Alcibiades had put his shoulder squarely in the way, blocking my line of vision. I could see the back collar of his shirt very well, but nothing at all beyond that, not even what his handwriting looked like.
That shift, however, was his undoing. It was a fatal strategy, very inadvisable; I’d have to rebuke him for it afterward. It protected the letter he was in the midst of writing very well, of course, but it left open his entire left flank—where the letter he’d received was resting underneath the inkwell. It was very common paper, brown and heavy, and the penmanship was round and flowery, so it was almost certainly from a woman, but adorably hesitant, as though the writer didn’t often find herself in the position of having to write anything at all, much less something so long as a letter.
I would have to act quickly—and carefully, too, unless I wanted to spill all the ink.
“I say!” I exclaimed, feigning a great deal of interest. “That woman has fish spilling from her hair. Did you know that your room has a print of the sea goddess?”
Alcibiades grunted, but didn’t look up. That was good, since I couldn’t risk any change at all in his posture. Not when he’d left such a perfect opening for me. I inched closer, so pleased I’d decided to have some slippers made up in the Ke-Han style, since they were so perfect for moving silently across boarded floors.
“Mine only has a winter landscape,” I said in a desolate voice. “Do let’s switch! I think mine would suit your room much better, what with the cranes and all. I’m surprised they mixed sea and air in the same room anyway. It must have been a mistake. Will you help me to take it down, my dear?”
Alcibiades wasn’t even listening to me anymore, though he’d hunched his shoulders more tightly, as though even then he was working to create a barricade against me with his own body. His pen scratched away dutifully against the page. I almost felt sorry for him, but then, he was a soldier, and it would do him good to remember that one had to go on the offense, occasionally.
I plucked the letter nimbly from the desk and scanned it eagerly.
Alcibiades whirled around immediately, the most murderous of expressions on his face. “Put that down,” he growled, grabbing for it.
I slipped just out of reach, still reading the letter. It was the sort of thing that would have been aided by the use of two good eyes, and not the one I had to make do with. Fortunately, Alcibiades was the sort of man you didn’t need any eyes for, only a good sense of hearing, since even when he was in his own room he refused to remove his boots and he made terrible thundering noise everywhere he went.
Dear Al, the letter began. That was as far as I’d read before Alcibiades launched himself at me like an enormous beast, and I was forced to dart around behind the desk to read further.
“‘Hope you are eating well,’” I read delightedly. “‘No one cooks like your Yana,’” was that a word from country dialect? I’d have to look it up, “‘but you should eat anyway on account of your little fat belly not going away.’”
I paused, breathless with delighted laughter. Then, Alcibiades overturned the desk with a tremendous crash and I was forced to wriggle out from underneath the chair to keep from being crushed.
“‘Do not allow your temper to run away with you like one hundred angry fire ants,’” I read on, pressing myself flat against the wall. It was to avoid Alcibiades’ wrath as much as it was to hold myself up while laughing. He threw the inkwell at my head and I scampered away. It shattered against the far wall, splattering ink everywhere.
“Your temper, my dear! Your temper! It says it in the letter!”
“I’m warning you, Greylace, just give the letter back and no one gets hurt.”
I had never seen Alcibiades so excited about anything in my life. His face was red, and his eyes were alive with the prospect of having me spitted and roasted over an open flame. I simply had to keep reading.
“‘Do your Volstov and your Yana proud. It is great honor to be chosen for such special journey. And feed your horse nothing but apples, apples are the chosen food for the King of Horses,’” I managed, before I choked on my own laughter.