The Wyvern's Spur - Kate Novak [86]
"Time may be of the essence. Would you be so good as to tell your master that Olive Ruskettle requests an interview with him?" Olive said, swinging her cape from her shoulders and holding it and her gloves out in Thomas's general direction.
"Of course," Thomas said, accepting the halfling woman's items. Trying to regain some marginal control of the situation, he suggested, "Perhaps you would care to wait in the parlor."
"That will be fine," Olive replied.
Thomas ushered the halfling into the next room, where she sat on a low footstool. Her posture, so perfectly straight and still, reminded Thomas of Giogi's Aunt Dorath, and her tone and demeanor were so solemn that Thomas grew more than concerned; he became alarmed.
This Olive Ruskettle was nothing like any of the halflings Thomas had ever met before. What sort of awful business could she possibly have with my master? he wondered as he hurried from the parlor.
Without rising, Olive surveyed the plush room around her. The boy has money, all right, she decided. And taste, too, she added upon catching sight of a marble statue of Selune. I do believe that's an original Cledwyll. Overly endowed and scantily clad. Yes, definitely a Cledwyll. How extraordinary.
Olive looked down at her dress. The pin was still firmly in place, as was her determination. She had to throw herself into this role, she thought. How does one play a Harper? Should she act certain and serious, like all the archetypal, snooty paladins she'd known as a child, or did she dare model herself after the Saurial paladin Dragonbait, who'd befriended Alias, and add a touch of concern and self-effacing humor?
What would Dragonbait do in this situation? she wondered. Probably track Flattery down and run him through with a sword, she answered sternly.
All right, but what would he do if he were me? He wouldn't say much, she thought, allowing herself a slight grin. Dragonbait was mute, which was part of his charm and mystique, Olive realized. He didn't babble. Try not to babble, Olive-girl, she ordered herself. Get to the point.
Then again, it might not be a good idea to fire on Giogi suddenly. Might spook him. Try a little polite conversation first. Hello. So sorry to hear about good old Drone. How's the rest of your family? Then let Giogi know his houseguest is married to a murdering dog who happens to be a relative.
Giogioni did not keep Olive waiting long, and the genuine smile he wore as he entered the parlor did a lot to bolster Olive's confidence.
"Mistress Ruskettle, what an honor! I'd heard you were in Immersea," the young man said.
"I'm so pleased you remember me, Master Giogioni. Our last meeting, at your cousin's wedding, was so brief," Olive replied, holding out her hand.
Giogioni took the tiny fingers in his own and bowed low over the halfling's hand. He released her and stepped back. "It would be impossible to forget a songstress with your talent, and, of course, the day was, urn, memorable for other reasons."
"Yes," Olive said, nodding. "There was that unfortunate attack on your life."
"Well, Sage Dimswart did explain that your friend, Alias, was under a curse. I don't blame her."
"That's very civil of you, Master Giogioni. I'm pleased to say that we did manage to find a cure for Alias."
"Oh, that's marvelous," Giogi said, seating himself across from the bard. "Tell me, is she in Immersea as well?" he asked, testing his theory that Alias had stolen the spur.
Olive shook her head. "No. She's wintering in Shadowdale,"
"Oh." Giogi's brow furrowed for a moment, but he recovered from his disappointment quickly.
Olive went on to a new topic. "I heard that your grandfather's cousin, Drone Wyvernspur, has passed on. May I extend my condolences," she said. "I understand you were very close to him."
"Thank you," Giogi replied. He looked away from Olive and stared into the flames in the fireplace. Olive could see moisture sparkling in his eyes. After a few moments, the nobleman turned to face his guest once again. "It came as quite a shock. He was