“Pelagryn?”
“He’s in charge of the maintainers. Of course, Chasylmar has the northeast corner study on this level.”
“I haven’t met Chasylmar.”
“He’s the Chateau steward, and his study is the big one in the northeast corner. The corner studies are the best, because they’ve got windows on two walls and you can get a breeze there. Up on the Council level the three Executive Council members have three of the four corner studies, and the most senior guild representative has the other-that’s Councilor Ramon.”
Basyl led me all the way around the main corridor on the ground level, pointing out everything, from whose study was where, the waiting room for messengers, and where the staff jakes were and the two circular staircases. We took the one in the northeast corner down to the lower level, which held the kitchen-and a dumbwaiter that ran directly up to the upper pantry off the Council dining chamber. Then there were storerooms for everything, various workrooms, and other spaces for the maintainers and their equipment. From there we took the northwest staircase up to the third and topmost level, which held the main Council chamber, the smaller Executive Council chamber, the councilors’ lounge, their dining chamber, and all the studies.
Basyl stopped at the top of the grand staircase that led down to the foyer holding all the artwork, which he had not shown me, but which I recalled. “How did you end up here?”
“I was a journeyman portriaturist. It didn’t work out. After my master’s death, none of the masters in the guild wanted to take on another journeyman, especially one so old.”
“You’re not that old.”
“I’ll be twenty-five shortly, and that’s old to begin with another master in portraiture.”
“Your family . . . they must have . . . must know people.”
“My father is a wool factor. He wishes I had that talent. What about your family?”
“He’s a tinker of sorts. He has a small shop. People bring things to him to be fixed or sharpened. I’m not that good with my hands, but I’m quick, and I never forget anything anyone tells me. That’s useful for a messenger.” Basyl nodded slowly, then turned and led the way down the grand main staircase-the one I had last beheld more than ten years earlier. We’d barely reached the bottom when Baratyn appeared holding an envelope.
“Basyl . . . I need this run to Chasylmar. He’s not in his study, and I don’t have time to track him down.”
The senior messenger nodded and took the envelope. “Yes, sir.”
“You come with me, Rhennthyl.”
Baratyn didn’t say anything until we were inside his study. “If you’d close the door . . .”
I did, then sat down after he’d seated himself behind the desk.
“You answered Basyl’s questions accurately and yet without revealing anything.”
How had he known that? “Was that a test? Are there listening tubes everywhere?”
“Of sorts. Only in the corridors. That’s one of the other things we monitor. You will, too, in time. With what we do and you will be doing, everything is a test. But then, most of life is. Most people just don’t realize it-or don’t want to think about it. At the moment, even with you, we’re shorthanded.” He laughed. “We’re always shorthanded. There are three of you as messengers and silent guards . . . and me. In an emergency we can call on one or two others, but that includes Master Dichartyn, and he’s not always available. The other two security messengers should be here any moment. While we’re waiting, do you have any questions?”
“How many regular messengers?”
“Just four. That’s enough to allow one or two to be sent off Council Hill, if necessary.”
At the knock on the door, Baratyn called out, “Come on in.”
I stood. I didn’t like being seated when meeting other people, particularly when they were standing. The door opened, and two men stepped inside. The second one closed the door. Both of them were about my size, and at least several years older. They looked almost politely nondescript, yet I could sense that behind that facade, they were formidable. Was that the kind of impression that Master Dichartyn was seeking-someone who could blend into any group, yet who, if you looked closely, you really didn’t want to encounter in dark corners?
“Rhennthyl, meet Martyl and Dartazn. Martyl is the blond one.”
Martyl smiled politely. “Be good to have some help here.”
“Especially the way things look to be going,” added the dark-haired and dark-eyed Dartazn, who was just a shade taller than Martyl.
“I had Basyl give him the general tour,” said Baratyn. “You two can show him all the places he really needs to know. He’ll only be here mornings for the next few weeks. They’re rushing his training so that he’ll be as ready as possible when the Council goes back in session.”
Dartazn looked at me, his brows furrowed. “You usually sit with Kahlasa and the other field operatives, don’t you? At the Collegium, I mean?”
“I do. That was because I got to know Claustyn when I became a third.”
“You’re the one who took a bullet near the heart and managed to image-shield it until Master Draffyd could take care of it.”
I hadn’t realized the bullet was that close. “Two bullets, actually, but I didn’t know it at the time. And I passed out a little bit before I got to Master Draffyd.”
“Claustyn hoped you’d go field,” added Martyl.
“That would have been my second choice,” I admitted.
“You three can talk later,” Baratyn said, “at the Collegium, not here.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Martyl genially. “All the walls but those here have ears. We hear and understand.”
“Go!” But Baratyn was smiling.
We left.
By the time I climbed into the duty coach at ten bells, with Martyl and Dartazn, my head was swimming with the effort of trying to remember all the hidden nooks and passages.
“We get lunch at the Collegium when the Council’s not in full session,” Martyl explained. “That’s because they close down the kitchens to give the staff their summer break. The Chateau’s practically deserted now.”
That was fine with me. I’d need all three weeks to really learn where everything was-and that was in spite of my study of the Chateau’s plans.
48
Implying guilt in writing is like eating food held too
long, providing neither satisfaction nor savor.
On Mardi, two letters were waiting in my box when I checked after lunch, but I was running so late that all I did was to see that one was from Seliora. I didn’t open it, because I wanted to enjoy reading it, and I didn’t have time for that. The other was from Mother. I had immediately recognized her handwriting. I didn’t open it, either, if for very different reasons, before I hurried back to my quarters and changed into exercise clothes and heavy boots.
Clovyl was waiting outside the exercise hall, with his usual patient smile, a smile that-I was convinced-concealed a hidden glee in at the thought of how hard he’d make me work.
“Good afternoon, Rhenn. You still have a lot more catching up to do.”
I followed him to the chamber, where I began on the loosening-up exercises, although my eyes did stray to the corner that held the free weights. It wasn’t that they were so heavy, but my muscles burned after I went through that routine-and I still had to look forward to another two glasses of special treatment.
Once he had worked me over thoroughly for slightly more than two glasses, Clovyl told me to stop by Master Dichartyn’s study after I cleaned up.
The one advantage of an afternoon shower was that the water was merely cool, rather than ice-cold, and before long I was sitting on the bench outside Master Dichartyn’s study. If I’d known that I’d be sitting there for close to half a glass I would have brought Mother’s letter, but I’d been hurrying so much that I hadn’t thought about that.