Work Text:
There were times that Rigney missed his people. Oh, he had no regrets about his decision to move to Archenhold, and he was proud of his job as assistant to Bishop Beartongue. He had come from upriver, from a noisy, chaotic family of rush-makers. They lived a couple hours' horseback ride outside of the city. Visiting would take a full day, more likely overnight, and Bishop Beartongue's schedule simply did not have time for that.
She would, of course, encourage him to go if he raised the issue with her. That wasn't it.
Rigney missed his ma and three das, his various siblings of different degrees, his aunties and uncles, and his favorite cousins. What he didn't miss, and why he didn't request time to visit, was the sheer contradictory bedlam of it all. Forty-odd people living and working in one compound, maintaining property and family and flocks while also running a business, not to mention the interpersonal alliances, feuds, complaints, and bonds. Growing up, Rigney had promised himself that he would get out, find someplace quiet to live, a solitary profession, and live a life of peace.
The live chicken shat on his shoulder and arm as it flew past, squawking loudly. The dog didn't stop barking for one moment as it broke free of the rope holding it and jumped for the bird. The petitioner in the chalk-red tunic lunged for the chicken just as the second petitioner dove for the dog. They crashed together directly in front of Rigney, forcing him to stagger back into the wash-line. A wet sheet wrapped around his hip, knocking him off balance. He flailed, dropping the cloth with the remains of the other chicken, which diverted the dog into returning to eat it. The end of the rope swung as the dog turned, knocking a precariously-balanced bucket of clothes-pegs over. The two petitioners, now engaged in a free-flowing debate at very close quarters, stumbled on the clothes-pegs. One of them tripped over the dog.
Rigney took a deep breath. "Enough!" he bellowed. He was a large man. His bellow was impressive. Everyone paused, except for the chicken. "Right," he said. "Sit down, explain to me the problem, and I will direct you to the person best suited to help you."
***
"You have a feather in your hair," Bishop Beartongue said when Rigney finally arrived at her office.
"I'm not surprised," Rigney said. He brushed at his head until a feather fluttered loose. "Minor encounter in the sideyard. Hello, Istvhan," he added, nodding to the paladin who was already seated in the room.
"Good morning," the big man said cheerfully. He waved the mug he was holding at a kettle gently steaming on a cork ring. "There's tea."
"Thank the Rat," Rigney said and poured himself a cup. "What do we have happening today?" he asked the bishop.
Beartongue nodded towards Istvhan. "The paladins need help with something, I thought you'd have suggestions."
"Sure." Rigney lowered himself into the other chair and sipped at his tea. "What do you need?"
Istvhan smiled broadly. "Nothing worrisome or nefarious. We're trying to plan a name-day feast for Zale."
"Hah!" Rigney's brow creased in thought. "When is their name-day? I'm not sure I know it…" He frowned further. "And I feel I really should."
"It was last week at some point," Istvhan said. "They got a package, presumably from family. The runner who brought it to their office was curious and hung around. It contained a scarf, a winter cap, pickled eggs, and barley-rolls."
"That certainly sounds like a name-day gift."
"That's what we all thought when the kid mentioned it."
Rigney nodded. "So, when is Zale available? And how many people are you planning for?"
"Well, we asked Zale about it, discreetly, and they didn't mention their birthday at all. So I was thinking more of a surprise party."
Rigney looked at Beartongue, then back to Istvhan. "What makes you think a surprise party will be welcome? I like them, but many people hate them."
"About two years ago," Bishop Beartongue said, "Zale was watching a surprise party for another solicitor-sacrosanct, and mentioned how all through their childhood they had wanted one and it never happened."
"Right," said Istvhan. "So now's the perfect opportunity."
"What do you need?" Rigney asked. He set his tea down and got out his wax tablet and stylus.
"We need a space reserved for, oh, maybe fifty people. More or less. We're going to invite the solicitors and their staff, and the clerks and runners who work intake, and us paladins of course, and you all from the bishop's office. We need to know where to go to get decorations, and who to talk to about catering."
"The kitchens can - " Beartongue began to say.
" - no, we've got money we can't spend enough of," interjected Istvhan. "We don't want to add any burden to the kitchen staff. We'll get it catered."
"Good enough," Beartongue said.
"That should be it," Istvhan said.
Rigney nodded. He looked at the notes and wiped them clean. "That's easy enough to remember. I'll come down to your lounge later today with the information."
Istvhan stood. "Thank you," he said. "We just want Zale to feel appreciated."
"Of course," Rigney said. "I'll get right on it."
***
"Come in," Rigney said.
His office door opened slowly, revealing a large crate. Stephen carried it in. He set the crate down and closed the door.
Rigney raised his brows. "Hello … ?"
"So," Stephen said, one hand resting on the crate, "do you know where Zale is from?"
Rigney blinked. "Around here, I thought? Now that you ask, though, I'm not sure."
"Sort of. They're from upriver, maybe a day's walk. A little milling community." Stephen revealed the small crowbar he was carrying and began carefully removing nails from the crate. "Which, as it happens, is a place where name-day celebrations are taken very seriously." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Maybe 'seriously' is the wrong word. We found a trader in town who is from the same area and asked about it. He sold us this." Stephen pulled the front panel of the crate away.
Inside, with straw wrapped around it, was a statue of a phallus. With breasts flanking it. And eyes. Great, big, googly-looking eyes painted onto every inch.
"Huh!" Rigney broke into a grin. "They must be from near where my family lives. That's pretty similar to the stuff we do. It's called Bountiful Vision. Is it a hat?"
Stephen carefully removed the object from the crate. "Yep. It's a hat. Very lightweight, it's made of paper."
"Well, I hope it gives Zale a taste of home. Oh, do you know the game that goes with it?"
"There's a game? The merchant didn't tell us about a game."
Rigney nodded. "The name-day celebrant wears it, and everyone else holds hands in a circle around them. They wear a blindfold and spin in a circle, and then try to break through the ring without the hat falling off. If they do, they get to pick who wears the hat next."
Stephen smiled. "It sounds very energetic."
"Everything from that part of the river is energetic," Rigney agreed.
"Well, I'll take this to our lounge," Stephen said.
"Keep it safe," Rigney said. "They're very fragile."
"Will do," the departing paladin agreed.
***
Rigney saw Wren approaching and set his spoon down. The short paladin swung her leg over the opposite bench at Rigney's table in the dining hall and sat down.
"Stephen tells me you're from roughly the same area as Zale," she said quietly and without preamble. "So, what's the traditional name-day song up there? And is there a clapping game that goes with it?"
Rigney chuckled. "There's a clapping game, yes." He looked around. The hall was not full, and he did not see Zale.
"They're in court today," Wren said. "We already checked."
"Oh, good." Rigney sat back a bit from the table and began slowly singing the name-day song he had grown up with, including the clapping.
Wren nodded along, finishing the clapping with him. "It's not too different from where I grew up," she said. "Except we say 'bless the goats and the kids' instead of 'rush and fid brush and zid.'"
Rigney shrugged and picked up his spoon. "I don't know what it means, either," he said. "Old nonsense words."
"They probably meant something once," Wren said, standing up. "I bet the Many-Armed's priests know."
"They might at that," Rigney replied. "Anything else you need?"
"No, thank you," Wren called over her shoulder as she left.
***
"Rigney!"
Rigney turned to see who was calling his name. Galen trotted across the sideyard, beckoning. "Bishop's asking for you, in the north reception hall," the paladin said.
Rigney frowned. "I just saw her," he said, falling in beside the other man. "Did she say what she needs? Is it about the ecumenical conference next week? Because I told her that's all sorted and dried."
Galen shrugged. "She didn't say," he replied. "Just said to catch you before you leave."
"Beartongue asks and we provide," Rigney said in agreement.
Galen pushed open the door to the hall and with the absent-minded courtesy of all the paladins, stepped to the side and waved for Rigney to go in. Rigney did, and stopped short in confusion.
The hall was full of people, both fires were lit, the lanterns were hung and extra lanterns added. As the small crowd caught sight of Rigney, they burst into enthusiastic song, with incredibly off-beat clapping. Bishop Beartongue stepped forward. "Blessed name-day, Rigney," she called over the din.
Galen, who had entered the room without Rigney noticing, stepped forward with the Bountiful Vision hat in both hands. He placed it squarely on Rigney's head. "Blessed name-day," he said, grinning. "It's a good look on you, very fetching."
"You all conspired," Rigney said accusingly.
"We conspired," Stephen agreed, handing Rigney a glass. "Blessed name-day."
"At least I didn't explain to you about the chair," Rigney muttered.
Istvhan walked up and hugged Rigney. "Blessed name-day," he said. "And you didn't, but that merchant we found did." He pulled back, smiling like the cat in the cream.
"You devious-minded sneaky--"
"Blessed name-day," said Zale, handing Rigney a plate of cake. "I'd eat that fast, everyone is looking forward to the races."
The celebrants were still singing, only they were trying to make the song into a round. It wasn't working. Between the so-called music and the friendly pushing to get slices of cake, it was a noisy mess. Rigney found a seat near the fire and drained his glass of wine, smiling at the chaos.
Just like home.