I'd half expected it, but I still love it when they hand it to you on a platter; he'd just done ninety percent of my work for me. I did the rest: I nodded.
"No doubt, you will wish to see the facilities?"
"And bring back samples, of course."
"Of course." He hesitated. "May I ask, my lord..." He trailed off.
"Why I've been staying in town without letting you or anyone know my business?"
He smiled. He had most of his teeth, though there was one in front on the bottom that was missing.
I shrugged. "I wanted to observe things from an outsider's perspective first. I wanted to see the setting, watch the deliveries go out, speak to some of the workers, that sort of thing."
"Just to buy paper?"
I gave him a smile, and let him interpret it however he wished.
He grunted a little. "I am not involved much in the day-to day activities of the mill, you know."
"Mill?"
"The paper mill."
"Oh," I said.
"I take it you aren't an expert on paper?"
I laughed. "Hardly. Merely a human with the good fortune to be trusted by Her Majesty. I am not expected to make informed judgments about the paper, just about the people involved."
"It seems odd," he said, "that the Empire would look to our little kingdom for something like this."
I grinned. "No, it doesn't, my lord. If it had seemed odd, you'd not have known my purpose so quickly. In fact, I would venture to guess that you have been expecting someone like me for some time."
He nodded. "Well, yes. You are aware—or, perhaps, your Empress is, or one of her bureaucrats—that here is made the finest paper anywhere."
"Exactly."
He nodded. "When would be a good time for you to look over the mill?"
"The sooner the better," I said. "How about tomorrow?"
"I'll make the arrangements."
I sat back and looked around. "I like your home."
"Thank you," he said. "It once belonged to the old Baron, before he sold it to my grandfather. It goes back many years. Though perhaps not so many to one who lives among the elfs. Is that difficult?"
"One can get used to anything," I said. "Although, no slur on your, ah, your mill, sir, but the odor in your town is rather noticeable."
He smiled a little. "There is a reason we picked an estate that is ten miles from the mill."
I nodded. "Of course. I should do the same. Other than the odor, it is a pleasant town, though odd."
"Odd?"
"The Guild," I said.
"What of it?" He seemed a bit sharp.
"I didn't mean to give offense," I said. "Indeed, it had been my impression that the Guild had no standing with the county, and hence couldn't reflect on yourself in any way."
His cheek twitched a little; I'm not sure what that meant. "That is true," he said. "I am not offended. But what is unusual about it?"
"Hmmm? I've known of Guilds that had complete control of some local craftsmen, but never of a Guild of merchants, or one that had such complete control of a town."
He blinked. "I have control of the town," he said. He sounded like he meant it.
"Well," I said, "yes. No doubt. But still, the Guild—"
"Fugh," he said, or something like it, and courtesy required me to change the subject. Sometimes in my business you don't know if someone is lying or just plain crazy and you have to live with that.
Meanwhile, I made a temporary retreat and asked him questions about his furnishings, the pictures in the Great Hall, and so on. He relaxed, and seemed to enjoy the conversation, while I tried to work around to a way to start pumping him again. During a pause between questions about the workings of the Imperial Court (some of which I could answer, the rest of which I could lie about plausibly) I said, "Another oddity is the set of beliefs concerning witchcraft. As a stranger from another country, that is odd to me."
He didn't appear to take the question at any more than face value. "What beliefs?" he asked.
"This notion of 'light' and 'dark' forms of the Art. It is new tome."
"Odd you should bring that up," he said.
"Oh?"
"I had meant to ask you about it."
If he saw some expression of surprise on my face, that was all right; it was both honest and in character for the role I was playing. He glanced at Loiosh and Rocza, cleared his throat, and said, "It is obvious you're a witch."
"Well, yes," I said.
"I am not. But it would seem that anything may be used for, ah, different purposes."
"Well, yes."
"For good, shall we say, or evil."
"I had never exactly thought of it in those terms," I said honestly, "but I guess I know what you mean."
He nodded. "Well?"
"Uh, well what?"
"How would you describe your own practice?"
I drank some wine, then stared at the glass. It was a very nice glass, hand-blown, thin, and delicate. "I have never considered myself evil," I finally said.
"I imagine no one does," he said.
"Maybe you could explain why this is important to you? It seems odd you should ask a stranger that question."
He chuckled. "And impolite? I'm sorry. It has become important."
I sat back a little. "How so?"
He gave one of those looks people give when they imagine they can look into your eyes and see if you're lying. Just for the record, that doesn't work. Well, sometimes it does, if you know what to look for. But don't bet your life on it. And don't try it on me.
After a moment, he said, "There is history there, stretching back for some years. That isn't important right now. More recently, I suspect I have been, ah, harmed by a follower of the darker ways of your craft."
"Recently," I said. "How recently? I only got to town a couple of days ago."
"Last night," he said.
"Indeed? A busy night—I was harmed as well."
"I know. I have simply assumed that it isn't coincidental that, with family in this area, you were sent by your Empress."
"Hardly. And I don't think it coincidental that my kin were murdered after I arrived. Do you?"
"Unlikely," he said laconically.
"I take it you have enemies."
He nodded.
"So, then," I said, "perhaps your enemies are mine."
"Perhaps so," he said. I could see him thinking, or perhaps my enemy is you. Which I guess meant he could be telling the truth, or could be as straightforward as a Yendi—that is to say, not.
"Would you care to tell me what happened to you?"
"Why not?" he said. "It's no secret, or if it is it won't be for long. Last night, my coachman was murdered."
Okay, well, I don't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't that. I couldn't say anything for a moment, while the anger I'd been trying to suppress threatened to erupt right here and now. I don't know what I'd have done—torn apart the room? Thrown his glasses around? Beaten up his butler?
He saw something of what was going on inside of me, I guess, because he flinched.
"Did you know him?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Someone," I said, "is going to—"
"Boss."
Loiosh was right. I stopped and just shook my head. I took a couple of deep breaths. "How was he killed?"
"Witchcraft, I am told. I haven't yet learned the details."
"Who would know them?"
He frowned. "This does not, I think, concern you, my lord."
"My lord, in light of what happened to my family, I beg to disagree with you."
"You think they are connected in some way?"
I knew they were connected in some way. "The timing seems significant," I said. "Unless this sort of thing happens all the time around here."
He nodded. "Yes, you may be right. But I know of no connection between my coachman or the Merss family, or between my coachman and you. Do you?"
"No. Nevertheless—"
"Then, for now, I do not believe I should tell you any more."
It was becoming difficult not to say the things I shouldn't say. I took a moment, then eventually managed, "My lord, I'll not take up any more of your time. I look forward to hearing from your people."