“No.”
“Then I’m good to go.”
All right, if that was what he wanted.
“Good,” said Dane. “I figure we should start at the court room and we’ll work our way up. We ask that you never go up to the fourth floor. All of the servants’ quarters are up there and we want their privacy to be undisturbed.”
We followed him down a different set of stairs from the one we’d taken up the night before. We took two flights and ended up in a long room with a bit of a throne-like chair at one end and rows of seats along the walls.
“This is the court room,” Dane announced. “This is where the people of Westsea come to ask for assistance, make complaints, and hear news from away. There is no judge in these parts, so Fiona hears disputes as well. She sits once a week.”
That would be a tough job, making those kinds of decisions. I wouldn’t want to have to do it. It would have been interesting, though, to watch Taro doing it. He could be very lordly when he wished. “So everyone waits in those chairs?” It was considerate, I thought, to make sure the petitioners were comfortable.
“Those are for the spectators.”
“People who have no stake in the disagreements watch them?” As though it were some kind of entertainment?
“Aye. It’s considered important for people of the area to see justice being done and all that.”
“So who are the usual spectators?”
“The High Landed, mostly.”
Ouch. So some average person would have to beg for assistance with all those aristocratic strangers watching and probably commenting. That was a harsh test of fortitude. I supposed, though, it would discourage inappropriate or vexatious suits.
We followed Dane from the court room to the sitting room we’d been in the night before, through that room and into the second largest dining room I’d ever seen. A wide table of blackwood stretched from one end of the room to the other, long enough, I figured, to comfortably seat about sixty people. It was bare, gleaming in the morning light shining through the row of windows in the northern wall. Candelabra peppered the southern wall, and the eastern and western walls were painted with more landscape murals.
“We don’t eat in here much,” Dane told us. “The servants expected us to, when we first arrived, but it would be ridiculous, the four of us eating at this enormous table.”
“Were all the staff here when you arrived?” I had no idea how that sort of thing worked.
“We brought some people with us, and we had to let a few go because they weren’t able to tolerate the change in titleholder”—I wondered what that meant, exactly—“but it’s mostly the same people who were here under the Duke.” He headed toward another door, which opened into a tiny alcove and then another door. “This is the kitchen. Attention, everyone!”
For this room, unlike the others, was full of people working. They all halted their slicing of vegetables and scrubbing of pans to look at Dane. Then they looked at us, some with interest, some with indifference, and a couple with scowls. I wondered how we’d managed to annoy them so quickly.
“I just wanted to introduce you all to Source Karish and Shield Mallorough. I expect you to show them the same quality of care you’ve shown my family.”
His words made me a little uncomfortable. They seemed to imply the staff didn’t know how to do their jobs without being told. It was kind of insulting.
“Now, Shintaro, Dunleavy, are you able to cook for yourselves?”
That was an unexpected question.
“I can,” Taro answered. “I wouldn’t expect much from Lee.”
Prat. “I can cook,” I added. Just not very well. And I hoped he wasn’t suggesting we demonstrate right then. The long row of scrubbed stoves looked different from anything I’d seen before, and they were intimidating.
“We ask that should you wish for something during the night, you prepare it yourself. We prefer that the staff isn’t disturbed, once they’ve bedded down.”
“Of course,” I said, but I wouldn’t be doing any cooking while half-asleep. I’d probably burn the whole place down. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at an odd figurine on the wall in one corner of the room. It had a star shape for the head, its body was made by a circle around a cross, and its limbs were all different lengths. It was quite ugly.
“It’s a kitchen guardian,” he answered. “It’s to protect the food from rotting and poison.”
Interesting. I wondered if it actually worked.
The next room was the ballroom. I looked around, noticing details I’d missed before, distracted as I was by the fight between Fiona and Dane. The floor was wood instead of the marble that seemed to have been laid through most of the rest of the first story. There was a large musicians’ alcove at one end. The walls were vaguely reflective. On the ceiling was a chandelier so large I couldn’t help thinking it was destined to fall. On the east side of the room were a line of smaller rooms where guests would rest and refresh themselves in privacy.
The next room had a huge piano in it, a bass fiddle, and some music stands. “Do either of you play any instruments?” Dane asked.
We both shook our heads.
“I always thought it strange you didn’t play anything,” Taro said to me. “Music affects you so powerfully.”
That was a polite way of saying music could make me act like an idiot. Shields tended to be sensitive to music, to the point that a martial air could make us violent, or a love song make us willing to sleep with someone we normally wouldn’t go near. I was more sensitive than most. That was the reason I didn’t play anything. It would be particularly embarrassing if I caused myself to be stupid with my own music.
“Fiona and I can’t play anything, either. Maybe we can get Stacin started on something. It seems a shame to leave such a beautiful room unused.” Then it was through a hallway and into what could only be a library. The room smelled of leather, the furniture brown and comfortable looking, with stacks upon stacks of books.
“Oh, no, we’ll never get her out of here,” Taro muttered.
Dane chuckled. “Fiona said you’re fond of books.”
Then Taro must have told her that, for I never did. I wondered why they’d be discussing me. “I am.”
“You’ll be interested in this.” He opened a drawer and handed me a small book, the cover made of a hard substance I wasn’t familiar with. It opened with a crack and the paper felt unlike any paper I’d seen before, very slippery. And the words . . . “I can’t recognize this writing.”
Dane grinned. “We found it in one of the caves in the cliffs. The cliffs have shifted some because of the earthquakes. We’ve written to Academic Alex Reid. Have you heard of him?”
I nodded. He was a noted linguist and historian.
“He’s written back. He says he thinks this book is from the Landing.”
I stared at him. Seriously? The Landing? When our ancestors traveled from somewhere in the stars to our world with incredible machines that had all been rendered useless and destroyed by natural disasters? That Landing?
My awe must have shown on my face, because he laughed and gently plucked the book out of my hand. “You’re free to look at it at any time. I just ask that you don’t take it out of the library and you always return it to this drawer.” And he put it back in the drawer.
Damn the tour. I wanted to look at the book and see if I could figure out some of the words.
“Reid has agreed to come and look at the book, tell us what it says.”
I would have the chance to meet Alex Reid?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so excited about anything,” Taro commented with amusement.
I closed my mouth in an attempt to look less foolish.
Dane laughed and led us out of the library and back up the stairs.
The second story held the titleholder’s huge study, with almost as many books as the library, a receiving room for the titleholder’s spouse, private rooms for the butler and housekeeper, and rows of guest bedchambers. Aside from the books in the study, there was nothing of interest on that floor.
The third floor was purely for the family’s bedrooms. These were all larger than the bedrooms on the second floors, all of them with private sitting rooms, dressing rooms and water closets. They were similar to our suites in the Triple S residence in High Scape, only much grander, and with bellpulls.
Again, nothing of real interest there, until we came to a particular room at the northeastern end of the house. A large room, but without the additions of the other suites. The walls were cream colored, there was only a small fireplace, and the bed was that of a child’s. There was a trunk in one corner, and empty shelves lined one wall.
“We’re not sure what to do with this room,” said Dane. “It’s so much starker than the others. We thought about making it into a nursery, but the servants don’t like coming in here. Some outright refuse.”
Taro froze, shaking. I suspected I knew why. I guessed this was the room Taro had spent most of the first eleven years of his life locked in. Banished from family and possible friends because his parents interpreted his common Source trait of occasionally spouting nonsense as a sign of madness. Left in the single room for eleven years where, as far as I could tell, his parents never visited him and his significantly older brother spent his idle hours tormenting the younger boy by tossing him about and screaming at him.
Taro dashed out of the room.
“What’s wrong?” Dane asked, perplexed.
“Bad memories,” I muttered, furious at myself for not anticipating this and warning Dane. I followed Taro out, but he was down the stairs and around a corner, and the house had suddenly become a maze. He was gone.
Chapter Four
I looked for Taro but was unable to find him. If he wanted so badly to hide from me, he wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say even if I could find him. So I went back to our rooms, where he could find me when he wanted to. I decided I might as well write those reports for the Triple S.
So, how to write a report that would satisfy the Triple S council without actually telling them anything. Because I wasn’t going to tell them why the Empress sent us to Flatwell. I didn’t yet know how Taro would handle events. And I didn’t know what to tell them about the Emperor. Maybe I would use a ridiculous amount of multisyllabic words and make each sentence at least half a page long. Whoever was forced to read it would get sick of it and put it aside for later, and eventually they’d forget all about us.
Sure, that would work.
I decided I’d write a letter to Aryne first. She was the descendant of the collateral line the Empress had been looking for. The Empress hadn’t liked her, after Taro and I had spent months looking for her, but as Aryne was also a Source, we’d left her at the Source Academy. I wrote to her occasionally, so she wouldn’t think we’d forgotten her.
And while I was writing to her, I might get some decent ideas about what to write to the council. It wasn’t at all about procrastinating.
Before I finished the letter, Taro came into the room. I looked up at him, but he didn’t look at me. He just paced.
“Maybe we shouldn’t live here,” I found myself saying.
“Don’t start that again. We’ve been posted here.”
“No, I mean maybe we shouldn’t live in this house.”
“Where else would we live?”
“I’m sure we could find an inn or something.” That was what Pairs often did.
“And we would tell my cousin what as we throw her hospitality back in her face?”
“Blame it on artistic temperament.”
“Mine, I suppose.”
“We can claim it’s mine, if you want. I don’t care.” Actually, it would irk me a little, but that was better than having Taro tied in knots all the time.
He snorted. “You must be really worried about me if you’re willing to admit to any kind of emotional turmoil.”
Hey, was he trying to claim I actually had emotional turmoil? He was the moody one. “Your mother lives right next door, Taro. I’m more than willing to put some space between us and her.”
“Oh, my gods.” He put a hand over his eyes. “Her.”
Actually, I found it strange that she hadn’t come over yet, but I didn’t say so. Speaking it out loud, I feared most irrationally, might actually make it happen.
“I don’t think we should move,” said Taro. “It makes sense for us to be here. It is the place that has the most empty space, and we’re family. I’m just being ridiculous. You’re supposed to smack me up the back of the head and tell me to be sensible.”
“You’re too far away.” And as far as I was concerned, he had every right to feel weird about this place. Maybe I should keep an eye out for a better place for us to live. I’d rather insult Fiona than have Taro assailed by bad memories every moment of every day. “I’m writing a letter to Aryne. Do you want to add something?” I could tell he was about to shake his head. “You should. You didn’t write anything in the last one.”
“I can never think of what to write,” he muttered as he came to where I was sitting.
“I don’t think it matters.” She had no one in the world, and Taro and I were poor substitutes for family. The least we could do was write her regularly. “It’s important that she knows we think about her.”
Taro shrugged and I let him have my seat at the secretary. In my mind I tried to compose a convincing letter to send to the Triple S.
Suddenly Taro straightened in his chair. “Are you ready?” he asked.
That meant he was feeling the approach of a natural disaster, and he was going to channel. “Aye.”
The inner protections he had, guarding a mind that would directly touch the forces of the world, faded away, allowing the forces attached to the natural disaster to flow through him. I erected my Shields around him, letting him do his work while guarding him from the forces he wasn’t manipulating. I calmed a mind straining with exertion, and slowed blood that threatened to burst from veins and heart as Taro’s whole body reacted to forces the human vessel wasn’t really designed to interact with.