While Stavian’s accusations stun the crowd, Kalbio’s blood showers the front row of the senate floor. Kalbio looks at Pavo and mouths “Ma...ma...pa...” before he collapses to the stage in a heap.
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"Mam once said nobles ate all sorts of disgusting stuff from other countries, just because it was expensive." The weaver sets down his glass on an end table. "Is this like that?"
Kalbio looks back and forth at Delena and Pavo. "I don't--does she have more than one name?" A moment later, Kalbio blurts, "Oh no! Will I have to take more names, too? Papa won't like that!"
"Oh my!" Kalbio exclaims, "You're quite good. I've never heard that song before, but I like it!" And the little weaver is not the only one to take notice. Ayalina quickly finds herself the center of a circle that has cleared and quieted. Unfortunately, the quiet clapping suddenly stands out in the silenced hall.
"Boy, have I ever," Kalbio agrees, "There was this one boy in town, thought he was a nobleman's son. And his mother did always have money, and he always seemed to get away with things. But, Papa always told me to stop complaining and punch that boy in the nose." Kalbio looks at his shoes, then back at Pavo, "I never did. I even sold him a tapestry once, for half price." The weaver suddenly smiles, "But that was before I got so good at weaving. Have you seen my newest work? It's really great! The Grand Prince Stavian III himself bought one!"
"I know, right?" Kalbio replies, "Mam has the same birthday as two of her friends, and this one year, they drank a barrel of beer that one of them had bartered for her husband's carpentry." Kalbio forms his arms into a circle a good two feet across. "Well, that night papa forgot to lock the door to our house, and when mam came home and saw it was open . . . she woke up papa with a bucket of water and then slapped him all the way across the house while he went to lock the door!"
"Have you been to the Basilica of the Last Man? It looked so beautiful, I want to visit, and bring my mam and papa too." Kalbio asks when Pavo looks at him expectantly, "Maybe we could throw a party for them and you could sing? Mam loves to dance, but papa is always trying to look busy instead. And maybe I could weave something for your home as a thank you? I'm pretty good, you know."
Kalbio gasps at Pavo's claim, "No, that c-can't--it can't be true! Everybody knows nobles are different and b-better." Pavo's question gets a very different response, though. "T-th-thank you. My weaving skills are purdy good, if I may say so myself. My specialty is a kilim that's as strong as soumak, but still thin."
Kalbio uncomfortably wears clothing of noble finery, constantly fidgeting with the cuffs or scratching at his neck. His calloused hands, simple hair style, and sun-beaten face all set him apart, as does his broad, genuine smile. "Th-th-thank you," the weaver stutters. He extends a shaky hand, then quickly pulls it back. "S-sorry. I don't know how to greet--greet a n-noble." |