Menagerie - Martin Day [11]
The grey creature stood motionless in the room, its orange eyes ranging towards the old man.
'You shouldn't wait for me here,' snapped Defrabax. 'Go to the back room.' The homunculus turned, and walked into the corridor, its arms hanging at its sides. 'You can report then.'
'Understood,' intoned the creature in a flat voice, its slit-like lips barely moving.
'Cosmae!' shouted Defrabax, rooting around with the documents on the main table. 'Where in Ukkazaal's name is that boy?' One of the young apprentice's roles was to keep the old man's home in some semblance of order, but it had soon dawned on Defrabax that Cosmae was even untidier than he was. Still, Cosmae really ought to have made the effort: what else was there to occupy his attention on such a grim evening?
Defrabax's eyes caught sight of an extra element amongst the clutter, lying in the centre of the floor. He walked over to it, and bent down. A cloak, of passable quality, smelling slightly of cheap perfume. Defrabax straightened, tutting under his breath.
Cosmae finally appeared in the doorway, yawning and running a hand through his tousled hair. He had pulled his garments around him very hastily. 'I, uh . . . I . . .'
Defrabax threw the cloak towards the young man, who caught it clumsily. 'Do I pay you so much, Cosmae,' said Defrabax, with mock criticism in his voice, 'that you have enough to spare on the local sluts?'
'She's not a —'
'I assume that your dissipation of desire involved some sort of financial transaction?' interrupted Defrabax, walking towards the young man.
'Well, I —'
'So I obviously am paying you too much. Believe it or not, I remember being a young man. But, really, that scant pay of yours should go to the pursuit of the spiritual rather than the carnal. The spiritual is eternal. The carnal is . . .
fleeting.'
Cosmae looked a little sheepish.
'Come now, lad,' said Defrabax abruptly, clapping the boy on the shoulder. 'Let's question the homunculus.'
In a single glance Oiquaquil saw that Commander Zaitabor had the arrogant insecurity common in one who has risen quickly through the ranks. Intrinsic to Zaitabor's reputation as a man able to accomplish any task entrusted to him was a grim suspicion of anyone and everything. The people of the city didn't have a word for paranoia, but if they had Zaitabor's mannerisms would have formed part of the definition.
Oiquaquil, the civilian Captain of the City Guard, continued to watch the Commander closely. Zaitabor was like a wild beast made dangerous by its injury and was likely to lash out at anything, if the mood took him, whereas Grand Knight Himesor was sure of himself and confident in the loyalty and ability of the other knights. Oiquaquil had sought an audience with Himesor, but he had ended up in Zaitabor's chamber, reminding himself that he must say what he had planned to say, whether to Himesor or to his brash deputy. The people deserved nothing less.
Zaitabor stood at his desk, rooting through some books and stray parchments on the table with one hand while removing his plumed helm with another.
'Captain Oiquaquil, Grand Knight Himesor extends his deepest apologies. Certain matters call for his immediate attention. He hopes that I might be able to relay your message to him, and perhaps also that I might be able to allay any of your general concerns.' Zaitabor's voice was crisp with exact recollection, the pitch lowering as he slipped into his own words. 'Now, Captain, what's the problem?'
Oiquaquil took a deep breath, puffing up his little chest beneath the shabby armour. 'I am most grateful for your time, Commander Zaitabor. I wish to talk to you about the attacks from the sewers.'
'One of the areas that Himesor, I can assure you, is looking into as a matter of great priority,' commented Zaitabor.
'I am grateful for the involvement of the knights. My own men