ancient volumes of the Annals that supposedly explain the
Company’s secret beginnings but which have been a complete disappointment so
far. Minh Subredil knows how to get to them. Whenever she gets the chance, Minh
Subredil tears out a few pages and smuggles them out to me. Then I sneak them
into the library and when no one is watching, I translate them a few words at a
time, looking for that one phrase that will show us how to open the way for the
Captured.
Sawa cleaned brass and silver. Minh Subredil cleaned floor and furniture. The
Privy Council and their associates came and went. The level of panic declined as
no new attacks developed. Too bad we did not have the numbers to stir them up
again every few hours.
Soulcatcher remained uncharacteristically quiet. She had known the Company
longer than anyone but the Captain, Goblin and One-Eye, though from the outside.
She would accept nothing at face value. Not yet.
I hoped she broke a mental sprocket trying to figure it out, though I feared she
had already done so, because she kept wondering about the burned bodies and
Willow Swan. Could I have planned so obviously that she was confused only
because she kept looking for something beyond the kidnapping?
I finished the last candlestick. I did not look around, did not say anything,
just sat there. It was difficult to focus my thinking away from the danger
seated across the room when my fingers were not busy. I gave praise to God,
silently, as I had learned was proper for a woman when I was little. Equal
praise was due Sahra’s insistence on staying in character.
Both served me well.
At some point Jaul Barundandi came back. Under the eyes of the Great Ones, he
was not an unkind boss. He told Subredil it was time to leave. Subredil
bestirred Sawa. As I got to my feet, I made some sounds of distress.
“What is that?” Barundandi asked.
“She’s hungry. We haven’t eaten all day.” Usually the management did provide a
few scraps. That was one of the perks. Subredil and Sawa sometimes husbanded
some of their share and took it home. That established and sustained the women’s
habit of carrying things out of the Palace.
The Protector leaned forward. She stared intently. What had we done to tickle
her suspicion? Was she just so ancient in her paranoia that she needed no clue
stronger than intuition? Or was it possible that she really could read minds,
just a touch?
Barundandi said, “We’ll go to the kitchen, then. The cooks overprepared badly
today.”
We shuffled out behind him, each step like leaping another league out of winter
toward spring, out of darkness into light. Four or five paces outside the
meeting chamber, Barundandi startled us by running a hand through his hair and
gasping. He told Subredil, “Oh, it feels good to get out of there. That woman
gives me the green willies.”
She gave me the green willies, too. And only the fact that I had gone deep into
character to deal with them saved me giving myself away. Who would suspect that
much humanity in Jaul Barundandi? I got a grip on Subredil’s arm and shook.
Subredil responded to Barundandi softly, submissively agreeing that the
Protector might be a great horror.
The kitchens, normally off limits to casual labor, was a dragon’s hoard of
edible treasures. With the dragon evicted. Subredil and Sawa ate till they could
barely waddle. They loaded themselves with all the plunder they thought they
would be allowed to carry off. They collected their few coppers and headed for
the servants’ postern before anyone could think of something else for them to
do, before any of Barundandi’s cronies realized that the customary kickbacks had
been overlooked.
There were armed guards outside the postern. That was new. They were Greys
rather than soldiers. They did not seem particularly interested in people going
out. They did not bother with the usual cursory search casuals had to
Company’s secret beginnings but which have been a complete disappointment so
far. Minh Subredil knows how to get to them. Whenever she gets the chance, Minh
Subredil tears out a few pages and smuggles them out to me. Then I sneak them
into the library and when no one is watching, I translate them a few words at a
time, looking for that one phrase that will show us how to open the way for the
Captured.
Sawa cleaned brass and silver. Minh Subredil cleaned floor and furniture. The
Privy Council and their associates came and went. The level of panic declined as
no new attacks developed. Too bad we did not have the numbers to stir them up
again every few hours.
Soulcatcher remained uncharacteristically quiet. She had known the Company
longer than anyone but the Captain, Goblin and One-Eye, though from the outside.
She would accept nothing at face value. Not yet.
I hoped she broke a mental sprocket trying to figure it out, though I feared she
had already done so, because she kept wondering about the burned bodies and
Willow Swan. Could I have planned so obviously that she was confused only
because she kept looking for something beyond the kidnapping?
I finished the last candlestick. I did not look around, did not say anything,
just sat there. It was difficult to focus my thinking away from the danger
seated across the room when my fingers were not busy. I gave praise to God,
silently, as I had learned was proper for a woman when I was little. Equal
praise was due Sahra’s insistence on staying in character.
Both served me well.
At some point Jaul Barundandi came back. Under the eyes of the Great Ones, he
was not an unkind boss. He told Subredil it was time to leave. Subredil
bestirred Sawa. As I got to my feet, I made some sounds of distress.
“What is that?” Barundandi asked.
“She’s hungry. We haven’t eaten all day.” Usually the management did provide a
few scraps. That was one of the perks. Subredil and Sawa sometimes husbanded
some of their share and took it home. That established and sustained the women’s
habit of carrying things out of the Palace.
The Protector leaned forward. She stared intently. What had we done to tickle
her suspicion? Was she just so ancient in her paranoia that she needed no clue
stronger than intuition? Or was it possible that she really could read minds,
just a touch?
Barundandi said, “We’ll go to the kitchen, then. The cooks overprepared badly
today.”
We shuffled out behind him, each step like leaping another league out of winter
toward spring, out of darkness into light. Four or five paces outside the
meeting chamber, Barundandi startled us by running a hand through his hair and
gasping. He told Subredil, “Oh, it feels good to get out of there. That woman
gives me the green willies.”
She gave me the green willies, too. And only the fact that I had gone deep into
character to deal with them saved me giving myself away. Who would suspect that
much humanity in Jaul Barundandi? I got a grip on Subredil’s arm and shook.
Subredil responded to Barundandi softly, submissively agreeing that the
Protector might be a great horror.
The kitchens, normally off limits to casual labor, was a dragon’s hoard of
edible treasures. With the dragon evicted. Subredil and Sawa ate till they could
barely waddle. They loaded themselves with all the plunder they thought they
would be allowed to carry off. They collected their few coppers and headed for
the servants’ postern before anyone could think of something else for them to
do, before any of Barundandi’s cronies realized that the customary kickbacks had
been overlooked.
There were armed guards outside the postern. That was new. They were Greys
rather than soldiers. They did not seem particularly interested in people going
out. They did not bother with the usual cursory search casuals had to
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