Weasel Presents (10 page)

“Really?” Jerish arched an eyebrow. “Surely you can afford to pay them for another hour.”

“Delightful, that sense of humor,” Helfer said. “Never gets old. Pity it isn’t funny.”

“Funny to me,” Jerish said. “You just need to get a different perspective.” He went back to copying papers.

“Mm, I like mine.” Helfer paced back and forth. “So what’s going on, anyway? He didn’t say.”

Jerish shrugged. “No idea.”

“Well, where’s Alister gone off to? I’ll just find him.”

Jerish lifted his head. “I’m sure he’ll be back pretty soon.”

“Come on,” Helfer said. “He went off to meet with Villutian, right? Wallen? Mynoch? Ah,” he said as Jerish’s ears flicked, “it was Mynoch, wasn’t it?”

“Look.” Jerish put down his quill. “Just sit still for five minutes and wait for him to get back.”

“I know where Lord Mynoch is this time of day,” Helfer said. “I’ll just pop over there.”

The mouse gave a disgusted snort and lowered his head again. “Told him if he weren’t here, you wouldn’t stay.”

Helfer grinned and padded quickly out to the corridor, turning toward the Wolf stair and the music room where Lord Mynoch spent his mornings. Despite lacking any sense of pitch or tone, the old stag loved music. It had become common knowledge that right after breakfast, the music room was to be avoided if one had any compunctions about hearing lovely ballads hopelessly mangled.

At the head of the stair, he stopped and shrank back. There was that familiar voice again, not laughing, but shrilly cheerful, just far enough away that he couldn’t make out the words. Dereath was talking to someone, climbing the staircase, and if Helfer walked out onto it, he’d be in plain sight. He chewed his lip. If he skipped around to the next stair, he’d be close to Volle’s chambers again and could see whether the fox was up; anything Dereath was doing was likely to be of interest to him as well. But he’d be further from Mynoch, and Alister would be more irritated if he had to hunt him down again. Thus far, Helfer had avoided getting on the Steward’s bad side, because that meant worse food and worse seating at palace functions. Maybe he should just wait back in the office, especially if Dereath were coming up the stairs--he’d no wish to be spotted by the rat, who was getting closer still.

3

He’d never been one to waste too much time on decisions. An open door across the hall from him beckoned; quickly, he slipped inside and pressed himself to the wall next to the door, listening. Dereath had indeed been coming up to the stairs, and to this floor: he heard the rat’s cheerful voice, but as they passed within feet of his hiding place, not only did the words come into focus, but also a strain below the tone.

“I’m confident that I’ll be proven right, of course,” the rat was saying. “It’s just a few minor details need to be cleared up. And the important part is that that pompous ass is going to have to admit I’m right. All these years...” His voice was whiny at the best of times, but now, Helfer thought, it carried an additional whine that sounded as though he wasn’t quite as confident as he was saying. Or maybe that was just something Helfer guessed from his years of experience with the rat.

His companion gave a sympathetic murmur, and Helfer caught a quick whiff of scent that identified him as Gorrick, a short, pudgy grey fox whose father, Lord Wilkyre, was reportedly too ill to live in the palace. Gorrick had earned the nickname “Whore-ick” among the nobility for his reputation for seducing anyone of either sex who caught his eye. Helfer had personally had the rather unpleasant experience of the young fox’s paw being shoved down his trousers to grope his sheath at a small state dinner. A well-placed fork to the forearm had reinforced the message that the weasel’s pants were invitation-only, but rather than looking ashamed or proud of himself, Gorrick had just blinked bemusedly as though he couldn’t realize why anyone wouldn’t want his sheath groped, and gone on with his meal, his arm bleeding through to his torn shirt.

No question what Dereath was doing with him, Helfer thought. The rat was opportunistic at everything, including sex, and had no doubt spent the night with him. The resulting image made him squeeze his eyes shut and try to imagine Norville’s pretty behind again. By the time he’d done that, the pair were past him and the stair was clear. Poking his head outside, he made sure nobody was looking and then bounced on the balls of his feet to the top of the staircase, elated at having avoided the unpleasant rat and his lecherous companion.

Since kithood, he’d been able to take the stairs two at a time without touching the banisters, and he still took a childlike glee in bounding down to the horrified looks of any of the old lardbuckets trudging up. Today that joy was doubled by the pent-up energy he hadn’t spent on his run, bringing him to a breathless, skidding halt in the great hall. He spun around the post with its white wolf’s head and waved to two footservants carrying laundry down to the basement before padding quickly into the north wing.

The morning was truly under way now, the palace waking up. In the game room, he saw two bears, Lords Boursin and Alacris, playing chess, and before he even rounded the corner to the music room, he could hear the painful flailings of Lord Mynoch on the harpsichord.

That probably meant that the steward was not, in fact, there with him. Helfer paused, reviewing his conversation with Jerish and realizing that at no point had the mouse ever actually said that Alister was down here. Helfer had only thought of Mynoch because he knew from talking to Jerish that the old stag, despite his atrocious musical ability, had a keen sense of decorum and politics, and Alister made time for him more than any other Lord. To confirm his suspicion, he peeked his head around the corner of the music room, and sure enough, the old stag was sitting alone in the music room, pounding away at the keys of the battered instrument. As Helfer watched, he began to bellow, “She was a doe of beauty rare / Her breath as sweet as summer air” so far off key that the weasel turned and fled with his paws over his ears.

Grumbling, Helfer realized he didn’t have much choice but to return to Alister’s office. He jogged up the stairs, feeling that at least he’d have gotten his run for the day in, and walked back down the hallway he was getting heartily sick of seeing. He had important things to be doing: investigating the local pubs for ales and meads and cute behinds, napping in the late summer sun, deciding on a new set of clothes for the next state dinner, and so forth.

The pleasant litany of things he could otherwise be doing was brought to a screeching halt outside the steward’s door, where he heard Jerish talking to someone. “He was here before. I don’t know where he is now.”

Instinct brought Helfer up short, heart pounding. He knew that the next voice he was going to hear was Dereath’s, though he couldn’t have said how, because he could smell nothing but Alister’s scent all over this section of hallway. One paw pressed to the chilly stone wall, he waited, praying to Weasel to be proven wrong.

On this occasion, his Ancestor turned a deaf ear. “He can’t be that hard to find,” the rat’s voice snapped. “As the first name on the list, I would have expected the Royal Steward to be more assiduous in attempting to locate him.”

“He
did
locate him,” Jerish said, adding “sir” as what seemed like an afterthought. “But you know how he is. He left again.”

There could be little doubt they were talking about him. Helfer turned and padded as quietly as he could down the hallway, into the room he’d hidden in earlier. He eased the door closed and took a good look around for the first time.

Facing west, the room had been dim half an hour ago and was barely lighter now. It was not one of the more desirable offices in this part of the palace, which explained its vacancy. The large oak desk in the corner, the three chairs (one overturned and broken), and the side table shoved into one corner all bore thick coats of dust. Even the portrait of King Barris looked aged, as though the King himself were older, the paint faded.

Helfer padded to the window to see whether he could escape that way; some of the second floor offices were near trees. As a cub, he’d slipped out of his friend Dewry’s room that way more than once. Alas, the trees were closer to Dewry’s old window than to these; the closest tree he could see was twenty feet away, beyond even his adult leaping ability. He turned back to the door, kicking up clouds of dust that tickled his nose. Too late, he stopped, crammed a paw to his muzzle, and tried to hold back the sneeze that had begun to build.

“Ah...Mmmmmmf...Ahhhh...”

He managed to contain it mostly, though the sensation of the spasm backing down into his throat was quite unpleasant. Shaking his head, eyes watering, he looked up into the eyes of Lord Alister, who was holding out a handkerchief. The coyote eased the office door closed behind him with the other paw.

“Smelled you on the frame,” he said shortly. “Go on, take it.”

Helfer took the handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. “This dust,” he said, glancing at the closed door and then back at Alister. He returned the handkerchief. “What’s going on?”

“Well,” Alister said, “there’s been a little trouble, and I wanted to talk to you in private before he got a chance to.”

“He who?”

“Do you know where Lord Vinton might be today?”

Helfer laughed. “Sure. He’s in his chambers getting cleaned up.” He winked at the coyote.

Alister frowned. “He wasn’t there earlier this morning. His servant came to ask what happened to him.”

“Well, maybe he spent the night outside the palace. And just got back in time for some fun in the morning.”

The coyote rocked back and forth on his feet, rubbing his whiskers. “Are you sure you heard him? You heard his voice?”

“Well, no. But who else would have been in his chambers?” It was occurring to Helfer that even if Volle had spent the night outside, he wouldn’t have been late back to the morning run. And Welcis would have known where his master was. He was nearly as good about that as Caresh was.

“Where might he have spent the night?” Alister leaned in.

“Why?” Helfer leaned back, suddenly worried.

Alister’s nose twitched. He took a breath. “Because I like him,” he said. “Now, where might he have spent the night, if not here?”

4

“I really don’t know,” Helfer said. “Honest.”

Alister pressed a paw to his head. “Who else would know, if not you?”

“What about his wife’s family?”

“I wasn’t aware he spent any time with them, since Lady Vinton is living down south.”

“That’s probably right,” Helfer conceded.

“You’re sure you don’t have any idea? Anyone else who might have a thought?”

“I--I don’t know.” He did have an idea, though he wasn’t about to share it with Alister. “Listen, can I go now?”

The coyote shook his head. “No, he’s going to want to ask you the same questions, no doubt. Though I should warn you he’s not going to have any patience with that answer.”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Helfer was afraid he already knew, but he had to ask nonetheless.

“Talison, of course.” Alister’s eyes showed the disdain his neutral tone did not. “Come on back to my office. He said he’d wait there for you.”

“Well,” Helfer said, holding up his paws, “love to, but you know, I have a really full day ahead of me, so if
you’re
finished with me, I think I’ll go get started on it.”

Alister opened his muzzle and then snapped it shut. His eyes met Helfer’s and then he grinned, a wide startling expression that Helfer couldn’t recall ever seeing on the coyote before. “Well, Lord Ikling,” he said, “perhaps you should go get started on your day. I daresay if Lord Fardew requires anything of you, he’ll summon you himself.”

“I daresay,” Helfer said, returning the grin.

He watched Alister leave the room and heard the coyote’s voice proclaiming loudly, “Mister Talison. Lord Ikling has informed me that he is on his way.” A nice touch, Helfer thought as he sidled down the Wolf stairs. Matching the two titles up like that subtly informed the rat that he had no real authority to order Helfer around.

“Better than I’d do,” he murmured to himself. “I’d just ignore him.” It occurred to him that that was exactly what he was doing, and that thought cheered him considerably.

He considered stopping by his chambers again to tell Caresh where he was going, but the chance that Dereath would be there or would have sent someone there to look for him was enough to send him directly to the palace exit.

“Morning!” He waved to the same guard who had admitted him. The badger looked startled only for a moment and then grinned, waving back as Helfer jogged directly out into the street.

Amazing how the place had changed in just an hour or two. The street he’d sauntered down after his fun with Norville was now packed with servants running errands, tradespeople laden with goods heading for market, and any number of less identifiable people making their way through the stream of traffic. Helfer took off in the opposite direction from the Lonely Cock, keeping his purse in one paw for protection.

He rarely came down this way, but since he was leaving the palace to avoid Dereath anyway, he thought he might as well see if he could run into Volle. He was starting to get a little bit worried about what the fox might have gotten himself into. He shared Helfer’s love for adventure but without the common sense to realize where it was appropriate, sometimes. Helfer recalled the scene in the garden when they’d first met the cougar soldier, and laughed to himself at how blasé the fox had been about it, afterwards. Of course, he’d tried to match the attitude, marveling all the while that Volle had been so unconcerned about something Helfer, for all his daring, had never tried.

For the most part, when the two of them went out, they went to the Jackal’s Staff or the Lonely Cock. But Helfer knew Volle had a tavern he enjoyed frequenting, and the tavern offered rooms and a particular other attraction that was not really to Helfer’s personal tastes. Besides which, they didn’t serve Vellenland mead, so he never had another reason to visit.