‘We don’t want to, Studious, we really don’t.’
‘That goes without saying, but it changes nothing.’
Oh, Torvald suspected he could crouch here and listen to the idiots all night. Instead, he needed to take advantage of their carelessness. He eased back down the slope of the roof, lifted himself into a crouch, and eyed the main building-and, look, a balcony. Well, that wasn’t wise, was it?
Now, could he make the leap without making any noise? Of course he could-he’d been a thief for years, a successful thief, too, if not for all the arrests and fines and prison time and slavery and the like. He paused, gauging the distance, deciding which part of the rail he’d reach for, then launched himself across the gap.
Success! And virtually no noise at all. He dangled for a moment, then pulled himself on to the balcony. It was narrow and crowded with clay pots snarled with dead plants. Now, he could work the locks and slip in on this floor, taking the inside route to the level above. That would be simplest, wouldn’t it? Riskier scaling the outside wall, where a chance glance from any of the three fools still jabbering away just inside the gate might alight upon him. And the last thing he wanted was to see any of them draw swords (not that he recalled seeing them wearing any).
He tested the balcony door. Unlocked! Oh, things would indeed have to change. Why, he could just saunter inside and find himself-‘Please, Captain, take a seat.’
She was lounging in a plush chair, barely visible in the dark room. Veiled? Yes, veiled. Dressed in some long loose thing, silk perhaps. One long-fingered hand, snug in a grey leather glove, held a goblet. There was a matching chair opposite her.
‘Pour yourself some wine-yes, there on the table. The failure of that route, from the roof of the annexe, is that the roof is entirely visible from the window of any room on this side of the house. I assume, Captain, you were either testing the security of the estate, or that you wished to speak with me in private. Any other alternatives, alas, would be unfortunate.’
‘Indeed, Mistress. And yes, I was testing… things. And yes,’ he added as, summoning as much aplomb as he could manage, he went over to pour himself a goblet full of the amber wine, ‘I wished to speak with you in private. Concerning your castellan and the two new compound guards.’
‘Do they seem… excessive?’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘I would not want to be discouraging.’
He sat down. ‘Discouraging, Mistress?’
‘Tell me, are my two gate guards as incompetent as they appear to be?’’That would be quite an achievement, Mistress.’
‘It would, yes.’
‘It may surprise you,’ Torvald Nom said, ‘but they actually possess a nasty streak. And considerable experience. They have been caravan guards, enforcers, Guild thugs and bounty hunters. It’s the formality of this present job that has them so… awkward. They will adjust in time.’
‘Not too well, I hope.’
All right, Torvald Nom decided, she was talking about something and he had no idea what that something was. ‘Mistress, regarding Studlock, Lazan and Madrun-’
‘Captain, I understand you are estranged from House Nom. That is unfortunate. I always advise that such past errors be mended whenever possible. Reconciliation is essential to well-being.’
Twill give that some thought, Mistress.’
‘Do so. Now, please make your way out using the stairs. Inform the castellan that I wish to speak to him-no, there will be no repercussions regarding your seeking a private conversation with me. In fact, I am heartened by your concern. Loyalty was ever the foremost trait of the family Nom. Oh, now, do finish your wine, Captain.’
He did, rather quickly. Then walked over and locked the balcony doors. A bow to Lady Varada, and then out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. A moment to figure out where the stairs were, and, feeling slightly numbed-was it the wine? No, it wasn’t the wine-he descended to the ground floor and out through the formal entrance, striding across the compound to where stood the castellan and his two friends.
‘Castellan Studlock,’ Torvald Nom called out, pleased to see how all three looked up guiltily from their game. ‘The Mistress wishes to see you immediately.’
‘Oh? Of course. Thank you, Captain.’
Torvald watched him flit away, and then turned to Lazan Door and Madrun. ‘Interesting technique you have here. I feel the need to describe your duties, since it appears the castellan forgot to. You are to patrol the compound, preferably at random intervals, employing a variety of routes to ensure that you avoid predictability. Be especially mindful of unlit areas, although I do not recommend you carry torches or lanterns. Any questions?’
Madrun was smiling. He bowed. ‘Sound instruction, Captain, thank you. We shall commence our duties immediately. Lazan, collect up your scrying dice. We must attend to the necessary formalities of diligent patrol.’
Scrying dice! Gods below. ‘Is it wise,’ he asked, ‘to rely upon the hoary gods to determine the night’s flavour?’
Lazan Door cleared his throat then bared his metal fangs. ‘As you say, Captain. Divination is ever an imprecise science. We shall be sure to avoid relying overmuch on such things.’
‘Er, right. Good, well, I’ll be in my office, then.’
‘Again,’ Madrun said, his smile broadening. There was, Torval decided as he walked away, nothing pleasant about that smile. About either of their smiles, in fact. Or anythlng else about those two. Or Studious Lock, for that matter-Blood Drinker, Bile Spitter, Poisoner, oh, they had so many names for that one. How soon before he earns a few more? And Madrun Badrun? And Lazan Door? What is Lady Varada up to?
Never mind, never mind. He had an office, after all. And once he crawled over the desk and settled down in the chair, why, he felt almost important.
The sensation lasted a few heartbeats, which was actually something of an achievement. Any few precious moments, yes, of not thinking about those three. Any at all.
Make new masks-now why should they do that! Renegade Seguleh are renegade-they can’t ever go back. Supposedly, but then, what do any of us really know about the Seguleh? Make new masks, he said to them. Why!
What’s wrong with normal advice! Wash that robe, Lazan Door, before the spiders start laying eggs. Choose no more than two colours, Madrun, and not ones that clash. Please. And what’s with those moccasins!
Masks! Never mind the masks.
His stomach gurgled and he felt another rise of bilious gas. ‘Always chew your food, Tor, why such a hurry! There’s plenty of daylight left to play. Chew, Tor, chew! Nice and slow, like a cow, yes. This way nothing will disagree with you. Nothing disagrees with cows, after all.’
So true, at least until the axe swings down.
He sat in his office, squeezed in behind the desk, in a most disagreeable state.
‘She’s poisoning him, is my guess.’
Scorch stared, as if amazed at such a suggestion. ‘Why would she do that?’
‘Because of you,’ said Leff. ‘She hates you, Scorch, because of the way you always got Tor into trouble, and now she thinks you’re going to do it all over again, so that’s why she’s poisoning him.’
‘That don’t make any sense. If she was worried she wouldn’t be killing him!’
‘Not killing, just making sickly. You forget, she’s a witch, she can do things like that. Of course, she’d do better by poisoning you.’
‘I ain’t touching nothing she cooks, that’s for sure.’
‘It won’t help if she decides you’re better off dead, Scorch. Gods, I am so glad I’m not you.’
‘Me too.’
‘What?’
‘I’d have orange eyes and that’d be awful because then we’d both have orange eyes so looking at each other would be like looking at yourself, which I have to do all the time anyway but imagine double that! No thanks, is what I say.’
‘Is that what you say?’
‘I just said it, didn’t I?’
