Brenner is going to have afield day.
She knocked on the door again, a bit louder.
“Enter,” said a voice from inside.
The room was small and cluttered and full of papers. The Captain of the Guard, an iron-haired, iron-eyed man, looked up when she entered.
“I beg your—oh, it’s you. Do you have a report, Mistress Slate?”
“Sir. Uh.” What was the proper military form for this sort of report?
To hell with it, I’m a civilian, even if they’ve drafted me into this lunacy. They can bloody well deal with it.“I…err…found one.”
The Captain nodded. “Very well, then.”
Caliban hung back at the doorway for just a moment, then stepped into the room as hesitantly as if it were cold water.
“God’s balls!”
“A pleasure to see you as well, Captain,” said Caliban, inclining his head. One hand went to his side, as if to touch a non-existent sword-hilt, then dropped.
Slate was pretty sure that no one in the room missed that. She waited for the captain to turn to her and demand an explanation, or demand that Caliban be sent back to his cell or—well, something.
After a minute, while the two men continued to stare at each other like two tigers in a very small cage, Slate stopped holding her breath.
Can’t they yell at each other or have a manly hug or something and get it over with?
She read some of the papers upside down on the Captain’s desk while she waited. Most of them had to do with duty rosters. There was an interesting one about a sweep of the gutterside slums. Apparently unlicensed prostitution was up. She hadn’t known that.
“My god, Caliban, you look likehell.”
Slate glanced up, and saw the Captain staring at the former knight with an expression less of horror than chagrin.
Hmm, they really do know each other. I suppose there’s no reason a Captain of the Guard wouldn’t know a famous temple knight. Maybe they worked together doing…knight…stuff…
“I’ve been possessed, arrested, exorcised, and locked in a cell for four months. There’s a dead demon rotting somewhere in the back of my soul. What do youexpect?”
That does sound unpleasant. Hmm, I wonder what a rotting demon’s like? Maybe he smells it the way I smell rosemary.
God, that’d be awful. Poor bastard.
Slate went back to reading. It looked like the Stone Bitches were about to get arrested. That was a shame, really: they’d hired her a time or two to produce false bills of sale. Decent people. Understood craftsmanship.
“Ah. Yes.” The Captain actually seemed to be at a bit of a loss. He glanced over at Slate, cleared his throat, and gathered up his papers. “I didn’t expect—are yousureyou want—?”
“Yes,” said Slate.
“Yes,” said Caliban.
There was an awkward silence. Slate wondered which one of them he’d actually been talking to.
Deprived of other people’s mail to read, she studied her feet again.
“Well.” The Captain dropped his papers and ran a hand through his hair. “You realize, Lord—SirCaliban, you would be answering to Mistress Slate here. She is nominally in charge of your mission, by the Dowager’s order. You’d—ah—support and render aid. And so forth.”
Caliban made a small, ironic bow in her direction. “Madam.”
Slate glanced at the Captain, wondering if he’d hoped that would be a deal breaker. Apparently it wasn’t. The Captain sighed.
