Adrian began scraping the smooth, rippling muscle. “It only costs a copper dimeh to get a slave to do it,” he teased.
“They never get it right . . . harder.”
“What’s really bothering you, brother?”
The broad shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know why in the Gods’ names Wilder wants a trainer. He’s middle-aged, fat, and sluggish.”
“Maybe he wants a weapons trainer because he’s middle-aged, fat and sluggish?” Adrian suggested. “He’s certainly paying enough.”
“To him, three hundred arnkets is like you or me buying a spiced bun in the street,” Esmond said, and then shrugged. “I’m to get a bonus for working as a bodyguard, though—protecting him and his wife when they go out, and so forth. It’s work with a sword at your belt, at least.”
“Don’t they usually hire old games fighters for that?” Adrian said, curious.
“I’m better than any of those broken-down masses of scar tissue,” Esmond said scornfully.
“And a lot more decorative,” Adrian grinned. “There—your turn now.”
“Decorative!” Esmond said, in mock indignation. “Here—I’ll show you how they scrape loudmouths down at the wrestling ground for the Five Year Games!”
He whirled and came at Adrian with his arms out, the wrestler’s pose. Adrian fell into the same stance, and they circled on the hot planks. It ended as it always did, with the younger man facedown on the boards and slapping his free hand down on the floor in sign of surrender.
“Peace! Peace!”
“Peace is a suitable theme for a teacher of rhetoric,” Esmond laughed, letting him up. “A rinsedown and a cold plunge, and then we’ll have to get back—move our things out of the rooms and into the Redvers house. I managed to get you permission to use the library, by the way.”
“Thank you, brother; I’ll take advantage of that. But I won’t be teaching cauliflower-eared ex-generals how to give speeches, nor their pimply sons.”
Esmond paused. “You won’t?”
“No, I’m going to go to work in the law courts.”
“Clerking?” Esmond looked shocked. “That’s slaves’ work.”
Adrian shook his head. “Pleading cases.”
“But . . .” A puzzled frown. “That’s illegal, only Confederate citizens can appear before the Vanbert courts.”
Adrian tapped a finger along his nose and winked. “In theory. In fact, if you’re formally reading the speech of some Citizen advocate, it’s allowed.”
“You won’t get far in front of a Confederate jury,” Esmond warned, shaking his head. “And think, brother. I don’t doubt you’re an expert on Solingian law, but this is Vanbert.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve picked up a good deal,” Adrian said. He shifted into the Confederacy’s tongue: “And I’m fairly fluent, aren’t I?”
The blue eyes went wide. “No accent at all!” he exclaimed. “How did you do that in four months?”
“Divine intervention,” Adrian laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go take that plunge.”
TWO
The Redvers family had an extensive library in their townhouse; Adrian bowed a greeting to the Emerald slave who ran it. The man was wrinkled, bald, stooped, and dressed in a long robe uncomfortably like that of a Scholar of the Grove. His grandfather might well have been a Scholar, enslaved in one of the endless wars.
“Greetings, learned Salman,” Adrian said.
His reply was a sniff and a quick shooing motion of the hand. Adrian walked past the simple slab desk where Salman worked, repairing and recopying and keeping every one of the six thousand or so scrolls in its proper niche. The library beyond was nearly as large as the Academy’s, and far more sumptously fitted. The ten-foot-high racks were Southland curly maple, clasped and edged with gilded bronze, each bolt end wrought in the shape of a woodspirit’s face. The scrolls lay in the familiar manner, each one in the hollow of a honeycomb in the rack, the same way that wine bottles were kept. These were mostly fine goatskin vellum, though, not the cheap reed paper. The twin winding rods were gordolna ivory, and the little listing tags that hung down on cords from each were ivory and gold, bearing the title of the scroll in elegant cursive silver inlay. The walls on either side were clear glass, large panes fully a foot on each edge in metal frames, and there were comfortable padded couches and marble-topped tables at intervals for the use of readers. There was a pleasant smell of well-cured vellum, ink, and furniture wax.