Dog and Asp went slowly up the steps to the converted palace where the researchers worked on their project. They stepped deliberately, artfully. All of life was art, viewed properly. Bel Zheret understood this instinctively. Aesthetics is the highest order of understanding.
The city was cold and dry. Its narrow, winding streets were deserted, had been for centuries. It was spotless. Dog commented to Asp on it, and Asp agreed that it was a pleasing sight. Satisfying.
At the top of the steps, the palace stood out against the sky. Dog and Asp did not find the sky particularly pleasing, but then, no one did. Perhaps Mab did? She must have, or she wouldn't have left it that way. The guardsmen on the palace walk were standing at stiff attention, staring straight ahead. They'd been warned that Bel Zheret were coming. This also pleased Dog and Asp. Fear was appropriate.
Inside the palace, Dog and Asp both stopped briefly. The smell here, of cooking, Fae sweat, traces of garbage and offal. Unpleasant.
Dog turned to one of the guards. 'This palace has an unwholesome odor. See to it.' The guard turned and ran as fast as his legs would go.
They flowed into the common room, where flabby, sweaty, hairy research thaumaturges and their assistants and servants acted as though they hadn't spent the last five minutes in a frenzy of preparation, cleaning, hiding, or destroying those things that Dog and Asp might object to. Again, appropriate. They were happy to go along with the farce. Another instinctive habit. It is a privilege to be feared. Do not abuse that privilege.
Dog turned to the most cowardly smelling of all the cowards in the room. 'Where might I find Master Valmin?' he said, his voice smooth and precise.
The coward shook, but his voice was admirably strong. 'Through there,' he said, pointing. 'Last door on the right.'
Dog and Asp found Valmin and his journeyer Timha pretending to be hard at work on their assignment.
'Welcome,' said Valmin, offering no other pleasantries. He had dealt with Bel Zheret in the past.
'Tell us,' said Asp. It was economical; Valmin already knew why they were there. Economy was important. Do the most with the least.
'Yes,' said Valmin. He cleared his throat, holding out a prepared document in a leather binding. 'Here is the complete report, of course.' Asp took the thing without looking at it, and it disappeared inside his robes.
'Summarize for us, won't you?' asked Dog.
'We have made significant progress with the casing system, and the containment fields. And we are very close to reaching a hypothesis about the underlying mechanism.'
'Very close?' said Dog, his voice still smooth as silk. 'To a hypothesis?'
Asp chimed in. 'In other words, you have built a pretty box. You still do not understand what goes in the box, but nearly have an idea about one of many ways in which it might possibly work.'
Valmin said nothing.
Dog strode calmly toward Valmin and grabbed him by the wrist. To Valmin this motion had happened nearly instantaneously; Bel Zheret experienced time rather differently than the typical Fae. Dog turned the wrist slowly, pushing Valmin to the ground. From this position he could snap Valmin's elbow backward, break his wrist, reach into the small of his back with extended claws, or any of a hundred other things. But physically harming Valmin was currently forbidden. Injured thaumaturges were not productive thaumaturges.
'We will return in six months,' said Dog. 'If by then you have not produced a functioning Einswrath, the two of you will be killed.'
'But ... one cannot rush the process of inquiry! It takes as long as it takes!'
'We understand,' said Asp. 'And if this particular inquiry takes longer than six months, then you will die and we shall promote others into your positions. I am simply alerting you to your time frame.'
Dog released Valmin, and the old master fell to the floor, clutching his arm in pain. The elderly were disgusting. Dog resisted the urge to wipe his hands on his robes.
'Good-bye,' said Asp. Without any further ado, Dog and Asp turned and left the room.
They swept back through the common room and out of the palace. At the palace entrance, Dog sniffed the air. He picked out the guard to whom he'd spoken earlier about the odor.
'It still smells bad,' he said. 'Can't you smell it?'
Dog watched the guard's face carefully. He knew what the man was thinking. Do I admit that I can't smell what the Bel Zheret smells, or do I agree with him to please him?
Dog didn't wait for an answer. He held up two fingers. 'Your nose must
