The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha) by Steven Brust Page B

myself.”
    “That is very kind of Your Lordship,” said the Teckla, and he put himself into an attitude of waiting.
    “Why have you come to the door?”
    “I have come for a position, my lord.”
    “How, a position? What sort of position?”
    “Doorman and lackey.”
    “Ah, ah! You heard, then, that such a position was open?”
    “Exactly. I heard that such a position was open, and I have not only heard it, but—”
    “Well?”
    “I think I have very nearly proved it.”
    “Indeed, I think you have. How did you come to hear about this position?”
    “Gossip, my lord, from local gossips, which is often the best if not the only way to learn anything.”
    “And what exactly did you hear? For, you perceive, I was raised to believe in precision in all things.”
    “If I may say so, my lord, that is only just, and so I will tell you what I heard.”
    “That is what I wish to know.”
    “It was just this: The Countess and Count of Whitecrest require a doorman and lackey. This doorman and lackey, so I was told, must be of good character and have letters of reference.”
    “And you have such letters?”
    “Indeed, my lord.” The prospective servant touched his breast to indicate that he carried them within his blouse.
    “Well, follow me, then.”
    Piro led the way into the house, through the buttery, larder, and kitchen, and so into the gentle confines, where he lit a few more tapers, then sat and held out his hand. The Teckla removed a neatly tied scroll of papers from his bosom, slipped it from an oilskin envelope, and presented the scroll to the Viscount, who untied it, unrolled it, and glanced through the various letters and documents contained therein. After a moment he said, “Your name is Lar?”
    “Yes, my lord. My name is Lar, and Lar means me.”
    Piro rolled up the documents and tied them once more. “Well, Goodman Lar, it is late, and I am not the one to whom you must speak. I have looked at these recommendations, and they appear to be entirely regular, so that I will permit you to spend the night within these walls. You may find a corner of the kitchen, and then in the morning you may speak with the Count.”
    “Thank you for your kindness, my lord,” said the Teckla, accepting his scroll. Meanwhile Piro, whose eyes had quite adjusted to the light, took a good look at the Teckla. He was rather shorter than the Viscount, but sturdy-looking, as if he had spent some time in physical labor, he had the round face of his House, and, moreover, a face with no expression on it, yet Piro, who even at his tender age had some skill as a physiognomist, thought he detected a certain intelligence in the set of Lar’s eyebrows and the lines of his forehead.
    Piro cleared his throat and said, “Two words.”
    Lar stopped in mid-bow and looked up, presenting a slightly comical aspect. “My lord?”
    “When you speak to the Count—”
    “Yes? When I speak to the Count?”
    “You may wish to be, well, laconic.”
    Lar straightened up slowly, frowning a frown of bewilderment.
    “There is something about you,” continued Piro, “that inspires my sympathy, and I wish to help you.”
    “I am grateful,” said the Teckla. “And yet—”
    “Your comportment,” explained Piro. “My father the Count is, well, he is not a cheerful man, and I am afraid that he will not wish to be attended by a cheerful servant. And my mother,
well, as she manages the affairs of County Whitecrest, she leaves the estate and the domestic matters to my father.”
    “How, not cheerful?”
    “Exactly.”
    “And yet, he is a Tiassa.”
    “Well, I know it is strange.”
    “My lord, it is—unusual.”
    “You perceive, there are reasons.”
    “Oh, as to that.”
    “Yes?”
    “Well, my lord, is it not the case that there are reasons for everything?”
    “You think so?”
    “So I have been told, my lord.”
    “Then you are educated.”
    “I know my symbols, and I know my numbers, and I know that there is a cause for every