“You can use these,” he told her. He looked vaguely embarrassed. “I’ll stay outside until you’re done. So that no one disturbs you.”
When he was gone, she stripped off her clothes and began washing herself as best she could, thinking all the while how much better things would be if she were back in Sterling Silver. Halfway through, it occurred to her that she could make it better simply by using a little of her magic. A shower with hot water, a soft towel instead of a harsh rag, and a little warmth in the floors would make things almost bearable. She nearly gave in to the temptation. But using magic would risk revealing her location to her father and mother. More than that, it would indicate a certain weakness of character. If she used magic to lessen her hardship, she was admitting that she wasn’t tough enough to deal with things the way they were. She hated the idea that she wasn’t strong enough to endure a little discomfort. She thought herself better than that, and she wasn’t about to do anything that would prove her thinking wrong.
So she suffered through the coldwater splash and the freezing air and the rank smells and the rough surface of the towel, and she was pretty much finishing up when a panel in the wall opened and a handful of rangy monkeys appeared. At least, that was what they appeared to be as they crowded into the room, all but tumbling over one another as they pushed clear of the opening. When they caught sight of her, naked save for the towel she was desperately trying to wrap about herself, they straightened up as if electrified and hissed like snakes. She screamed in response—more from embarrassment than fear—yelling at them to get out.
The door to the room flew open and Thom charged in, caught sight of Mistaya, made a vague attempt at shielding his eyes, and then quickly placed himself between the monkeys and her, shouting loudly at the former until they all piled back through the hole in the wall and slammed the panel shut behind them.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered, keeping his back turned and his eyes averted. “Those are some of the Throg Monkeys. They aren’t supposed to be in this part of the building, but they seem to go wherever they want these days. Even His Eminence can’t keep them in line. Guess they’ve been using this washroom for themselves.”
“Can you just keep looking over there until I’m dressed?” Mistaya asked rather pointedly.
“Oh, certainly, of course,” he agreed at once. “I wouldn’t have come in at all if I hadn’t heard you scream, but then I … Well, I didn’t know what … It could have been anything, after all … Really, I didn’t see anything … much.”
He trailed off awkwardly, apparently unable to find any good way to end the conversation. She left things hanging there while she quickly finished drying and dressing in her old clothes, promising herself a change as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
“What sort of creatures are those Throg Monkeys?” she asked finally. “Trolls or kobolds or what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where they came from. His Eminence found them and brought them here to do the heavy work in the Stacks. Which was a waste of effort, it turns out. They don’t do very much work at all. They wouldn’t do any except that I found a way to make them. They seem to think that work is beneath them. Mostly, they just sit around looking bored.”
“Except when they’re poking their noses in where they don’t belong.”
“Except for that.” He hesitated. “Did they frighten you?”
“They came through the walls rather suddenly. So, yes, they frightened me. But they won’t get a chance to do that again, I can promise you.”
She finished tying the stays to her blouse and cinched her belt. “Throg Monkeys, huh. I thought I knew every species of creature in Landover, but I never heard of them.”
“I thought the same thing,” he agreed. “Can I turn around now?”
“You can.” She waited until he was facing her. “There, you see? No damage done. But I am hungry.”
He took her back outside and down the hall to the kitchen where he had fed her the night before. The kitchen had been empty then, and it was empty now. She couldn’t quite figure out who did the cooking or when they did it, but there was a pot of something bubbling on the stove. Thom ladled them up two bowls of something that might have been thin stew or simply gruel, added hunks of bread, and pumped two cups of water from a sink. They sat at the same table, a small wooden block with benches, and consumed their meal. It did not look appetizing at the outset and did not improve with the tasting. Mistaya ate hers anyway, concentrating on the bread. She needed something in her stomach.
“Now that you’re here,” he asked her after the meal was nearly consumed, “how long do you intend to stay?”
She thought about it a moment. “How long do you think I will be allowed to stay?”
