Steven Erikson - Blood follows

“And your travelling companion?”

“Korbal Broach, a freed eunuch, sir.”

“A eunuch?”

Bauchelain nodded again. “An unfortunate practise among the people from whom he hails, done to all male slaves. For obvious reasons, Korbal Broach desires solitude, peace and quiet.”

“Where is he, then? In one of the trunks?”

Bauchelain smiled. “I did not say shy, did I, Sergeant? No, he remains outside the city, as crowds disturb him.”

“Where?”

“Precisely? I cannot be sure. He… wanders.”

Guld looked down at the slate slabs. “What are these?”

“Imperfect efforts, Sergeant. The local slate possesses some intriguing mineral properties-no doubt the reason why the ancient tomb-builders used them-there is within them a natural energy. I am seeking to harness it toward… order.”

“Do you intend to stay in Moll long?”

Bauchelain shrugged. “That will depend on whether I succeed in my efforts. Of course,” he smiled slightly, “even my patience has limits.”

Guld heard the implicit warning and ignored it. “How do you contact your friend, the eunuch…” Dammit, why does that bother me? Moll’s own history has its eras of slavery and castration… so why in Hood’s name is my skin crawling?

Bauchelain shrugged again. “A simple cantrip of communication. He will come to the locale appointed for rendezvous, punctually.”

“Are you a necromancer, Bauchelain?” Casually asked, but Guld turned to gauge the man’s reaction. There was none but faint amusement.

“That is a fell endeavour, Sergeant. I have no interest in delving into Hood’s Warren-”

“Is it Hood’s, then? Some say it’s the very opposite.”

“Many conjectures abound on the subject. I myself concur with the sage Kulp Elder’s theory that necromancy occupies the threshold of Hood’s Warren-the in-between of life and death, if you will. A necromancer might well know more, but it’s not in his or her nature to expound on the subject. Practitioners of the Death Arts are, of course, very secretive.”

Guld nodded. He walked slowly to the door. “Your manservant’s a stubborn man, Bauchelain. He was prepared to give his life, protecting your privacy.”

“Had I known,” Bauchelain said, glancing over at Reese, “I would have added a cautioning provision to my request, Sergeant, regarding those who do not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Guld grunted. “Good idea. You almost lost yourself a good man.”

“That would have been unfortunate indeed. Thank you for your concern. Is that all you wish of me?”

“For now,” Guld said. He stopped at the door. “You’ve paid for this room in advance?”

“Until week’s end, Sergeant. Why?”

He opened the door, hiding his wry grimace. Suddenly dense, are we? “Good evening, sir.” He stepped out into the hallway, closing the door. The corporal and Obler waited outside, their eyes wide and fixed on the sergeant’s face. Guld headed down the hallway. Both men followed.

“He says they’ve paid for the week,” Guld said to Obler.

The hostelier nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“Four more days.”

“Aye.”

“Corporal?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Remain outside this building until you’re relieved. Obler, is there a back door?”

“Aye, but it’s thrice-bolted.”

“Meaning?”

The scriber tapped below his left eye and grinned. “All very loud to draw back. Wakes me up, sir, every time.”

“Used lately?”

“No, sir. Not in weeks, sir. Not since before they arrived.”

“So this Korbal Broach left by the front door?”

Obler paused at the landing. “Which one be him, sir?”

“The eunuch-the one who’s out right now.”

“One’s out right now? You’re certain, sir? I ain’t seen but the one of them out of that room since they arrived, sir, and that be the one you just seen, sir. That other one, he’s in there, sir, ’cause he ain’t never left.”

Guld’s frown deepened. “You’re mistaken, Obler.”

But the scriber just shook his head.

“Well, does the man eat?”

“Uh, no sir, he don’t.”

The frown became a scowl.

Obler’s eyes darted, and he licked his lips. “Come to think on it, sir, that’s kind of odd. Unless they share the meals, sir. Fasting, like.”

Guld moved on down the steps, the corporal on his heels. “The eunuch,” he said over his shoulder to Obler, who crowded behind the corporal, “what did he look like?”

“Big, sir. Huge. Didn’t say anything I don’t think. Just smiled a lot, sir. Clammy as a dead whale, sir, that’s how he looked. Never knowed he was a eunuch, but now that you’ve said it, it’s plain. Aye, a eunuch.”

“Have some wine,”Bauchelain said, pouring two goblets full and handing one to Reese, who took it gratefully.

“I’m sorry, Master-”

“Not at all. As the guard implied, it would have been unfortunate-and undesired-if you had come to any harm.” He turned an inquisitive gaze on the old man. “Why so stubborn? You seem a wise man, Mister Reese-to assault and defy a sergeant of the Watch…”

“Well, I didn’t want to fail you, Master. I, uh, I like this job.”

“You feared losing it? Do not be concerned on that account, Mister Reese. We find you ideal.”

Emancipor looked around. We?

“And besides,” the sorceror continued, sipping his wine, “I have foreseen a long acquaintance between us, Mister Reese.”

“Oh? Oh.”

“Although your mind still holds its mysteries.”

“It does, Master?”

“Mmhmm. For example, your wife of thirty years…”

“Subly? Well, I gripe a lot, Master, ’tis true, but she’s stayed by me all this time, and sometimes she’s been all I had to hold onto, sir, if you understand me. I love her dearly-”

“I know. It’s not that, Mister Reese. In your mind I can hear her voice, yet I cannot find an image-I cannot see her within you, and that is what I find so peculiar…”

They stared at each other over their gold cups, neither blinking, for a long moment, then Bauchelain downed the last of his wine, cleared his throat and turned away.

“I have work for you tomorrow, Mister Reese.”

“Master?”

“And…” Bauchelain refilled his goblet. “Book us passage. Eastward, as far as a ship will take us.”

Emancipor’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Master. Should I get a refund from Obler?”

“No, leave that be. But I want us out of Moll in two days hence. Is this likely?”

“ ’Tis the turning of the season, Master. I can guarantee it.”

“Excellent. Oh, and Mister Reese?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Be circumspect.”

“Of course, Master.”

“You’ve met this sergeant before, Mister Reese?”

Emancipor nodded. “Twice. Once, a year back, when my employer was assassinated, and then when Merchant Baltro was murdered.”

Bauchelain nodded thoughtfully. “He seems a sharp man.”

“In every way, Master. He’s famous. The King himself commands that Sergeant Guld conduct investigations. Certain ones, that is. Murder, mostly. Guld’s never failed.”

“I take it he is the man investigating this night-killer haunting your city.”

“Yes, sir, he is.”

Bauchelain smiled. “Well, then, I suppose it was a matter of course that we, as foreigners, be sought out and questioned.”

“I’d guess, Master,” Reese made his tone flat.

“Even so,” Bauchelain continued, his gaze on the wine in his goblet. “I am a private man, and so dislike official… attention. Hence my decision to leave early, Mister Reese. I would not wish to unduly alarm the sergeant, however…”

“He’ll not hear a word, Master.”