Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

"Sir Liam! I thought you would not come! Lares, hot wine for us, when we go in." The servant bowed and retreated. Lady Necquer returned her gaze to the sea, and Liam looked at her.

"Hard and cruel to look on," she murmured, stepping away from her chair to the stone balustrade. The wind tugged at her heavy cloak. Liam pressed his books and maps firmly beneath his arm, and felt compelled to speak, as though she had invited comment.

"Yes, it is, but at peace the sea can be the most beautiful thing in the world."

She shifted her gaze to look curiously at him.

"I spoke not of the sea, Sir Liam. Those—" She gestured vaguely towards the Teeth, and then suddenly shivered. "It grows cold. Come, let's in." She led the way, shuddering, into the house. Liam followed.

In a parlor on the second floor, with coals glowing in the small grate, the same servant brought them mulled wine. Lady Necquer removed her wool cloak, showing a highnecked gown with full skirts, completely unrevealing in the fullness of its dyed purple pleats and folds. Her moodiness was gone, and she smiled at him.

"You must forgive my distraction, Sir Liam. The cold days like me not. I grow foolish, and I sorely doubted your coming. You wronged me not to come yesterday. I placed much on it." She faltered, and then went on in a different tone. "But I see you've brought books and charts; come, begin your discourse, and I'll attend with a ready ear."

Liam took a sip of the mulled wine, and began unfolding his maps.

Rain was pattering against the thick-paned windows long before he thought of the wine again. Charmed by her interest and attentiveness, he spoke for a long while, finding more to tell than he thought he would. He had been a great number of places that were only rumors to her, and many more she had never heard of, and he detailed strange customs and foreign peoples for her, drawn on by her obvious interest. With the maps and the books, he traced some of the long pattern of his wanderings, and barely scratched the surface of what he had seen.

Fascinated as she was, she leaned towards him, and her eyes sparkled as he described wonders from far away. Sometimes he caught the hint of a sweet scent and remembered her beauty, but she maintained a detachment, a sort of sexual neutrality in the way she pored over the maps with him. He could not tell if she was being wise or merely innocent.

He did not speak of half he had seen, and almost none of what he had done. He left out the wars he had fought in; the crimes he had, on occasion, had to commit; the worst of the horrors he had seen were glossed over without comment; but she asked shrewd questions, drawing inferences and connections he had never considered.

The lecture became a conversation, and though her eyes darted fairly often to a sandclock on the sideboard, her interest never flagged. In fact, it seemed that the more the afternoon wore on, the more questions she asked, the harder she tried to prolong their talk.

Finally there came a pause, and Liam relaxed in his chair, giving his attention to his now-cold wine and the sky outside. It was full dark, the drops of rain trickling down the panes, silver and gold with reflected candlelight.

"I think I must go now, madam. It is dark, and I'm sure you must be tired." He did not move, waiting for her response.

She did not speak for a long minute, and when she did, it was not to· excuse him.

"Tell me, Sir Liam, in your travels, have you ever seen a mirror of the Teeth?" The question came from far away, and she seemed to have relapsed into her earlier depression.

"A mirror of the Teeth?" It was the question that put him off, but she presumed it was her dialect.

"Their semblance, I mean. Anything like them."

"Well, I have seen shoals and reefs of great size, and some coastlines almost as rocky as Southwark's, but nothing as impressive as the Teeth, no."

"Impressive?" she echoed, and it was almost a hiss. "Say rather murderous, or Dark—anything but impressive!"

Her eyes were wide and deep with anger, and her cheeks flushed. Liam stood up hastily.

"It is late. I believe I should go, madam."

Lady Necquer's anger disappeared, and she sank back in her chair, deflated.

"It would be well, I suppose, Sir Liam." She stood wearily, as though it were an effort. "I should invite you to dine, but with my lord gone, it would not be seemly." She ventured a wan smile.

"Will he be long in Warinsford?" Liam inquired politely. "He returns in two days, ere Uris-tide. I anticipate his return eagerly.'.' The smile grew more natural.

"As do we all, I'm sure. Goodnight, madam."

She followed him to the stairs, thanking him for entertaining her.

"A most gentle discourse, Sir Liam, and one I would gladly repeat. Perhaps—" She stopped high on the steps, her smile draining away. From the hall came the sound of voices, the servant's polite husk and another, smooth and refined, but angry:

"I tell you, man, I've an appointment with the lady!" Lady Necquer clutched Liam's arm.

"Relay to Lares that I am sudden sick, if you would," she whispered, and then continued, more fiercely. "And please, Sir Liam, return tomorrow!" He began to equivocate, but she pressed his arm. "Please!"

He took a deep breath and nodded once. She turned and fled back into her parlor. With another breath and a bemused shake of his head, Liam descended to the hall.

The handsome young man who had fled Necquer's party stood in the doorway, glaring down at the servant. A rainstained cloak mantled his broad shoulders, dripping water on the wooden boards. With an arrogant flip of his head he looked Liam over, and dismissed him by raking a hand through his sodden mane. He returned his