Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [74]
I could get used to living like this, he decided. It was a far cry from sleeping in the stable, or the hard pallets in the Children’s Cloister. There was a lot to be said for the life of an envoy. He blew out the bedside candle, and lay back in the warm embrace of what had to be a real featherbed.
This is beginning to feel like undeserved luxury, actually. I haven’t done a thing yet to earn all this.
On the other hand, the real work was about to begin—not physical labor, but mental. Tomorrow, in addition to his work as a secretary, Ulrich would begin asking him to watch certain people, or take note of situations, and he would be expected to make accurate observations. When they were presented formally to the Valdemaran Court, it would be his job to remember the names, the faces, the positions, and the identifying characteristics. Then there would be long diplomatic meetings, during which he would be taking mental notes—and later, transcribing those notes into an accurate copy of what was actually said.
No, this was not unearned luxury after all, now that he thought it all over. He could foresee, without recourse to a mage-mirror or a scrying crystal, that there would be days when he would not see this bed until well past the midnight hour.
Then again—in some ways, everything in this world is paid for, in the end....
But before he could ponder that any further, he fell asleep.
“Watch the Heralds,” Ulrich said, just before they left their suite the next morning. Only that, but it was all the direction that Karal needed. Ulrich had trained his secretary well; Karal did not need to be told the rest of his job.
Ulrich would be watching the Prince and the other officials of Valdemar during this first day of introductions and preliminary negotiations. He wanted Karal to keep a covert eye on the other power in this land, the power that never quite revealed itself openly but had a hand in literally everything.
The Heralds. Even a Karsite knew that much.
He was the perfect person to perform that particular task; it was not likely that anyone would pay a great deal of attention to him. He was only the secretary, after all, of no importance, and furthermore, no older than the callow lads who had been assigned to serve them. He could not possibly be hiding anything.
Well, he wasn’t. He doubted that he could ever successfully conceal the fact that he knew something, if anyone ever entrusted him with a real secret. But he didn’t have to hide anything; all he had to do was watch passively.
They rose late—for Ulrich, at least, who was used to rising at dawn. A new young man, who introduced himself as “Johen” but otherwise was as silent as Arnod had been talkative, brought them their breakfast and took away Ulrich’s request for the formal presentation.
He returned with the word that it would be agreeable to everyone if that presentation could be made at the regular Court session in a mark. Or “candlemark,” as the Valdemarans reckoned time. Easy enough to judge, since the candle that had been left burning all night was a time-candle—marked off at regular intervals. As near as Karal could judge, the Valdemaran “candlemark” and the Karsite “mark” as reckoned by water-clock were about the same length.
Since immediate reception was precisely what Ulrich had hoped for, they sent Johen off with word of their agreement. They both dressed with care for the occasion; fine velvet robes that had been especially created for their roles as both Priest and Novice, and Envoy and Secretary. There was a great deal more gold and embroidery than Karal personally felt comfortable with; he rather liked the simple, short black woolen robes, sashes, and breeches that those who served Vkandis normally wore. But he was a representative of Her Holiness—it was right and proper that he should look like a representative of Her Holiness.
Besides, Ulrich was laden with three times the gold braid and embroidery that he had to endure. He didn’t even want to think about the amount of ecclesiastical jewelry Ulrich was carrying; it was enough to make his shoulders