"Remove the Kang Destian's belongings."
"At once, Presence." He departed.
"How, may I ask, did the Kaiark meet his death?"
The Kraike looked sharply at Efraim. "You have heard nothing of this?"
"Only that he was killed by the Gorgets."
"We know little more. They came as mirk-men and one of them shot a bolt at Jochaim's back. Destian planned a foray of vengeance immediately after his investiture."
"Destian can order a foray whenever he chooses. I will put no hindrance in his way."
"You intend not to participate?" The Kraike's clear voice tinkled with a cool emotion.
"I would be foolish to do so, while there are mysteries to be clarified. Who knows but what I also might die of a Gorget bolt?"
"You must act as your wisdom directs. When you are rested you will find us in the hall. With your permission I will now leave you."
Efraim bowed his head. "I am grateful for your solicitude."
The Kraike departed. Efraim stood alone in the ancient parlor. In the air hung a redolence of leather bookbindings, waxed wood, old fabric, and also a faint mustiness of disuse. Efraim went to look out one of the tall windows, each protected by an iron shutter. The time was green rowan; the light lay wan across the landscape.
He turned away and gingerly began to explore the chambers of the Kaiark. The parlor was furnished with massive pieces, well-worn and not uncomfortable, if somewhat stately and ponderous. At one end of the room cases ten feet tall displayed books of every description. Efraim wondered what had been Jochaim's special virtuosities. For that matter, what had been his own?
In a sideboard he found various flasks of liquor, for the Kaiark's private ingestion. A rack displayed a dozen swords; evidently weapons of fame and glory.
A portal nine feet tall and three feet wide opened into an octagonal sitting room. A segmented glass dome high above, flooded the chamber with light. A green rug covered the floor; the wall panels were painted to represent views over Scharrode from several high vantages: the work, no doubt, of some long-dead kaiark who had professed the rendering of painted landscapes. A spiral stairs led aloft to a balcony, which led to an exterior promenade. Across the sitting room a short hall led into the Kaiark's wardrobe. Uniforms and formal dress hung in closets; chests contained shirts and underlinen; on shelves were ranged dozens of boots, shoes, sandals, slippers: all glossy with polish, brushed and burnished. Kaiark Jochaim had been a punctilious man. The personal belongings, the garments and uniforms communicated nothing. Efraim felt uneasy and resentful; why had not these garments long ago been discarded?
A tall door opened on the Kaiark's bed chamber: a relatively small room plainly furnished; the bed was little more than a cot, with a hard thin mattress. Efraim saw room for change here; he had no present taste for asceticism. A short hall opened first upon a bathroom and watercloset, then upon a small chamber furnished with a table and chair: the Kaiark's refectory. Even as Efraim examined the room a dumbwaiter rumbled up from the cellar kitchens, bringing a tureen of soup, a loaf of bread, a plate of leeks in oil, a quantity of black-brown cheese, and a tankard of beer. The service, as Efraim would learn, was automatic; every hour the collation would be renewed, and the Kaiark never need suffer the embarrassment of calling for food.
Efraim discovered himself to be hungry and ate with good appetite. Returning into the hall, he noted that it continued to a flight of dark winding stairs. A
noise from the bedroom attracted his attention. He returned to find a pair of valets removing the garments of the dead Kaiark and arranging in their stead a wardrobe conspicuously less ample: presumably the clothes he had left in his old quarters.
"I go now to bathe," Efraim told one of the valets. "Lay out something suitable for me to wear."
"With haste, Force!"
"Also, remove this bed, and bring in something larger and more comfortable."
"Immediately, Force!"
Half an hour later Efraim inspected himself in the mirror. He wore a gray coat over a white shirt, black breeches, black stockings, and black velvet shoes - garments suitable for informal occasions within the castle. The clothes hung loosely on his body; he had lost weight since the episode at Port Mar.
The stairs at the back of the hall had not yet been explored. He climbed twenty feet to a landing, where he opened a door and looked out into a hall.
He stepped through. The door seemed to be a section of the paneling, invisible when closed. As he stood examining the door and speculating upon its purpose, the Lissolet Sthelany emerged from a chamber at the end of the hall. At the sight of Efraim. she hesitated. then approached slowly, her face averted. The green rays of Cirse, shining from the window at the end of the hall, backlighted her figure; Efraim wondered hour he had ever considered the gauze gowns drab. He watched her as she approached, and it seemed that her cheeks became suffused with a faint flush. Modesty? Annoyance? Excitement? Her expression gave no indication as to her feelings.
Efraim stood watching as she drew nearer. Evidently she intended to continue past, without acknowledging his presence. He leaned forward, half of a mind to put his arm around her waist. Sensing his intent, she stopped short and turned him an alarmed glance. No question as to her beauty, thought Efraim; she was enchanting, perhaps the more so for the peculiar Rhune predispositions.
She spoke in a light colorless voice: "Why do you bolt so precipitously from the mirk-hole? Do you intend to startle me?"
"Mirk-hole?" Efraim looked blankly over his shoulder at the passage. "Yes, of course. I had not considered..." Meeting her wondering gaze he stopped short.
"No matter. Come down to the Grand Chamber, if you will. I would like to talk with you." He held open the door but Sthelany recoiled in amazement.
"Through the mirk-way?" She stared from Efraim to the passage, then gave a cool trill of laughter: "Do you care so little for my dignity?"
"Of course not," Efraim declared hastily. "I am absentminded of late. Let us go by the ordinary route."
"At your convenience, Force." She waited.
Efraim, recalling nothing of the castle's internal plan, reflected a moment, then set off down the corridor in the direction which seemed most logically to lead to the Kaiark's chambers.
Sthelany's cool voice came from behind him. "Does Your Awesome Presence first intend to inspect the tapestry collection?"
Efraim halted and reversed his direction. He walked past the Lissolet without comment and continued to a bend in the hall, which gave upon a foyer. Before him wide stone stairs flanked by heavy balustrades and archaic lamps of wrought iron led down to the main floor. Efraim descended, with the Lissolet coming demurely behind him. With only a second or two of hesitation he headed for the Kaiark's chambers.
He opened the tall doors with the gorgon's heads without difficulty, and ushered Sthelany into the trophy room. He closed the door sad pulled a chair away from the table for her use. Giving him her now familiar glance of sardonic perplexity she asked: "Why do you do that?"
"So that you may sit, and hopefully relax, and so that we may talk at our ease."
"But I may not sit in your presence, under the eyes of your ancestors!" She spoke in a mild and reasonable voice. "Do you wish me to suffer a ghost blight?"
"Naturally not. Let us go into the parlor, where the portraits will not trouble you."
"Again, this is most unconventional."
Efraim lost patience. "If you don't care to talk with me, you certainly have my permission to go."