“Hello,” Emmis said, startled.
“Hello,” she replied.
For a moment they stood silently staring at each other; then Gita said, “May I come in?”
“Of course!” Emmis stepped aside and ushered her in, settling her in one of the chairs. Then he took his own seat behind the desk. “What brings you here?” he asked.
“I’m tired of working for my uncle,” she said. “I don’t want to wait tables at his inn any more.”
“Ah,” Emmis said. “Were you thinking of moving to Vond, then?”
She cocked her head. “No. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t... well, then why are you here?”
“I went to see Lord Ildirin,” she explained. “I thought perhaps I could get a job in the Palace. In the kitchens, maybe.” She shook her head. “Did you know that half the palace servants have been there for generations, and the other half is orphans from the Hundred-Foot Field? Some of those people can trace their ancestry to Azrad the Great’s personal staff, and others don’t know who their own mothers were, let alone any of their other ancestors.”
“I didn’t know that, no,” Emmis said, puzzled.
“But Lord Ildirin said that you might need an assistant.”
Understanding dawned.
Emmis looked at her, at the round face and generous bosom, and remembered how she had carefully saved his belongings for him when he had run off without them. He didn’t really know her, but he thought he might enjoy changing that.
“So you want a job?” he asked.
She nodded.
He smiled. “I think we can arrange something,” he said.
She smiled back. “I’d love that,” she said.
And Emmis was fairly certain that neither of them was only discussing employment.
