On Water

Unlike the carefully tended gardens of the Promenade in the Capital City, Olivia's Garden was a smaller and wilder affair. The colossal trees of the Estin Forest cast deep shadows that followed the tracks of the sun; each garden bed had been placed with care, the flowers in each suitable for the amount of light and shade it received in the season. Justicar-General Olivia van der Waal was the finest legal mind of her era, but she had been no florist, and when she bequeathed her land to the Longhall, it had been a mess of dying plants, ill-suited to the inconstant light and frequent thunderstorms. Over the years, however, Magistrates with a brighter green thumb had stepped in to work the soil, and the flowerbeds reflected a riot of bright colors when a patch of sunlight washed over them.
And now it was Caranda's turn. The Magistrate Valier had been a reasonable student of horticulture, but held no passion for it, and she worked her shears with a clinical detachment. Her mind was elsewhere while her hands moved, and she eventually gave an uncharacteristic yelp - she had nipped a finger. There wasn't any blood, but the fine leather on her left glove was cut; she would need to have it mended.
With a sigh, she put her shears down and sat on a bench. Everything had been uncharacteristic, lately, ever since the news from home had reached her eyes. Her brother, a promising student and family heir, catatonic after abuse of Clarity. Their mother, confined in bed at the Healer's Covenant, maddened by shock and stress. And her father, who had wrote her a letter with the same precise handwriting he had taught her as a young child, so well taught that she knew at an instant his hands were shaking as he held his quill. Her unshakable father, Lord Valier, the man with an iron will and stone for blood, exhorting her to attend to her duties and 'never mind the House'. Her sympathetic Justicar-Captain had told her, not unkindly, to take a step back from her duties for a few days, and had sent her here with orders to 'tend the garden'.
The Magistrate took off her sidecap and placed it on her lap. Like the rest of her outfit, it was a deep black, showing no signs of fade, the pinned Eye of Solitus glinting in the sunlight. She folded her hands on her cap. Her hands were still. With only her left, she couldn't afford to have shaking hands. The weight of her House, her title, her duties, the mark she wore around her neck, the 'youngest Magistrate in history'. It was her burden to bear, and none else's. She closed her eyes for a moment. It was correct that Progress would never be an easy thing to uphold. All of this was little more than a test of her own strength, and she was determined to not be found wanting.
She opened her eyes. Her left hand was clenched tight, and her sidecap was crushed in the ball of her palm. She released her grip and shook her hat out. She needed to finish her task, but her cap now had a crease in it that she couldn't rub flat. Caranda's eyes furrowed as she tried to press the felt flat. First it was the glove, now she would have to have her hat refelted. She grit her teeth. Let the world come. There was nothing she couldn't solve with the force of her will, and damned if she would be defeated by her own uniform.
"Your hat seems to be suffering." The Magistrate spun around at the insouciant remark, only to see another woman, older, dressed in ordinary gardener's overalls, cheerfully clipping flowers and placing them in a basket.
"This Garden is the property of the Magistrates of the Ebensberg Longhall." Caranda put her sidecap back on. "Are you permitted to be here?"
"On what basis do I need permission, Magistrate Valier? My understanding of the bequest of Justicar-General van der Waal was that this garden was held in trust as a public good, and I am merely tending the flowers." She held a clipped carnelian in front of her eyes. "At the height of bloom, but also at the point where it's further presence on the plant prevents future blooms. A garden must be maintained."
The Magistrate relaxed, then reached into her vest, pulling out her insignia, a larger copy of the Eye of Solitus on her cap, lacquered in black. "Forgive my transgression, but I am at a disadvantage. I am Magistrate Caranda Valier, of the Longhall. Might I have your name?" She gave a slight tilt of her head.
The other woman regarded her carefully. "This is no formal occasion, and I possess no insignia to return the formal greeting. But my name is Laksche. I have been asked to tend these gardens in between visitors from your Longhall."
Caranda kept her expression blank. It was obvious she was no mere gardener, but there was nothing she had done to give offense. "Very well. As you tend to your duties, I will tend to mine." She turned back to her shears.
"Are you sure your duties are to prune and cut, Magistrate?" Caranda turned back at that statement, but Laksche was already walking away down the garden path, her basket full of color and petals. It had been a while since she had been at a loss. Her shears in her hand seemed as far away as the sun and moon at that instant in time, and her mind was roiling with thought. It was then that the first specks of rain began to come down, speckling her heavy coat and hair; Caranda held back a curse as she followed the other woman to the gazebo at the center of the garden, the only spot of shelter.
The Magistrate folded her arms as she stood in the small gazebo. While it was raining, she couldn't really work in the garden. Laksche was humming an unfamiliar melody as her hands worked the flowers in her basket, arranging the petals to bloom. Caranda had nothing to say to her, but the humming was starting to grate - but of course, it was well within the rights of a Etoilean citizen to hum whatever she chose. Magistrate Valier tilted her head down and closed her eyes, breathing at a slow pace.
"Perhaps you would do well to contemplate the rain, Magistrate." Caranda opened her eyes and saw Laksche resting her arms on the gazebo railing, staring out into the garden. "See the plants dancing under the drops? A worthy sight for all."
The Magistrate followed her gaze. There was no wind accompanying this rain, and the garden was alive with movement, the bushes and hedges slowly shifting as water flowed off of them. It had been a while since she had allowed herself to spend time on such things. And there was no option in the matter, she was here until this cloudburst faded. A Magistrate was trained to sharply observe her surroundings and memorize details at a glance, but Caranda did not remember the last time she simply watched the world, without observing.
The Magistrate took a seat in the gazebo and allowed the tension in her arms to relax, just for the moment. She looked up out of the gazebo, the titanic trees of Estin ringing her sight, impossibly huge compared to the small building she was in. The branches had to have been hundreds of feet in the air. She had looked up before, of course, but it was a sudden realization that the forest was a vast thing, the trees larger and taller than the buildings at the Capital, larger than any Etoilean construction. Larger than the Longhall. And she was in the middle of it, a little bird in black, surrounded by...
---
"Laksche? I don't know of that name." The Mayor of Low Timbers gave a shrug from across the tavern table. "There's not many people in this part of the Estin, and most of them either live here or trade here. Nobody tends Olivia's Garden except you folks."
The Magistrate squinted. "I am not imagining things. There was a woman there, saying she had been tasked with the garden's maintenace. Unless I am the subject of a prank, I find it more likely that this Laksche is somewhere here and her presence is merely being hidden from me, rather than a Magistrate of Etoile engaging in hallucination."
The Mayor gave her a look. "You can search the village, if you'd like, but I assure you I am not hiding a mystery gardener in my village. The Madam Girault would never be able to keep such a secret. Why all this, just because this mystery woman placed some flowers on your head?"
Caranda paused at that moment. She wasn't upset, not really. The flower wreath had been woven delicately, a perfect pattern of pinks and yellows. It was moreso a deep suspicion of the woman herself, who knew more than she let on. "I have my reasons, Mayor."
The man sighed, just as a stout woman came by and placed two steaming hot pies on the table. "Well, let me know if I can be of assistance. But, if you'd accept words from this old man?" The Mayor handed her the flower wreath, before picking up his fork. "Perhaps it would do some good to put this on instead of your sidecap. Traipsing around the village looking for shadows seems a vile thing, if that should keep a young girl from having one of Madam Girault's famous minces for dinner." The woman beamed at that comment as the Mayor began to dig in.
The Magistrate looked at her mince pie. She was here, far away from the Capital, far away from the intrigue of the Houses, and the folks here were upholding Progress in their own way. She dug her fork in and brought some pie to her mouth. A warm, fragrant taste, of spiced beef and cream, potato and lentils. It didn't taste like home, but it was comforting, in its own way. She swallowed, and reached for another bite. The travails of the Magistrate Valier could wait. Caranda would enjoy her dinner.