A Private Sitting Room, Brunnhold
“Professor,” Uzoji said, cheerfully, “it is good to see you.”
“And you, my boy,” Osefe grinned back at him, smiling; the lines of a lifetime of such smiles were carved into his skin, Uzoji thought. Not that the professor could not be sharp, when he wished; Uzoji had been, more than once, on the receiving end of his unexpectedly sharp tongue.
Osefe sat back slowly in his chair, and sighed. “Ahhh, these conferences,” he waved a hand into the air, and raised his eyebrows at Uzoji. “You’re a young man still, Uzoji,” he said. “Can you imagine the boredom of it? All of us stuffy academics, talking one another’s ears off for days on end. Eventually,” Osefe said, beginning to grin again, “one begins to daydream of silence – godsblessed silence!”
“And yet,” Uzoji said, grinning, “you do keep returning.”
“Well!” Osefe grinned back. “I’m not dead yet! Academically or otherwise.”
Uzoji grinned. “You will join us for dinner, Professor, won’t you?” He smiled. “Niccolette shall be furious if she doesn’t have the chance to say hello.”
“Oh, as shall I,” Osefe grinned as well. He cleared his throat, once. “That wife of yours,” he said, smiling – and cleared his throat again. He coughed, then, once, and again, and then a fit of it, harsh and rough.
Uzoji went and fetched two glasses of water from the sideboard, and brought them back, setting one down for himself and one for Osefe, as if he had thought of nothing but being a bit thirsty.
Osefe nodded to him, eyes watering, and took a long sip. “This Brunnhold weather,” he rasped, glancing outside at the bare trees. He took a deep, careful breath, and another sip of water. “Terribly glad they don’t have this conference in the winter.”
Uzoji smiled, fondly, taking a sip of his water as well.
“But,” Osefe cleared his throat. “I should gladly travel so far to see the lovely Mrs. Ibutatu,” he grinned, then. “As you did, I suppose! All the way to Brunnhold.”
“I would have gone further,” Uzoji said, smiling. “If I had known she was there to find.”
Osefe chuckled, and began to cough again. He sighed, adjusting the thick muffler around his neck.
“I’ll fetch us some tea,” Uzoji said, firmly. He rose, and clasped Osefe on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a moment, Professor.”
Osefe nodded, blinking. He took a deep, careful breath.
Uzoji smiled back over his shoulder at his professor. He closed the door, lightly, and strode down the hallway, buttoning up his heavy coat. He had never actually been in the Brunnhold kitchens before, but he was absolutely confident that tea could be acquired there, and not entirely sure how else to secure it. It wasn’t, in the end, hard to find them; the Mugrobi simply followed his nose, towards the smell of chickens, carrots and onions, of rising bread, of some Anaxi herbs he had not quite learned to identify, but could appreciate nonetheless.
The kitchen was full to bustling, and Uzoji waited as a passive in their light uniform rushed out, glancing sideways at him with a worried, pinched face. He looked young, Uzoji thought. He unbuttoned his coat, the heat from the stove more than a little too warm, and strode cheerfully through the door, field politely dampened around himself.
There was a faint gasp from nearby, and then another, a little ripple of echoes through the room, and a number of heads turned in the galdor’s direction. Uzoji smiled, broad and friendly, as if he saw none of it.
An older woman came bustling towards him, wide-eyed, with the uniform that he believed meant she was one of those in charge. “Sir,” she said, nervously, “may I – is – what can we – ” She faltered.
“Good afternoon,” Uzoji said, smiling still. He bowed, very lightly, and the woman squeaked faintly and eased back. Someone against the wall giggled and there was a rather loud, conspicuous hushing sound.
“I’m visiting with a professor from Thul’Amat,” Uzoji said, smiling, “who could use some tea against the cold. Would that be possible?” He was about a height with the woman, and he met her gaze without hesitating, his whole posture light and open. He looked about the room without seeming to focus on anything; there was a faint widening of his smile at the sight of Miss Aurelie Steerpike, staring at him with all the rest, and his gaze turned back to the woman before him.
“I’d be happy to make it myself,” Uzoji offered.
There was a flurry of horrified gasps, and the woman startled into action. “No!” She said, wide-eyed. “No – just – one moment, sir, of course,” she bustled off.
Uzoji wandered, lightly, a few steps this way and that, until – as if by accident, he was standing at the edge of the table where Aurelie was working. Nothing in particular changed with his smile, and he glanced down at the chopped vegetables on the table, and back up at the passive. He didn’t say anything – there were too many eyes on him, he thought, regretfully, and the last thing he wished was to make life more difficult for her. But he lingered, just a moment, and smiled at her, before carefully drifting off.