City of Night (65 page)

Yes, he knew her well—and this was as close as he could come to asking her openly what she intended. “Perhaps.” She watched him. If he knew her, she also understood his measure, and it was pleasing, and even soothing, to know that in the silence of thought, his calculations and his eventual reply would tally so closely with her own. Nor did he disappoint her, for when he lifted his head, he simply shook it. None.

“It is as I thought as well.” She glanced, again, at the vellum that lay, like her palms, across the surface of her desk.

“To whom,” he asked softly, although by now he knew the answer, “do you wish a domicis assigned?”

“The street child and her kin.”

She had succeeded in nudging a frown from his lips, be it brief, and now succeeded further: he raised a bronze brow. It, like his hair, had weathered the passage of years ungrayed. But although his eyes were the same brown, the same warm dark, they had changed much in the intervening years—inevitable, given what they had seen.

“I do not think there is one among the whole of the guild who would willingly take such a lord.”

“If I guess correctly, Morretz, she will be a lord whose origins belie her import to this House.”

“And your guess would be worth much. But I still cannot think of one—”

She waited, patient now. He had never failed in any task she assigned him, and while this was in part because she did not assign tasks to those who were incapable of carrying them out, it was also in part the nature of the man.

“Ellerson.”

She raised a brow in reply.

“Not a name you would know, Terafin. Not a man who has served, in any capacity, for many years. But I believe that he might be persuaded to take this service, at least on a contract basis.”

It piqued her curiosity, this stranger with his unfamiliar name. But she had always been, as her grandfather had said in his early affectionate indulgence, a curious child. It was clear that Morretz thought highly of this Ellerson, whoever he was.

“When can you have an answer?”

“When the offer is tendered. I will speak with the guildmaster immediately.” He hesitated for a fraction of a moment, and then said, “You realize that word of this is bound to travel?”

“I have considered it, yes.”

“You realize that the House Council members do not retain the services of a domicis at Terafin’s expense?”

“I know what it will mean, Morretz.” She rose. “But in this case, the risk is justified. Do not question me.”

“Terafin.”

 

Ellerson of the Guild of the Domicis was not a young man.

Neither, in common parlance, was Morretz—but Morretz was in his prime. Ellerson approached the Terafin manse at the side of the younger domicis.

“I am not entirely certain,” he told Morretz, “why I let you talk me into this.”

Morretz offered Ellerson an unfettered smile, which robbed his face of years and the gravitas required of a man who served such a powerful lord. “It is my belief,” he replied gravely, “that you were bored.”

“Teaching is seldom boring. Frustrating beyond all possible measure, yes. You might recall,” Ellerson added, “as you were one of those frustrations in your time.”

“And look where it’s taken me. House Terafin, and The Terafin.”

Ellerson nodded. “You’ve done well here. Not beyond expectation, but well. She is an acceptable lord?” He had the pleasure of seeing Morretz look slightly affronted, but the affront was buried quickly.

“She is. She is more than that. I admire her, and her service is what I might have aspired to in idealistic ignorance when I first came to the guild.”

“I admit my curiosity. It’s seldom that a woman of The Terafin’s power sends her personal domicis to the guild to negotiate for the services required to bring a handful of street urchins into line with Terafin itself.”

The quality of Morretz’s silence told him much.

“How much do you know of these urchins, as you call them?”

“Very little. They have been observed—discreetly—for at most a handful of hours. But the leader of this den is unusual. And their arrival, unusual as well.” He hesitated; Ellerson marked it. “One of the den was dying when they arrived. I believe he now resides in Alowan’s healerie; you might meet with him if you choose.”

Ellerson shook his head. “I understand the way responsibilities for a House are carved up. Show me to my wing, and introduce me to the man or woman in charge of the servants there. The boy will come to my domain in his own time.” But he paused, then. “Alowan?”

Morretz nodded.

“He is healer-born?”

Another nod.

“Then she was generous beyond measure, your lord.”

“She is seldom generous without cause.”

“She could not be, and be The Terafin. I believe you are right,” he added, as they made their way past the gates and the House guards. “I have been perhaps a little wearied by the constant routine. I believe I shall find the challenge you have set me of interest, Morretz.”

 

The den arrived—if such a hesitant and suspicious state could be called arrival—in Ellerson’s domain in the presence of no less than six of the House Guards. No less, Ellerson thought, than six of The Terafin’s personal guards—her Chosen. That was interesting. He watched from the relative obscurity of an antechamber as the doors to the wing opened.

He had been some hours within, closeted with the head of the household staff, a grim and dour woman who clearly had some opinions about these new guests which she was well enough trained to keep—barely—to herself. Regardless, they had discussed the needs of the young men and women, as well as the probability of their relative knowledge, before the rooms had been set in something resembling order.

There were, to Ellerson’s knowledge, seven. Seven occupants: two young women and five young men. The wing itself was easily large enough to house them all; seven of the bedrooms had been opened, and linens and towels had been brought, as well as sheets, and clothing of the loose and draping style chosen when one is not entirely familiar with exact size.

Some inquiry into the state of their clothing—and the expense of its replacement—had been made; clearly, their clothing was as much an affront to the head of the household staff as their possible origins. The dining rooms had been cleared, one for breakfast and the lunch hours, and the more formal room for the dinner hours; the kitchen itself had been scrupulously cleaned, and the head of the household staff, who by this point had graciously acknowledged that her name was Margaret Emile ATerafin, had suggested a budget from which a cook, and his various assistants, might be hired.

This, in Ellerson’s opinion, was putting the cart before the horse, but he wisely refrained from any argument or dissent.

Nor did he inquire about their personal requirements when it came to the style of their lodgings. At this point, Ellerson understood the unspoken burden placed upon his tenure: they were to adapt to Terafin; Terafin was not to adapt to
them
. In Ellerson’s experience, such a one-way interchange was seldom the rule, but his experience also made clear that argument with the head of the household on this particular score would be fruitless, at best.

He inquired of Margaret about the availability of tutors, and the suitability of the same, and at this, she shrugged slightly. “That,” she told him firmly, “is the least of my problems. It is not, in fact,
my
problem at all.”

“May I then assume it is mine?”

“You’re the domicis,” she replied curtly.

“Very well.” It was not something he could arrange on short notice, and as he was aware that this group of unruly almost-children were probably closeted in a room with guards and their own anxieties, he judged the facilities in a state of suitable readiness for his new masters.

Word was sent, and Margaret vacated the wing, along with the men and women who had come to carry out her commands in the most scrupulous, tidy, and speedy way possible. Ellerson was, for the moment, alone.

But not for long. His arms ached slightly; the damp had been bitter, and he felt the sting of it in his bones. He had not lied to Morretz; he was not a young man.

But Morretz had made clear the unusual nature of the position, and after some careful thought, Ellerson could come up with no likely candidate within the guild itself. He had therefore approached the guildmaster and requested a leave of absence from his teaching duties, not to exceed two years, while he settled these strangers into their possible long-term routine within House Terafin.

Nor was the guildmaster happy to see him go, but she did accede.

He watched in silence as the den was ushered into the sitting rooms, and the rooms in which visitors would customarily be greeted.

Two young women. He was surprised at just
how
young they both looked. They could be as old as eighteen; they could be, in his opinion, as young as twelve. The one girl, with her auburn hair and her tense and watchful face, was no doubt the leader of whom Morretz had spoken. He saw this not so much by her own stance or words, but rather by the furtive glances that the other five cast in her direction.

The other girl was the shortest and slimmest of the bunch, and she kept her hands by her sides or clasped behind her back; her gaze wandered across the whole of the single room as if she were in either shock or awe, and could not quite decide whether to be delighted or terrified.

One of the Chosen now bowed to the leader.

“I am Arrendas ATerafin,” he said gravely, offering her his name. The girl did not seem to understand that this was significant. “We leave you now, but if you feel the need for guards while you are under The Terafin’s protection, don’t hesitate to request them.”

“Uh, right,” the girl replied. Ellerson winced, but did not otherwise speak or move.

The guard lifted his hand in an open palm salute that was meant to convey respect, rather than obedience. It was clear to Ellerson that the girl wasn’t aware of what it meant either. Nor did the Terafin Chosen seem to be offended by her. But when he turned to leave, she shouted, “Wait!”

He stopped instantly, and turned to face her. “Yes?”

“If I—if we—need guards, who do we ask for?”

The man nodded slightly. “Arrendas or Torvan.” He waited for a moment, but the answer had satisfied her, and at length he left them entirely unescorted in the meeting rooms of the West Wing.

 

Only when the doors had once again closed did this motley group of youths relax. Ellerson waited, observing them. They were very poorly clothed, and the clothing itself followed neither current fashion trends nor the bare rudiments of good taste; the colors, for one thing, were horribly mismatched. But the clothing itself was in good repair, and it was clean, for a value of clean that belonged in the holdings. They all had shoes, or boots, as well.

The red-haired boy whistled loudly and the smaller girl began to move from the first room through the large arch into the second. She threw up her arms and shouted, “Look at us! Look at this!” She ran over to the west wall of the sitting room, and lifted—ah, a small magestone, often used for reading. It was framed in gold and brass, and it sat upon a side table. “If we took this with us, we’d have it made. This is worth a fortune!”

“Indeed it is,” Ellerson told her, for he felt this was the correct—or necessary—time to intervene.

She shrieked and dropped it, and everyone else jumped and turned.

He watched them, waiting for them to speak; they watched him, dumbfounded. This was, he thought, going to be interesting. It was perhaps not going to be
easy
.

“I am Ellerson. I am the keeper of these rooms; if you will permit me to ask you a few questions, I shall see that your needs are fulfilled while you reside within them. I am called the domicis.”

“Does everyone have to talk like that?” the redheaded boy muttered.

Ellerson chose not to hear the question, and was aware that for the first few weeks, he would have to cultivate very selective hearing. What he wondered, watching them now, was what they meant to The Terafin, and whether or not they would be worthy of her.

“Well,” their leader finally said, “we want food.”

“It has already been laid out, and is waiting for you in the dining room.”

“Great!” One of the taller boys, with hair that looked like a work of art, albeit one left out too long near the dusty road, said. “Just lead us there and let us at it.”

Ellerson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Follow me, sir.”

He led them, slowly, from the sitting rooms into the part of the wing that would be their personal quarters, wondering when it was that they’d last eaten. It did not, however, matter. It was best to begin as they were meant to continue.

He led them to the baths. “These are the towels. Soap is with the bath, in the silver dishes beside the scrubbing brushes. Those are pitchers and small basins, and there are two boys who will help you with your bathing needs.”

They all stared at the simple walls of the largely unfurnished room, at the light slanting in from high windows, which brought out the luster of the marble floor.

“But we’re hungry,” the boy with odd hair began.

His leader stepped, hard, on his foot. Not a bad sign, really.

“Of course, sir,” Ellerson replied, as if it weren’t in doubt. “And after the traditional bath, you will be seated in all haste. Unless you’d prefer the barbarian custom of coming to a table in your . . . current state.”

The auburn-haired girl shoved curls of hair out of her eyes. “Bath first,” she told her den.

“But, Jay—”

“Now.”

 

Torvan ATerafin led them to the healerie. Everything in the manse seemed to be so large, Carver thought walking from the kitchen to the dining room would take forever; his stomach reminded him that kitchen to dining room would be better.