Harry Turtledove - Into the Darkness

But Pekka couldn’t escape the feeling that, if she ever got down to the bottom of her theoretical sorcery, the yield would be a lot bigger than improved armor for behemoths. Her mouth twisted wryly. She couldn’t prove that, either, and everything about it depended on proof.

She abruptly realized her teeth were chattering. That proved something, all right: it proved she was a fool. She’d been so far off in the world of theory, she hadn’t noticed she was starting to freeze. She got up, scooped coal out of the scuttle, and fed the stove in the corner of her office.

The room was just getting back to tolerable warmth when someone knocked on the door. Pekka thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand, again recalled to the real world. “Leino’s going to clout me!” she said as she leaped to her feet.

Sure enough, it was her husband standing there in the hall. He didn’t clout her; that sort of behavior was for Unkerlanters and Algarvians (though Algarvians were likely to slip on a glove before hitting a woman). He did give her a severe look, which, among Kuusamans, more than sufficed. “Have you forgotten the reception at your sister’s tonight?” he demanded.

“I had, aye,” Pekka answered, hoping she sounded as embarrassed as she felt. “I hate acting out a cliche: the absent-minded mage. But since you remembered, I’m sure we’ll be there in good time. Here, let me get my cloak.”

Mollified, Leino grumbled only a little more as they crossed the Kajaani City College campus and took the ley-line caravan to the stop nearest their house. Not enough snow lay on the ground to give the caravan any trouble. The real storms hadn’t started roaring in out of the south. Drifts sometimes got as high as the top of a floating caravan car, not the base.

Slogging up the hill to take Uto back from Elimaki, Pekka didn’t want to think about snowdrifts. “Powers above be praised, you’re here!” Elimaki exclaimed when she and Leino got to the door.

Leino laughed. “I don’t need to be a mage to divine that you felt like stuffing our son and heir into the rest crate today, do I?”

“Well, no,” Pekka’s sister said, adding defensively, “It is hard to clean house with a small boy underfoot.”

“It’s not hard—it’s impossible,” Pekka said. “Come on, Uto. Let’s get you out of here.” Elimaki let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief. Pekka rounded on her son. “What have you been doing today?”

“Nothing.” Uto, as usual, was the picture of innocence. Pekka, as usual, found him unconvincing. So did Leino, but his obvious amusement didn’t help instill discipline in the boy.

They took Uto next door, fed him salty venison sausage—one of his favorites—and put him to bed. When he did sleep, he slept like a log. He was a risk to do a great many appalling things, but getting up in the middle of the night and making trouble wasn’t one of them. With sorcerous wards in and around the house—commercial ones, Leino’s, and her own—and with her husband and herself only a door away, Pekka didn’t feel nervous about leaving Uto asleep by himself. If anything went wrong, she and Leino would know, and would be back in seconds. But she didn’t expect anything to go wrong. Kuusamans were, on the whole, an orderly, law-abiding folk.

Pekka changed out of the long, drab wool tunic she’d worn to Kajaani City College while Leino was taking off his own shorter tunic and trousers. Being of neither Algarvic nor Kaunian stock, Kuusamans wore what they pleased and what pleased them, and did not turn tunics and kilts and trousers into politics. Pekka put on a long skirt of sueded deer-hide and a high-necked white wool tunic heavily embroidered with bright, colorful fantastic animals: a costume out of Kuusamo’s past. Leino’s nearly matched it, save that his skirt was knee-length and he wore woolen leggings beneath it. They both wore sensible modern boots.

“Let’s go,” Leino said. Pekka nodded. They wouldn’t even be late, or not very. And no one with any social graces showed up on time for a reception.

Elimaki’s husband was a short, burly fellow named Olavin. Being one of Kajaani’s leading bankers, he earned more by himself than Pekka and Leino did together. He never tried to rub their noses in his gold, though, for which Pekka was duly grateful.

After handclasps and embraces, Olavin said, “I’m very glad you could come tonight.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Pekka said loyally.

“It’s not as if we have far to come, either,” Leino added with a smile. “No, indeed.” Olavin laughed. “But I am particularly glad you could come tonight. I am not certain, you understand, but I have hopes that Prince Joroinen may join us. You should be here for that, if it happens.”

“Husband of my sister, you are right.” Pekka’s eyes sparkled. “And you are truly coming up in the world if you expect one of the Seven Princes to visit your home. No wonder Elimaki wanted to wallop Uto.”

“I don’t expect it. I hope for it.” In some ways, Olavin was as precise as a theoretical sorcerer. “I learned at the bank that he would be in Kajaani for a few days, and took the chance of tendering the invitation. We have met before, he and I, and done some business together, so there is some reasonable chance he will accept.”

“I would like to meet him,” Pekka said.

Leino nodded agreement, adding, “I would like to find out which way Kuusamo is likely to go now that Lagoas has joined the war against Algarve.” His chuckle was wry. “Husband of my wife’s sister, you need not look alarmed. I don’t look for an answer on the spot. If the Seven Princes argue about where they should meet, they will argue about higher things as well.”

“Even so.” Olavin laughed again. He worked hard at being jolly, perhaps because bankers had a name for being anything but. “As I say, he may be here and he may not. Either way, we will have interesting people here—besides the two of you, I mean—and there is plenty to eat and drink.”

“I am not shy,” Pekka declared. “I am not the most outgoing person in the world, but I am not shy.”

As if to prove it, she marched past her brother-in-law into the parlor of the house he shared with Elimaki. Leino followed in her wake. Pekka got herself a mug of hot spiced ale—Kuusamo was not a land where cold drinks flourished—and a plate of mushrooms stuffed with crab meat. Her husband chose mulled Algarvian wine and seaweed-wrapped boiled shrimp in a mustard sauce.

Some of the people at the reception were kin to Pekka and Elimaki, others to Olavin; some were neighbors; some were bankers; some were merchants and artisans who dealt with the banking firm Olavin served. Talk ranged from raising children to importing wine (Kuusamo’s climate did not encourage fine vintages, or even rough ones) to the war with Gyongyos.

“If anyone wants to know what I think,” one of Olavin’s cousins said, obviously sure everyone wanted to know what he thought, “I think we ought to cut our losses against the Gongs and get ready to pitch into the fight on the mainland of Derlavai.”

“On which side?” somebody asked. Pekka thought that a good question. With Lagoas in the war, Kuusamo could jump on her island neighbor’s back and regain land lost centuries before. If she did, though, Algarve would likely win the war on the mainland and dominate eastern Derlavai. No one had done that since the days of the Kaunian Empire. Pekka wondered if anyone should.

Olavin’s cousin had no doubts. Olavin’s cousin, apparently, had no doubts about anything, including his own wisdom. “Why, King Mezentio’s, of course,” he said. “A man like that doesn’t come along every day. We could use someone with that kind of energy, with that kind of vision, right here at home.”