A Republican In a Strange Land: Part 2
Erin's first questions had been
very general. Baseline information about how Britannia's classes worked, what was considered rude, what was considered polite, tips and tricks on how to function in the country in general. This had turned out to be a very good tack to take, since she'd inadvertently been offending several members of the staff by asking them personal and probing questions. Guests of the lord or lady, as it turned out, simply
didn't do that, for various reasons. It was a protective custom for the servants, to ensure it would be more difficult for visiting nobility to target them for some slight, insult, or... well... if someone wanted to ask for 'private service' from a specific individual at the estate.
Maids, butlers, field hands, technicians... they didn't have
names, they had
occupations.
After the interview with Orion Hathfield, the lord of the manor had offered her accommodations within Hathfield Hall itself, but after learning that associating too much with the man might put off some of the 'commoners' from answering her questions
honestly, she'd simply asked for a room at a local hotel.
Which is how she'd found herself
here, she reminded herself, because it was crucial that she understood this was a choice made of her own volition.
Because she was standing in front of a
tavern.
It was something that one might, in Europa, visit as a part of a historical tour. The majority of the building was made of thick wooden timbers that facilitated a sprawling two-story structure within easy walking distance of the manor's outer wall. The dark wood of the building rose on either side to taller towers with slotted grates over large openings she couldn't divine the purpose of. Atop the roof were, jarringly enough, rows of solar panels over white roofing tiles, which hopefully meant she'd have somewhere to plug her electronics in at the very least. Looking longingly at the retreating
carriage that had dropped her off, complete with horses, she pushed away fond thoughts of air conditioning and flush toilets. It looked like she'd be roughing it.
Passing by the horses tied up outside the building, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of the animals and the small pile of excrement binned off to one side.
The large covered awning had perhaps twenty people milling about tables with various food dishes stacked about. Her rolling suitcase trailing her, Erin noted the looks of curious interest sent her way by nearly everyone as card games and conversations momentarily dulled with her passing so that any given group could eye her.
"Let me get the door for you, miss." One of the men in worn clothing smiled at her, tipping his hat in a way she'd never seen outside of a period film.
Erin forced herself to smile back. "Thank you." Absently, she tried not to take offense at what was almost certainly
politeness and not the EU-stigmatized chauvinism. In a moment of clarity, she wondered if this was how the head butler at the manor had felt, mentally attempting to hold onto that mindset as she entered the tavern.
The first thing that hit her was the music.
The second was the unexpectedly cool air.
A live band stood in a clear corner of the building, playing on their various instruments an upbeat tune that surprised her with how catchy it was. No guitars, keyboards, or drums were among the setup, though. It was very classically Britannian folk music, though with a twist that had only come about more recently in the country's cultural history. More and more, the traditional ballads were yielding to songs that, bar the instruments, wouldn't be out of place in Europa.
"Here for a room, lass?"
Erin started, blinking as she turned towards a woman in a long apron with a weathered face. Her hair was mostly silver, but her short sleeved dress revealed arms that obviously hadn't lost their strength. The European schooled her face into a smile and nodded.
"Ah, yes. I was told to give the owner this?" She pulled a slightly-ruffled note from her pocket, folded and stamped with pressed wax.
The tavern maid's eyebrows rose as she looked at it, then nodded as she turned away towards the bar. "Tom! Got a weary lass here, needs a room!"
Tom turned out to be the much-younger man standing behind the bar serving drinks and laughing with a group of men who seemed even younger than himself. Likely, Erin believed, they wouldn't have been
allowed to drink back in Europa given that they looked barely out of secondary school, if that.
"Oh, look tha' new bird!" One of the flushed boys grinned, running a hand through his hair as Erin fought the urge to sigh. His friends perked up and blatantly looked her up and down. "What's your name, pretty bird?"
Some things, it seemed, were constant despite the cultural divide.
"Not interested." Erin stated very clearly, then passed her message to Tom. "My name is Erin Sabeour. I was told to give this to you."
The man's eyebrows rose and the noisy teens nearby devolved into hushed muttering as they looked between each other. The one who'd hit on her shot her a dark look before being dragged off by his compatriots. The barkeep of the tavern cracked the wax seal with an air of long practice, looking over the note with a careful and narrowed gaze underneath one of the low-hanging lights strung throughout the building.
"Looks like Lord Hathfield will be covering any expenses, miss." Tom stated with a polite smile as he waved her note. "I'm Tom Bansen, owner of the Kullard Tavern and Inn." He grinned suddenly, tapping his temple. "And, yeah, I know what you're thinking, I'm awful young to be owning an establishment like this. Well, I'm just the minder. My mum and pa are off gallivanting around the empire for their fiftieth anniversary, but needn't you worry, I've been seeing to the business since I was eight, so I know the ropes."
Erin nodded slowly, leaning on the bar. "I thought it was difficult to travel around the empire without the right papers and permissions?"
Tom snorted, adopting a knowing expression. "Ah, a Euro-b-
pean." The young man cleared his throat, covering his verbal flub. "Well, miss, that's a common misunderstanding. You need papers, yeah, but they're pretty easy to get. You either have to go to one of the local offices or plead your case with either your local lord or the appointed magistrate. They can sign off on things like that way easier than filing all the stuff with the proper departments."
Erin nodded slowly. "I'd assume you'd need to tell them where you're going and why and give them an explanation for your travel."
Tom waggled one hand as he filled a beer with another. "Depends? If the lord or lady ain't familiar with you, you might have to, but even with my parents on being residents and not having citizenship, Lord Hathfield's known them since
he was young and used to sneak out to play with some neighborhood kids." Tom gave a shrug. "At least, to hear them tell it, but this town's full of old windbags."
"And that doesn't bother you?" Erin pressed curiously, taking a seat at the bar now. "That the... um, lord or lady or whoever can just tell you yes or no and you'll have to accept it?"
Tom sighed and shook his head as he waved over one of the waiters and pointed at the bar. "How about you get a table and I'll grab you a bowl of stew and some fresh bread, if you're really that interested in all this."
Erin hesitated, but the aromas from the kitchen and the mention of food reminded her that her hunger had only been temporarily quelled by the light lunch that Orion had offered her hours ago. A grumbling within her stomach that was felt more than heard made her sigh and nod. "Alright. I'll just take a seat over there." She nodded at an empty table.
A few minutes later, Erin was devouring what was probably the richest stew she'd ever had as Tom sat opposite to her with his own bowl and tall glass of wine.
"First of all, I should warn you off asking just anyone about self-representation and stuff like that." Tom drawled with a cautionary smile. "That type of stuff doesn't bother me too much, but other people it'll really stick in their craw."
Erin swallowed. "Why
is that?" She pressed, then frowned at herself. "I mean, in your own words. I've read a lot of school textbooks and academic papers, but..."
"Straight from the horse's mouth." Tom nodded, gazing off into space for a moment as he ate. "Well, I can't speak for
everyone, mind you, but it's probably because we have plenty of representation at low levels. There's a bunch of people you can talk to if you want to get help with something." He held up a hand and started counting off. "We've got a council of aldermen, then there's the people who have Lord Hathfield's ear. They've got their fingers in pies all over the town." Tom nodded with a conspiratorial wink. "You can talk to the mayor, too, of course, and the duke's law says even residents can vote in mayoral election, though I think that varies depending on where you are in the empire."
Erin sighed as she bit into a hard-shelled loaf of bread that was still warm and soft on the inside. Why didn't the bread they sold at the store feel like this? "And that doesn't bother you?" Erin paused at the frown on his face and amended her statement. "I'm sorry if I'm repeating myself, but I just want to get a thorough answer so I can understand things for the paper I'm writing. So, why doesn't it bother you that beyond local representation, you don't have a say in what happens in the higher levels of the empire?"
Tom leaned back and shrugged. "I mean, do you in Europa?" It was Erin's turn to frown as Tom elaborated. "Sure, you lot have the vote for everything under creation, but it ain't like the people you elect actually do the stuff you want, right? You might get lucky every now and then and something you want will happen, but most of the time they just stand around jawing at each other and drawing a paycheck, right?"
Erin grimaced, knowing that was more true than she wanted to believe. "But we can vote those people out if they don't do
anything. You're stuck with the nobility that's in charge."
Tom snorted and shook his head. "You say that like it's a bad thing, miss." He gestured at the room with his spoon. "Lord Hathfield hisself helped a lot of people rebuild after a flood came through a few years ago. Real nasty one, too. He lives here, as much as he's a noble, he's also one of us. As far as I know, none of the Hathfields have ever settled for things being a mess. He gave this big speech back then, actually, about it being a stain on his honor that people should be out of their homes under his watch, then begged, borrowed, and stole until we got things up and running again."
Erin sighed, this was going nowhere fast. "I think we'll just have to agree to disagree on that." Tom nodded, filling his mouth with stew. "Instead, do you mind if I ask about the business?"
Tom blinked, following her gesture to the building around them, then shrugged. "Sure. I can't imagine what you'd like to know, but I'm an open book if you like."
"Do you run it on the ducal fiat script or one of the metal-backed currencies?" Erin asked curiously.
Tom almost choked on his mouthful of stew, grabbing at his wine and taking a deep swing. "Hah! That trash! I wouldn't wipe my bum with that!" He chuckled and shook his head. "We do have a bit of a store of silver pound notes, but we usually keep those for emergencies or savings."
Erin frowned. "But if you don't use either of the common currencies, then how do you operate?"
Tom sipped his wine. "I mean, electricity is pretty much free unless you're overdrawing, and we sell a bit of juice back to the duchy through Lord Hathfield after we paid him off for setting up the solar panels up top." Tom jabbed a thumb upwards. "Most of our water is well-drawn or comes from filtered rainwater. There's a garden out back for some of the fruits and vegetables and there's a farmer who brings over flour made from grain we grow locally. Anything beyond that we can usually barter for locally or we ask for a grant from either the lord, the mayor, or if it's
really important, you can take a train a few towns over and file a request with the Imperial Financing Office. They handle all sorts of funding for businesses and stuff if you can prove it helps hold the community together and stuff."
Erin chewed on the last of her bread thoughtfully. "So... you don't make a profit, really? Why do you do it, then? Why run this tavern or inn?"
Tom shrugged. "Well, everyone's gotta' do
something with their life, and the place has been in the family for generations, so why wouldn't I?" He seemed puzzled by Erin's disbelief. "It's just not about money. There are a few people in the town who come in and help out every now and then so that they can watch some stuff on the television or play a game of pool or cards or whatever, but... I dunno what to tell you, Miss Sabeour. If I was the type to covet gold, I'd have signed up for the military or asked his lordship for a recommendation in the big city."
Erin nodded, still not comprehending the point he was trying to make, but feeling that she'd at least come to the crux of her inability to understand.
Perhaps a good night's sleep would help.
