“So, where are we going?” Andreina asked, as her husband led her through the gates of the old city.
“My uncle Borron’s house,” her husband replied. “It’s about an hours walk from here, sort of back toward where my parents live, only not quite so far and a bit more toward the outer walls.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Boring, but nice. Stuffy. Takes his position very seriously.”
“What position?”
“Oh, well, since my grandfather died he’s sort of the head of the family, you see. Anything that the family does as a group he considers himself the head of. Well all do, really, but he takes it very seriously. He has a clock store, had it for years. Retired from the army, wounded.”
“Badly?”
“No. Got an infected foot. Bothers him some times, but ordinarily you can’t really tell.”
Andi enjoyed the walk, especially when it took them through the farmer’s market. It seemed almost another world, with so many of the landowner class, all talking loudly and cheerfully, all dressed in their ‘overalls’… which had greatly confused her as a littely. She was accustomed to telling the classes apart by their neckline and speech, and landowners spoke however they wanted to, and wore whatever kind of shirt or blouse came to hand and they liked. But every single one of them, when they were dressed at all, wore some kind of outfit with straps over the shoulders.
The men and lads in pants with a front full of pockets that had straps going to the back, the women and lasses in dresses or skirts all with at least token straps, often in very bright colors.
They didn’t often come to town and when they did you would see them wandering around like littlies, their mouths agape at all the wonders of the cities; but here in the farmer’s market they were in their element.
They each had a cart, or wagon, or even some kind of permanent table, and they each stood proudly behind it, or in front of it, or next to it, showing off the variety of produce that they were selling. She absolutely loved it when her mother sent her here to buy the family produce. She could wander for hours.
All too soon they were through the market and she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, which was just the right height, and curled her hand around his waist, feeling him move in response. She hoped he found her pleasant to look at. He said he did, of course, but that counted for nothing so early in their honey trip. And he was quick enough to invoke the contract, but that, too, she could put down to honey business. She would have to see what he thought of her over the long haul.
And what his family thought. His mother had been nice enough, what little she had seen of her. But they were now going to meet the patriarch of the family. Who was, apparently, stuffy. And, no doubt, would be quick to judge the street class lass his nephew had contracted with. To judge her every word, and how she held her fork
“That’s their house,” she heard, and looked up from her reverie to see where he was pointing.
It was a nice, serious, shop class house. Which was to say that it had a shop as the ground floor, and rose three stories above that, with good solid stone alternating with wooden trim, all in good repair. She noticed a small head peering out of an upper window at them, but it seemed content just to watch them come.
“Are you sure I’m not overdressed for a family visit?” she asked, again, fingering her new blouse which he had insisted she put on. “I never wear a shirt to a family affair, let alone a fancy one like this.”
“For anyone else, yes, we would be. Altho shop class people wear shirts a little more often than street class, I think. But you are not over dressed for a visit to Uncle Borron. He will approve of the formality.”
He led her to the door to the upstairs apartments and knocked. Which surprised her. She had some shop class friends and the door on the street, which stood next to the main shop entrance, was usually treated like, well, just a way of keeping out the weather. At least she had never knocked at it.
And she was surprised that, as a nephew of the house, he had to knock. But her husband had knocked, and stood waiting patiently.
A young lad opened the door, a grin on his face, but he said, very seriously, “Welcome to our house,” he said, with a small bow.
“Thank you,” her husband said, bowing back as Andi gave a quick, surprised, curtsey. Then they followed the lad up the narrow staircase to the family apartment above the store. The lad was rather well dressed as well, so Andi suspected her husband was right about the dress code.
And she was even more sure when they reached the top of the stairs, turned right, and were ushered into a dining room. There were seven people there, and every one of them was dressed up. Not all the way up, like for some formal event, but wearing skirt and blouse, or shirt and pants, all of which looked clean and pressed. Andi recognised the older man standing in the middle as the uncle, but was rather surprised by the young woman standing by his side, who looked half his age.
“Greetings, my newest niece,” the rather large man standing in the middle of the group said, and came over and gave her a kiss. Soon everyone was crowding round and kissing but still, she noticed, rather formal.
“Have you eaten?” The man asked.
“Surely, Uncle, you cannot ask such a question. No one who had ever eaten my aunt’s cooking would eat before they came over to your house!”
“Very well, then, let us sit down. I know that dinner is ready.”
They all sat down except the aunt, who disappeared coming back seconds later with a large bowl and, accompanying her, a lass almost Andi’s age who hadn’t been there before, carrying bowls. These were duly passed out and everyone bowed their head.
“Almighty Lord, we thank you for this food, and for this day and for this our newest member of the family,” the uncle said, rather slowly and carefully. “Bless them in their new relationship.”
“And bless the womb,” the woman all said, then the family all said, “Amen.”
The aunt and the lass disappeared again, and Andi was given some soup. Her husband ladled it and she was a bit taken aback to see how little he gave her. But when the bowl made the rounds she saw everyone had taken about the same amount. And they were all rather plump, so obviously she wasn’t going to be poorly fed.
The first sip of the soup surprised her. It was crencha beast, which she had already determined from the bits of meat floating in it, with green onions, but the sip tasted strongly of ginger. After her first surprise she quite liked it.
She tried to control the speed of her eating, watching how everyone else was doing, and managed not to be quite the first person done. But she was very nervous. She had managed the restaurants and things on her honey trip, but they were paid to be accommodating and not look down their noses at clients, paying clients, who might not know which spoon to use, or when to talk. No one was talking! The lads and lasses were all staring at her and her husband and his uncle seemed entranced by their food!
When they had all finished and downed spoons, the uncle rang a little bell and the lass appeared again to pick up the bowls. Then she reappeared, seconds later, with her arms balancing plates.. and her tongue stuck slightly out in concentration. Andi and her husband got two of the plates, one of which almost ended up in his lap. The lass quickly distributed the rest and went back to the kitchen quickly for the plates that she obviously hadn’t been able to carry the first time.
It was an interesting dish. Small pieces of meat wrapped in small pieces of cheese, that had obviously been melted on to the meat and, around the edge of the plate, different sauces.
“That one’s my favorite,” the young lad next to her said, the first time anyone had really said anything at the meal.
“Is it?” She asked, not really wanting to talk but glad that the oppressive silence had been broken. “What do I do with it?”
The lad grinned, “You take the cheese wrap and dip it in, then take a small bite.”
“A small bite?” She asked, imitating him.
“Oh, yes, or else tis rude. And you cannot dip in the same one twice, or is gluttony.”
“Our guest may eat however she pleases,” the uncle protested from his place at the head of the table.”
“But you always tell me…” the lad said.
“Thank thee for telling me the rules,”Andi said. “I am new to the family and the class and do not wish to seem strange. I liked the one you suggested, but I suppose I must try the others.”
“That one is spicy,” he said, pointing to a green sauce. “I like it, but it’s spicy. I always have to drink afterwards.”
She tried the spicy one, and took a drink to please her small host, but she was used to much spicier foods and hadn’t really needed to. Her family, especially in the past, would disguise meat of a lesser quality with spice.
It was good, though, and she tried all of them. “I think the spicy one is my favourite,” she said, when she had tried them all. Then she flushed. Of course she did. Street class was known for eating spicier food than shop class.
“It is good,” her host admitted. “I just need to drink afterwards.”
The next dish was half of a tuber, which she had heard called ‘potato’ when she had seen it in the market but which she had never tried, it being rather expensive. The potatoes had obviously been baked and then, she guessed, mashed and covered with cheese and baked again in their skins. It was very good. The potato was bland, but that contrasted nicely with the cheese.
The next dish was brought in by the mother and the lass together, and consisted of two waterfowl, a variety of duck. They set one duck in front of the uncle, and one in front of her husband, who looked a bit askance. The dishes each had a long fork and a thin knife on it.
Her husband diffidently picked them up and began carving. “Don’t judge him too harshly,” the uncle said, “This will be his first time. Our men aren’t allowed to do the family carving until they have a wife.”
She didn’t think her husband was doing that bad a job. He carved her several slices off the breast, then knocked off a wing for a small lass sitting next to him; then a leg quarter for a large lad, and soon had most of the duck in pieces, and was eating the leg quarter he had taken for himself.
But it was true that the uncle did a much nicer job, with neater slices and fewer repeat stabs.
The serving of the duck seemed to be some kind of break in the rhythm of the meal, for the aunt and lass sat themselves down as well, and the uncle began to speak.
“Well, nephew, you have done very well for yourself. I was quite impressed with the exchange gift. Your father’s business will greatly prosper as a result.”
“And I imagine the same will be true for your lass’s father as well. Fifty thousand Keshef can hardly fail to improve his lot… unless he is a gambler?”
Andi hurriedly swallowed her bit of duck. “No more than normal, sir. And he never looses much at all. My brother said he comes even most evenings. And, of course, he doesn’t play high stakes.”
“’And hopefully his women don’t cost him much… an expense my nephew will be foregoing,” he said, shaking his head.
Andi reddened, but the uncle went on. “It is a powerful system, nephew, a powerful system. What it did for your father it does, every day, for hundreds of other families. Altho not to the same extent, I must say. You did very well.”
“A powerful system, and all voluntary. You understand my point, lad?”
Her husband nodded, “It is a favourite theme of yours, uncle,” he said, and the uncle reddened a bit. “But not a bad one, and I quite agree. The clan is known for keeping its money in the clan, obviously, but here it is a way that, as you say, completely voluntarily, transfers money from the crystal class to the other two; with both benefiting.”
“And make no mistake, nephew, our service to the army and navy pay off. Twenty years in, retire, and your pension and prize money starts you off well in your new life. Add in a couple of exchange payments, and maybe even an extra, and a smart man will do well.”
“Smart and wise, uncle.”
“Yes, yes,” the uncle said. “It must be both, that is true.”
“Lass,” he said, addressing Andi, “we are the most powerful group in human space…”
“Up the clan!” Two of his lads said, lifting their cups and interrupting him.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “And it is all because of the rules that we follow. You see these other lazy people, not having enough offspring for one thing. It’s scandalous.
Andi said, “You certainly seem to have done well, Sir. How many offspring have you had?”
Uncle Borron flushed, “Well, having a second wife has certainly helped. I had four with my first wife before she died. They are all off managing their own affairs. With this wife I have had seven.”
“Eleven total for you! That’s impressive.”
“Yes, well, of course, you see, it was in her contract. Not that I objected, of course. But, as I was saying,” he cleared his throat, “So many people outside the clan, they stay on their own planet… well, enough of that talk I suppose. How has your honey trip been so far?”
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