Sons (Book 2) (144 page)

“Are those howitzers?” I asked Tom.  He leaned against the frame of the doorway into the second storeroom.  The brownie on his shoulder, Anselt, made him seem taller.

“Yes, sir, they certainly are,” Tom answered slowly, staring intently at something deep in the room.  “There it is.  Anselt?”  The brownie leapt into a flip onto the floor and ran in the direction Tom stared off at.  “Sorry, Seth, but the boys misplaced a fuse and I haven’t had a chance to look over everything.”  He grinned slyly at me.  “We had a lot of people moving a lot of cargo rapidly.  For a first time, only misplacing a fuse is very good, I think.”

Anselt ran to us holding up a short yellow tube to Tom.  “Armorer,” he said, quietly with his eyes cast down.

“Thank you, Anselt,” Tom said, taking the fuse.  He encased it in a thin layer of protective energy, raised lettering on a side marking its purpose.  “Why the long face, Anselt?  And why are you being rude to Lord Daybreak?”

“I apologize, Armorer, but I would not dare speak to Lord Daybreak before you have given your punishment for our failure,” Anselt said meekly.  Tom glanced quickly at the fuse in his hand.

“Anselt, this was their failure, not ours,” Tom said calmly.  “We did very well.”

“Yes, I’d say so,” I agreed, watching the brownie perk up with surprise at the dual praise.  “After all, it was the first run I’ve been on where someone wasn’t hurt.  I’m quite pleased.”  Tom smiled.  Anselt looked at me confused, so I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.  “Anselt, y’all have got to realize that you aren’t back there anymore.  You aren’t the whipping boys anymore and jobs aren’t all or nothing.  Quit
expecting
to be punished until you have done something worthy of punishment, something that would actually make me mad at you.  Now, little one, do you think you would do something intentionally to make me mad at you?”

“No, Lord!  I couldn’t!  I just couldn’t!” Anselt whispered hoarsely, appalled by the concept before it reached the geas-level of his consciousness.

“I didn’t believe so, Anselt, so relax,” I said soothingly, opening a communion link with him.  His anxiety rushed through the link until it was a mere trickle and I was able to ease the understanding and concern he needed back down the pipe.  “Anselt, the faery of Gilán are still learning how to cope with a human master and I am very much still learning.  As I complete the bond with Gilán, I see such wondrous creatures, so full of life and possibilities, and I understand much of your nature.  But the image of man that you have is… well, we are alien to one another and your image has been corrupted by the elves.  It’s gonna take some time to adjust.  I had a similar conversation with Zero earlier.  A mistake isn’t a failure.  Life isn’t that black and white.  And as the Armorer has pointed out, this wasn’t your mistake and I plan to take his word for it.”

Anselt was a young brownie, still lithe from teenhood.  He had thick black hair surrounding a round, child-like face with huge dark eyes, ringed in my color.  I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair, cupping his head affectionately.  It almost felt condescending, like I was treating him as a pet, but I banished the thought.  He was a child in my care, sort of.  In a really weird way.  He smiled and nuzzled my hand slightly.

“There is a saying where I come from,” I said,  glancing up at Tom.  He was still confused but letting me do my job.  I leaned over conspiratorially, dropping my hand to his shoulder.  “‘Shit rolls downhill.’  There’s likely more truth to it than I can avoid, but I’ll try my best to stop it and put it where it belongs instead of blaming an arbitrary group, unless there’s complicity involved.”

“Truly, Lord?” Anselt asked with wide-eyed excitement.

“Truly, Anselt,” I said, pushing up off the floor.  “I’ve said this before, every life has value here.  And yes, you can tell anyone you want.  Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m heading for bed.  It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, yes, of course, Seth,” Tom said.  “We’ll have reports ready at your leisure, Lord.  Good night.”

“Good night, Lord Daybreak!” chirped Anselt happily.

As I walked down the hall, I heard Tom whisper, “What was that all about?”

“Which part, sir?” Anselt whispered back.  “He said so much!  Our Lord is amazing.”

And here I thought I said a bunch of nothing.  Just goes to show what I know.  Sort of like that image of my bed forming a few feet away…  It even felt like my bed when I fell into it.

“Should we wake him up?” one high-pitched voice whispered.

“I don’t think we should,” whispered a second.  “Master Ellorn doesn’t seem worried about him.”

“But he always rises with the sun,” the first one objected.  “We watched the Daybreak communion from here, but he went back to bed.  Could he be ill?”

“The Lord of Gilán?  No!  Don’t suggest it!” the second whispered in shocked horror.  “He promised Anselt just last night that he’d not hold an entire clan accountable for one’s mistake or even a failure.  Can you believe that?  The
Sidhe
would never be that merciful.”

“No, that they would not,” the first agreed.  “We have found a great Lord and I want to serve him well.  It’s been nearly three hours since dawn.  Should we summon Ellorn?  Or maybe one of his brothers?”

They really weren’t that loud.  There was a breeze on the south side that rustled the ferns louder.  I was just waking up and they had to be Gibson and Guitar.  I imagine they had a loose relationship with a number of brownies and possibly
huri
with names of musical instruments and famous makers.  Thoughts of copyright infringement danced in my mind, but I hoped that being a world away would keep that at bay.

“Master Ellorn said this job would be easier than we imagine, but this is nerve-wracking,” the second voice complained.  He sounded like he was pacing.  He stopped and sighed.  “Anselt.  Guitar, I think we’re thinking about this wrongly.  Remember what else Anselt said.  If we are worried that he might be ill, then we should check.  Daybreak will understand if nothing is wrong and we can probably tell without waking him.  He is not him.”  Grammatically, that made no sense to an eavesdropper, but I understood: I wasn’t MacNamara.  As quick as it seemed to come through Anselt, it truly was gonna take a long, long while to seep through to the entire population.  In the end, it would be worth it.

A tiny head appeared slowly around the edge of the doorframe to my den.  “Good morning, guys.  You can come in.”

They both rushed forward and jumped to the end of the bed, stopping so hard I swear they vibrated in place.  Their misplaced anxiety replaced by relief and exuberance to work, they both smiled hugely from identical faces with bright green eyes.  At sixteen and a half inches tall, they were a little short of average for height and currently wore matching Gilán-blue tails with sky-blue embroidery and bright yellow shirts with fiery red bow-ties.

“Good morning, Lord Daybreak!” they said in singsong.  I never saw their lips move, so I have no idea how they did it.  Then they both bowed at their waist down all the way to the sheets and held it there.

“Okay, enough of that,” I said with a chuckle.  “I can only take so much adoration before it begins to rub me the wrong way.  Come on up here and let’s get acquainted, then.  Let’s start with the obvious question, any musical talent?”  The pair hopped up from their bow, stepping forward quickly across the expanse to stand right beside me.  There had to be words stronger than “cute” and “adorable,” but at that moment I couldn’t think of them.

“We’ve tried several instruments, Lord Daybreak,” Gibson said on the right side.  He’d been the first whisperer.  “Our size makes most instruments unsuitable, so we sing with the choirs when time permits.”

“In time, perhaps we can make something, a flute or whistle, that we can play,” Guitar chirped hopefully.  “Our namesakes’ are definitely out of our reaches.”

“Yeah, I imagine it wouldn’t be fun to play something that comparatively big,” I agreed.  “I can’t play anything either, but sooner or later, I imagine I’ll take something up.  There’s so much music all around us that I won’t be able to resist.  Are these monkey suits your choice or did someone foist a uniform on you?”

“You don’t like them?” Guitar asked, his feelings crushed.

“No, I didn’t say that,” I backpedaled.  “I love the colors and the embroidery is beautiful.  It just seems too much just to take care of me.  I really don’t need that much and I’d prefer this room be more casual for the most part.”

“Certainly, Lord Daybreak, more casual,” Gibson said, nodding but with a dull look in his eyes.  “We can do more casual, Lord.”

“Don’t fret too much over it, Gibson.  Just give it some time and you’ll grow to understand me a little better.  It took Ellorn awhile and he had the Palace’s magic to help him.  Just relax, I’m easy.”  I stretched back over the pillows behind me, upsetting their balance a bit.  “So what do y’all do?”

“Lord Daybreak, we are your valets,” Guitar explained, still smiling broadly.  “We see to your every need and whim within your sanctum, from bathing and dressing to entertaining guests to seeing that the floors are swept.”

“That can be a big job for two people,” I said, casting my glance about the rafters.  “This is a huge room to clean.”

“We have help when we need it, Lord Daybreak,” Gibson said.

“Let’s try something else that I know is going to take a long time,” I said, sitting up.  Awake now and full of energy, it was time to get moving.  The day was already three hours old.  “Let’s try another casual move.  When we’re alone in here or it’s just a group of friends, try to call me ‘Seth.’  Even Ellorn will in here.  So will you try?”

“Yes, Lord, of course,” they chirped together, confused by the request.

“I guess a shower and breakfast are in order.  Can either of you cook?” I asked, scooting passed them to get off the bed.

“Yes, Seth, we both can,” Guitar said happily.  “What would you like for your breakfast?”

Considering it, after years of eating what was put in front of me, followed by almost a year of deciding my every meal, then weeks of basically eating buffet-style, I had no idea what I actually wanted to eat anymore.  “Well, let’s start with simple bacon and eggs.  Maybe some toast or biscuits.  Coffee, definitely coffee.”

“Yes, Seth,” Guitar said smiling.  “It’ll be ready when you’re done with your shower, sir.”  Then the pair shifted away.  They were going to drive me nuts, I was sure, just like the other crew that Ellorn set on me, but I had to trust in what he was doing for now.  I hopped directly down into my bathroom, scratching my head and other various parts, checking the mirror as I passed through to the toilet.  After that bit of necessary business, I went back to brush my teeth and shave.  Gibson stood on the vanity with a straight razor and something resembling a barber’s chair sitting in the floor.

“Ready for your shave, Seth?” he chirped without fear, brandishing the razor high.  I chuckled and fell into the chair, leaning forward to wash my face first.

“Aren’t you afraid of cutting me with a straight-razor?  Wouldn’t you rather work with a safety-razor?” I asked, patting my face dry.

“Is a safety-razor one of those things with the thin strips of steel blades?” Gibson asked, nodding toward a recess in the wall.

“Yep.”

“I think I would cut you to pieces with one of those, but I have practiced with this, Seth.  Don’t worry, sir,” he said confidently.  He picked up a cup and brush combination and hopped over to the chair, to a two-inch runner that followed the armrest all the way round.  Operating some buttons along that channel by standing on them, he stirred the brush in the cup as the chair slowly eased me back.  I figured the chair was probably exquisitely calibrated to me—everything else was—so I relaxed into it and let it put me where Gibson needed me.

“What about a trim?  Can you do that, too, or should I call Shrank again?” I asked, feeling a sort of scaffolding fold around my chest.  Gibson climbed a few steps then out onto the scaffold.

“Certainly, Lord, either of us can,” he said sweetly, starting to brush my face with a warm, rich lather.  “We both spent a week in the barbershop in the Garrison and investigated with great curiosity the grooming habits of man.”  He leaned back on the scaffold while twirling his brush in the cup again.  He kept going smoothly.  “Frankly, we didn’t believe they had any, but this was just as you ordered the humans to talk to the faery.  It seems the barbershop is one of those places where men talk easily and openly.  Often, the shop would flow with both men and brownies talking about experiences and preferences in just about everything.  I was amazed at what I learned about my own people during that time, as well as yours.”

With half my face lathered, Gibson set the cup and brush down and hopped to the counter.  Retrieving the razor and a towel, he was back in less than a second, tails flapping behind him.  He began lifting the lather off my skin with swift, sure movements, as fast at taking it off as putting it on.  Folding the towel, he brushed lightly at some leftover lather.  Exchanging implements, he lathered the other side of my face and started talking again.

“Are you looking for a new style, Lord?” Gibson asked.

“No, just a trim.  Maybe once everything has settled down I’ll consider a change,” I answered.  “For now just take off a half-inch or so.  That’s if we aren’t messing up Guitar’s breakfast.  It can wait until tomorrow.”

“You have all the time you like, Seth,” Gibson said cheerfully, putting the cup down again for the razor.  “Besides, following the same lines as Master Shrank, a trim will only take a few minutes.”  He lifted the lather from my face again with a quickness.  With a light tap of the towel, I heard the brownie running along the railing just before the chair started moving gently.  Gibson was on the counter when I opened my eyes and leaned into the mirror.

“Gibson, you have a very light touch.  Thank you,” I said rubbing my smooth jawline.  “And I probably won’t need another shave until midafternoon tomorrow.”  Gibson’s smile beamed at the praise as he scurried off to get some scissors.  I dunked my head under the tap while his head was in a drawer.  Mentally grabbing a towel from a far rack, I plopped back in the chair drying the excess away.  Gibson hopped back on the arm then stepped on more buttons that caused the scaffolding to lift into place again.

Suddenly Gibson was in my face.  I jerked back, startled, banging my head, then sputtering a laugh at the bewildered Gibson and myself.  “Sorry, bud, I wasn’t watching and, boom, there you were.”

“I will do better, Lord,” Gibson assured me.  I wasn’t certain how he could get better about me paying attention, but that was the right attitude and I didn’t want to discourage it so I didn’t say anything.  He started the task of trimming my hair with a pair of scissors and a comb that looked positively huge in his hands but tiny in comparison to me.  He started slowly at first, flipping each cut-away snippet of hair to the floor and away from my still naked body, working more swiftly with each cut until he reached cartoon speed a quarter way round.  In less than two minutes, he had my hair trimmed and combed perfectly and was eyeing the mirror and me critically before asking my opinion.

“Should we cut our hair equally as short, Lord?” Gibson asked.  Both Gibson and Guitar wore their hair, nearly ash in color, just off their shoulders. 

“No reason to on my account,” I said.  “I think you both look very handsome as you are, but I’d prefer to leave those kinds of decisions up to the individual.  Why?  Do the Queens have rules for appearance?  Is this something I need to be worried about?”

“Yes, indeed, Lord, they have rules for everything,” Gibson answered grimly.  “But this is your domain and your will applies, not theirs.  I just wanted to make certain that we were correctly following your wishes.  The men and women of the Guard endeavored to keep their hair quite short.  We did not know if this was a human habit or one of class distinction.”

I was starting to get hungry now and my butt was sticking to the seat, so it was time to get moving again.  “The Guard is a military unit.  The
Ransé
won’t always be just the Guard, especially since all the women are pregnant, but I’m letting the Commanders set the standards there.  Otherwise I don’t really care how anyone chooses to look, though I hope that everyone has the self-esteem to try to look good.”  Gibson released me from the scaffolding cage with a tap of his foot.  “Remind me to put a towel or something down next time,” I said, easing my butt off the leather seat.  “Thank you, Gibson, you did very well.  It looks good.”

Grabbing my toothbrush, I went to the second sink away from the chair and brushed my teeth, leaving the towel draped over the arm while Gibson put away his tools, happily singing to himself.  The word ‘adorable’ came to mind again as I rinsed.  Heading for the shower, I heard the water start before I got there.  When I stuck my head in, there was Gibson, standing in a soap dish and adjusting the water temperature.  I couldn’t see how he got up there, much less past me and into the shower.  I slipped into the streams merging together, almost purring at the deliciousness of the warm water. 

I took an instant love to my shower, three independently controlled jets that range from a light rainstorm to hurricane force storms.  The showerheads detached to put the power in my hands to put in difficult places.  The indirect lighting gave the non-slip tile a cool yet inviting look and was still bright enough to highlight the benches and insets.  There were a few other hidden faucets I haven’t tried yet.  I didn’t really want to know everything too quickly.

Gibson, already soaking wet in his tuxedo, held out a washcloth with a dollop of soap for me.  Stepping out of the shower streams, I slapped the washcloth to my chest and started building up a rich lather, spreading it over me until it was falling away from its own weight.  I stepped back into the water, blind as I washed my face.  Three jets made fast work of the foam and rinsing the cloth at the convergence of the jets was quick and easy too.  Gibson followed me to the front of the shower where I exchanged the washcloth for a huge, soft towel from the rod.  When I stood before my mirror, I was blotted completely dry, while poor Gibson was still dripping.  With the brownie fast on my heels, I had the mirror leave the water from his clothes behind when we moved to my closet.