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he woman down the hall stops singing, turns her head, and blinks at Tonar in seeming bewilderment--but it doesn't escape him that her hand moved automatically to her own swordhilt. The quarrel stops for a moment, then resumes. Most of the snoring continues without a break; some people just won't wake for anything, it seems. The door opens, and the soldier faces Tonar, studying him with a bemused expression. "The kitchens are downstairs," he says, deadpan. Tonar shoves the soldier back into the room; the soldier manages to keep his balance. Then Tonar follows, closing the door with a foot. "Relax," Tonar hisses as he glances at the table, "I think we all pursue a common goal." Tonar can see the serving girl with the ribbons in her hair, and before she can hide it, a grin at the exchange between himself and the soldier. Indeed, she's sitting at a table with several documents, poised and serious, quite a contrast to the flinching maidservant just a few minutes before. When she notices him, though, she hunches her shoulders and turns her face away, playing nervously with her hair. The soldier raises his eyebrows at Tonar, clearly inviting an explanation. There are footsteps, though whoever's approaching is making no attempt at concealment. An anxious voice addresses everyone: "Is there are problem up here, honored sirs?" One of the guesthouse's servants, it appears, alerted by Tonar's bellow. The soldier looks at Tonar wryly, then opens the door, pokes his head out, and says, "No, we're fine here. Just an excitable friend." Though his back is turned, Tonar notices that the girl has repositioned herself to peer at him through her eyelashes; that gaze is clear and very alert. Then the soldier firmly closes the door. "If you say so," the servant's voice comes to them through the door, and then retreating footsteps. Tonar glances at the documents: The one at the top is written in a hurried, scrawling script, with doodles in the margin that look suspiciously like someone's attempt to sketch birds and flowers. Before the girl repositions herself to block Tonar's view, he spots (he thinks--the handwriting isn't the neatest) the phrases "leather goods," "how is your cousin?" and "festival of (particularly messy scrawl)." "Seems to me," Tonar says calmly as he avails himself of a chair, "that we are all in the 'information' business. Normally, I wouldn't care that you're extorting this woman. After all, we do what we must. The problem here is that I too have business to conduct with her, and I need her 'undistracted.' So I'm asking myself if there's a mutually attractive arrangement possible." His tone is the proverbial steel(!) fist in the velvet glove.
Back: Tonar's Story 3 Celtic knot courtesy of Celtic Faery.
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