REVELATIONS, chapter 13, part 3

For the first time since they had met her, Magritta appeared to be at a loss for words.  She walked over to the window and stared out.  After several heartbeats, she muttered, “I didn’t lie to you.  I really did want to escape.  And I was the apprentice of the lawyer in Bridgetown.  And I still want to escape.  Surely you can see why?”  She waved her hand at the building, the township, the country which surrounded them.

“Yes, but we’re from Cappor.  We wouldn’t want to leave there.  But you wanted to leave here—despite being who you are!  Explain.”

“It was all I could do, to get away from here.  It’s so …. backward and …. dull …. and I just don’t ….”

“Don’t what?” asked Steppan in a hard voice.  “Let me guess.  That terrifying old monster in the hall is your mother—”

“—grandmother—”

 “—and she’s furious with you.  For leaving?”

Magritta nodded in silence, looking down at her hands as if they contained a most fascinating novel, full of engrossing tales of love and iniquity and suffering and redemption.

“And no doubt she thinks we are your fancy-men, here to carry you off to a life of sin, oblivious to the dictates of the Mother and the Weavers.  Or, in this place, is it to be you who will carry us off?”

“Don’t be vulgar!” she rebuked, offended.

Steppan went over to the table, where several flagons of wine and one of the local spirit water were set out with some ornate glasses on a tray. He poured out three glasses of a sweet, golden wine (from its taste and bouquet, he thought it very likely that it came from one of the vineyards north of Cappor) and gave Magritta and Tilthon each a glass.

“My dear, I don’t care one way or another what you’ve done to offend the customs of your home.  Or not offend them. But I do care about my task.  I am on a mission from the Steward to settle the southern borders.  And you’ve just royally screwed us.  So, I ask again, what is going on?”

Magritta coloured and looked away.

“Stepp,” interjected Tilthon, his tone a warning.

“Yes, you are right, moi car.  Magritta, I am sorry, but you do see, don’t you?  How is our treaty going to succeed, now?”

“Well why not?” she responded, suddenly furious.  “It’s not the polite words that matter!  It’s what you have of substance to offer!”

“That’s just the point!  I have much to offer!  But now your grandmother is too annoyed to listen to reason!  And my mission will fail.”

Magritta glared at him, then looked away.  “What are you offering?”

Steppan stared at her and deliberated how much he could or should tell her.  She had to be on their side, or their mission would be a failure.  He gestured to the others to sit down, and sat himself.