Etelka had picked up Nila’s—Miss Tagore’s—informality, especially in private situations. Pool still struggled with it, certainly with Baroness Kekszemu, who he secretly adored.
Pool picked up each ring, one in each hand, studying them, weighing them.
“I have no clue as to which one is which,” he answered. It was true. He had no clue. He had refrained from the modifications Miss Tagore and now the baroness possessed.
With a flourish of her fuchsia dress she sat abruptly down by him, at the end of the table central to the airship’s lounge. [describe map on table] Her boots clanged on the metal grid of the floor panels beneath her. She pulled her chair closer to the table and Pool. Floral perfume wafted from her flowing hair a second after she took her seat.
Etelka locked eyes with him as she reached for the rings. He was entranced and couldn’t look away from until she shut them, alabaster lids obscured the aquamarine gems.
Pool’s eyes went to her hands. She was holding the rings just as he had just done.
“I am by no means confidant, but I believe this one…” holder in her left hand higher “…is the translator ring. That at least is what my internal is telling me.” Internal refers to her modification, acquired three centuries in the future from one of Miss Tagore’s special surgeons. “I say that only because this one is that horrible mind control ring…Or at least I believe it is. I find its touch repellant.”
Etelka put the repellant ring down with disdain. It hit the [metal] surface of the table top with a sharp clink.
She then slipped the overly large ring onto her thumb, something she had seen Nila do, and closed her fingers around it.
She looked at Pool, he was looking at her and twisting the left point of his mustache. “What do you think is the root cause of periods of conflict between the Empire and Muskovy over the last two centuries?” Etelka annunciated clearly and carefully chose words in her native Hunnish, that Pool was less likely to have picked up by proximity. The each spoke Brethmanic and Muskovitian, but she was fairly certain Pool’s grasp of Hunnish was limited to a few polite phrases and formalities.
“Baroness, it seems a rather odd digression from our investigation of the rings, but if you must know, I feel that as with any rival populations growing in number, they will at some point come into conflict over resources or territory. The Brethmanic Empire cannot expand to the North, West or South due to the ocean and seas, leaving only the Eastern frontier, whereas Muskovy is boxed in by the Sinese lands to their east and the Sind and Pars to the South. They also historically have been jealous culturally of the superior accomplishments of the Empire.” Pool stopped his long-winded answer to her question, trailing off at the end as he realized it might have been an intentional aside, a test of the translator ring in her hand.
He looked at her eyes gleaming at him. She indeed showed the smile she always wore when she was enthusiastically interested in something.
“It was Hunnish that I spoke.”
“Ah. Very good. It sounded like the fluent, unaccented Brethmanic you typically speak,” Pool responded, releasing his mustache. The left tip was now slightly higher and tighter than the right. “What of the other?” he asked.
“I will secure it so that it doesn’t fall into any hands but our own.”
“That is wise.”
Work in progress. Mistakes and misspellings are present. This is a very rough draft. Copyright 2021 Ion Fyr
#sci-fi #science fiction #fantasy #writing
Ion Fyr 