“Nor do I. But it has to be two or three in the morning, dear, maybe more. We have no idea where we are, and we don't know if those damnable yappers are gone.”
Before Letitia could answer, Finn turned on Dostagio again. “If it's not personal, may I ask, would we find all the citizens asleep in town? I mean, is everyone in Heldessia a member of this-Deeply Enwombed church of yours?”
“Entombed, sir. Deeply Entombed.”
“Right. Well, are they?”
“Oh no, sir. It's not for the common folk. Or Newlie kind, if you'll forgive me, Miss.”
“Believe me. I am not offended at all.”
“Only royalty, then?” Finn asked.
“That is correct, sir.”
“It's not your religious persuasion, then.”
“Oh, no indeed, sir.” Despite the fact that no sign of emotion had crossed his drab features, Finn felt the man was quite stunned by the question. “Despite my esteemed and honorable position, I am only a servant here, a member of the Gracious Dead… “
TWENTY-ONE
I‘m sure it was only a figure of speech,” Finn said. “He didn't mean we should take him literally, dear.”
“Are you? I'm not, Finn. I had a most peculiar feeling about our good Dostagio.”
“And what kind of feeling was that?”
“Don't pretend you don't know. I saw your face when the fellow first appeared.”
Finn nodded. As close as they were standing, it was hard to make out Letitia's features, for there was only a single torch set in a niche in their room, just enough to see that the place was as devoid of color as the hall.
“I must admit I did. I don't know what you saw with that keen Mycer instinct of yours, but I saw someone who looked as if he were wearing a mask, to avoid betraying his features, his feelings, as it were.”
“Cold,” Letitia added. “Withdrawn.”
“Not unkind, though. Indifferent, perhaps. Clearly, as I'm sure we both agree, he is neither gracious nor dead. It may be it takes a rather detached sort of person to work for people who sleep all the time.”
“Or those who don't have to work at all.” “It's hard to imagine anyone that lazy, Letitia. Numb, petrified, perhaps. When you look in the fellow's eyes… there's nothing going on in there that would stir a garden slug to any fervid thought.”
“I've seen more personality and charm in a roach,” said Julia Jessica Slagg. “In a log, in a sock, in a sack of cement, in a-”
“Yes, we get the point. That's quite enough.”
“He's awfully dull, is what I meant to say.”
“Find some place and sit. It's irritating to hear you walk around. You sound like a bucket of nails.”
“They don't have carpets, that's my fault?” Julia snapped her silver jaws. “I wasn't the decorator here…”
“Finn?”
“What, love?”
Without even looking her way, he caught the mix of anger, aggravation and despair in the way she said his name, the tone, the manner, of a person who was beat, frazzled, weary of the day.
And, when he turned, he saw she had swept the torch to the far corner of the room. The wall was standard decor, black, polished marble with no fresco, tapestry, nothing to relieve the chill, dark expanse.
Nothing, that is, except two niches, horizontal ledges carved flush within the wall.
Finn let out a breath. He was getting used to chills, tingles, hairs climbing the back of his neck, not the sort of thing he cared for at all.
“They could be shelves. Places to put your clothes.”
“They aren't, Finn.”
“Books. Books would go nicely there.”
“Stop it, will you? Stop it right now.”
“They appear to be vaults, Letitia.”
“Crypts.”
“Not a good choice of words, no better than mine. Sacks and Cracks, this is a tomb, not a room. I should have made it clear to that fellow we didn't intend to be here that long.”
“Do you think this is funny? You feel I'm amused? We have been buried, Finn. This is a jest to you?”
“I wouldn't say buried. I don't imagine they think of it that way here. And they're not serious, love. These people don't die, they take naps.” “Very long naps, as I recall.”
“Nine months, I know. And that's ridiculous, isn't it? I'm certain we'll discover that's meant in a ritualistic sense. A sacrament, a penance, something of the sort.”
“It's Finn, Master of Theological Thought,” Julia said. “I understand it better now.”
Finn pretended she wasn't there. He walked to the door, opened it, peered each way down the dimly lit hall, closed the door again.
“It isn't locked. We could leave any time if we wanted to. The accommodations here are most peculiar, I admit. It's not the way we do things, but in their eyes I suppose it's rather like an inn.”
“A dead inn, if you ask me.”
“Nobody did, Julia. If you have anything to say, keep it to yourself.”
“She's on edge, just like we are,” Letitia said, showing the lizard a weary smile. “And all that copper and brass, she's bound to have a chill.”
“She is not cold, love,” Finn said, silently counting to three, for this was not the first time this conversation had occurred. “Julia is a mechanical device. You know that as well as I. Why would she have a chill?”
“I am very tired, dearest, too weary to talk about science and other such matters tonight. I'm going to try to sleep if I can.”
“I didn't think you'd-”
“I'm not. I shall sleep on the floor. I will not get into that. And if you wish to offer me your cloak, fine. I would not refuse to accept”
I don't really care if Aghen Aghenfleck doesn't like it, it's the only sane and reasonable thing to do. We leave the damned clock with whoever will take it. If no one will, I'll simply leave it right here with a note. Bucerius will back us up with the Prince, I think. At least, I hope he will.”
Finn shifted his bony hips on the hard floor and frowned thoughtfully at Julia Jessica Slagg.
“Did it ever occur to you that good Bucerius never mentioned the odd religious leanings of the King? I'm certain he never did.”
“I wasn't present on your trip. I suppose it never cameup.”
“We spoke of religious matters, but only in a general way. And after that, there wasn't a lot of time. I cannot imagine anyone fool enough to hang around in this- oversize casket, waiting for the King to turn over and yawn. Rocks and Crocks, seven months is out of the question. I wouldn't spend seven days here.”
Julia swept her tail about. In the flickering light of the torch, her ruby eyes seemed to dance to a fiery beat. In the corner, in a very small bundle, Letitia moaned in her sleep.
“Who are you trying to convince, Finn? You, or me?”
“No one at all,” Finn said, more than a little annoyed at her remark, which hit too close to home. “I don't have to convince anyone. It's just that this whole situation is so bloody irritating. The ways of this land make no sense at all.”
“And ours do?”
“That's not the issue here.”
“I suppose it isn't. I'll give you that.”
“Gracious of you, I'm sure.”
Finn glanced at Letitia. Even with his heavy cloak about her, he was certain she was cold. Weariness, exhaustion from the day, could scarcely overcome the chill of that stone, a chill so old, so primal, buried so deeply within its granite heart, it would never go away.
“If you had, to, Julia, could you find your way back through this maze, to the door where we came in? I know you were beneath my cloak and all… “
“Of course I could,” Julia said, her bright snout swiveling about, as if to test the frigid air.
“As you well know, since it's your fancy gadget that whirls about in my gut. I know every path I've trod, though I don't see why I should. It would be more efficient if you could show me where I'm going instead of where I've been.”
“If I could do that, I would swallow such a gadget myself. That whirly gadget, by the way, as I'm sure you recall, is a compass, Julia. It is used in navigation at sea and in the air, though it does little good in either place, as near as I can see. And you're right on one point, at least. If I'd known where I was going, I damn sure wouldn't be here.”