Jiojjil had fashioned for himself a residence far unlike Ydridd's splendid castle or Ava's avant-garde installation. Millim Takki Atsa of Pavvu Omme Os likened it to the great hall of a clan chief risen to prominence over a hundred other clans by his bravery in battle and in peace his generosity. Doubtless supplicants who came to him never were permitted to leave but that they received some boon, and justice was ever upheld.
“I don't think we need to be cynical about our traditional culture to guess that isn't what really goes on there, but that's the superficial association,” she said.
The hall's rude charm fit in with her description. So narrow that likely it contained but a single room, it extended far past the beach where stilts hefted its rear above the hideous sea, and its tall roof pitched so sharply that sledding contests might be held there if the weather could be convinced to deliver snow. Whatever wood composed the edifice, the thick brown planks implied a sobriety free of severity.
Jiojjil received the ambassadors in his hall with no more reluctance than Ydridd had. The interior continued appealing to the sensibilities of Pavvu Omme Os, though with the provision that old buildings could get away with imperfections no longer overlooked. The furs lining the walls might be kept, but modern taxidermy would have greatly enhanced the scene, and of course the hardwood planks which made up the floor wanted an infusion of sophistication from an imported Chtrebliseuan rug or an array of Obeneutian porcelain tiles.
That was Takki's opinion. The Adabans recommended more windows and a spire on the front and back, while the Defiafis suggested the optimal approach to redecorating started with hiring a professional arsonist. The tableware might be removed prior to that, of course. Clumps of fairies around small tables were raising two-handled cups of gold, oak, and bone which suggested the three spheres of earth, plant, and flesh into which the old philosophers divided the world, and though the system lacked something from the practical perspective, symbolically it held up well. Someone possessed of a more comprehensive aesthetic sense likely would have concluded what needed changing was the inhabitants, whose mixtures of dress from across years and cultures ruined the unity of the tableau.
Jiojjil himself did not fit in with Takki's image of a widely famed chief. He had the necessary broadness, the heroic height (shorter than the majority of Adaban men rather than all of them), and though his bristly brown mustache was not known to be the fashion of those times, neither had irrefutable evidence proved it not to be. His armor, however, forestalled any idea of connecting him with the ancient north. Bronze armor emphasized the muscles he possibly had cultivated underneath, particularly in the abdominal area, a style never adopted there. The helmet was surmounted by the head of a slain boar which may not have been a boar and may not have been dead. Its eyes twinkled. Jiojjil's did not; he stared in a way which suggested, when combined with recent revelations about the mother of Atkosol's four children, certain notions about Aptezor Ristaofen's lineage.
“Welcome to the hall of Jiojjil, the hall of heroes! Jiojjil was a hero, and his memory will endure forever here! When I have won the name of Hacanthu, one of these will earn the old name through his feats.” He indicated his fairy warriors and some humans too, as the ambassadors realized when they looked closer at the warriors.
The humans nodded at Mr. Atkosol. Despite their involuntary recruitment, they appeared willing enough to cooperate with Jiojjil at least to the extent of wearing fur coats and drinking. Likely they belonged to the latest wave of visitors who went to Ividottlof after reading enticing reports of fairy incidents placed delicately between rows of disclaimers like pressed flowers. Far from being terrified at being snatched from the real world whether by the strange influence around Cowsick Point or roaming fairies, they considered that the beginning of their vacations.
Undoubtedly their families, friends, and people who believed themselves situated to give advice in a lecturing manner had attempted to dissuade them, except in those cases where they all went together. The skeptics were correct insofar as the chance of ending up in Jiojjil's territory was twenty out of every hundred, but the tourists fortunate enough to reach his hall regretted nothing about their choices. They received a complimentary set of equipment including a bearskin and at least one weapon, and furthermore they could take advantage of free room and board until such time as they left the great fairy's service, an event they fervently hoped would coincide with his rivals' submissions.
Jiojjil provided food and drink for Atkosol's subordinates as well, and neither did he take it away when their chief requested that he yield to Lommad. “There's no wonder that you want that, I tell you,” he said with magnanimity. “Survey this hall, this beach, this land of struggles and triumph I have created, a paradise for the strong! Long ago, a man might wander off the path and find hospitality in my realm along with, I'm not shy to say, a game to test his wits and courage! Jiojjil overcame my challenge when that storm forced him into my shelter. I did not change my name then. Only when I realized the generative potential of the magic the old dwellers here discovered to extend my realm over miles and miles did I match my name to my newfound ambition.”
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Perhaps the incomprehensible means by which everyone regardless of language understood fairies distorted his speech, but the keen listener doubted whether someone who said “generative potential” belonged in the milieu Jiojjil had adopted for himself. The wealthy Defiafis who pretended to work in rural inns for a week came to mind, as did academics who made the study of ancient methods of warfare their excuse to dress up and bonk one another with padded replicas. Regardless of how suitable Jiojjil was for a humorous role in the entertainment sure to be inspired by the ongoing situation around Cowsick Point, for one of the fairy kings to have such an intellectual cast of mind as to be interested in the nature and uses of the Ertith Energy was fortuitous. His incidental remarks told his audience more about the issue than any number of fairies trying to be helpful had.
Atkosol failed to elicit any further insight through further negotiation. Surrendering on that front, he was beginning the process of increasingly generous offers when Jiojjil held up a hand. “I won't have you wasting your time on elegant speeches. We agreed, the five of us, to go against one another for mastery. I can make one single concession to you: I recognize Queen Lommad as a sixth contender. Stay as long as you wish, but when you leave, you will never pass through these doors again save as a conqueror.”
That was plain enough, and a resolution from which the delegation had no power to move him. Out of all the humans and fairies assembled to enjoy Jiojjil's largesse, only one evinced any desire to hear more of Atkosol's pitch. A lanky Adaban whose approach to style assaulted the very concept with such ferocity that it might be considered fashionable in a contrarian manner, encapsulated in the way he evidently brushed his hair away from his face in the morning and never thought of it again for a set period of twenty-four hours, presented himself to Atkosol in the corner farthest from Jiojjil where the officers convened to waste time before admitting defeat. “Meeting here must be a blessing,” he said. Visitors to Iflarent's Hideout soon became familiar with that local variant of the standard greeting. “Paosolt Tobalilk, deputy mayor of Ividottlof and Mr. Jiojjil's general.”
“For me as well,” Atkosol responded. That was another local variant, if from a far different locality. Exchanges such as that brought into question the existence of a standard, but the Kitslofers maintained there was one. “Atkosol Tellanstal. I was told when I attempted to make your acquaintance that you were away on your property.”
Paosolt nodded eagerly and then adopted a morose expression, a pair of maneuvers which might as easily have been combined in the opinion of most. “And that's what I get for being a responsible landowner and not getting a family either. It's too normal for nobody to see me for a while, so when I passed by the Point for good luck as I often do, I don't take it seriously but I do it, and went somewhere else, I knew nobody would look for me even though I'm not too much disliked. I've learned since then that being a general isn't far from being deputy mayor. Mostly I remind Mr. Jiojjil of things and listen, patiently. That's why I hope to be indulged in hearing you out, Mr. Atkosol, in case it's important later in judging your intentions and possible terms and so. Mr. Jiojjil likes his bold statements and I don't think that's wrong, but I've heard enough about history to know wars aren't usually prosecuted to the utmost.”
He raced through his account and his request at Ividottlofer speed so that he addressed both in the time many would have expended on one. Thereafter he discussed with Atkosol various proposals, contingencies, and how the town was doing, though that last required some of the subordinates be consulted. They all attested that it was doing fine, aside from the escalating disappearances which they hoped soon to resolve.
“Thank you for letting me know. It's not that I thought the town must fall apart without me, but a man worries more after he's made deputy mayor than before. Speaking of that, can it be done that you lend me stationery and pens? I won't be giving them back, but I can pay for it if I get home. We generals can write each other that way to arrange for burials and so. Ah, if you're asking why this fool wants to trouble me about letters when there are so many couriers, fairies can be trusted to hand something over but not to remember a message in my experience. They can't even read.”
Naturally Atkosol obliged and parted with friendly words for both Deputy Mayor General Paosolt and Jiojjil, whose preferred title was unclear. Outside Medant put the army in order to resume the march, which for many of the soldiers required that they drop the victuals Jiojjil had been so considerate as to provide for them as well. He had further been scrupulous enough not to poison them. The word “drop” of course referred to stacking their plates, bowls, and cups in a neat pile on the beach for subsequent reclamation by servants. The workers had enough of a sense of propriety for that even before their drills.
