Burnbright. “And—” She looked at Smith in desperate appeal. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea if we had a house doctor? My friend Orecrash at the Hotel Sea-Air says all the really elegant places have a doctor on the premises, like at the spa. And rich people like to go to—to Yendri doctors, because they’re exotic and have all this mystic wisdom and like that. He could teach them meditation. Or something. Please?”
“We could try,” said Smith.
“Madness,” Lord Ermenwyr growled. “Sheer madness.”
“It isn’t either!” Burnbright rounded on him. “We won’t need anything else, if we have each other.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” said. Mrs. Smith sadly. “Either of you. You can’t imagine how hard it’ll be. But it can’t be helped now, can it? So you have my blessing. And I wish you luck; you’ll need it.”
“Nobody’s asking for my blessing,” complained Lord Ermenwyr. “Or even my permission.”
Willowspear stood and faced him. “My lord, your lady Mother—”
“I know, I know, this was all her doing. She knew perfectly well what would happen when she sent you down here,” said Lord Ermenwyr wearily. “Meddling in people’s lives to bring them love and joy and spiritual fulfillment, just as she’s always doing. Didn’t bother to tell me anything about it, of course, but why should she? I’m just miserable little Ermenwyr, the only living man in Salesh who hasn’t had sex this Festival.”
“That’s not true,” said Smith.
“Well, that’s a comfort, isn’t it? All right, Willowspear, you’re formally excused from my service. Go be a mystic holy man house doctor to a people who’d as soon stone you as look at you. You’ll have to register with the city authorities, you know, as a resident greenie, and take an oath not to poison their wells or defile their wives. You’ll come running back up the mountain the next time there’s a race riot—if you can run fast enough.”
“Anybody who tried to hurt him would have to kill me first!” said Burnbright, putting her arms around Willowspear and holding tight.
“I see,” said Lord Ermenwyr. “I suppose in that case there’s not the slightest chance you’d be willing to give me a quick tumble before the wedding? A little bit of Lord’s Right, you know, just so you can say you shopped around before you bought?”
“Dream on,” she retorted.
“Well, you’ll never know what you missed,” Lord Ermenwyr grumbled. “Oh, go to bed, both of you. I’m ready to puke from all the devotion in here.”
“My lord.” Willowspear bowed low. He turned to Mrs. Smith, took her hand, and kissed it. “Madam.”
“Go on,” she said.
He clasped hands once again with Burnbright, and they went out. Burnbright’s voice floated back, saying:
“…bed’s too narrow, but that’s all right; we can just move it out and sleep on the floor!”
“Smith, however shall they manage?” cried Mrs. Smith. “That child hasn’t got the brains the gods gave lettuce!”
“We’ll look after them, I guess,” said Smith. “And she’s sharper than you give her credit for.”
“She’s every inch the fool her father was,” said Mrs. Smith.
A silence followed her statement, until they once again heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Slightly unsteady footsteps.
The kitchen door opened, and Lord Eyrdway leaned in, grinning. His ruffled shirtfront was drenched in gore.
“I have to tell you, you’re missing a great party,” he informed his brother. “Did you know there was another corpse in your bathroom?”
Smith groaned and put his head in his hands.
“Eyrdway, they needed that body!” Lord Ermenwyr sprang to his feet.
“Oops.” Lord Eyrdway looked at Smith and Mrs. Smith. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” Lord Ermenwyr told them. “He’ll make it up to you. Won’t you, Variable Nincompoop?”
“Oh, drop dead again,” his brother replied. He looked at “Smith. “Seriously, though, is there anything I can do to help?”
Salesh in the aftermath of Festival is a quiet place.
Laughing Youth isn’t laughing as it shuffles along, wishing its golden sandals weren’t so bright. Don’t even ask about what Age is doing. It’s too gruesome.
City Warden Crossbrace had spent much of the last two days in a darkened alcove, so he found the sunlight painfully brilliant as he tottered up Front Street toward the Hotel Grandview. His uniform had the same wrinkles and creases it had had before he’d thrown it off, shortly after bidding Smith a good evening. His head felt curiously dented, and all in all he’d much rather have been home in bed. But a sense of duty drove him, as well as an awareness of the fact that corpses don’t keep forever and