A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 6 (Part 2 of 2)

They conversed a little longer on the usual matters: trade, tax, and all the conniving players of the moneyed game in one of the continent’s wealthiest cities.  Pyros could discuss any topic at length, but never gave the impression of being much interested in them, as if men were born with the knowledge of such things and found them as fundamental as breathing or eating.  Occasionally, though, his eyes would light up at the mention of a Princeheight scholar he had disagreed with, or a noble he had painted a portrait of.  Another listener might have found him frustrating, but Imlon, being well used to his manner, found his informed company relaxing.  The birds fluttered around them, the imported cedars in the garden rustled gently, and the sun shone.

When they finished their refreshment, Pyros suggested a game of chess.  At first he attempted to persuade Imlon of the merits of a new version he had been working on, to be played on a circular board – “The usual game is so very ordered.  I enjoy the chaos,” he said, relishing the last word – but as he had not yet perfected the rules, or even made a start on them, they played the more traditional game.  True to his word, the Phoronacian played in an unorthodox manner, taking hardly any time to make his moves, whilst Imlon stopped for long moments to plan ahead.

In one of these pauses, he decided that the time had come to broach the practical reason for his visit. 

“Pyros,” he said, “I am afraid I haven’t just come here for your company.”

“I did not doubt it, I can be a most dull man,” said Pyros.

“Never.”  Imlon saw his move, baiting a trap with a pawn before settling back again.  “I may only have been in the city for...”

Pyros’ hand leapt to the board, and his knight ran down the sacrificial pawn.  Imlon smiled as the artist settled back, before sitting up with a start.

“Oh!  I’m sorry Imlon, carry on, please,” he held two palms over the table, “I think not of the game, please.”

“Thank you,” said Imlon, letting the knight stew before his inevitable downfall.  “I was going to say that I mean to try and gain a post at Princeheight.  I’ve money enough to keep me in food and lodging for a while, but after that I will have to avail myself of Isendrin’s charity unless I can find an income.”

“He is a Regulus exile, no doubt.”

“Yes.  Isendrin will not lack, but I will.  I’m drafting a letter to the Dean of House Exodus, but if you could add your name and second me, or even help me find a patron if the College will not have me, I would be most grateful.”

Pyros held a hand on his chin, tapping at his beard.  “This is for your astronomy, yes?”

Imlon nodded.

“I have not been to Princeheight for some time,” said Pyros, “It can be a difficult business, getting sovereigns from the College Treasurers.  Like drawing blood from a stone.  A stubborn stone at that.”

“I still think you have some influence, no?” said Imlon, biting his lip.  The Phoronacian paused, but then he blinked, his hand jumped from his chin, and he smiled.

“I am sorry, I was distracted!” he said, “Imlon, I will do everything, I will give you a secondment and more, I give you my word.  I was merely contemplating what might occur if the College proves reluctant.”

“Thank you.”

“Rest assured, rest assured,” said Pyros, “I will do everything.”

“Thank you,” Imlon said again.  “And as a sign of my gratitude...” 

His bishop, carved with the wings of the church, flew across and confounded his opponent’s stricken knight.

“Oh, most unkind,” said Pyros with a smile.