Oracle: The House War: Book Six (20 page)

Neither the secretary nor the Master of the Household Staff said a word to each other. Jester remembered that discretion was the better part of valor. If he was occasionally bold enough to tweak the tiger’s whiskers, he was smart enough to know that now was not the time.

Only when the Master of the Household Staff had left the office did he turn to face Barston.

“The Terafin did warn us that her absence would not please the Master of the Household Staff.”

Barston offered a clipped nod in response. “The right-kin will see you now.”

 • • • 

“You have no idea,” Teller said, pacing the length of the large area rug in front of his desk, “how glad I am to see you.”

“Given the expression on the Master of the Household Staff’s face? Believe I do. I don’t think I’ve seen her that angry since—” He stopped. “It’s not about Jay and The Terafin’s rooms, is it?”

Teller shook his head.

“It’s not about demons and the Merchants’ Guild, either.”

“No. At this point, I’m not sure which terrifies me more.”

“I am. Her.”

Teller walked over to the bookshelves and fiddled with the books there, rearranging them with deliberate care. Jester folded his arms and waited; Teller wasn’t prone to needless, nervous fuss.

“I had breakfast with Haval,” Jester told him, glancing around the otherwise empty office. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh?”

“I was the only one eating, and by the end, food seemed kind of pointless. You spoke to our junior merchants.”

“I spoke to Guillarne. Call him junior in his hearing and you’ll be picking yourself up at the bottom of a long, steep set of stairs.”

“Which might be preferable to having to listen to him. He was one of the merchants at the guildhall last night?”

Teller nodded as he returned, finally, to his desk. To Jester’s mild surprise, he sat behind it, planted his elbows on desk surface, and leaned his forehead, briefly, into his hands. Jester understood why.

Jay was gone.

“What did Guillarne say? Don’t make me talk to him in person; it’ll end badly.”

“That kind of squabble would be exactly the right sort of distraction,” Teller replied. “Who do you think Guillarne is going to support?”

“I didn’t know his support was up for grabs.”

“It probably wasn’t. It will be, now.”

Ah. “Word of Finch’s promotion has reached his ears?”

Teller nodded.

“And after the events at the guildhall,
that’s
what he’s angry about?”

That tugged an answering smile from Teller, although as smiles went it was anemic. “He is not particularly pleased with the events at the Merchants’ Guild, if that helps.”

“Not really. It does elevate Guillarne in my opinion. I thought he was merely a pretentious, ambitious bore. Now I realize he’s also an idiot.”

“He is an ambitious, clever, talented bore.”

“Did Finch send him a missive similar to the ones she sent me to deliver?”

“This may come as a surprise to you, but Finch and I are not operating in lockstep.”

Jester was silent for a long moment. “Actually, it does. Come as a surprise, I mean.” He glanced at the closed doors. “I see you’re not availing yourself of the Chosen.”

“Not for you. Not—in general—for the Master of the Household Staff, either. Torvan’s been here. We’re currently in discussions about the particulars of his guard detail. Finch is not yet ready to retain the Chosen in her duties at the Authority.”

“I bet Torvan was thrilled.”

“I would have bet the same. None of the Chosen are happy that Jay’s gone; she took none of them with her. I don’t want to antagonize them while they’re still smarting. I thought there was a chance she’d at least take Torvan.”

Jester understood what that meant. “Finch really is worried about you, then.”

“So I gathered. Torvan is, however, more willing to see Finch head to the Authority without the Chosen than he is to let me continue my own duties without escort. I’m not certain I understand why.”

Jester snorted. “Two words. Jarven ATerafin.”

“Jarven’s an old man. He’s unlikely to be much use in a fight—”

Jester pinched the bridge of his nose in an exact mimicry of Haval at his most condescendingly frustrated. Teller surprised them both by laughing.

“You don’t think he’s helpless.”

“You can’t honestly believe that he is?”

“He’s an old man, Jester. He’s—”

“He’s probably the most terrifying thing the Merchant Authority contains—and I’m including explosive magical traps in that. Torvan is less worried about Finch because she’s
sitting in Jarven’s office
. I’d feel more comfortable if Jarven wasn’t sitting in it with her. Do you have any idea how often assassination attempts have been made against him in the past five years?”

“Between three and five.”

Jester sat down. He made a show of it, but that didn’t take any great effort; he was surprised. “Can I ask exactly how you know this? Because if you’re accepting the facts from Jarven—”

“I’m not. Look, I know you don’t like him much.”

Jester didn’t bother to disagree.

“And I know Jay doesn’t trust him, either. But at the moment, given the events in both the Authority and the Merchants’ Guild, we need him to be where he is. If we’d had any idea beforehand, I don’t think Finch would have accepted the promotion—it’s too much change.

“We didn’t.”

“We.”

Teller nodded.

“Does Finch know about the attempts on Jarven’s life?”

“She may suspect.”

“The information came from a source you trust?”

Teller hesitated.

Jester’s fingers danced in the air.

“I’m willing to trust him,” Teller replied.

Jester picked imaginary lint off his trousers. “It’s Devon, isn’t it?”

“Well, it wasn’t Jarven.”

“No, I imagine not. That might actually be helpful.”

Teller, ever politic, said nothing. He knew how Jester felt about Devon. “Do you think he’s lying?”

Jester shook his head. “Duvari can’t be Jarven’s biggest fan.”

“He’s not particularly enamored of Jay, either.”

Jester shrugged. “He’s Duvari. Duvari’s consistent. Humorless, dangerous, and incredibly dull, but consistent.” He rose and began to pace, something he only did around his den-kin. “If Jarven wanted Finch dead, she’d
be
dead. She’s not. For the moment, she’s probably safer than she’s ever been.” He paused and turned to face Teller. “Take the Chosen.”

“I’m not without resources of my own.”

“In this office, no.”

“I’m not in danger in the West Wing.”

“You’ll stay in the wing, then?”

Teller inspected his hands. “Yes.”

“Barston’s not happy about it.”

“You noticed?”

“Actually, no. Barston is incapable of looking cheerful about anything. I guessed. He’s always had a stick up his—”

Teller coughed. “He does care about proper form and hierarchy, yes. Torvan considers the move inadvisable at this time.”

“Really?”

“Finch can’t move in with me. She’ll be in the West Wing, and when she’s in the manse, she is under the protection of the Chosen. But they’re far fewer in number than they were when Amarais was alive.”

Amarais. Jester couldn’t recall Teller ever using The Terafin’s given name before.

“Jay hasn’t added to their number, and the captains can’t without her approval. Arann’s combed the list of the House Guard for men we might be able to trust in future—but the House Guards haven’t settled into uniform service. Not yet. Things are too unstable.”

“Is Jarven taking the seat on the House Council?”

“Yes. Before you argue, I think that’s where we want him.”

“I don’t.”

“He’s sharing his position at the Merchant Authority with Finch. Everything that enters his office will pass beneath her eyes. Guillarne is on the warpath, and he won’t be the only one; I expect Ruby ATerafin to descend on my office sometime in the next three days. Should I expect Ludgar?”

“No. I mean, yes—he’ll visit. But Jay’s on the road and the House Council knows it. His performance will be pro forma; a matter of appearance. He may try to rid us all of Jarven, but at this point that won’t break my heart.”

“Would any death—besides ours—upset you?”

“Yes. I can’t stand Barston, but it would upset me if he was murdered. If, on the other hand, he chose to expire of apoplexy, I’d consider it his just desserts. I’m fond of three quarters of the serving staff. If the Master of the Household Staff expired of anything but old age, I’d be more shocked than upset. Jay, on the other hand, would be upset.”

“Jay’s not entirely fond of the Master of the Household Staff, herself.”

“No. She’s not a woman who inspires affection. She is a woman who inspires confidence. She keeps the House running. She’d reached a kind of armistice with Carver.”

Silence. Teller eventually broke it. “Carver’s not here.”

“And I’m incapable of his particular brand of charm. On most days, I don’t regret it.”

“Today?”

“I want to know why the Master of the Household Staff was in your office.”

“She wanted to speak with The Terafin.”

“She knows The Terafin’s not here.”

Teller nodded.

“And she came, anyway?”

“There was a problem. If Jay’s not back within the fortnight, it has to be dealt with. She would prefer it be dealt with by the House Council.”

Jester stiffened. “What kind of problem?”

Teller shook his head. “At the moment, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Don’t start with me,” Jester said, approaching the desk.

“I’m not. It’s my problem, not yours.” Teller reached for a folder on the corner of the desk. He handed it to Jester; Jester ignored it. “Guillarne’s commentary. All of it. Terafin is not implicated in the tragedy at the Merchants’ Guild, but the Order is now up in arms.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Because while Carver is missing, you’re all we’ve got. I don’t know if anything Guillarne said will mean anything to you. But Finch is moving, and when she does, the rest of the House will begin to take up arms. If someone’s tried to kill her once, they’re not going to stop until and unless The Terafin returns.”

Jester took the folder. He took the folder, turned, and headed toward the doors. He was angry. It was a restless, energetic anger. There was very, very little that Teller chose to withhold, and when he did, it had nothing to do with official House bureaucracy; Barston would probably die of the apoplexy Jester had mentioned if he’d ever listened in on some of the kitchen meetings.

It answered the question that Teller had declined to answer. Teller was sensitive enough that he tried to avoid the narrow but very deep pits of rage into which Jester could fall.

“Who?” he asked. “Who was it?”

Teller was silent for a long beat. “Jester, it’s my problem.”

“Carver would tell me, if he were here.”

“Yes.”

“Gods
damn
it, Teller—who?”

“Vareena.”

“Vareena is
twelve!
”

“She is with Daine, now. In the healerie. She’s safe for the moment.”

Jester was white with rage. White, shaking, his own life at twelve filling the interior of his thoughts until there was almost no room for anything else. “She needed to be sent to the healerie.” He spoke softly. Soft meant nothing to Teller; Teller knew him too well. “Who did the Master of the Household Staff implicate?”

“Let me deal with it.” Teller folded his hands across a closed book. Jester understood—dimly—that this had meaning. He did not want to fight with Teller. He did not want to hit him or injure him. And he thought he just might if he stayed.

Had she been any other woman—even Elonne, at this moment—Jester would have marched into the domain of the Master of the Household Staff immediately. As it was, he chose to head back to the West Wing.

8th of Morel, 428 A.A.
Merchant Authority, Averalaan Aramarelas

Haval dressed like a merchant of middling wealth. He chose his jacket and his pants with care, and after a moment’s bleak consideration, chose a hat as well as a walking stick with a somewhat ostentatious handle. It was not his favorite; it was far too decorative.

But it was, as all things in Haval’s arsenal were, practical.

He adored his wife, and reminded himself of this fact as he made his way to the Merchant Authority. He had chosen dark colors with a splash of obvious white, and presented himself to the guards—the very alert, very crisp guards—with an air of mourning and deference. It cost him very little. The guards were not at their best.

But he understood exactly why. The roads around the Merchants’ Guild were all but closed to anything that was not foot traffic. The stalls that often huddled beneath the great trees of the Common were nowhere in sight. The shops that faced the guild’s main building had been closed; all except for two, and both of those belonged to jewelers who had the money and the status to ignore all but a direct request from the Royal Trade Commission itself. In Haval’s estimation, that would not be long in coming.

The Mysterium, aided and directed by no less a person than the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge, continued to sift through the wreckage of the building. Magi had been at work reinforcing the support beams that had not been damaged or destroyed; carpenters and stonemasons from the Makers’ Guild were allowed entry, although they were escorted by either the Kings’ Swords or select members of the Order. The Merchants’ Guild had the funds to effect almost immediate repairs; Haval guessed that most of the building would be operational within a month. Perhaps less; he had recognized two members of the Makers’ Guild as he had made his way through the narrow path through which the public was allowed passage.

The Merchant Authority was almost empty when Haval was at last given leave to enter. There were, of course, men and women behind the wickets, but the people who had come to do business at the Merchant Authority only barely outnumbered them. The Kings’ Swords, however, outnumbered them all. They were grim and wary. Haval was surprised to see them present in such numbers, and allowed this to show.