Oracle: The House War: Book Six (6 page)

“Ah.”

“You sent her to Lord Waverly.” He turned, glass in hand.

“No, Jester, I did not.”

“You had to know what would happen.”

Haval met, and held, Jester’s gaze. Give the old man credit; he didn’t blink. Literally. “Clever,” the older man finally said. “And perceptive. You have not talked with Jewel about this.”

“No point. Waverly died. Duster came home with us.”

“Duster also died.”

“She was always going to die. The only surprise was why—she bought us time.”

“You don’t resent Jewel for her death.”

He didn’t. He was beginning to resent Haval Arwood. This conversation was circling a space where Jester did not go. “Should I?”

“There is no imperative one way or the other.”

“The right-kin made clear that this appointment was somehow important. I’ve got maybe five more minutes of good behavior left in me. You want to tell me what you want?”

“Tell me about the Master of the Household Staff.”

“I’ll take that as no.”

“As you please. What are your impressions of that woman?”

“She terrifies the crap out of the rest of the Household Staff; she butts heads with the right-kin’s secretary—frequently—and she’d support Iain ATerafin in any position he chose to adopt on the House Council. She is not friendly—she considers it a lowering sin—but she’s consistent. She’s not loved. She
is
respected.”

Haval nodded.

“She has a small plot in the grounds, a flower bed. The Master Gardener is fine with this because he’s just as terrified as any of the under servants. She grows flowers and one or two plants that might or might not produce something edible.”

“Are they poisonous?”

Jester laughed. He drank wine, briefly, as if it were water. “Yes.”

“Has she killed many members of the Household Staff?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“You acknowledge the possibility.”

“No, I don’t. If she had reason to kill a member of the Household Staff, she would fire them first. It would probably cause the person more pain in the long run. Resigning from a position on staff is one thing; being dismissed in disgrace, quite another. If any member of the House causes difficulties for any member of the Household Staff, she has the pull to have that person removed; she can’t do it directly, but she’s respected.”

“You do not consider the contents of her small garden odd.”

“Not as odd as this meeting.”

Haval smiled. “How did you come across the garden?”

Jester shook his head. “I’m not answering that one—she hates me enough as it is. If it helps, I don’t take tea with her.”

“Possibly wise. Do many?”

“I’ll let you answer that.”

Haval inclined his head. “Three. She will, on occasion, speak at length with three members of the House Council. One of them is Jewel herself; it is not a meeting that I imagine engenders much joy in either woman. The other is, as you’ve suggested Iain. Iain is a scrupulously careful treasurer; he is also old enough to treat almost everyone with healthy suspicion.”

“That’s two.”

“You will have to unearth the third for yourself, although I believe you know of whom I speak.”

“If you don’t mind,” Jester replied, “I’m about to get drunk. This conversation couldn’t possibly make any
less
sense.”

“You will have to drink far more than that. You have a naturally high tolerance for alcohol.”

It was true.

“You have several scars on your hands, and one long scar on your left wrist. They are not, to my eye, wounds taken in sword practice.”

“The twenty-fifth holding was a rough place.”

“Oh, indeed. I imagine you bear scars from your years there—but the scars of which I speak were not taken in the hundred holdings.”

Jester shrugged. “I don’t remember where they came from.”

“I highly doubt that. I will assume a familiarity with daggers and throwing knives. If you had some skill with long daggers, it might prove useful, but it is not entirely necessary. If you are required to kill, it is best to do so in a way that necessitates no obvious weapon and leaves no obvious trace.”

“I am never required to kill.”

“A figure of speech. I have known the current Terafin for over half her life. She would not command any of your den to kill.”

“She wouldn’t command anyone in House Terafin to kill; she’d accept death as an outcome of their duties—but only then.”

“And so we come back to duties. Tell me, Jester, what are yours?”

 • • • 

Jester glanced at the empty glass in his right hand. He rose. “I think we’re done here.” He walked to the cabinet and set the empty glass down.

A knife flew an inch to the right of his hand and embedded itself in the rounded lip of the narrow shelf. Jester sighed—loudly—and retrieved the bottle. “. . . or not.” He filled his glass, cupped its crystal bowl in his left hand, and turned. “As a way to keep a conversation going,” he added, grabbing the knife’s slender handle and pulling it free, “that’s not going to get you invited back into many polite houses.”

“Possibly not. I’m seldom concerned about such invitations on my own behalf, and my wife dislikes patrician company. She doesn’t dislike it enough to refuse their custom, however.” He crossed the room as Jester held the knife out. “Your reaction is interesting.”

Jester shrugged. “You can’t afford to kill me. Not that way.”

“No.”

“Which meant you wanted my attention. Now, you have it.” He drank.

“Remarkable,” Haval said. “I thought you had potential; I didn’t realize how much.”

“I have, in theory, wasted potential,” Jester replied. He was grinning. “I’m considered a bit of a gadfly, and a general social failure of the type people enjoy.”

“Meaning you tweak the noses of the powerful in a way that the rest of the Terafin patricians cannot safely do.”

Jester nodded. “It’s one of the few amusements I have. I’m not fond of patricians. I make exceptions for my friends, and they’ve obliged me by refusing to become what I detest. It’s a delicate balance.”

“How familiar are you with the layout of the manse?”

“The only person with a better sense of the labyrinths behind walls is Carver.” Jester grimaced. “We don’t mention his name much. I don’t suggest you bring him up in polite conversation in this wing.”

“I had noticed that you’ve become somewhat less withdrawn, of late.”

Jester shrugged. “The cats could cause more of a ruckus—with less consequence—than I could. They’re gone. It’s on me, now.”

“Yes,” Haval replied. “It is. As you have failed—several times—to answer a simple question, I will assume, as people will, that you have. And of course, that the answer suits my purpose.”

“What is your purpose?”

“I wish to employ you.”

Jester laughed. It was hard to sustain laughter, given Haval’s utter lack of amusement, but Jester had had a decade of practice. “To
hire
me? I suggest you run that past your intimidating wife. I’m sure she won’t approve.”

“She will, as you suspect, have a dim view of the prospect; it is, and will remain, immaterial. You will not be an apprentice clothier.” Haval frowned. “I don’t think you have the patience for it; I do believe you have the eye.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“More or less what you have been doing, with a single notable exception.”

“You want me to report to you.”

“Indeed. I have a few questions to which I require answers. They are not,” he added, stepping past Jester and reaching for the wine, “direct questions for you. Even I have a limited supply of both patience and time.” He topped up the glass that Jester had given him one abrupt bend in the conversation ago. “Before she left, I spoke with The Terafin. I suggested that you were underemployed in a variety of ways, and she—reluctantly—gave her approval for this interview.”

“Did she reluctantly give my consent?”

“No. I don’t believe she considered the matter; were she here, I would perhaps take her to task for that failure. Or perhaps not. She is seldom subtle, and this appears to be a subtle maneuver on her part.”

“She expected me to say no?”

“In retrospect, I believe that was the case.” He drank. He did not have Jester’s garrulous energy; all of his movements were economical. “You know how to throw knives.”

“Yes. And yes, I’ve had some practice with long knives. I tried the sword, but I don’t have the height for it.”

“Height is not an excuse. With the right weapon—”

“I don’t have the height for the House Guard. Short of that, there was no point.”

“And the knife-work?”

Jester shrugged. “Helps me sleep at night.” He swallowed the rest of his wine in one long, acerbic gulp. “I’m not great at it. I’m good enough for my purposes.”

“I will not ask for an explanation of those purposes as you seem to find it wearying. I will give you three names.”

“Do they have anything in common with the messages I’m to deliver—without offense—this afternoon?”

“Very good.”

“You know the names. You clearly didn’t pick up on the ‘without offense’ part. I’m well-known for some of my unfortunate foibles—but even those won’t be good enough excuse for accidentally finding myself in possession of information that is not, strictly speaking, public.”

“You do not feel you are up to the task.”

“I don’t even know what the task is, but given your expression, no, I don’t. I don’t particularly feel bad about it, either.” He set the glass down, and glanced at the mark in what was otherwise pristine, well-oiled wood. “Nice arm, by the way. Especially at your age.” He headed for the doors.

“You are aware that Finch has already been subject to one assassination attempt.”

“I’d be surprised if it’s that low,” he replied. But he did not reach for the door’s handle. “When?”

“If Finch has not discussed this with the den, I am not certain I’m at liberty to do so.”

Bastard
. Jester turned. “I like playing games as much as the next man, but only when I have a shot at winning. There’s no win in any direction here. Are the three involved—in any way—with that attempt?”

“Two are not, in my opinion. The third is a possibility.”

“Name the third.”

“I decline. You are an observant young man, and you are resourceful. You have taken up the task of being the loud and the obvious in any gathering; it allows you to control the image you present, and allows you, further, to hide behind it. I was capable, in my youth, of doing as you do; it is not an avenue open to me now.”

“You’d need to be consistently—”

“Obnoxious, yes. I believe you have twice caused House Terafin embarrassment that was not immediately dismissed. Given the years you have been ATerafin, I consider that significant; you have certainly not spent most of your life behind the shut doors of this wing. I should not keep you further. But if, after the events of the day, you wish to entertain my offer of employment, I will not withdraw it.” He then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will, however, insist that you be properly attired. I want exact measurements, now.”

“Of course you do.”

 • • • 

The three people to whom Finch had written messages were merchants. Two were ATerafin, but had not been given quarters within the manse. Like Lucille, that veritable dragon of the Merchant Authority, they made their residences elsewhere. Unlike Lucille, in Jester’s opinion, they hadn’t been offered the option. Lucille was the commander of any building she happened to live, or work, in—and the Terafin manse already had one.

No other merchant was this practical. The Isle was considered important and significant, but it was also expensive; only one of the three boasted a home on the Isle. The others, like Lucille, lived within the hundred holdings.

Jester chose to visit Ludgar ATerafin first, as he was closest. He hadn’t exactly lied to Haval; he preferred to get by on as little useful work as possible. He also proposed to be home by the early dinner hour, and therefore took a Terafin carriage. It wasn’t necessary, and in the more crowded streets of the holdings, it wasn’t
faster
, but in general people were more inclined to be respectful and polite if the carriage was obviously from the manse itself.

Jester was not a member of the House Council, although he could in theory attend as Finch’s adjutant should he so choose.

He considered the House Council matter with a grimace. He did
not
, in the usual run of things, choose to sit in the closed, stuffy chambers; he found the politics both irritating and boringly obvious. He knew in advance where each member would choose to offer their support; some were subtle, some like thunderstorms in the rainy season. He knew that they would talk until they were blue in the face, given half a chance, and he knew he would be forced to listen. Finch had made clear he would listen
obviously
and
attentively
, and added a trailing
please
after she’d made this request.

Jay, to her credit, had never tried—but Jay had the smarts she was born with. Like Jester, she didn’t put effort into anything pointless; like Jester, she was practical. She was more obvious in her suspicion—but she was also capable of trust. It was a weakness. Jester knew it. Carver had spent his early years with the servants not just because he wanted to bed Merry, but because he knew they were the best source of gossip, and that gossip, if not entirely reliable, would be close enough to give the den warning, if necessary. Not all of the servants considered the West Wing a personal favorite, but many did. They knew where the den had come from; they knew that the den had none of the built-in advantages that birth generally conveys.

They knew that, in part, the West Wing was, and had been, in their hands. They were invested in its success, and in the success of The Terafin—a woman of mean birth and no connections who had risen to prominence by her contributions to the House itself. She was like them, not like the patricians who generally climbed the rungs of House political ladders.

The servants offered Carver quiet warnings, and Carver passed them on, stripped of all identifying marks, to Jay or her kitchen council, most of whom were willing to trust Carver’s take on the advice. Carver had, on the sly, checked out some of it himself—he had access to the back halls. Jester strongly suspected that the Master of the Household Staff knew this, but as she treated everyone with stiff disdain, it was hard to be certain. She made it difficult to access those halls on the best of days—but Carver liked the challenge, and the Master of the Household Staff had never taken her suspicions to The Terafin—either Terafin—directly. It was a game to both.