Steven Brust - Athyra

“I don’t understand.”

“Skip it. I’m saying that whatever happens, at least we’ll be warned.”

Savn stared at the place where the jhereg had disappeared into the narrow corridor that accompanied the subterranean stream. “Yes,” he said. “At least we’ll be warned.”

* * *

Savn and Polyi cleaned up the cooking pot, which Savn put back into the bag. He carefully wrapped the good kitchen knife. They assisted Vlad once more to get to his blankets; he needed less help than he had before.

It didn’t seem to matter that outside the cave, which was already beginning to feel like another world, it was early afternoon; Polyi claimed to be tired, and so lay down among her furs, and soon began to breathe evenly. Savn lit fresh torches and tidied up the area. Was it Endweek again? If he were at home, would he be cleaning? What would Mae and Pae say when they saw him again? Were they really worried?

Could he trust anything Vlad said?

While Vlad and Polyi slept, Savn thought over all that Vlad had told him. What if the herbs were unnecessary to combat fever, and they’d just been used from the custom of years uncounted? What if any custom could be wrong? What if His Lordship was undead?

He considered truth and knowledge and trust, and responsibility, until they whirled around in his head empty of meanings, only occasionally coming to light on some real example of deceit, ignorance, betrayal, or neglect, which would give him some hint of understanding before vanishing once more into the whirlpool of half-understood platitudes and questionable wisdom.

He kept returning to one phrase the Easterner had let fall: “Don’t assume, find out.”

He thought about this very carefully, feeling the truth in the phrase, and asking himself if he was trusting the Easterner, or logic.

Even after he’d decided, he hesitated for some time before taking the obvious next step.

Savn stood at the Curving Stone for a long time, staring down the road that led to the door of His Lordship’s manor house, which was itself out of sight behind a curve in the road. A score of years before, he and his friends had played on the grounds, hidden from all the glass windows except the one in the highest dormer, enjoying the feeling of danger, though safe in the knowledge that the manor house was empty.

Now His Lordship was in residence, and now Savn, though he wasn’t certain what he was doing, was not playing. He walked on the road as if he belonged there, step by step, as if he were himself a visiting noble, although he had heard that these people tcleported instead of walking, even when they only needed to go ten or twenty miles.

The manor house came in sight—a wide, tall building, full of sharp angles. In the years since he had seen it up close, he’d forgotten how big it was, or else decided it was only the exaggeration of a child’s memory. Now he stared, remembering, taken again with the feeling that the magnificence of the house must reflect the power of he who dwelled within.

The roof looked like the edge of a scythe, with dormers on either side like wisps of straw. The brick of the house itself was pale green, and high on the front wall were wide windows made of glass—Savn could even see light creeping around the edges of the curtains inside. He strained his eyes, looking for movement. He looked for and eventually found the gully he had daringly played in so many years ago, as close to the house as one could get without being seen. There were glass windows on that side, too, but he remembered quite clearly that if you kept your head down you were only visible from the one lonely window high on the side.

Oddly enough, it was only then, looking at all the windows, that he realized it was becoming dark, and was surprised once more by how fast time went by in the cave. At that moment, more light began to glow around the far side of the house. He stopped where he was, and soon a servant appeared from around that side. Savn watched as the servant walked around the house using a long match to light lamps that were stuck onto the house at various points. When he was finished, the entire house was lit up as if it were burning.

When the servant was gone, Savn watched the house a little longer, then resumed his walk along the road, directly toward the house, and up to the large front door. He felt very much as he imagined a soldier would feel marching into battle, but this was another thought he didn’t care to examine closely.

He stood before the door and stared at it. It seemed like such a plain door to be part of His Lordship’s manor house—just wood, and it opened and closed like any other door, although, to be sure, it had a brass handle that looked too complicated for Savn to operate. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them, and clapped.

Nothing happened.

He waited for what seemed like several hours, although in fact it was hardly more than a minute. Still, he felt his courage slipping away. He tapped his foot, then stopped, afraid someone would see.

Why didn’t someone come to the door?

Because he couldn’t be heard, of course; the door was too thick.

Well, then, how was someone supposed to get the attention of His Lordship’s servants?

He looked around, and eventually saw a long rope hanging down in front of the door. Without giving himself time to think, he gave it one long, hard pull, and almost screeched when he heard, from inside, a rattling sound as if several sticks or logs were rolling against each other.

His heart, which had been beating fast for some time, began to pound in earnest. He was, in fact, on the point of turning and bolting, when the door opened and he found himself looking up at a slight, sharp-featured man in the livery of Baron Smallcliff. After a moment, Savn recognized him as someone called Turi, one of His Lordship’s servants who occasionally came into town for supplies. Come to think of it, Turi had been doing so ever since Reins had quit—

He broke off the thought, and at the same time realized he was staring. He started to speak but had to clear his throat.

“Well?” said the servant, frowning sternly.

Savn managed to squeak out, “Your pardon, sir.”

“Mmmmph.”

Savn took a breath. “May I request an audience with His Lordship? My name is Savn, and I’m the son of Cwelli and Olani, and I—”

“What do you want to see His Lordship about, boy?” said Turi, now looking impassive and impenetrable.

“If it please His Lordship, about the Easterner.”

Turi slowly tilted his head like a confused dog, and simultaneously raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have information for His Lordship?”

“I ... that is—”

“Well, come in and I will see if His Lordship is available. Your name, you said, is Savn?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are a peasant?”

“I’m apprenticed,” he said.

“To whom?”

“To Master Wag, the physicker.”

At this Turi’s eyes grew very wide, and for a moment he seemed at a loss for words. Then he said, “Come in, come in, by all means.”

The inside of the house was even more magnificent than the outside, especially when it became clear to Savn that the room he stood in—which contained nothing but some hooks on the wall and another door opposite the one he’d come in—existed for no other purpose than as a place for people to wait and to hang up their cloaks.

“Wait here,” said the servant.

“Yes, sir,” said Savn as Turi went through the inner door, closing it behind him.

He stared awestruck at the fine, dark, polished wood, realizing that this one, unfurnished room must have cost His Lordship more than Savn’s entire house was worth. He was studying the elaborate carved brass handle on the inner door, trying to decide if there was a recognizable shape to it, when it turned and the door opened. He braced himself to face His Lordship, then relaxed when he saw it was Turi again.