The Use

by D. L. Carter

  The girl’s face hardened. “You will do. I will not have you leave me as you have, famously, so many others. You will get into that closet this very instant and I shall lock you in to make sure you do not disappear the moment my head is turned.”

  Norfarland began to laugh and stopped the moment he saw the “Rod of Captured Lightning” in the girl’s hand pointing toward an area of his body of which he was both proud and very fond.

  “I will not be counted amongst your discards, Norfarland,” she said. “I shall keep you in a box and I shall bring you out from time to time to parade before my friends, to prove that I, of all women, captured the famous Norfarland, and kept him for my pleasure.”

  The Adventures of Norfarland the Bastard ~ Book 7

  The Abbott’s residence was a light-grey stone building situated outside the main flow of the Sanctuary traffic. To gain access to its glass and wrought iron gates one had to pass through the church, take the path past the brothers’ residence, go through two gardens, herbal and kitchen, then down a long winding path through the Water-meadows. As all the bedrooms in the Sanctuary were currently occupied except the chamber set aside for applicants for admittance to the Order of Water, Halidan was escorted to this one to rest.

  Halidan awoke just as the rains began. There was a blessed few seconds between when she opened her eyes and when she remembered her father was dead and the grief returned. She pressed the heels of her hands to her aching, burning eyes. If the dryness of her eyes and mouth was any indication there was no more water in her body left to be shed as tears. She huddled under the blankets and tried to work out how much time she had before someone came looking for her. The scene at the morning ritual was a confused memory.

  Had she accepted employment in the High Lord’s Household? And if not, how soon before she was thrown into prison for her audacity?

  Try as she might she could not remember what had been decided. She remembered a number of Elves speaking at her, around her, and about her, but none of the details were clear. Troubled by the feeling she was unpardonably late for something important she pushed free of the blankets and sat up.

  The first thing she saw was a glass carafe – water beading on the sides – and a cup. She poured out and drank down two cupfuls before turning her attention to the folded note that lay beside the water.

  The calligraphy was strong, masculine High Elvish script written on thick, good quality paper in silvery ink. All of these expensive items seemed excessive to Halidan for the simple message they were used to convey.

  She read . . .

  “By the Hand of Mitash Serpentine, servant of Eioth, High Lord

  To Halidan tor Ephram, likewise

  Greetings:

  Be at peace and rest, for all has been arranged for your comfort. I have taken the liberty of using some of the silver provided as the advance against your salary to purchase clothing and a few necessities as are required when traveling. The processional of High Lord Eioth will not be departing the Blue Waters Sanctuary until the eighth hour tomorrow. Therefore, take your ease today and permit nothing of a practical nature to trouble you. Anything you require, only send word to me and I shall attend to it.”

  Halidan read the message twice, turning the page over and over in her hands. The page was four times too large for such a short message. Any frugal person would have used a cheaper or smaller piece of paper as well as less expensive ink. But, perhaps Mitash, servant of Eioth the High Lord, didn’t have to scrimp on paper . . . or anything else.

  And, if she accepted the position, neither would she?

  Levering herself up higher in the bed, Halidan peered around the room. It was a small, spare chamber, suitable for discouraging anyone from pursuing a life in service of the Element. Beyond the bed and wooden clothes-press there was a small table and a chair beside the door on which sat a leather travel case.

  On the floor in front of the door was a dinner tray from which arose such appetizing scents that Halidan was across the room lifting it before she realized she’d moved. It wasn’t until she was seated back on the side of the bed lifting a savory bread twist to her mouth that she hesitated. It worried her that she’d slept so deeply that an unknown person had entered the room without her stirring at all. Although what harm could she come to in the Abbot’s house? If it had been Mitash . . . Halidan blushed, that would be bad enough, but a stranger, someone she had never met and would never know, could have stood and watched her sleep. Not that she wasn’t fully dressed in crumpled, soot-stained clothing, buried under a pile of blankets – it was the principle of the thing.

  It was an invasion of her privacy.

  How embarrassing.

  Well, if she were lucky, she would never see anyone smirking at her and tomorrow she would be gone . . . if she accepted the employment offered.

  She bit fiercely into the cheese and meat filled bread.

  Dithering was foolish. Employment was necessary. While her father had lain dying her mind had been split between the grief that still rested in her chest like a tearing ache and the fear that she’d end up . . . what? Wandering from town to town begging for work? Setting up a little table in the corner of some public market offering to write things down for pennies? Trusting to the guidance of three, part blood Elven guards who might or might not rape her and leave her for the wild animals before the next town?

  Instead she was offered, without asking, an honor. To serve the highest ranking individual she’d ever seen, one of the eight High Lords of the Synod who in the absence of a High King, were the rulers of the Empire.

  How dared she even hesitate?

  The greater surprise wasn’t that he’d sent his secretary to speak to her, but that she hadn’t been thrown into jail for her temerity in prevaricating.

  And even knowing that, thinking that, still she hesitated.

  Staring at the wall she nibbled her way through the contents of the tray. What exactly, had the High Lord said would be her duties? She dug through her grief-blurred memories of the previous night. The few minutes when High Lord Eioth had intruded into the mortuary chapel were a confused mix of fear and shame. Being mortal, being related to a dying mortal in the presence of a High Lord, might not be an actual crime, but certain Elves behaved as if it was.

  No. He had been all kindness. Respectful. He’d spoken to her gently and offered her employment . . . librarian in charge of his personal books, that was it!

  It didn’t take much effort to imagine her father’s reaction to the offer. What better duty for an admirer of the book-binders’ art than to spend one’s life being paid to read books? Care for books?

  Paid to read books!

  How he would scowl and scold her for her hesitation.

  Never again would she be asked to teach Ritual chants to girls who hadn’t any magic. She would be in the Household of High Lord Eioth who probably had not used mundane means to light a candle since he was five years of age. To be a member of the Synod, to be the High Lord, she knew he had to be an Adept of all the Elements.

  She would be surrounded by books, which were never ambitious and didn’t scold or frown or judge, but only required gentle dusting, careful oiling, respectful handling, and a quiet library in which to dwell. What was the ideal habitat for books was also the dream home of Halidan. With Lord Eioth’s stated habit of purchasing whole libraries uncatalogued there was the possibility that she might one day discover a lost and valuable rare tome buried under a layer of dreck. What a day that would be.

  And the salary? Twenty silver per quarter? If she was frugal she could save enough to live quietly in her declining years when age started to mark her features and make Elves nervous in her presence. To pay for her residence at a Sanctuary to await her own final passing.

  Judging by Mitash’s note there was no doubt in anyone else’s mind that she would accept the duty. She glanced out of the window. The rain had stopped. The sky was overcast, but there was a hint that the clouds would clear and there would be a few hou
rs of light yet this evening.

  Putting aside the tray she went to examine the travel case. The leather was a little worn, implying it had been purchased as secondhand, but was still sturdy. The key, with a strand of Preserve spell attached, turned easily in the lock. Inside was a shelf with a few toiletries, and . . . thank the Elements . . . a comb, brush, and tooth powder. Halidan lifted the shelf aside. The box was mostly empty, only a few pieces of neatly folded new underpinnings on the bottom shelf along with a small leather purse. Halidan poured the contents into her hand and counted. Sixteen silver and a scattering of copper remained. The remains of her first quarter’s salary. Mitash must have bargained closely.

  Halidan sat back on her heels for a moment then rose and went to the clothes press. There was her clothing. The few pieces she’d rescued – cleaned and repaired – as well as two outfits she didn’t recognize – riding trews instead of skirts. Mitash’s purchases, no doubt – and a travel cloak whose filmy, transparent, iridescent hood was magicked to protect the delicate complexion of an Elven woman.

  Why he’d bothered with that was beyond Halidan. There would never be any reason to shelter her pink face.

  Right now her face was stiff with salt. She glanced down at her hand and saw that her fingernails were still dark with soot. Washing in the cold water of the fountain this morning had not removed all stains.

  She selected the oldest of her own clothing, her one clean headscarf, bundled it with fresh underwear – she would not, NOT, think about who selected and purchased those garments – and opened the chamber door. Directly across from the door a servant slept, sprawled on a wooden bench. He grunted, woke, and came to his feet when he heard the door scrape across the floor.

  “Lady, I’m sorry you caught me sleeping.” He rubbed at his face and gave a slight bow. “I am to show you to the baths and see to your breakfast when you are ready.”

  Halidan blinked at him. “The baths would be welcome, but I have already . . . Breakfast?” She gestured at the nearest window, still streaked with raindrops. “This is not the evening rain?”

  “No, lady. This is a very light morning rain to settle the road dust and clear the humidity out of the air for the High Lord's processional.”

  “What day is this?” asked Halidan. Clutching her clothing she took two steps toward the servant. “Oh, Elements, is it tomorrow already? Do I have time to bathe? I am supposed to be ready to leave at the eighth hour . . .”

  “You have time yet. It has just turned six.”

  Halidan shrank and breathed deep until the panicked beat of her heart calmed. “Oh, good. Then please show me to the baths and after I will need a guide back to the forecourt.”

  The forecourt was in a state of barely controlled confusion when Halidan was escorted there by the Abbot’s servant. Boxes were being rearranged on carts. Horses were either saddled or buckled into harness. And while there were servants and attendants rushing in every direction there was no sign of the High Lord nor his secretary. Uncertain what she should do, and unwilling to risk being missed if she wandered away, Halidan stood at the base of the main Sanctuary steps, her new travel case at her feet and tried to appear relaxed, confident, and unconcerned.

  It didn’t work. Every servant took one long look at her and several took two or more. All of them obviously wondering who she was and what she was doing. If she were of any significance she would be waited for, not waiting.

  It was, regrettably, difficult to look dignified while waiting at the bottom step, but she wasn’t certain enough of her welcome to go in search of the only two members of today’s procession with whom she had spoken. Having one’s librarian intrude on breakfast might make one reconsider employment.

  A wagon topped with a tangled mass of fabric wobbled past Halidan and she stared as four horses were set into its traces. It took her a few minutes and the sight of two servants climbing in and unfurling the fabric before she realized what it was. Unwilling to travel in heavy, airless carriages High Court ladies instead traveled in fabric-domed structures. Designed to protect their fragile complexions while still capturing every stray breeze, the construct was unbalanced, unsuitable for anything other than the mildest of summer days and fiercely expensive to maintain. The reason Matriarch Netha had not been able to persuade her husband to purchase one for her daughters was that it was necessary to travel in convoy with a second, ordinary carriage for use when it rained or became windy. After watching for a few minutes as the servants struggled to assemble it, Halidan decided she agreed with the Merchant. It was a ridiculous piece of whimsy when she could simply wave a fan in front of her face for the same result.

  A female servant dashed down the stairs as soon as it was assembled and placed several padded rattan baskets inside. She had no sooner vanished back into the Sanctuary than Mitash appeared, smiling broadly when he spotted Halidan.

  “Punctual,” he cried as he descended the stairs waving his hands in the air. “By the Elements, I am overjoyed. A punctual traveling companion! I must make an offering of thanks next time I am in Temple.”

  Halidan directed a narrow-eyed glare in his direction and was rewarded with laughter.

  “Forgive me, please,” continued Mitash. “Too often I am required to travel with those who when told to assemble at eight think that you truly mean noon. Or the next day.”

  “I can tell the difference,” said Halidan stiffly.

  “Excellent, then we shall remain friends. Your papers, please.”

  Halidan passed the bundle over. Mitash flipped it open and paused at the first page where her birth and ancestry were recorded, glancing up at her face and then down to read the words, again. He frowned and Halidan’s heart pounded. Could it be he was reconsidering hiring her?

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “No, I am surprised only.” He stared into her face, again. “I thought you a half blood at least. Your eyes are as silver as my ink.”

  “Oh.” The sudden relief made her feel light-headed. “No. I am mortal. My father and mother are both mortal, as you can see.”

  “Yes,” said Mitash abandoning the first page to flip through to find a blank one. “As I can see.”

  And with a few swift movements of his silver pen Mitash recorded her entry into the Household of High Lord Eioth, blessing the ink as the Prior had done. As simple as that her future was settled. Despite her reservations, Halidan let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding when it was done. She was employed. Employed by someone not disturbed by superstition. She had money in her pocket and the assurance of more.

  Her relief had not gone unnoticed. Mitash’s expression was sympathetic rather than smug.

  “I hope you have recovered enough from your grief to maintain your composure in the presence of others. I have suggested to Lord Eioth you might travel with Lilianda and her cousin, Porish – very young Ladies of the House Worind. We have been most careful to keep them from knowing about your father’s passing. It is better they don’t. You do understand?”

  Just the mention of her father was enough to have tears pricking at her eyes, but she blinked them away and kept her face impassive. “I believe I will be able to . . . postpone my grieving until I am alone.”

  “I am sorry to ask it, but it would be best if you could. The ladies will not be . . . sympathetic. For now, let me get you settled in the Ladies Carriage.” Mitash beckoned to a passing servant and pointed to Halidan's travel case. “Place this with the daily luggage. Tor Halidan will need it each evening.”

  Mitash tugged one of the fabric petals to one side, wrinkling his nose at the fetid scent that wafted out. Halidan had more practice at controlling her face and said nothing.

  “Well, we have been on the road a few days,” Mitash sniffed again cautiously. “I trust this will not cause you to suffer.”

  Halidan began climbing the short staircase. “I can endure.”

  “Excellent. Make yourself comfortable. The servants have gone to fetch the ladies. I ho
pe that we shall be underway within the half hour.”

  Unlike every other carriage she had ridden in, this one, instead of having seats along the back and front was completely stuffed with cushions. Silk-covered, over-sized, slippery cushions. It was impossible to see the floor, or as Halidan discovered, to walk across the surface. It was not just one layer of soft squashy pillows, but several layers of differing sizes that slipped and twisted under her feet. Eventually Halidan crawled through the loosely piled mass, reached the fabric covered wall, and tried to settle herself for the journey. Every time she tried to sit, the pillow would slide out from under her, skidding and throwing her off balance.

  The third time she sat something hard and sharp jabbed into her thigh. She lifted a pillow to reveal the corner of a playing board. Curious, she started to dig. Within a few moments she had unearthed most of the playing pieces of a game, a half empty box of sweets, the peel from three different fruits and four pieces from another game, but no matching board, and a small ivory handled knife. Her lip curled as she picked up the decaying fruit and looked around for somewhere to discard it.

  Before she could begin a more determined search the cabin dipped and swayed and the door swung open.

  The nervous servant she’d seen earlier gave Halidan one frightened glance before leaping aside. Behind her was a slender, graceful Elven girl – just a few years older than Halidan's previous students.

  The Elf glared at Halidan, drew a deep breath, and shrieked, “Thief!”

  Halidan drew back as the other bounded into the tiny carriage and hands outstretched like claws, crawled over the cushions toward her. It was not easy given the crowded and bouncing floor to fend off her attacker, but Halidan found if she braced herself against the carriage wall uprights, she could keep the girl off balance and the clawed hands away from her face. With most of her body still outside the carriage the Elf could not bring her strength to bear in the battle and Halidan half sprawled on slippery cushions could not break free.

  “Enough! Have done!”