Foundation

himself wishing there might be a little more, and handed over the cup.

“Thankee, sir,” the boy said. “Good rest to you.” He left, closing the door behind himself, leaving Mags alone in the room.

After a moment of indecision, Mags elected not to spoil his clothing by sleeping in it. Instead he took it off and folded it neatly over a rack at the foot of the bed and got in wearing only his singlet. To his delight the bed was already warm, although he could not imagine how they had managed that. And it was soft, softer than any bed he had ever slept it; he literally sank into it. The sheets were crisp and smelled of lavender. It felt like being in a warm bath, but without the danger of drowning if you fell asleep and without the water getting cold around you. Between the warm, soft bed and the drink, he found his eyes starting to drift closed before he could investigate the books in the headboard. But he had plenty of books to read already, and he had never felt more comfortable in all his life, so he just let his lids drop closed—

The next thing he knew, there was someone stirring about the room, lighting more candles over the hearth and poking up the fire. He blinked and sat up. How long had he been asleep?

“Here to wake you for dinner, sir,” said yet another servant, straightening. “Will you need assistance in dressing?”

Mags coughed, surprised. Assistance in dressing? What kind of booby couldn’t dress himself?

“Ah, no, I’ll be fine, thenkee,” he said carefully.

The servant bowed slightly. “There is hot water laid on in the necessary room. I believe we have anticipated your needs. You will hear a bell when dinner is ready, or if you would care to, some of the others are gathering in the Great Hall beforehand. Is there anything else?”

Mags silently shook his head, and the servant went away—perhaps to “assist” someone else in dressing. Mags hopped out of bed and into the shared room; there was indeed hot water in there, a large pitcher of it, steaming away. There was not enough for a bath, but he’d already gotten one after the hunt with Jakyr. He gave himself a quick wash just to wake himself up, donned his uniform, and headed for the Great Hall, blowing out the candles behind him for safety’s sake as well as thrift as he left.

“See, I told you he wouldn’t be laggard!” Lydia called gaily as he appeared in the doorway. The Great Hall had a very different appearance tonight than it had the rest of the week. Comfortable chairs and padded benches had been arranged in a semicircle at the hearth, at the center of which, quite oddly, was a large ornamental pot filled with earth, and beside that, a table with a small brass box, a stack of candles and a tinderbox. He could guess that the candles were for the rekindling ceremony at midnight, but he could not imagine what the pot of earth was for.

Mags didn’t get a chance to wonder or ask about that, though, because Lydia claimed him for the evening, coaxing him to come and sit beside her. Most of her friends were oddly absent—

“For people like Uncle Soren, this is a family night,” she explained, as she seated him in the circle between herself and Amily. “Since there’s only me and Uncle Soren here, he invites more people who like the old-fashioned sort of festival, people that he thinks highly of—”

“More sad and solitary little orphans,” Amily interrupted, smiling and looking like neither. “People he likes who haven’t families to spend this night with, and who are not the sort to chase the hours from party to party.”

Mags blinked. “But your father—”

“Spends Midwinter Eve with the King and his private gathering,” Amily replied. “Which I am invited to, make no mistake about it, but it’s either folk who are a lot older or a lot younger than I am. And it’s the King. They have far too many priests there, and it is all terribly solemn and portentous, there is a great deal of prayer and remembering people who died in the last year. Instead of the hearth, they hold vigil in the Royal Chapel, which is freezing, and really, I prefer coming here.”

Lydia hugged her friend. “And we like having you.”

:Mags, tell Amily that we’ll bring her back up the hill tomorrow, so her father doesn’t have to fetch her and Soren doesn’t have to get a servant to take her.:

Mags started; he hadn’t realized that Dallen was “listening in,” but he willingly relayed the offer.

“You’d do that?” Amily asked and smiled broadly. “That would be perfect. Should I send word—”

:Tell her no need, I have already told Rolan, Nikolas’ Companion.:

There was a pause. :Nikolas sends to thank you and me and asks you to tell Amily she’s to stay as late tomorrow as she wants :

“Herald Nikolas says you’re to stay as late as you want. Which’s good, ’cause that means I got a reason t’ stay as late as I want.” He smiled at her, and she chuckled and shook her head.

At that, Amily seemed to relax a bit more as some of the rest of the guests began to trickle in. Mags recognized all of them, although he still didn’t know most by name. They had all been in attendance at the house throughout the week. They were a wildly assorted lot. Some were clearly important and respected; some were, it seemed, just as ordinary as Mags was.

One was a Bard named Aiken, a man older than Master Soren, though brisk and vigorous. From the look and the cut of his scarlet tunic and trews, he was considered a Master in his own right. There were twin young men, a little older than Lydia, greeted by her as cousins, Blake and Eddin.

“Distant cousins,” said one of them, with a grin. “We’ve been sent up here to learn the business from Uncle. When he reckons that we’ve learned all he can teach us, we’ll be off home again and set up our own business.”

Mags nodded, and finally asked the question he still didn’t have the answer to. “So ... what is’t Master Soren does?”

“Oh, good gad, we’ve never said!” Lydia laughed, her hands going to her mouth. “He makes buildings. He plans and designs them, and oversees them being built, and sometimes does very fiddly bits himself.”

“Less now than I did before. The bones grow old and object to being made to climb ladders. Welcome,