“Well, yes, I’ve heard him, but—”
“Have you done anything to try to satisfy his complaints?” the boy interrupted quickly.
Pinch frowned. “No, I—”
“Then please don’t criticize those of us who have. There is a reason I am chief sorter and chronicler and you are an overseer. Now let’s go inside and get my sister warm.”
Still holding Mistaya’s hand, the boy pushed his way past a reluctant Pinch into the doorway. “Wait!” Mistaya exclaimed. “What about my friends? My escort,” she corrected quickly. “They must come inside, too.”
Pinch stepped quickly to block their way. “I draw the line here!” he declared, glaring at the G’home Gnomes. “These two were not invited to come and are not fit in any case to do the work. They must remain here!”
Thom nodded reluctantly, giving Mistaya a look. “I’m afraid that’s so. But there are stables on the south side of the building where they can get out of the weather and sleep the night. I will see that they have something to eat.”
“Humpphh,” Pinch growled disagreeably. “Very well. But they must leave here tomorrow at first light.”
Poggwydd and Shoopdiesel looked very put upon but showed no inclination to argue. Recognizing that Thom had pushed the matter of gaining entry as far as he could, Mistaya nodded. “Good night, my faithful friends,” she called over to the Gnomes, not without some small warmth. “Thanks for bringing me. I will see you in the morning to bid you farewell.”
She followed Thom through the small door and heard Pinch close and bar it tightly behind her.
Before the unfriendly little man could offer further thoughts on the matter of Mistaya’s arrival and admittance, Thom led her through a small, tunnel-like entry into a much larger anteroom, its walls lined with benches and hooks for hanging coats and wraps, high ceiling intricately carved with figures that in the near darkness she could not make out. Stray lights burned here and there, but mostly the room was draped in shadows. The thick smell of must and stale air filled her nostrils, and a chill had settled with a proprietary sense of entitlement.
Thom led and Mistaya followed. The wood floors creaked as they walked down the length of the room, which was twice as long as it was wide. A high desk, elevated on a platform to allow whoever manned it to look down on whoever sought admittance, ran across the far end of the room, effectively barring entry to whatever lay beyond a pair of massive wooden doors set in the wall behind. The desk was old and splintering at its joints, and there were spiders spinning their webs where space permitted. She assumed there were spiders elsewhere in the room, as well, in places she couldn’t clearly see. She looked down as they approached the desk and noticed faint clouds of dust rising in small puffs with each footfall.
“Don’t mind that,” Thom advised cheerfully. “This room doesn’t get much use.”
She stepped close to him. “Why did you say that I was your …”
His face darkened as he quickly put a finger to his lips and shook his head. He pointed to his ears and then made a sweeping gesture toward the walls. “Later,” he whispered.
He led her around one end of the desk, but did not try using the larger portals, choosing instead a small door at one corner of the room, a door so unobtrusive that she might have missed it completely if he had not taken her right up to it. He grasped a handle that was all but invisible, pulled the door open, and led her through. A hallway beyond wound off into a darkness that would have been complete if not for the handheld lamp he suddenly produced and fired with his touch, something she recognized immediately as magic. She arched one eyebrow at him, thinking as she did so that there was more to this place and its inhabitants that she had first thought.
They passed a number of doors, all of them closed, but Thom finally stopped before one and opened it. Inside was a very small, unadorned bedroom, dark and windowless, with a bed, an ancient cedar chest, a small set of shelves, and a table and chairs. There were no decorations hanging from the walls, no rugs on the floors, and no hints of color anywhere. Mistaya looked around in dismay.
“We can talk here,” the boy said, giving her a quick, reassuring smile. “They don’t listen here. My room, maybe. But not here. These are the servants’ quarters, the rooms set aside for the keepers of the stacks and the files, and there haven’t been any of those for decades. There’s only Pinch and the Throg Monkeys and me. And His Eminence, of course. Sit with me.”
He seated himself on the edge of the bed and motioned for her to join him. She did so, feeling braver now, more sure of herself than when she had faced Pinch alone. She didn’t know who this boy was, but she didn’t think he meant her any harm.
“Why did you help me back there?” she asked him. “Why did you tell that little man—Pinch, you called him—that I was your sister?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t plan it. I saw you, and I just decided to help you out.” He shook his head. “I get bored here. There’s no one to talk to. I thought anyone traveling with two G’home Gnomes out here in the middle of nowhere would have stories to tell.”
“Well, I might not want those stories told just now. Will you make me go if I don’t choose to tell them?”
“Not if you tell me some others. I just want someone to talk to. I’ve been here for almost three years now. I never go anywhere, and no one ever comes to visit. You saw how you were greeted. It’s the same with everyone else. Not that there’s much reason for anyone to want to come here, anyway.” He paused. “Do you know where you are?”
“Of course,” she declared at once. “This is Libiris.”
“Then why did you come here? Surely, you didn’t come by accident?”
She hesitated. “Didn’t you just tell me no one ever comes here on purpose?”
He cocked his head. “I did.”
“Well, there you are. I got lost. A mistake.” She waved one hand dismissively, hoping he believed her. “But what are you doing here?” she followed up quickly. “What keeps you?”
“I’m an apprentice to His Eminence, in service to Libiris.”
She pursed her lips. “You keep mentioning that name. His Eminence. Is he some sort of ruler or Lord? How did you become apprenticed to him?”
He frowned. “It’s kind of complicated. Can we talk about it in the morning? You look tired.”
Again, she hesitated, this time because she sensed he was hiding something. But she really didn’t have any right to demand answers to her questions if she wasn’t prepared to answer his. Even if it irritated her.
She managed a smile. “I am tired and I do need to sleep. But can I have something to eat first?”
Thom stood up at once, unfolding his angular frame. “We’ll go down to the kitchen. Then I’ll take something out to your friends. I still think it’s funny that you are traveling with G’home Gnomes.”
She couldn’t argue with that. But there was much about her life that she found odd of late, so the Gnomes in particular didn’t stand out. She stood up with him. “Would you like me to tell you something about those Gnomes?” she asked him.
He nodded eagerly. “I would, indeed.”
Together they went off to find the kitchen.
HIS EMINENCE
The trouble with being raised a Princess of Landover is that it makes it very hard to settle for anything less. Sterling Silver, for example, was more than her home; it was her caregiver. A sentient being, it knew instinctively what she needed and provided it for her. A bed that was just right for her size and shape, suitably warmed each night, floors that were heated to order, food prepared and delivered, air that was sweet smelling and always fresh, a channeling of sounds that were pleasing and comforting, clothes to wear, and beautiful things with which to decorate her rooms—these were just a few of the comforts she had been provided, always without her asking. The castle was magical and capable of magical acts, and it had looked after the Kings of Landover and their families since its inception.