Page 16 of Elvenbred

He gave her a thin smile, the one he’d practiced … one part menace and one part understated humor. “It’s relevant because I too have secrets I wish to keep. This is a very delicate matter, and I can’t afford tale-tellers, so best establish early on where we stand. You hurt me, I retaliate with what I know about you. Understand?”

“I understand you perfectly,” she replied tightly. She was angry, but controlling it well. He admired her control, the sort that Andaleisia could never manage, flitting as she did between mousy compliance and angry tirades. Nora was attractive in a way that Andaleisia was not, young and pert, and her prior occupation got the male part of his brain going down paths that were rather distracting at the moment.

“And so,” she said, as the silence built, “you need me, badly enough to have me excused from my posting and cornered here, for some kind of dubious task that you assure me is completely legal, but which you’ll nonetheless blackmail me into staying quiet about.” She gave him an expression that looked half smile, half grimace. “Does that about sum it up?”

He glanced at his alarms again. His next words would incriminate him, if this all went badly, and there turned out to be a record. His office had been well protected, shielded from all known forms of magical listening, clairvoyance, and other remote sensing. She would have to be wearing something. No blinks, no lights. No ambient. No record. Just her word against his … and his money.

“More or less,” he replied. “But we style terms first. Once you are under contract, then details.”

He saw her chew through the implications, then stand. “If you brought me here as your concubine, then good day.”

He smiled. “No, it’s a different job. But, terms first.”

She took a deep breath. He guessed he was not the only one rehearsing his lines. “Given the risk, the time, and the remainder of the contract I had, I want three months guaranteed work. Four full months rations … that is, sixteen full eight-days …. One hundred twenty-eight full ration bars to … to start. In advance. That way if I get into this, I won’t have to worry about being forgotten when it’s time to draw my ration later.” She paused, ticking through a mental list. This part he could read like a book. “I’ll want an eight-day at a time after that, and two eight-days rations if I’m to be dismissed without notice.” Her eyes studied his face, trying to gauge his reaction. “I want a room of my own, not in a dormitory. I want a room commensurate with the status of a teacher. I want new gowns, unders, and shoes, most of mine have been worn for more than five years. I want access to the same library your wife uses, in my free time. Every eighth day off. And a door with a stout lock. A bolt I can draw.”

He didn’t even pretend to bargain. Let her think she left rations on the table. “That’s quite a list. Done.”

She blinked at that, clearly expecting to haggle.

“What’s more, if you exceed my expectations, there will be additional rewards.” He could hear his wife now; You catch more vermin with sweet bait than chasing them around the room with clubs. Should he? Well, why not. She was pleasant to look at, and his wife might enjoy her company—which would free him of some of the need to cosset her. “And if you exceed my expectations by a great deal, there will be a permanent place in my household as first lady in waiting for my wife, which will include the first degree of ennobling, a private suite, and food from our table.”

Nora’s expression wavered, a mix of hope and skepticism. This would be the sort of security that no one from her birth-class ever saw. He smiled to himself. The long-term promises would bind her in more than the ration coupons, would draw her into throwing her lot in with him, and protecting his interests. Amazing what a few well-chosen words could do … a vague promise of a place at his table tomorrow. She would have to deliver her part up front, well before it became his turn to reply.

He watched her head come up, and she gave him a wary look as she drew the second conclusion from his offer … ennoblement, dresses, a private room … a lady in waiting. Well, there were different kinds of waiting a lady could do … such as waiting for the ladywife to go to sleep, before the lord made his visit. It wasn’t really what Haldeen had been offering, but Nora was attractive, and by then, who knew how cold his wife’s bed might be? Best to keep his options open. He watched as she worked through the implications. She didn’t look pleased by the thought, but after the initial skittishness … she hadn’t bolted either.

He placed the small writing table where she could sign … normally a servant’s task … but a few small inconveniences to ensure there were no witnesses. She read the contract carefully, twice over, then dipped the pen in the inkwell, and began writing in a neat and firm hand. He leaned around to see what she added. Every damned thing he’d promised on the spur of the moment … the cursed woman had an excellent memory.

On the one hand that meant that he was not going to be able to trick her. On the other—it meant that, on the surface at least—she was going to be perfect for the job, Provided at least that she could get the subject … it … to trust her. One less thing to worry about.

Nora finished writing, blew on the ink to dry it, then turned it around for him to review. He nodded, and she signed, adding a small flourish. He quickly scrawled his own name, then let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He caught a light whiff of perfume. Something light and floral.

He took the leather folder from the desk and began counting ration coupons.

“One hundred twenty-eight,” he said.

He handed them to her. She counted them again, for good measure, something left him feeling both irritated and unsurprised. He used a whisper of magic to melt the wax, then pressed his seal down onto the contract, making it binding.

“My copy to register?” she said.

He swore inwardly. He had not counted on this. The prose and terms very quickly departed from those of a standard services contract. The drafting made the legalese dense as lead, but a talented legal mind would be able to parse and infer what she was doing for him. Eyebrows would go up if it was read too closely, and he was certainly outside of his authority. Best to be innocuous and obscure. Just another skilled trades contract. Routine. Nothing to see here.

He shrugged. He set the contract next to a blank sheet, and began the incantations to bind the one to the other. He’d forgotten about the alarms, and they blinked as the ambient magic flowed, making each a perfect copy of the other. He started to roll one up, until she interrupted him.

“Please” she asked, “may I?”

He passed over both copies, and damned if that woman didn’t read every word of both, making sure they were perfect matches.

When she was done, he rolled up one copy with an air of nonchalance he didn’t feel. He gave the copy to her with a little bow. He meant the gesture to be sardonic, a trifle to indulge a subordinate.

“All right,” she said, “that’s done. Now, just what have I gotten myself into?”

He took a deep breath. He and Andaleisia had discussed how to handle this. It had been his idea to bury the awkward parts under the thick coating of pure and undiluted balderdash. She advised him to stick to the truth as much as possible. Less to remember that way.

“You may not be old enough to remember when I was tasked with creating a Gate to another world?” he said, making it a question.

She nodded. “I was a child, but yes. And if I recall, it worked, but the city was—Aubergine?”

He nodded in turn.