“It was begun during the Interregnum, but took a long time to complete. Centuries.”
“Um. I was here a few years ago, and this place wasn’t.”
“Yes.”
“That confuses me.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said.
For an instant she wavered, as if she were about to vanish, but then she came back. I wished I knew what to ask.
“How did you die?”
“I told you, I don’t remember dying. My mother died during the Interregnum, or so I’ve been told. I think it may have been in childbirth. During the Interregnum, many women died that way.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her, because that’s what you say.
She nodded and turned her head.
I wanted to ask more about her death, but I don’t know proper etiquette for dealing with ghosts; I should have asked Teldra at some point. I said, “I’m not sure what to ask you. I’m just trying to learn enough of what’s going on to ask the right questions.”
She waited. After a moment, I said, “I don’t know a great deal about how being a ghost works. It’s outside of my area, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not a ghost,” she said. “Not exactly. I think.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m … Tethia,” she said, looking faintly puzzled.
“Do you know Devera?”
“Who?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Who is she?”
“Now, that’s a question I’m not qualified to answer. She’s someone who is here, though.”
“Here? She came here?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Also, how?”
“I don’t know why. I’m following her. How? It wasn’t difficult; we just walked in.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Then she vanished, which I thought was rude. Lady Teldra wouldn’t have approved. I remained still for a couple of minutes to see if she’d reappear, but she didn’t.
“Okay, Loiosh,” I said. “We’ve just learned something. I have no idea what, but something.”
“I’m sure that’s really useful, Boss. Now what?”
“I’m feeling better. I mean, in the sense that I care, and I’m not quite so willing to just go along with whatever happens.”
“Good. So what do we do?”
“Go along with whatever happens.”
“How is it that I didn’t see that coming?”
“Let’s move,” I said.
2. The Mystery of Elven Food
I took a last look around the room, but there wasn’t much to see, so I went back to the corridor and continued. There were three psiprints on the wall, big ones. I didn’t recognize the artist or the subject. They were all portraits or studies of faces, and all three were caught in one of those expressions where you can’t tell what the subject is feeling: is that a scream, or a laugh? Is that one joy or surprise? And the other one, opposite the door—is she pursing her lips in disapproval, or trying not to laugh? If whoever owned this place picked those psiprints, it was probably an important clue to something-or-other, and someone smarter than me would no doubt find it insightful. Me, I was worrying about directions: If I opened the door on my left—the south—would it lead north? Up? Down? To another city? Another world?
Right on cue, there was another mirror. This one was small, and attached to the ceiling. That at least settled the question of their purpose: you do not put a mirror on a Verra-be-damned hallway ceiling for any reason but a magical one.
As I stood in front of the door, about to touch the knob, I heard footsteps to my right. I turned. There was Devera again, maybe fifty feet away and running toward me. “Help me, Uncle Vlad,” she said, then vanished again.
Well.
I walked through the space where I’d last seen her, passed it, turned, went through it again. I didn’t disappear, she didn’t reappear. I stood there for a minute, trying to decide what to do, then turned back to the door that I was now in front of again, opened it, and stepped through like I belonged there.
A man sat by a fire, reading a book. He looked up as I entered and said, “How did you get in here?”
“A pleasure to meet you as well,” I told him. “I’m Vlad Taltos. And whom do I have the honor of—”
“I asked you a question!”
He was an old man, I would guess past his four thousandth year, when Dragaerans start looking like they’re about to dissolve into a pile of dust so killing them seems pointless. He wore a yellow robe that was probably silk, with intricate embroidery in purple. He seemed frail. I considered putting something sharp into him to teach him manners, but that doesn’t work as often as you’d think. I said, “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
He glared at me. “Lord Zhayin of Housetown, and I ask you again, how did you get in here?”
“It’s the craziest thing,” I said. “I walked in the door. This door. Right here. See it?”
“Rubbish.”
“I’d have clapped but I didn’t see a clapper.”
“The door to the manor!”
“Oh, that one. It wasn’t locked, and there was no clapper there, either.”
“Impossible,” he suggested. “You can’t have—” He broke off and glared.
“Uh-huh.” There was another chair, also facing the fire, and a small table between them, holding a cup. He didn’t invite me to sit down or offer me wine. What would Lady Teldra have said?
“Are you a necromancer?” he demanded.
“That’s sort of a personal question, don’t you think? I hadn’t meant to intrude; the place didn’t look occupied.”
“‘The place,’ as you put it, is called Precipice Manor, and it is most definitely occupied, and I’ll ask you to leave at once, before I call the servants to have you removed.”
Unless there were a lot of servants, and they could handle themselves in a brawl, I didn’t like their chances of taking me anywhere I didn’t care to go, but I didn’t say that. “Leave?” I said. “I just got here.”
“And do you habitually walk into people’s homes?”
“You’re asking personal questions again. Maybe we can talk—”
I stopped, because he was yanking on the pull-rope near his hand. You can get some idea of how big a place is by how well you can hear the bell when a pull-rope is pulled, and that time I didn’t hear anything at all. I looked around the room. It was small, considering the size of the manor, the size of Dragaerans, and the tendency of aristocrats to make everything four times as big as it needs to be. Next to the hearth was a door, and on the opposite wall was a portrait that was almost certainly a younger Zhayin. There were also several framed certificates: one from the Oldcastle School of Design saying he was an honorary professor, another something about an award that mentioned the Silver Exchange, another showing that he had been graduated from Pamlar University. Presumably this was his room, and he liked being watched over by himself. At one time, I’d wanted to buy a castle, but I don’t think I’d have gone so far as to sit around with a portrait of myself. From his expression in the painting, he hadn’t been noticeably more cheerful when he was younger. I also, just in passing, noted which pieces of furniture I could throw, what tables might be overturned, and how much room I’d have to maneuver if things got interesting. One of the tables contained a clear glass bottle that, from the color of the liquid inside, looked like it might have contained alcoholic tincture of murchin, which I only noted for its possible use as a projectile; Zhayin’s addiction wasn’t my concern. I relaxed and waited.