The Keeper of the Mist (5 page)

“I'll keep that appointment!” Keri promised. “I'll do everything properly. I'm sure there's someone who can tell me what to do! If it even matters now, which it doesn't! But I'll keep that appointment, and you come find me there.”

“Yes,” said the Timekeeper, his tone faintly repressive. “Lady. Your head of staff, Mem, knows your schedule.” Turning, he made his stately way across the square.

“Keri, he's an old man,” Cort said, frowning. “I should have gone. I could go now.” He took a step.

Keri caught his sleeve. “No, no! He's perfect for this! This is a
play,
Cort, but the Timekeeper doesn't have to perform a role because he
lives
the part. Look at him! They won't dare doubt him, not for a second. He'll be fine.”

“Well…” Cort paused. “Well, I grant you, he
does
look as though he's been Timekeeper from the very moment Lupe Ailenn and Summer Timonan first set Nimmira apart from the world….”

“Exactly!” said Keri.

“
I
certainly wouldn't question him,” Tassel agreed. “Not about
anything.
You're right, Keri, he's perfect for this. Anyway, you can see those men are going to be polite. Look how that Bear Lord just stopped that other man from drawing his sword. You can see he wants to be civilized.” She slid a sideways look at Keri. “And he is, too, handsome, Keri. I may not be interested, but I'm not
blind.
”

Cort snorted. Keri rolled her eyes. Even so, they all watched long enough to be sure the Bear soldiers weren't going to draw their swords and cut the Timekeeper down. It didn't seem likely, but who could be sure with foreigners? Then, at last, Keri jerked her head at Cort, touched Tassel on the sleeve, and walked quickly toward the great carved door of the House. She wanted to steal glances over her shoulder, but didn't dare. Dignity, she reminded herself. Poise. She was the Lady now, even if she hadn't yet had her ascension or been invested. She was the Lady, and couldn't possibly gape over her shoulder like a child.

“What are they doing?” she asked Tassel instead.

Tassel looked, obligingly. “Talking,” she reported. “They seem peaceable enough at the moment.”

“Well,” said Keri, but then didn't know what to say. She wished she even knew what to think. They came to the door at last—it had only been a minute since she had turned her back on the Bear soldiers, but it seemed ages. Keri started to reach for the doorknob, but then hesitated, though she did not know why.

Cort stepped past her and put a hand on the door. But he did not open it, but gave Keri a formal little bow. “Lady,” he said, his tone just as formal as his gesture, “your House waits for you. Will you command the door hold fast, or have it cast wide?”

And this was
Cort
? Keri stared at him for a long moment. “You didn't learn that from puppet shows. Did you?”

Cort and Tassel exchanged a look. “I don't—” Cort began, uncharacteristically hesitant. “It seemed—”

“It's the hour,” Tassel said, a bit apologetically. “It carries us all. Like riding in a boat going downstream. That's a good sign, isn't it, despite those foreigners?”

“Yes…,” Keri said. “I hope so.”

“Like a boat?” said Cort, rather drily.

Tassel shrugged. She plucked the bone pen out of her hair, turned it over in her hands, and said, “It's like knowing which note should come next in a melody. It's like knowing which way to turn when you're dancing.”

Cort shook his head. “Dancing? I don't think so.” He touched the ring of keys and said, more slowly, “It's a little like knowing when the soil is warm enough to plant, I suppose. It's like knowing when to cut the hay.”

“If we might get
on,
” said Keri pointedly. But then she found herself saying, more formally, “Cast it wide, and open the House, Doorkeeper.”

Cort laid his hand upon the doorknob, and the lock snapped open. They could all hear the little mechanical sound of the tumblers spinning and catching, so that for the first time, Keri realized how quiet it was, here near the main door of the House, where surely it was never quiet? But it was quiet now, and they all heard the tumblers turn in the lock, and then Cort swung wide the heavy, ornate door and held it so that Keri might enter the House. Her House.

What an idea. Keri found that she wanted to laugh, surely a sign of shattering nerves and approaching hysteria. She thought she was actually due shattered nerves and hysteria, but she restrained herself, with an effort. Instead, she snuck one quick glance over her shoulder. The foreigners were still talking with the Timekeeper. She had no choice but to trust him to manage that situation. She did trust him. She thought she did. More or less.

She held her head high and walked, before them all, through the door and into the great hall of the House. Several startled girls and one formal young man, who had obviously been staring out the windows of the entry hall, blinked at her and then gave short, surprised bows. “Lady?” the young man said, as though he were not quite sure. Then he asked, “Are those people
really
from Tor Carron?”

It was going to be like that all through the House, Keri thought. She rubbed her eyes, wanting to groan, or maybe laugh. And she had only an hour and seven minutes left in which to meet her staff—she had a
staff
—and change into
appropriate
dress and review her schedule and face her half brothers. Less than that now, even.
She
didn't know the time down to the second, but maybe an hour. She'd actually thought that part would be the worst thing, and now she only wished it were, because after that she had to deal with the Bear soldiers and figure out what had gone wrong with the boundaries of Nimmira and how to fix them. And convince everyone that she really was the Lady of Nimmira, despite the failure of the boundary mist.

She was willing to bet that this was all going to take longer than an hour. Unfortunately.

She said, striving to sound matter-of-fact and finding herself falling right into her mother's most prosaic what's-the-problem-again? tone, “They are my guests. They will not, however, stay in the House, so the staff here need not be concerned. The Timekeeper will deal with them.”

The young man seemed almost disappointed at this assurance. He said he was a footman. Keri was not quite sure what a footman was or what one did, but he was willing to show her to her own personal apartment while one of the girls slipped off unobtrusively. Keri had no doubt the footman would take her by some longer path while the girl ran the short way to tell everyone what had happened. That was probably just as well.

There was supposed to be a head of staff. The Timekeeper had promised her a head of staff. Mem, that was the woman's name. Keri hoped the woman would be waiting. She had no idea whether she'd be able to keep to whatever schedule she was supposed to, but she thought she had better try to act like a proper Lady. At least until the Bear soldiers got in the way.

The House was a blur of dark polished wood and red tiles. Red curtains framed glass windows flanked by ornately framed portraits as they turned a corner and went down a long gallery. There was a plush red carpet all up and down the stairs that the young footman led them up to the second floor. And, yes, red cushions on the heavy, carved chairs and couches when they passed at last into what Keri guessed, in some horror, must be the Lord's own apartment.
Her
personal apartment now. Polished walnut wood everywhere, and red, red, red. Open doors gave them glimpses of a wide bed with sheer crimson muslin draped over carved walnut posts and matching satin coverlet; of huge wardrobes with dark red tiles set into their faces; of a fireplace with a hearth of the same red tiles and bright red candles on the mantel; of books bound in soft red leather arranged in a walnut bookcase. Red glass prisms hung in front of the windows, casting glints of pink light across the dark wood paneling.

“What were you saying about blood magic?” she muttered to Tassel. “Never mind that man's earring; it looks like every single thing in here was made by blood magic.”

“Jokes of that sort are in poor taste,” Cort reproved her. But then he looked around the room and added, “Possibly fitting, in this setting.”

Keri blinked, trying to decide if that had been a joke.

“Well,” Tassel said sedately. “I certainly know what to give you for a moving gift, Keri. In fact, I can think of any number of excellent items just offhand.”

Keri bit her lip hard, not certain whether she was fighting laughter or howls of dismay. She did not dare give voice to either, because the staff of which the Timekeeper had warned her was also present: three girls barely more than Keri's age, two older women, and an elderly man.

“Tamman,” the footman said, nodding toward the man. “Your castellan, Lady.”

The man offered a slight bow in return. “Lady. We had—that is, we had heard.”

“Castellan,” Keri said, relieved despite his hesitant tone. She wasn't sure what a castellan was, but it sounded very official. She said, “No doubt you are fully aware of my proper schedule for today. I believe I am supposed to meet my half brothers.”

“Indeed, indeed,” murmured the man, rubbing his hands nervously together. He glanced sidelong at Keri and away again. Then he repeated, “Indeed, yes, in hardly an hour. I will escort you—no?” as the oldest of the women shook her head. “Well, then, Mem will escort you, Lady. I believe your friend may wish to remain with you while you prepare to meet your father's other heirs.”

“My Bookkeeper,” Keri corrected.

“Indeed, of course,” muttered the castellan, sneaking a wary glance at Tassel. He turned to Cort with a faint air of relief, tilting his head toward the door. “And this is your Doorkeeper, of course, Lady. Doorkeeper, I shall show you your apartment, if you wish.”

“
My
apartment!” That he would have an apartment of his own did not seem to have occurred to Cort. “I have a perfectly adequate room in my brother's house, which is sufficient for my needs and attention.” But then he paused, as it dawned on him that he might not be able to attend to both his brother's farm and his new position. He shook his head, exasperated and determined. “I can't stay here!”

“Wherever you choose to live, you now have an apartment here,” stated the oldest of the women, an edge of disapproval in her tone. “As do all members of the Lady's household. If you would care to inspect yours, Tamman will be glad to show you the way.”

“I'm sure it will do, as long as it's not
red,
” Cort retorted. He gave Tassel and Keri a surprising half grin, and strode for the door.

Keri stared after him, startled by this hint of humor and somehow finding herself less tense, as though Cort's willingness to joke meant she could believe that things might somehow work out for them all. She took a breath and looked around.

The older woman, Mem, came a step forward and bowed to Keri, no more than a shallow inclination of her head. “Lady,” she said. “If I may acquaint you with your staff?” Her voice was cold, level, and precise.

Keri did not like her, but told herself it was too early to make such judgments and that she was probably completely wrong about the woman. Then she remembered that this woman had been her
father's
head of staff, and thought perhaps she honestly didn't like her. “Yes, please, Mem,” she said, trying not to let her discomfort show in her tone.

Mem bowed again. She indicated the other woman. “Nevia is your wardrobe mistress, and also responsible for all manner of related matters.”

“My wardrobe mistress,” Keri repeated. “You took care of my father's wardrobe, did you, Nevia?” Her tone had gone flat, uninflected. This, too, was a tone she surprised herself by borrowing from her memories of her mother. This time, it was a tone that had warned Keri her mischief had taken her onto thin ice and she had better behave.

Nevia clutched her hands together and stared nervously back at Keri. “Ah—no, Lady,” she said, just a shade too quickly and cheerfully. “I was wardrobe mistress for your father's, ah, that is, his—”

“Yes,” said Keri, still in that flat tone. She wondered if she could dismiss the woman, except it wasn't Nevia's fault Keri's father had kept, no doubt, dozens of women in this House over the years. Probably Keri needed a wardrobe mistress. Probably Nevia would do perfectly well.

“And Dori, Callia, and Linnet.” Mem indicated each of the girls in turn, apparently without noticing Keri's tone at all. “These girls clean and dust and neaten your apartment, and run errands for you. Any little task you may have.”

“Of course,” Keri said. She took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded to each of the girls, wondering whether she should try to look as though she were perfectly accustomed to having staff. Maids to do the cleaning and dusting, someone to do the laundry, someone to find hammer and nails and do little household repairs, a wardrobe mistress to mend torn clothing—no, probably Nevia assigned trivial mending to the younger girls. But, anyway,
staff.
That would certainly be, well, novel.

Keri supposed that making any effort to seem accustomed to servants would only make her appear foolish. No doubt trying to deceive anybody would
be
foolish. She said, “I'm sure I will be endlessly grateful for your”—did
service
sound wrong?—“efforts,” she finished, more or less smoothly. Was that right? Did it sound too stilted or pretentious or condescending?

But Nevia was smiling, looking relieved, and Mem at least nodded in what appeared to be satisfaction. The three girls seemed shy. They would not look at Keri, but kept their eyes on the floor.

Or maybe that shyness was a natural result of, well…Keri tried not to wonder whether the girls had cleaned and dusted this apartment for her father, too, and what additional
little tasks
he might have required of them. They might all be older than she was, but she was fairly certain not one of them was as old as twenty. And they were all pretty, especially Linnet, who owned a delicate dark beauty that went well beyond prettiness. Keri wondered whether, even if she needed Nevia, she might ask that the girls be reassigned. Surely her small needs for dusting could not require three of them anyway. Surely anyone could dust and whatever.