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Seeing you, the clerk straightens up, and you straighten up as well as you address him in your best approximation of a wealthy Subject – while remaining quiet enough that none of the custom behind you could even hope to hear anything.
“Hail and well-met. Is the Master of this house on the premises?”
Clearly a bit at a loss, the man purses his lips for a moment, nervously plays with his hands for another moment, then replies in hushed tones as quiet as your own -
“Y...yes. The own – well, the Master of the House is in fact here today.”
“Good – that's good. If he has a minute or so, I'd like very much to speak with him … on, uh, behalf of my father, about a proposition.”
“Proposition?”
“To purchase a coach and team from him. Outright. And completely.”
You don't know too many terms of trade and finance, so you bite your tongue before you make a fool of yourself. Suffice to say, it seems that you are really taking in more by giving out less, because already the clerk is nodding along, as if he gets unescorted women in here every day, looking to buy coaches off of the yard. He cranes his neck a bit, looking out at the room behind him, and you can only hope that he is trying to figure if he can leave his 'post' for a minute or so to ask the Master. Then -
“I … certainly. But may I ask who is calling upon him?”
Shit. A name. You should have had a name ready. You grasp at straws for a second, almost say 'Aldoin' before you think better of it, then instead spit out the <span class="mu-i">second</span> name that comes to mind.
“Dremen. Just … madame Dremen.”
“Of course, madame. I will see if he is available.”
He withdraws without any further hesitation, and heads through the door behind his counter, down the hall. You watch him until he passes from out of sight. All the while, you are wondering about the name 'Dremen'. This is the second time in … probably as many hours that you have used that name. Did you weave it from whole-cloth, or are you remembering it from – Ah! The captain! The captain of the Ludimagister, the ship that bore you and father to Scrimshaw Mount. Just a month or so ago, you were trying and failing to recall his name. Funny that – only once you are leaving the Mount, do you finally remember the name of the man who brought you here.
Perhaps funny is too strong of a word. To tell the truth, you don't know what to think of that – and more pressingly, you don't know what to think of you going around using his name. On one hand, you don't think yourself likely to run into any of his family, or another family that has the name. And your only connection to him was that you were one of six score passengers he brought over to the Principalities in a voyage eight years ago. On the other hand, you see no reason to tempt things by invoking a name that actually belongs to someone.
