Chapter Twenty
It's Complicated
(Ridge)

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth…!" Even after explaining that Marja Galiff was rather above my own status, it was more than anyone alive could do to convince Veya that we were anything less than engaged. She remembered my stepfather too well, perhaps. Never mind that I wasn't connected to him, nob that was, anymore, no matter that I had known this 'other woman' for such a ludicrously short time. "Ask her yourself," I said at last, desperate and no longer caring if it made me sound like a whimpering child.

Veya went silent as a stone, chewing her bottom lip. The change was gradual, but I could see the indignant rage burning out slowly. She'd been arguing with me for nearly ten minutes, with an audience that I was almost certain passed beneath her notice. "Is this a trick?"

Had it been that long? I sagged, all but defeated. "Veya, I believe you once called me the least tricky person ever to stumble across dirt. I couldn't fool pudding." And I had loved her for knowing that about me. I had about as much guile as a cross-eyed kitten, and the only good point about it had been that Veya thought it endearing.

She looked dubious now, which hurt. "I will speak with the lady then," she said, then swept off, her shoes clicking on the wooden stairs. The other guards cheered, although it could have been just to express appreciation for the show. Elgora slapped me on the back as I passed her, offering a few words of encouragement. I thanked her flatly, grimaced, and took my place beside Lebaron. He seemed reluctant to leave his post, and even argued with Mirette until she accepted the impromptu leave.

What a morning. My head ached dully, throbbing in time with the previous guards' retreating steps. If only the shift would be a quiet one.

Of course it wouldn't. Something wasn't quite right behind the door, I could feel it in the pricking of my thumbs. Twice, Lebaron went in to see Merchant Galiff of his own volition, and both times he came out looking as unsettled as she had before going in. If I asked after it at all, I received nothing but a noncommittal grunt. I glared at my boots until my bad mood inevitably passed a few seconds after each incident.

"I don't like this. That daughter of his ought to have come by. The old man'll be chuckin' things at the door if she keeps him waiting much longer."

"Perhaps she doesn't mean to come," I suggested. She definitely hadn't seemed giddy about even the prospect of her initial visit. Although, with the amount of things she had given him to stew over and rant on about, I could understand why he wanted to see her in private. Not that I wasn't on her side for all or most of it. I just knew the ways of rich, prideful old men.

"We'd better hope you're wrong, boy," Lebaron muttered. "Either he's mad as a wet cat, or the codger has got summat to worry about."

I thought of the letter and the box. Kings were not a light topic. Most people held strong opinions about theirs, and people in this city barely got through life with a duke horking his nose about from far off. Whatever was going on in Fialke must have either been pushing people out or spreading, if Merchant Galiff had come all the way out this direction to meet with his daughter. Neutral ground. I wasn't certain I wanted to leap forward and be a part of things. However… "D'you think I ought to try talking to him?"

Lebaron's burly shoulders rose into a more alert stature, as his unshaven face brightened. "Yeah, you might as well do. He's taken rather a shine to you, maybe sees his younger days in your eyes."

This was a fairly personal comment for a bodyguard, I thought, and it intrigued me. "How long have you been with Merchant Galiff, Lebaron?"

"Nigh on seven year, boy. I've got used to his little moods, and y'see… he needs de-funkin' if you know my meaning." Lebaron scratched his burgeoning beard with a sound like a dull metal edge rubbing against sandpaper.

I nodded thoughtfully, then looked around. Part of me wanted to be available when Marja finally came to see her dad, but there were other bits of me that said beauty and wit were not enough enticement to risk Veya's ire. No, I did not wish to see the latter interrogating the former, whilst blaming me. I saluted Lebaron and ducked into the anteroom.

It didn't look any different from the last time I had been summoned there, but it felt like walking from a foyer full of afternoon into a small closet stocked with night. I didn't have any quarrel with the night, but I little liked the shift in mood. I called for the old merchant and received no answer.

"Sir? Have you breakfasted?" It seemed a good enough excuse to run in looking to disturb him. Even though it was about as sturdy as a bridge built by snakes.

None of the doors I came across were open, but one was only mostly closed, not quite settled into the frame. I went to hover my ear closer to the door, then had to jerk away to regain my balance as the door creaked open. My heart hammered in my chest, making me feel like even more of an idiot. I called out again, softer.

"Who's there? Marja?"

"No, sir. It's Washmody, sir. Sha-shall I go and fetch her?"

Merchant Galiff was standing on a small stepladder by a bookcase, removing one or two volumes at a time, and adding them to a growing stack on the nearby desk. He had plenty of colour from what I could see, but not too much, and his speech was clear as anything. Probably he wasn't ill or…otherwise indisposed, then. When I'd come fully into the room, he turned and hopped off the ladder. His feet were horrifically bare, but he still made a decent thump upon landing. "I hope it doesn't come to that," he said.

The stack of books looked like it should have fallen over at the instigation of a stray breath, but it didn't even teeter. Still, I had no overwhelming desire to approach it. I stayed where I was, and then said something that might have been quite, quite stupid. "Does all of this have to do with the errand you sent me on?"

"Possibly," he boomed, digging into the terrifyingly high book stack. The looming thing more or less pupped smaller stacks under his impatient hands as he spoke. "How did m'daughter take it?"

"With a grain of salt, sir," I admitted reluctantly. Whatever else you could say about Veya, she was a good judge of character. I really couldn't trick a horse into believing the truth. I'd always meant to work on it, but I'd only ever managed basic dishonesty and a little lying by omission. It was harder when I was on the spot like this.

He snorted, an expression that could have meant anything, at that time and in that place. There was a definite sense of history taking place, in a behind closed doors sort of way. History behind the actors, perhaps. It was unnerving. "She never could take things seriously. I always thought it was something she would grow out of, you know."

Of course, I didn't know, but his tone implied that he was rambling, so I just let him go on talking. All sorts of things, all to do with loyalty and buckling down, acknowledging the vital importance of the situation. I couldn't see what to do about it, but I had a feeling that Lebaron would have listened, so I did that, out of professional deference. To something, this would make sense, but to me, it was only so much gaseous politics. Some of it sounded like justification, which worried me.

"If you'll just come down to breakfast, sir, then we can see abut brining Miss Marja round to see you," I said, when he finally lapsed into pensive silence. "Probably she is anxious to discuss this with you and has been held back by…" My pomposity was failing me. "…The rigors of travel."

Sure enough, Merchant Galiff snorted, but this was a good sign, from him. He set a few books into a new, very short book stack, then capitulated at last. "I am feeling a bit peckish, I suppose."

I nodded, a little too imperiously, then shoved myself into the wonderfully protective slot marked 'big dumb guardsman'. I saluted and escorted the man to the door, responding to each unexpected halt by either continuing to walk, or stopping and saluting in that crisp manner that never failed to embarrass people. We were out in the corridor with Lebaron rather quickly. He saluted, then shot me an approving glance once Merchant Galiff walked to the fore, beginning the trudge down to the ground floor.

Veya was nowhere to be seen, although that probably just meant she was busy in the background workings of the Lion. I wondered if—and feared that—she truly intended to talk to Marja, crying 'romantic entanglements'. It wasn't likely. If Veya had ever thought that sort of thing was a viable solution, she would have applied it when we'd still been together. Still, people did change.

I tripped over an excited cat and used up the rest of my mental energy recovering from the stumble. My help obvious forgotten, Lebaron chuckled, then stationed me at the entrance to the dining room of the inn. He, being the senior guard, accompanied the old man and stood at the table, almost in the way of serving staff. At least it gave me time to refrain from making faces at him while the cat glowered at me and seemed to contemplate the amount of energy it would take to yowl.

Apparently it wasn't worth doing. The cat lolled its head insolently, then slinked away, leaving me to rankle in the doorway. I stood up straight and imitated a wooden post.

"Master Washmody?"

I looked down to see Bay standing much like I was, although his head was titled up rather more. It was either teasing or flattering. With that earnest look of pained official business, I was inclined to feel it was the latter. "Yes, Bay?"

"As… well, scouting party, I've been asked to report on what Miss Marja persistently refers to as 'the old fart's granny-esque mood.' Is he angry with her for being late?" It looked like that much rudeness taxed the kid, even in the form of a quotation.

It could have been interesting to speak in kind, but the old fart in question was fairly nearby, and poor Bay's ears were redder than his hair. I looked over at the table where Merchant Galiff was dismembering toast and oatmeal. Lebaron stood stoically in his place, casting furtive glances about the room. "He's… a bit testy, I shouldn't think."

Bay shifted his stance, favouring one foot, then the other. His expression followed a similar path of visible discomfort. "How do you translate that to Marja-talk?"

I nearly laughed aloud, but I was still on duty. Instead, I permitted myself a smarmy grin. "Try 'pissy'. That may well do."

To my surprise, the boy chuckled into his hand and scurried off. Perhaps Marja was nearby. I hoped that was the case. Whatever had twisted Merchant Galiff's—er, trousers, it had something to do with that box, and probably his daughter as well. I wasn't sure about what part she played in it, though. Worse than that, I was fairly certain she didn't know either. Thankfully, with my attention divided between the merchant and what I could see of the front door, I only had enough left to do my job and none left over to cater to my anxiety. Nothing much seemed to be happening, though.

Until Cadence sailed in like a discombobulated cloud. He wore an expression of antagonized innocence lost in a sea of unanswerable questions. I'd see him look like that before, on the rare occasions where he had not looked simply overworked and very annoyed. The confusion lifted a bit when I caught his eye, but it mostly just seemed to be pushed aside by recognition and possibly relief. He wandered over, looking more like he was dancing than walking. "She's coming," he said, straightening beside me in a fair approximation of standing at attention. We must have looked like a bamboo stalk planted with a purple lily.

I checked on Merchant Galiff again, then returned to my default guard position. With Lebaron there at the old man's side, I was beginning to feel a bit superfluous. "Working up to a grand entrance, is our lady?"

"Thankfully, no." Cadence chuckled and tilted his head, unconsciously flirting with the entire world. "First we had to wait for Leah, and then we ran into a little trouble in the market." Before I could even look alarmed, he grinned and shook his head, hair swishing like the skirt end of a dress. "Miss captured the heart of a persistent mongrel."

I raised an eyebrow. "What sort of mongrel?"

"The stubby-legged kind with scruffy ears. Oh, here she comes."

At last the lady made her entrance, and it was grand, in a way. She looked ruffled and rather in a huff, her hair frizzing slightly, due to the heat of the early afternoon, and her pretty round cheeks were flushed from apparent activity rather than embarrassment. The youngers walked on either side of her, Bay respectfully sombre-faced, and Leah grinning stupidly—oh. Leah was carrying a filthy mutt that was about half the height of my boot and easily twice as odorous. To look at her face, one would think she'd won a prize. Perhaps in the far away, unreachable plains of Leahland, she had done just that. I did not want to understand it.

As soon as they approached me, Marja silently demanded my hand and then shook it warmly, like a brother meeting a brother. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, but I couldn't quite repress a smile. "Good morning," she said, sounding just a bit out of breath. "Point out the old man, if you will."

"Are you alright?" I asked softly as I indicated the table.

"I am angry, Master Washmody. It isn't one of my fonder feelings, but Diandre, it is currently timely as anything."

Leah snickered and lifted the dog so that it could like her chin. However much Marja wanted to irritate her father with the miscellany retinue she had banged together, I didn't think particular parts of that sentiment were as timely as her anger. There were times that a guard—of city or body—had to do something he or she really didn't want to do. Of course I had to. "It's not a very large dining hall," I began, mentally kicking myself, "Cadence and Leah should stay here with me." Out of sight. …Treated like lessers. I did not like this.

Marja shot me a grateful look—I wanted to know why—and then walked briskly over to her waiting father, with Bay in tow. This arrangement was rather an insult to those left behind, but I supposed I couldn't worry about Cadence. I had known him for a long time, and he just didn't know how to be affronted. Besides, it was the theory of the insult I disliked. I certainly didn't care if Leah took offense.

She was already sulking, ugly little doggy notwithstanding. "Nice work, Pudding Face," she snapped. "They almost left me at the school, and now you're making them leave me here."

"I'm here as well," Cadence offered gently, but it had little effect other than to make me hate the current arrangement a bit less. He was good company, was Cadence. Hopefully good for Leah as well, she could learn grace. Or just have less to complain about.

However, she was a very powerful force of sulk. She stuck her bottom lip out and slouched so much I wanted to laugh at her. She looked like an eight-year-old with too many brothers. I decided to honour the circumstances and ask after her charge. "Where did you find that smelly thing?"

"His name is Mashpea."

"He definitely stinks of a load of rotten ones," I muttered, knowing that not even Cadence would be on my side about this. He was making squashed faces at the nasty thing and all but cooing. It yipped occasionally, possibly out of canine happiness. Or some sort of disease.

Leah scratched behind its ear. "He bit onto Marja's skirt and just dragged behind us for two or three streets before anyone noticed."

"It was the high-pitched growling that got our attention." Apparently done fawning over the disgusting mutt, Cadence wiped his hands on the towel slung over a passing servant's shoulder. He looked tired, and I wondered if the dog was the only reason behind the delay. It may have been enough, I couldn't help thinking. In conjunction with Leah's obvious decision to bond with it, of course. I kept well away from the horrible pong of the creature.

Unfortunately for my bruised pride, a loud collective shout in the dining hall reminded me of the fact that I was bloody on the job, Lebaron's over-competence or not. I wished for my sword—for the second time that day—and hissed at Leah and Cadence to take care of each other. …I may not have worded it properly, but there wasn't time to worry about how that would come back to bite me, I was already halfway to the Galiffs by the time the thought bothered to cross my mind.

When I took in the situation, I nearly leapt into an action that would have gotten me killed. Standing by the table, holding Marja by the hair, was a burly man with a bright yellow beard and no hair anywhere else on his head. Lebaron was down, not moving.

Oh, cat doings. Time for heroics.