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.
“Nevia,” Tassel said thoughtfully before Keri could ask anything about the apartment or reassigning staff. She lifted an eyebrow at the older woman. “The wardrobe, eh? I imagine the, ah, selection of ladies’ clothing is probably fairly extensive, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” Nevia agreed, stepping toward Tassel with dismaying eagerness, as though believing she’d found an ally. “Yes, indeed.” Turning, she looked Keri up and down with concentrated interest. “The Timekeeper was kind enough to send us word before he left the House—but even so, we have had very little time. We shall do much, much better in the future, I promise you, but I do think some of the items we already have will do for now. I only need a few measurements, it won’t take a moment—”
“I don’t need anything,” Keri said, repulsed by the idea of touching, much less wearing, anything any of her father’s mistresses had ever worn.
“She needs everything,” Tassel interrupted. “Keri, now, don’t fuss. You’re the Lady; you need to look the part. Really, Keri, think of everyone you must meet in only the next day or so!” She gave Keri a significant look, then, having clearly won that argument, continued to the wardrobe mistress, “Nevia, she needs everything but the very plainest sorts of gowns. I suppose this, ah, this upcoming appointment is quite formal? Not to mention, Keri, if you find yourself entertaining foreign guests later! Nevia, Keri—I mean, the Lady—will want something in, say, amber. You can see, with her skin, she needs autumn colors. Dusty green, tawny brown—”
Nevia was nodding. “Yes, yes, and copper and bronze, nothing silver.”
“Exactly,” Tassel agreed. “Stop scowling, Keri, and trust me!”
“Foreign guests?” asked one of the girls, Linnet.
“The Bookkeeper is pleased to jest,” Mem said repressively.
Keri and Tassel exchanged a look and mutually decided not to go into complicated details.
The gown Tassel eventually approved was an old-gold color, with extremely full skirts and a blouse with a high, stiff collar. Both skirts and bodice were stitched about with tiny beads of amber and topaz, and the matching soft-soled slippers were also embroidered with amber and topaz. Nevia even brought out gold-and-amber earrings before discovering, to her voluble surprise and dismay, that Keri’s ears were not pierced. The wardrobe mistress put the earrings away and found an amber pendant instead.
Whoever had originally ordered or worn this gown, Keri had to admit that it was altogether the most beautiful dress she had ever put on in her life. It was also the least practical. Except that any girl who wore this must surely look like a proper Lady, no matter who her mother had been. Any man, even an arrogant Bear Lord, must surely think so, too.
The gown’s sleeves each had dozens of little buttons, which had to be done up by Nevia, as Keri could never have managed them by herself, and the lace that fell over her hands would be terribly inconvenient if Keri was put to any task more demanding than lifting a pen or a cup of tea. Keri gazed at herself in a long mirror and knew how ridiculous the gown was. But…she loved it anyway. Even the ridiculous lace. Even the preposterous buttons. She gazed at her own image and found herself, against every expectation, tempted to let Nevia pierce her ears, as the wardrobe mistress had already offered.
“You look wonderful!” Tassel exclaimed when Keri turned around at last and posed for her. She actually clapped and bowed to Nevia with a flourish. “Wonderful!” she repeated. “With Nevia to advise you, you may do well enough even without me. Turn, turn, and let me see the back. Yes, excellent, and it will do even better once the underskirt’s hem is let down a touch. But it will do splendidly for now. And just as well! Mem has informed me only this minute that we’ll have to dash to get to the Little Salon on time.”
On time for the meeting with Keri’s brothers. She had been laughing, half at herself and half at Tassel. But she could not laugh, or even smile, after that reminder.
Mem stepped forward in that brief, frozen moment. “I will show you the way, Lady,” she said, inclining her head. She added to one of the girls—Callia, Keri was almost sure—“Show the Bookkeeper the way to her own apartment and see that she is comfortable there.”
“Wait!” said Keri, startled. She put her hand on Tassel’s arm.
Mem turned, took this in, and paused. Her eyebrows drew together, if not in disapproval, then at least in impersonal dismay. “Forgive me, Lady,” she said with stiff courtesy. “I believe it is customary for the chosen heir to meet privately with those displaced from the succession.”
“Really?” said Keri. “Because I think that’s silly.” She thought she needed all the support she could get. She certainly didn’t plan to meet all her half brothers alone.
“I shall certainly
accompany the Lady,” Tassel said. Her narrowed eyes and the set of her mouth made it plain that she would be happy to defy Mem, or anyone else.
“This is not proper,” Mem said coldly. “There are traditions. There is a proper way to manage all these matters.”
Keri hardly cared. Except that she did, she found; more than she had expected. She did want to do things properly. She wanted everyone to see that her mother had raised her properly, even without any of the advantages her half brothers had had. And besides…“I want you there,” Keri told her friend. “But, listen, Tassel, I want you to see if you can’t find me a book. About Tor Carron, maybe. Or just…” She shrugged significantly. “Things.”
“Oh, yes,” Tassel said. “Things. Yes. But I can’t leave you alone….” She gave Keri a concerned look.
“The Timekeeper is supposed to be there. He said he would be.”
“Well…,” said Tassel, studying her face. “I admit I’d definitely like to see what I can find out about…things.”
“Whoever is coming, we must leave at once to arrive at the appointed moment,” Mem stated. Without waiting for a reply, she turned to lead the way out of the wardrobe chamber and toward the outer door of the apartment.
“Mem,” Keri said before the woman could reach the door.
The woman turned back, her eyebrows up in disapproval and surprise.
“I’m coming,” Keri told her, but gestured around at the room and by extension the whole apartment. “But when I return, I don’t want to see anything red left anywhere.”
“Lady—” Mem began.
“No red,” Keri said, her voice rising. She looked around once more. “I don’t care what you do with all these things. Hide them in rooms where I won’t see them, sell them, portion them out to the staff, chop them up for kindling, I don’t care. But get rid of”—she waved her hand at the room again—“everything.”
Nevia said worriedly, “The color may be a little overwhelming, Lady, but truly I don’t know where we’ll find such nice things for you on short notice.”
The Keeper of the Mist Page 5