Chapter 369 - 369: Aired Rooms

Count Blade's hands were around the flask, not the bottle, which was the first ordinary thing he had done since noon.

"The sentry is still in the yard, Cynthia has him, he is trying very hard to be useful now that he has been shouted at, I would not call that honesty yet but it is closer than smiling."

Rigel did not sit.

"Private rooms, say exactly what he asked, not the version you cleaned for a report."

Blade's mouth pulled, iron without the lining for the moment.

"He asked if the rooms set aside for you had been aired, then he asked if the inner latch on the old royal bedchamber still stuck in damp weather, then he laughed and said of course it would, war or no war, wood remembers weather, and the sentry thought that was small talk from a man who had sold cloth here before the flag changed."

Cynthia came in with the sentry by the sleeve and let go only when the man was inside the door.

The sentry looked like he wanted a wall to stand against and did not deserve one.

"I should have stopped him at the second question, I know that now, at the time it sounded like a merchant who had slept in the castle as a guest years back, we did have those, the old court bought fabric by the wagon, I thought he was being familiar, I thought familiarity was harmless if the cart was leaving."

Rigel stared at him until the man had to keep talking or drown.

"He came back without the cart after dark, I asked where the load had gone, he said the quarry road was bad and he had stored it with a cousin, I did not ask the cousin's name, I opened the postern because Count Blade's seal had been on him at noon and I am not paid to invent new rules after sunset."

Cynthia's voice came in longer than a snap, anger finding clauses.

"You are paid to notice when a man returns lighter than he left and wants to know whether a bedchamber latch sticks, that is not fabric, that is a floor plan with manners on it."

The sentry nodded too many times.

"Yes, Lady, yes, I have been standing in the yard telling myself that, if I may say one more thing without being cut, he asked the last question looking at the north tower, not at me, as if the stone might answer first."

Rigel turned back to Blade.

"Which room did they actually give me."

"The old king's annex, not the throne suite, I am not sentimental enough to put you in a dead man's show room and I am not stupid enough to put you over the archive after today, the annex has one door, one window, a latch that does stick when it rains, and a servant passage I had Calden brick on paper last winter, whether the brick exists in the wall is now a question I want answered with a hammer."

Calden, from the hall, spoke without coming in, which Rigel decided to allow.

"The requisition for brick was written, the work order was signed, the crew that should have done it was pulled to the west corridor after the fighting last week, so the paper is braver than the masonry."

Erna's voice carried from somewhere behind Calden, already back among tools, already refusing to be a guest.

"Then I am taking two men who still swear like people and I am opening that wall, if I find a hollow I will shout, if I find a child I will shout louder, do not send me a noble to supervise unless he can hold a chisel."

Rigel left the sentry to Cynthia and went.

The annex smelled shut.

Not aired.

Someone had said the word anyway, which meant the word had been the point.

Erna rapped along the inner panel until the sound went false, then she did not look at Rigel for permission, she put the chisel in and cracked plaster.

A dark seam showed.

Old servant width.

The brick that should have been there was a single facing layer, pretty from the room side, empty behind.

She stood back, breathing through her nose.

"This has been used since the plaster dried, see the rub, shoulder height, and lower, child height, and that pale smear is the same filth from the miller's floor, I am not putting my head in, I already applied for that job today and I was not paid enough."

Rigel took the lamp and held it to the seam without stepping through.

The passage ran toward the north wing and down.

Flour-smell moved on the draft like it had been waiting for the wall to be honest.

From the dark, not close, not far, a man spoke with a merchant's courtesy.

"You need not bring tools, my lord, the room is aired now, I only wanted to know if you preferred the latch stuck or oiled before you slept, guests should be asked, it is the least a house can do."

Erna swore under her breath and put the chisel between herself and the seam.

Rigel answered the dark in a full line, because short ones had been getting copied.

"If you are still in my wall you will come out where I can see your hands, if you are only a mouth you can stop offering hospitality from a passage that was ordered closed, and if you have a cart cousin in the quarry you can give the name before I send men to break the cousin instead."

A small pause, almost embarrassed.

"The cousin was a convenience, the cart is in the hills, the load was never cloth, and I will not come out while your craftsman is holding iron, she has already refused a fair wage once today, I find that unsettling in a professional."

Erna laughed, ugly, tired.

"Good, be unsettled, stay in the hole and choke, I am bricking this from my side even if I have to sleep against it."

Footsteps retreated in the wall, unhurried, two weights again, adult and lighter, and the lamp flame bent after them.

Cynthia arrived at a run, stopped in the ruined plaster, and took in the hollow with one look.

"Father's paper brick, of course, and Pell is quiet, which I hate, and the courier has started to ask whether this room's window faces the same way as the Marquis's study at home, Calden hit him, not hard enough in my opinion."

Rigel shut the annex door, not that a door mattered much now.

"We do not sleep in this room, we do not brick only this seam, Erna marks every false panel on this floor before dark, Cynthia keeps Blade talking in his own sentences, and if the merchant wants me to choose a latch he can wait until I choose a throat I am willing to cut."

From inside the wall, fading, the courtesy came back one last time, almost kind,

"Ask the little one about the bird tonight, maker, if she still looks at it, the stitch is holding, if she does not, someone else is already holding her face."