, my talk of you as Whore was Crude and Inappropriate, a Knee-jerk Reaction to your Perceived Jibes and Ridicule. Accept This as my Apology.
I will Wish we speak no more of Motherhood or Sexuality; I think it would muddy sully our Future Attempts to interact amicably. Do you see? It was all of These Things I wished to tell you Nights ago in the Inn, however, I obeyed your Wishes to be alone, and I hope that now you observe Mine without cutting me in twine.
I cannot say You do not startle or intimidate Me. I would be afraid to suffer a Dire Wound at the Persuasion of your Weaponry, but just as you are Prone like a Jagwire to Striking First and Speaking Later, I am Prone just to Speaking, and often not to my Benefit. Also, I would wish that you minimize Future Contact with Master C-----, so that He may heal in Peace now that He has got Awakened by the Strength of his Persistent and Gentlemanly Heart.
Sincerely, with the Hope that Upcoming Encounters may be at best Amiable, and at Worst, Silent,
Signed,
Gloria (Glour’eya) Wynsee, Loyal Friend, Willing Speaker of Peace, Seamstress, Subject of Fair Myrken, Citizen of Distant Jernoah, and Member of the Now-Defunct Choir of Maidens for the Jerethedral of the Nameless
* Scribe's Note to the Lady of Knives: No Accurate Translation for this Word is really possible. Phonetically, “socalke”, an Uncommon Desert Root Plant often Praised in Jernoah for its Formidableness. Hso’cholq is not native to the Myrken area and is Under-Represented in Botanical Literatures. Primary and Lateral roots are Entirely Edible and span Several Feet below Sand, often storing Great Amounts of Rainwater from the Rare Downpour. Unfortunately, Hso’cholq above-ground Vegetation is Deathly Poisonous, and no Botanical Evidence has been provided to explain the Significant Difference in its Above-Ground and Below-Ground Qualities (though Some might blame Its Deadly Property on an Oversaturation of the Sun). Peace is commonly signified in Jernoan Cultures as One that occurs after Sharing The Root of this Valuable Plant Breed with a Detested Opponent.
