Garrett pulls the apple out of his pocket and bites into it as he sits back down at the table. He opens the book that Lilly recommended and peruses the table of contents, trying to determine whether he wants to start from the beginning or read the good parts first. Opting for the good parts, he starts flipping pages, mostly because concentration at this point is impossible. If there are any drawings or portraits in this book, he studies them, looking for resemblances.
After a time, Garrett's mind wanders. Dark, almond eyes and an elusive smile start creeping in and a grin sneaks onto his face. That went better than he expected. Way better. He now has an ally, one who is not likely to run out and spread rumors. One who is among the most dependable cousins here. One who is -- Gods, is she pretty. He shakes himself. "Mind on business, Bailey," he says out loud, trying once again to focus on the book.
He never noticed how young she was before. She couldn't be more than three or four years older than him. Not that much difference. But she could cut you into little pieces before you could even bleed, he reminds himself. Not if I don't give her reason to. He growls at himself. Remember what Dad always says - you screw around with the royals and you get screwed. Garrett never knew Dad was speaking from experience. He'd do well to keep that in mind. It was what got him here in the first place.
Garrett closes the book and goes over to the small table where Lilly got the parchment and ink. He has work to do, or she really will have reason to kill him. He brings the supplies back to the reading table and sits down to compose a note to Lady Folly.
Garrett had always gotten on well with Folly, ever since she arrived around the time of the Sundering. He had just turned thirteen. She had never ridden before, so he had picked out a horse for her and given her a few lessons. The riding lessons had been a welcome distraction for Garrett after the Sundering -- the worst day of his life. The day his grandparents died in the fire and his father was hurt when the stable collapsed. The day the guards ran the badly injured horses through, and burned their bodies in the pyre. The day his childhood ended. He had needed those riding lessons more than Folly had. Over the years, he had come to see her almost like a big sister. They always talked and teased when he was getting Sprite ready for her. Lady Folly had long been Garrett's favorite royal.
He thinks about how to word the note for a long while, wanting to get it right the first time. Parchment is expensive, after all. While he's thinking, he chews the apple down to nothing but seeds and stem. Finally, he writes, in his best handwriting (which still isn't very good):
Lady Folly,
I hope your journy went well. When you get back, could you pleese come see me at the stable? I'm worryed about Sprite. For the last 2 weeks, she hasnt eaten well and has no energy. I've ridden her and tryed to get her to perk up, but nothing works. Its possible she just misses you, but if you could spare an hour or so, I'd like to take her for a short ride with you so I can be shure its nothing more serios.
Thanks,
Garrett B.
Since he has nothing to seal it with, he carefully folds the note so that one end tucks into the other, creases it, then writes "Lady Folly" on the outside. He tucks the note in his pocket (the one without the seeds and stem). Garrett gathers up the books, all but one, opens the door, and starts putting them away.
"Religion," says a voice behind him. "Faith, creed, persuasion - in a very specialised sense of that word. Cult. A perjorative - much in demand by those of an-other per-sua-sion.
"In short, I seek the consolations of moral philosphy ... a study of comparative religions, perhaps several volumes of hagiography providing the Blessed Martyrs all came to sufficiently gory and lovingly detailed ends."
"Huh?" says Garrett, rising from replacing the Jewel Harper book on the bottom shelf.
The tone - clipped on some words, drawling on others - is unmistakable. Lord Lucas, Marquis de St Cyr. Dressed all in cream - a linen suit trimmed with a braiding in candy stripes of pink and white, his dark hair swept to one side to hide his mutilated ear, his glance like that of a starling - quick, dark and penetrating.
"In short," says Lucas, "my quest leads me to ... "
There is a pause and his voice changes.
"Not to you, I think. You are not a librarian's assistant, are you?"
"Uh, no, m'lord. I'm just putting these books away. If you need the room, I'll have it cleaned out in a moment." Garrett nods toward the reading room and quickens his pace.
"Take your time," says Lucas generously, propping himself up against one wall to watch, in a way that doesn't spoil the set of his suit. He is watching Garrett with a faint frown.
"Your face seems familiar," he says presently, "and yet somewhat out of context. I don't associate you with the library ... with books ... "
Almost unconsciously his hand rises to his injured ear.
"We have met before?"
"Many times, m'lord, though I'm trained to be invisible," he says, continuing to shelve the books. "The name's Garrett Bailey. I work at the stables."
Garrett is in his late teens, short and thin, but wiry from years of hard work. His dark-brown, collar-length hair tends to fall into his eyes, which are a bright blue. He's wearing a white shirt with castle livery, black trousers and highly-polished black riding boots.
"Ah!" says Lucas, enlightened. "Yes ... yes, of course. Someone was saying you were just the chap to teach my daughter to ride. Now ... was it Cheval? I fancy it might have been a cousin ... "
"I don't come up here often. Sudden desire to brush up on me history, I guess." He goes back into the room and quickly puts away the writing supplies. He grabs the book that Lilly had recommended and brings it out with him. "There. All set, m'lord....
"It might have been Lady Folly that suggested me. I taught her to ride several years ago, back when she first arrived," says Garrett.
"May I?" says Lucas indolently, holding out a languid hand to take a look at the book.
"Certainly, m'lord," Garrett says as he hands Lucas the book. It is a large volume bound in red with gold lettering. The title is _The Blood of Amber_, written by Orison Dove. "Dame Lilly recommended it. I was looking for something about the Royal Family of Amber, what with all the excitement about the Coronation." Garrett watches him warily, as if he thinks that Lucas might take the book away from him.
"Beg pardon, m'lord, but I thought Lady Hope already had an instructor. I've seen her ride before."
"Cheval has given her a few lessons," says Lucas, leafing through the tome. "He is a little dour ... He communicates better with horses than with children - for which I do not fault him as, after all, I pay him to tend my horses ... You know, this is hardly a Book at Bedtime. It's rather ... dry. Dull. Lilly is a splendid creature, of course, yield to none in my admiratuion for her prowess and all that ... but I don't see her as the type to recommend a good racy yellow-jacketed novella to curl up with.
Garrett's stance becomes just a bit defensive.
"If you're looking for some history, I can recommend a few more enlivening volumes. Annals of Amber is a good one - we're bound to have a copy. Complete with the woodcuts, if you're very lucky. Mind you, I've always thought the actions of the houri Oberon encounters in Chapter 16 are anatomically impossible unless she was a shapeshifter which I suppose - all things considered - one cannot wholly discount."
Garrett's eyebrows go up. Deference or not, his natural good humor can't resist this one. "Lord Lucas!" he says in mock-indignation, "are you trying to corrupt my young mind?" The glint in his eyes and smile on his face are mischievous. "That's hardly the type of material I'd want my daughter's riding instructor devouring on his off-time."
Lucas looks at him in slight surprise.
"Whyever not? After all, I read it."
He closes the volume and hands it back to Garrett.
"Here you go. If you are determined to stay with the dry-as-dust material, this should suit your inclinations admirably. The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee you may wish to omit. It is somewhat too sensational. Even these metallic problems have their melodramatic side."
Garrett doesn't remember seeing anything about falling rupies, whatever those are, but he makes a mental note to look for that chapter. "Thank you, m'lord," he says as he takes back the book and tucks it under his arm.
"Are you available to instruct Hope?"
Garrett thinks quickly. He had hoped to spend his free time doing research. On the other hand, having one more royal brain to pick might not be a bad thing. Nor would being on Lord Lucas's good side once his identity comes out. Garrett knows he needs all the friends, or at least associates, he can get.
Besides, it'll be fun.
"I'd be happy to, m'lord," Garrett says sincerely. "I've seen her ride a few times and she seems to enjoy it. 'Twould be a shame for her to lose interest because of an overly harsh teacher. Are late afternoons a couple times a week all right? I don't get off work until mid-afternoon."
"Well," says Lucas, "if it is by my request, I trust it will become one of your duties - although, I trust, no less a pleasure to you. But it would seem onerous to add this to your usual duties and occupy your no doubt limited leisure."
The drawl suggests someone who possesses infinite amounts of the stuff.
"There will be additional payment," Lucas adds politely - and delicately. "Multifarious terms of opprobrium are levelled at my head, but to my knowledge 'cheapskate' has never been one of them."
Garrett calls on his best poker face to hide how far over his head that just went. He did get the "additional payment" part, though. Times being what they are, he sure can use it. "I haven't given lessons for pay before, m'lord, so I'll have to trust you to determine a fair price. As for the scheduling, you'll have to talk with the horsemasters. They decide on our duties, sir.
"By the way, Lord Lucas, I heard Lady Solace has been ill. Is she feeling better?" he asks with concern. "I'd be happy to give the children horseback rides for an afternoon if she needs to rest."
"Thank you," says Lucas. "I trust she is largely recovered. In fact, if she continues to improve, she will probably be the one to bring Hope to the stables. A gentle hack might be just the thing she needs to aid her recovery ...
"Phillippe, however, is still a little young for riding. Nanny Starch will ensure he receives his fresh air by pushing his perambulator around the terrace."
Garrett laughs. "Don't tell me dad that, m'lord. He had me on a horse by the time I could walk!"
He looks thoughtfully at the tome Garrett still holds. "An interest in history ... I don't suppose this would encompass religious history, would it?"
"No, sir. Me family's never really been religious," says Garrett. "Me grandfather was quite interested in history, though, and used to tell me all about it when I was young. With the recent change of reign, I had the urge to learn more about the new king. I never heard much about him in the old days. I reckon he was so far down the line no one paid him any mind."
"Ah," said Lucas. "A pity. My thoughts were tending towards ... well, never mind. So you want to learn more about the King, eh? Very commendable. And in the old days ... well, he wasn't much in Amber for a long while. Until he came back and tried to kill King Eric. Then he was rather ... erm ... a fixture of the castle."
So that's why he was under guard the first time I met him, thinks Garrett. Garrett had been about eleven, and nearly crashed into Random in the kitchen while running back to the stables with an armload of apples. The Prince had dodged and Garrett, braced for the impact that didn't come, stumbled and dropped the apples all over the floor. While Random helped him retrieve the rolling apples, Garrett had noticed the two Royal Guards, fully armed and on alert, standing nearby. It didn't seem polite to ask why, since Garrett didn't know who the blond stranger was. When he introduced himself as Prince Random, Garrett definitely didn't ask.
Garrett's mind swirls with questions for Lucas. "He tried to kill King Eric?" Garrett asks incredulously. "But, m'lord, that's treason. Why didn't the King execute him?"
"Well, having spared Corwin after the assault on Kolvir, which slew half the army, I think the King felt it might be a touch melodramatic to execute Random of the basis of one poorly aimed potshot," says Lucas. "Although Random kept his eyes - I imagine that was down to his being in unexpectedly high favour with ... "
He breaks off and looks at Garrett thoughtfully. "How much of our history do you know?"
"The thousand-year version or more recent, sir?" Garrett asks with good humor. "On this subject, I know what made its way 'round the servant circles. I knew Prince Random was under house arrest for several years before King Eric's death, but I never knew why. In fact, the first time I met him, down in the kitchens, he was under heavy guard.
"I also heard about the rumors that King Eric wished to marry Queen Moire of Rebma, and that Prince Random's wife was Rebman. Most of those I heard about later, since I was quite young at the time.
"Naturally, I know the parts of our history that I lived through." Garrett uses the word "our" on purpose, but carefully fails to emphasize it. "Prince Corwin and Prince Bleys' assault on the realm, King Eric's coronation, the Black Road battles and Prince Corwin's return, and the Sundering.
"And along with the historical facts, m'lord, I hear the personal rumors that make the rounds, but those are too numerous to mention. And, of course, totally unreliable," he adds with a mischievous grin.
Lucas nods. "Doubtless," he agrees, smiling.
He is watching Garrett thoughtfully, nonetheless.
"Would you be interested in earning money for other things than acting as a riding instructor?" he asks suddenly. "This ... ah ... would be in your own time. It's not remotely connected with the stables."
"That depends, m'lord," Garrett says cautiously. "It's not illegal, is it?"
Lucas' brows lift in faint hauteur. He is clearly not used to being challenged like this by servants.
"That," he says, "as with most things in life, would depend on how you interpret my instructions."
Garrett catches the look and realizes he's overstepped. "I'm sorry, Lord Lucas, I didn't mean to offend. It's just that I'm not aware of any skills other than me work with the horses that might interest you. I'm not well-educated or well-connected, and if it's manual labor you need, there are servants here in the castle as strong as I am." Deferent servitude, deferent servitude, Garrett reminds himself.
"Still, I should not have spoken out of turn. What is it that you need, m'lord?"
"A shrewd mind and a quick curiousity," responds Lucas. "Both of which you seem to possess. Also - an ability to keep a still tongue in your head. You've related castle gossip to me - can you also refrain from gossiping, if you should hold a secret of importance?"
Garrett may have high enough water to be aware that Lucas is probing here, testing. There's no sense that it is hostile, however - mere prudence.
Garrett knows a little something about keeping secrets of importance, but he manages to maintain the poker face. "Lord Lucas, I believe anything specific I've mentioned is old news. As for the rest, I said I hear it. I didn't say what it was. I can keep secrets, sir," he says seriously.
"Good," says Lucas, and motions him to take a seat.
Garrett sits in a chair opposite Lucas.
"Now ... I have it in mind to write a little mongraph on the state of religion in Amber post Sundering. I shall have one of the booksellers bind them ... cream vellum pages, I think, and a calfskin binding ... I suppose it will be too difficult to get manticore with the current situation in Arden, which is a pity, a great pity - for manticore hide always gives a book such a flare, I feel. But no matter, no matter ...
"And the font ... I suspect I shall have to design a font for the printers myself ... they are all obsessed with the Gothic ... and I want something clean and crisp ... I suppose a Gill will be too much to ask ... while as for Garamond italic for the title font ...
"Still. No matter. These are molehills we must surmount of the way to the mountains of creativity. What is pertinent to our discussion is research."
Garrett narrows his eyes, listening.
[Lucas] fixes Garrett with an unwavering eye.
"I'm not tallking about books. I have books a-plenty here. Also pamphlets, leaflets, tracts ... No, I'm talking about fieldwork. Out there in the city, nose to the ground and both ears open - not an attractive image, granted, but a necessary one. I, you see, am Of The Blood and enquiries on my part will attract attention. Similar suspicions might be engendered by the appearance of any of my staff turning up with bright shining morning faces at the mass, or service, or celebration, or reading of the entrails, or mass sacrifice. Whereas you should pass wholly unremarked, especially if you sing - do you sing? I gather it is almost de rigeur in the more enthusiastic forms of worship."
Garrett winces at the mention of "entrails" and "mass sacrifice." This is not something he wants to be involved with.
He looks at Lucas, then at the floor, gnawing on his lip, thinking. Hopefully, he will soon reveal his identity to the King. If he's spotted singing at some ritual sacrifice, there will be no shortage of fellow worshippers lining up outside the offices of the Amber Crier to report on his activities. No way. Telling the King that he exists is going to be hard enough without adding complications. He hasn't even acknowledged me yet and already I have to worry about me image, Garrett thinks. Now he knows why Martin is so intense.
As Garrett stares at the floor, he notices his attire and thinks of an out. "Lord Lucas, while I appreciate your confidence, I don't think I'd be as anonymous as you think. I spent the last five years as one of the primary messengers between the Regency Council, and recently, the King, and people in the city. A lot of people down there know me as a trusted servant of the Crown. Even without the livery, someone is bound to recognize me. Once that hits the broadsheets, I'll have to answer to the King and risk losing me job. For me, sir, nothing is worth that."
Garrett looks Lucas in the eye. "I'm sorry, m'lord, but I'm not the man for this job. You can rest assured, though, that no one will ever hear about this conversation from me."
"I trust so," says Lucas somewhat dryly. "Very well. Cheval will be in touch with you about my daughter's lessons."
He moves to one of the shelves in this bay and begins to examine the titles of the books.
Garrett, it appears, is dismissed.
Garrett's been a servant long enough to recognize a dismissal and not take offense. "Very good, m'lord," Garrett says as he rises, gives a slight bow of the head and takes his leave, making sure he has his book.
Garrett checks the windows as he makes his way to the stairs. Based on the color of the light and the sky, it appears to be close to sunset. Time to go. If he doesn't make it home for supper like he said he would, Mum will worry. She's always been a worrier, but lately she's been worse. Garrett's done everything he can think of to make this transition easier for her. He considers the conversations of the afternoon and decides that the only safe subjects for suppertime discussion are the book, because it's obvious, and Hope's riding lessons.
When he gets downstairs, he goes over to the desk where the severe-looking lady was working her way through the stack of books. [Assuming she's still there] "Beg pardon, ma'am, but I'd like to borrow this book, if I may. What do I need to do?" he asks politely.
"Who are you borrowing it for?" the librarian asks him.
"For meself, ma'am. I'm Garrett Bailey, Horsemaster Bailey's son. I work at the stables." He pauses and tries on a sheepish version of the boyish grin, testing her reaction.
The librarian has a very long nose. She is now looking down it at Garrett.
"I'm trying to study up on me history and Dame Lilly recommended this book to me as a wealth of information," he adds, dropping the only name he can. "Do I need to sign something for it?" he asks, trying to move the matter along.
"Dame Lilly?" she says dubiously. "Well, perhaps. We'll have to talk to Nestor. Come along." She crooks a long finger at Garrett and gestures for him to follow.
She leads him into a part of the library he's never seen before: a hall with office doors. At the far end of the hall, there's a door, and she knocks on it. There's a "come in" from within, and she opens the door to reveal a well-appointed, if extremely cluttered, office. Garrett knows that the occupant is the head librarian, Nestor.
"Marjoram?" says Nestor.
"This young man wants to borrow a book," Marjoram explains.
Nestor looks at Garrett.
Garrett glances at Miss Marjoram as she speaks, then addresses Nestor. "Sir, me name is Garrett Bailey. I'm Horsemaster Bailey's son," he says with a smile that projects more confidence than he feels.
It had not occurred to Garrett until now that he might not be allowed to borrow the book. He knows he's trustworthy and smart, but it hits him that all the librarians see is an uneducated stable boy. They might not let him learn about his own father because he works for a living. Even though it's always been there, the gap between the royals and the servants has never been so painfully clear.
Garrett cradles the heavy book in his arms as he continues. "Y'see, sir, I've always had an interest in history. It's something me grandfather sparked in me years ago. It was buried for a time during the Troubles, but now, with a new king on the throne, I had an urge to learn more about him. That's why I came here today. I ran into Dame Lilly and she kindly recommended this book to me.
I had hoped to take it home 'cause I work a lot and it would be hard to find enough time to come up here to read it. If I had it there, I could read it whenever I had a free moment, or long into the night. I promise I'll take care of it, sir. It won't leave me bedside until it comes back here." Garrett looks at him hopefully.
Nestor eyeballs Garrett, and considers his request. After a moment, he starts firing off questions at Garrett. "You came up here for the sole purpose of borrowing the book? Have you ever been in the library before? Why did you learn to read? Is everyone in your family literate? Can you write as well as read? Do you know any languages besides Thari?"
He seems genuinely curious rather than hostile. Marjoram seems annoyed, as if this were not what she expected.
Garrett blinks, startled by the barrage of questions. He glances quickly at Miss Marjoram and notes that this is not what she expected, either.
"Well, sir," he responds, "Borrowing the book was not me sole purpose. At first, I was just going to read here. And no, I haven't been up here before. I came to see if I could find a good book about King Random. I expected to spend most of me time looking, but then I met Dame Lilly and she pointed out several good ones right away. She said this one was her favorite. We talked about history for quite a while, then after she left, I spoke with Lord Lucas - his daughter needs a new riding instructor, so he asked me to do it. So I kinda ran out of time." He adds sheepishly, "I have to be home for supper."
Nestor nods.
"As for why I learned to read, I don't know," Garrett shrugs. "It was just expected. Me grandma thought reading was important, so she taught all her children and she taught me and me cousin Rye. She had a few books around, but not many. We practiced on the broadsheets, mostly. I'm glad she taught us. I think one of the reasons me dad got offered the horsemaster job after Pastern died was 'cause he could read. You have to to keep all the records, you know, vet reports and stuff, on the horses."
Nestor nods again. These seem to be acceptable answers.
Garrett pauses, realizing he's running on. His parents always tease that once you get Garrett going, you can't shut him up. "Anyway, me dad reads and me mum does too, a little. Me sisters are learning, but Grandma isn't around to teach them anymore. She was an excellent teacher. As for writing, I know how, but I'm not very good at it. I can't spell for...beans." Watch your language, Garrett reminds himself.
"And no," he finishes. "I only speak Thari."
Nestor looks at him, and then at Marjoram. Either there's some librarian secret code passing between them or Marjoram knows what Nestor's questions mean. She's not pleased, either, from the sour look on her face.
The head librarian turns his attention back to Garrett. "We don't get a lot of literate stablehands in the library, Garrett." He clearly doesn't mean it unkindly; it's just a fact. "It's unusual for someone in your position to ask for custody of a book that would cost more than your annual wages to purchase."
Garrett winces and adjusts his grip on the book, now holding it as if it were fragile crystal.
"Most of the books in the library are, if not unique and irreplaceable, extremely difficult to replace. We keep the library for the king's convenience, so it's unusual to lend out a book without royal approval. Do you understand?"
Garrett's face falls. "Yes, sir," he responds with disappointment as he steps forward to place the book carefully on Nestor's desk.
He continues: "We are always on the lookout for library assistants, though. Do you think a position in the library might interest you?"
His fingers still on the book, Garrett's blue eyes go wide with surprise. "Me, sir?" he exclaims, his voice cracking slightly.
"You have the qualities we're looking for. Not many of your peers would have come up to read a book. And a position here would give you a chance to read all sorts of books during your off-hours," Nestor says.
"I'm honored, sir," says Garrett, still amazed. "I've never thought of meself as a scholar."
He smiles at Garrett. "We don't generally get strong young fellows like you, although there are a couple of projects right now where we could use one--and not just because we need someone to haul books around. You could learn skills that would serve you well later, even if you left the royal service."
Garrett considers the proposal. Nestor wants to pay him to further his education by working in the library. He knows from the servant circles that this is an opportunity that's rarely offered and he'd be foolish not to take it, but he's torn. Horses are Garrett's life and the thought of leaving the stables makes him feel disloyal.
"You don't have to answer immediately. Think about it, and discuss it with your parents."
"Yes, I'll do that. I am interested, sir. It's just that I've never known anything but horses, and they're short-handed down at the stables as it is.
"Could you tell me more about the position? I'm sure it's more than just putting the books back where they go."
"Assistants perform a variety of tasks," Nestor says. "Sometimes they shelve, yes, and sometimes they assist members of the Royal family by performing research. Lord Vere regularly used the services of library assistants in preparing his reports for the Regency Council. We also have our own press, and occasionally print books or monographs by members of the Royal family, such as Lady Cambina, who is a brilliant historian."
Nestor smiles, then his face falls into more serious lines. "Right now, we're looking at some repairs and possibly upgrades to the press, and we could particularly use a strong young man there. But that wouldn't take all your time by any means."
"Since I've never done this before, sir, perhaps I should come in on a trial basis, like a few hours a week first," Garrett offers. "That way you can see if I can do the work to your satisfaction before you hire me permanently." And so I can see if I like it, thinks Garrett.
"Yes, I think that would do nicely. I'll speak to Steward Vent about it, so he can arrange things in the stables for you. When would you like to start?"
"I could prob'ly come in after work tomorrow, sometime around midafternoon. I'll speak to me dad about the stable schedule when I discuss the job with him."
"Very well. We will expect you then, and I'll set this aside for you. If you have a free evening, feel free to come up and peruse it."
"I will, sir. Thank you," says Garrett with a bow of the head. Preparing to take his leave, he adds, "If that is all, sir, I will see you tomorrow afternoon."
"Good evening, ma'am," he smiles sweetly at the sour-faced Marjoram on his way out.
Garrett strides back down the hall to the library. He didn't get his book, but Nestor's offer takes some of the sting out of the rejection. If he is going to be here more often, he can read it later.
He makes his way out of the library and into the hallway, retracing his steps back toward the kitchen. As he walks, he considers the offer. It really is an incredible opportunity. He should be thrilled. But he keeps thinking about the horses, his father and his friends at the stables. About working outside and riding fast. He'll miss all that if he comes up here. But like Nestor said, he'll learn new skills that will serve him well for the rest of his life. And does he really think that once they know he's a prince, he'll even be allowed to tend the horses? For the first time in his life, Garrett considers a life beyond the stables. The thought scares and thrills him at the same time.
Garrett reaches into his pocket, remembering the note he wrote to Lady Folly and looks for a page.
He finds one. The lad is on the cusp of adolescence, but his status in the household hierarchy makes up for the age difference. He looks up from the handful of letters he has and eyes Garrett a bit suspiciously. "Yes?"
Garrett rides a lot of messages up from the city, so his face might be familiar to the page. Then again, it might not. There are so many pages around here Garrett can never keep them straight. In his most official delivery voice and posture, he says, "I have a letter for delivery to Lady Folly, sir," and hands the note to the page.
Garrett has done this enough times that he has no trouble getting the page to take the note. He looks at the paper and adds it to his stack of letters. "I'll deliver it with the rest," he tells Garrett, and is on his way, mumbling something about illiteracy that even Garrett's sharp hearing doesn't quite pick out.
Garrett watches the page depart, then continues on his way to the kitchens and out the back door. Smiling to himself, he mutters, "When's the last time Nestor offered you a job, lad."
Last modified: 23 May 2004