Mirrored from Sythyry.
Wingsa: “Hello. The guard who called for me did not explain too clearly precisely what needs to be done.”
Me: “Wingsa! A pleasure to see you again!”
Wingsa: “I am not wholly certain of that. Or, at any rate, I am not wholly certain that it is a pleasure to see you again. After hearing the news about you, I would just as soon avoid you for the next seven years.”
Me: “Oh, my marriage, you mean? This isn’t about that.”
Wingsa: “Your tofitude to your own servant. What in walls possessed you to do such a thing? Did you think of the insult to the name of Glikkonen even for an instant?” Glikkonen being my common ancestor, with Wingsa.
Me: “Glikkonen’s reputation is safe in many, many history books — as is yours. My own reputation is less so. In any case, the current issue is not about that.”
Wingsa: “This injured Rassimel?” Zie looked at the body of Prince Rastomil, still unconscious and badly wounded — and carefully kept that way because, while it was certainly his body, it was certainly not his mind and spirit in it. “What is he, that he requires a wizard to heal him, when there are so many fine and well-trained members of the Healers’ Guild about?”
Me: “I am one!”
Wingsa: “You, Sythyry, are the kept lizard of a mediocre chef.”
Me: “True! But my marital duties have not caused me to forget my advanced training as a healer. Or as a wizard, for that matter.”
Wingsa: “Then why didn’t you heal him?”
Me: “He’s actually occupied by the spirit of the Lady Noshi … or perhaps Lord Kethji or even the supposedly-dead wizard Nanggi-Zi. We haven’t sorted the matter out for certain yet. “
Wingsa: “Nanggi-Zi? Nanggi-Zi is dead these decades, and the World Tree is a better place for it!”
Phaniet: “Who did she marry? Or do you have some other reason for despising wizards?”
Wingsa: “Lord Kethji. That wasn’t the problem. She was a subtle and vicious Mentador mage.”
Me: “Still is, I suspect.” And we explained matters.
Wingsa: “Fools! I don’t suppose you discussed the matter with the supposed Lord Kethji?”
Me: “… We’ve been a bit busy.”
So we went back upstairs, and untied the doddering Lord Kethji, and administered various purgatives, curatives, remedies, and washings. He really needed the washings; the household routine had been rather disrupted by the battle in front of Kethji’s cell.
Jagraton: “So! Who are you, in there?”
Noshi (in Kethji’s body): “I am Lady Noshi. I’ve been trying to tell you that all along.”
Jagraton: “You were not!” But we looked at his record of events later, and, indeed, Noshi had several times corrected someone who called her by the wrong name.
Wingsa: “Now! Tell us about Nanggi-Zi!”
Me: “And how you came to be in Lord Kethji’s body.”
Noshi: “Oh, I’m still in … “ She wailed.
Rastomil: “And I seem to have yours. I will attempt to take good care of it — now that I’m not tied to a table and fed on dazing-drugs!”
Noshi: “Can I have it back please?”
Rastomil: “Now that we are rescued, perhaps it would be time for a spot of victim-restoring, what?”
Wingsa and Me: “We hope it is that easy, but rather anticipate complications.”