It was almost but not quite circular. It was lit by small lamps placed on stands around the room. The walls were decorated with hangings or carvings set within alcoves. Between each was a doorway. The centre of the room was furnished with stools and large cushions. His travel chest lay on the floor beside one of the doorways. The room beyond was also lit by lamps, revealing a bed which looked, to his relief, no different to an ordinary Kyralian bed.
The slave had stopped beside a wall and remained standing, head bowed and eyes downcast. Is she going to stay there, or leave? Perhaps she’ll go away once I indicate I’m happy with the rooms.
“Thank you,” he said. “This will be fine.”
She did nothing, said nothing. Her expression – the little he could see of it – did not change.
What will she do if I go into the bedroom? He walked past her through the doorway and looked at the bed. Yes, it definitely looks like a normal bed. Turning, he saw that she was now standing against the wall inside the bedroom, in the same pose. I didn’t even hear her follow me.
He could probably tell her to go away, but as he opened his mouth to speak he hesitated. I should take the opportunity to find out how the master–slave situation works. Is she my personal servant, or do a range of servants have different tasks?
“So,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Tyvara,” she replied. Her voice was unexpectedly deep and melodic.
“And what is your role here, Tyvara?”
She paused, then looked up and smiled. That’s better, he thought. But looking into her eyes, he saw that they did not match the smile. They gave nothing away. They were so dark he could barely tell where the pupils began and the colour ended. It sent a sensation down his spine that was not quite a chill of disquiet, nor was it entirely a thrill of excitement either.
Pushing away from the wall, she walked toward him. Her eyes dropped to his chest. She reached out and took hold of the sash of his robe and began to untie it.
“Wha-what are you doing?” he said, taking hold of her wrists to stop her.
“One of my duties,” she said, frowning and letting go of the sash.
His heart was racing. His body had decided to favour the side of excitement over disquiet. I can’t jump to conclusions here, he told himself. Besides, it’s disturbing enough having someone serve me without any choice; I suspect bedding someone who has no choice would be even more off-putting. He imagined looking into those dark, empty eyes and all interest fled.
“We Kyralians prefer to undress ourselves,” he told her, letting her hands go.
She nodded and stepped back, her mysterious eyes expressing confusion and acceptance. Better that than nothing. Retreating to the wall, she resumed her former position. He suppressed a sigh.
“You may go,” he told her.
She paused for the slightest moment, her eyebrows twitching upward, then she moved rapidly, turning away from the wall and disappearing through the doorway. Her footsteps were silent.
Lorkin moved to the bed and sat down.
Well, that was awkward and uncomfortable. And a little odd. She hadn’t answered his question. But then, perhaps asking a female slave what her role was when standing in a bedroom was a big obvious hint that you wanted her to come to bed.
I’m an idiot. Of course it is. He sighed. I have much to learn, he thought ruefully. And with Dannyl the only other free person here, the only option is to learn from the slaves. If Tyvara is my personal servant then I will see her the most of all the slaves. And if I’m going to question a slave I had better do it privately, where no Sachakan can overhear me revealing how ignorant I am.
Next time he had the opportunity, he decided, he was going to question her on master–slave etiquette.
And hopefully we can set a few rules between us. Lessen the whole obeisance thing to the point where it’s not so disturbing for me, without going so far that it’s uncomfortable for her.
Simply put, he was going to have to befriend her. And that should not be too hard. He’d never found it difficult to form friendships with women. It was romantic entanglements that caused him more trouble than they were worth. Working out how to befriend a Sachakan slave woman might be a new challenge, but surely one well within his abilities.
Chapter 11
Tantalising Information
Alone in the new hideout, Cery listened to the silence. When it was quiet like this, when Gol was out attending to business, Cery could close his eyes and let the memories rise to the surface. First there came sound of his children’s voices and laughter. Akki, the eldest, teasing Harrin. Then the gentle scolding from Selia.
If he was lucky he saw them, smiling and lively. But if not the memory of their bodies arose, and he cursed himself for having looked at them despite knowing the images would torture him forever. But they deserved to be seen. To be farewelled. And if I hadn’t seen them I might cling to that notion that comes to me, when I first wake up, that they’re still there, alive and waiting for me.
A rude, jangling noise interrupted his thoughts, but as he roused himself he decided it was all for the better. He could not let grief distract him from his task, or he might not get the chance to avenge them.
The sound was a signal that someone was approaching the hideout. Is this the Thief Hunter at last? Cery rose from his chair and paced the room slowly. The first sound had died away now, and a new sound replaced it. Each step of the stairway leading down from the bol brewery above the hideout would depress slightly under a person’s weight, setting off a mechanism that sent a clunk echoing through the rooms below. Cery counted the clunks, feeling his heartbeat quicken to match the beat.
He eyed the panelling behind which the closest secret escape route lay. It’s been over a week. That’s not very long. I’d want to plan carefully if I intended to kill off a Thief. I’d take as long as I thought I could get away with, researching my victim. I’d let them settle into their new hideout, and allow time for the guards to relax and get lazy.
He frowned. But I don’t want to spend weeks here waiting. If this isn’t the Thief Hunter... maybe there’s a way we can make him think he doesn’t have much time...
There was a pause, then a chime rang in a familiar pattern, and Cery let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was Gol’s signal.
Walking over to the other wall, Cery pushed aside one of the paper screens mounted on the walls to imitate windows and ease the oppressive feeling of being underground. Behind it was a ventilation grille in a shallow alcove. He swivelled that open and pressed the lever inside. Then he peered through some darkened glass to check that the approaching person was indeed Gol.
As the figure stepped into the corridor beyond the glass, Cery recognised him as much from his movements as his stature and face. The big man walked to the end of the corridor and waited. Cery moved back to the grille and lifted the lever up again.
A moment later the hideout door swung open and Gol stepped into the room. The big man raised his eyebrows.
“No visitors while I was out?”