Mask Of The Nobleman

Chapter 1-2

She left her name and work with the committee. Peytra swore to herself that they seemed at least a little impressed with her entry. But they wouldn’t be the ones judging. It would be a selected panel of distinguished villagers and past winners. She took a tour of the competition. It was composed of three large paintings, a triptych, and another statue. Peytra felt that the competing pieces were good, at least in technique. Yet, they were all too soft and delicate for her taste. One of the paintings even had Fregh lounging among a flock of swans as flower petals seemed to stream through the air. It was pretty, but almost the same as a painting that had won two Springs prior. In fact, it seemed all of the works were rehashed versions of other winners from years before. They told the same old story about Fregh, where she was a passive, loving goddess. Peytra said a little prayer to herself, hoping that the judges would appreciate her difference.

It would be a few hours until judging commenced, so to pass the time and distract herself, Peytra decided to visit her father’s shop across the city. Ottoh was there and greeted her with a warm, fatherly hug. He was a large barrel of a man with a long greying beard. It always struck Peytra as rather funny that in face and coloring, Ottoh so closely resembled her father, albeit a portly one. They could have very easily been brothers, with their laughing green eyes, bushy brows, and deep chestnut hair. But that would have been impossible, as Ottoh and his wife had emigrated from a nation in the North just before she’d been taken in by her parents.

Still, she had grown up with Ottoh acting as a self-appointed second guardian. Peytra loved him like a father, to be sure, but she also found him as annoying as any parent when he began to prescribe what she needed to be happy. “Peytra, you should smile more,” “Peytra, why don’t you do your hair as nice as your sisters,” “Peytra, suck in your stomach,” or her personal favorite, “Peytra, my little partridge, boys don’t like a girl to be so challenging.”

Ottoh didn’t even wait until Peytra had finished saying hello before he began chastising her. “Peytra, my little partridge, look at them! Ah, you’re growing so quick, when are you going to get married?” He’d probably just seen the obvious newlyweds walk by the window of the shop, their faces dumbstruck with overt affection for one another.

“But, Uncle Ottoh, if I get married, then who would take care of you, Aunt Ita, Papa, and Mama? Hmmm?” she replied with feigned sweetness.

He chortled. “No, no, my dear, no worries on that. We’ll all have plenty of grandchildren to be with us in old age. But you, don’t you want children? Or a man of your own to take care of?”

At this point, Peytra was inspecting their line of walking duck toys on the wall. “I’ll have nieces and nephews to play with. As for a man, I’d rather take care of myself than add another to that. No, as the youngest, I’m free to be what I want.”

“Ah, I always told your father you read too much. Spoiled your mind…”

Peytra was eager to change the subject. “The store’s empty today,” she said. Indeed, only two browsing patrons had come in and out while Peytra was there.

“Yes! But this is fine! This year I went and set up a booth in the square where all the action is with some of the small bobbles to sell. Ita, Leahla, and Bernardo are there taking care of it. And I am here in case someone wants to come in from out of the crowd. Or saw our toys and wanted more than the booth had. See,” he said, tapping a finger to his forehead, “smart!”

“Did Ita start selling her maple candies like I said she should?”

“Oh yes, we started with a small batch last week, and they sold out in two days! Today she took all of the candies she made to the booth. Wanted to see the little ones gobble them up there. That, I’ll say, was a good idea, little partridge.”

Peytra smiled in spite of herself. She did enjoy praise.

At that moment, while she was just noticing a small flaw in a farm set, a stranger in bright livery ran into the store and looked around. The stranger looked from Peytra to Ottoh, then ran up to the latter. Peytra noticed the bear insignia on his clothing as the page whispered hurriedly to Ottoh. Ottoh looked over at Peytra then back at the man and said loudly, “Her? She is my business partner’s daughter! This is as much her store as my own. No, she is no one to worry about. His Grace is most graciously invited, and we would be honored should he deem to find us worth his presence.”

The stranger ran out into the street. Peytra looked over at Ottoh, who hustled around the store already, picking up any little mess. “Peytra! Excellent news! The Duke asked for a private place, and here we are to offer it!” She answered him with a look that combined confusion with distinct annoyance.

“Don’t you know what this means, girl!” Ottoh shook her shoulders. “The Duke will come in here to rest, notice our lovely toys, be impressed with yours and your father’s craftsmanship, and BAM!—” he clapped for emphasis, “we’ll be supplying all the toys for the royalty this side of the Gozali Mountains! Come, help me move the back table and chairs out here.”

The pair rearranged the shop. Ottoh was nothing but excitement and fretfulness. Peytra just hoped this little visit wouldn’t go too long and make her miss her contest. She could have tried to excuse herself but was worried that Ottoh would faint from excitement. Instead, she stood in the doorway to the back, ready to be called on should he need her help in accommodating their royal guest. In the meantime, she fretted with a seam on the side of her dress to stop thinking about the mistake on the toy she had noticed, the little sheep toy sticking out of her pocket.

Outside, there was a sudden flurry of activity as a half-dozen armored men crowded in front of the store. Five men in uniform piled into the shop, taking their places around the shelves. The Duke was personally escorted by two attendants, both in the same livery and insignia as the page from before.

Yet, it was the Duke’s presence that was the most striking. He was tall, a full head taller than most men. In contrast to his brightly clothed attendants, his outfit was largely grey and black brocade. It was as if he were in mourning. He had no exposed skin, with his hands covered by black leather gloves and his head covered by a thick black hood. No wonder he’d want to get out of the crowd, Peytra thought, he must be boiling in that. But what Peytra found most frightening was the mask he wore. It was that of a bear’s face, with eyes overshadowed into two narrow slits. The mask itself was a faded, white-washed stylized wooden work, lending the Duke an other-worldly appearance. Peytra looked into those slits to try and catch a glimpse of the man hidden inside. She caught a momentary flash of sky blue.

Seeing the man covered in such a way tugged at her chest in a mixture of opposing emotions. At first, she found the utter darkness and unnaturalness of his visage uncomfortable and frightening. Then she remembered her brother’s explanation: that he’d been scarred and disfigured. The sympathy hit her in a thick push to her stomach, and she thought about how torn up he must have been to hide that way. To have his whole body covered to keep from the humiliation of scarred skin. She would punch that stupid smile off her brother’s face for his remarks later.

“Your Grace,” the attendant from before said. “Here is Ottoh Iktingard. He is the proprietor of this shop.”

Ottoh performed a low, extravagant bow. “Your Grace. Thank you so much for bestowing your presence on our humble little shop.”

The Duke was silent for a moment before he spoke, seeming to take in the toy store with all its distracting displays. His voice was a rich, low tenor, but not as deep nor as frightening as Peytra had assumed it would be for such an imposing presence. “No, thank you for the use of your shop. My page assured it would not be an imposition, but I am the one who remains humbly in your debt.”

“No! No! Your Grace’s presence here is a gift unto us! But we are glad of your favor.”

Peytra hated this kind of prattling and occupied herself with rearranging the farm figures on the shelf as they went on. The Duke was seated at the small guest table, politely listening to Ottoh’s continued flattery. Ottoh offered the Duke water and fruit but apologized profusely for not being able to offer wine. The Duke politely turned the food down. She noticed a tall thin guard keeping a steady eye on her. Not in a way that was lascivious but a look of wary suspicion. She could feel the guard’s eyes on her hands, perhaps waiting for her to pull out a dagger from some hidden place and lunge at his master. Peytra wondered if all royalty were this paranoid.

“Is that your wife?” the Duke inquired about Peytra to Ottoh in the middle of the conversation. She realized he was referring to her, and she wanted to vomit.

“Your Grace, you flatter me to have such a young bride, but no, no, this is my business partner’s daughter, Peytra. Come, Peytra.” He motioned her over. “She is like a surrogate daughter to me. My wife is in the square with our son and daughters selling at the booth, so if it is possible, later I may introduce Your Grace if you are amenable.”

“Business partner?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Her father is Mikayel Sike, toy-maker extraordinaire and creator of all the works you see before you.” Ottoh gestured to all the shelves, large sleeves billowing. Peytra knew that her contribution would be erased, but it still stung. “He is such a fine artist. Please, Your Grace, feel free to browse anything you wish.”

The Duke merely tilted his masked chin in Peytra’s direction. The guard who had been watching her walked over and held out his hand. In a quick second, she dared look at his eye, to see a man behind the mask, then his eyes moved back. For a frightened moment, Peytra thought that the Duke was planning on inspecting her when she looked down at her hand. In it was one of the sheep from a farming toy set she had been rearranging. It was emblematic of her father’s particular brand of ingenuity, as it had a tail and head one could turn. It also had a latch in the neck so that that the sheep could open and close its mouth to make it look as though it was bleating. Peytra had spent two weeks carving the set of farm animals, but she especially loved the way she had made the “wool” look on the sets of sheep. Peytra and her father had originally toyed with the idea of using real wool but realized that it was too easy to tear or get dirty with a child’s play. Instead, Peytra had carved the wood in such a way that the sheep looked like it was covered with a stylized cloud. Tiny, concentric spirals contrasted nicely with the white paint on the piece. She had devoted that same care and detail to the rest of the little sheep, down to its hooves and ears.