Page 11 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Oh.” A pause, then Jasper added, timidly, “Why’s that, sir?”
“My predecessor had an unusual sense of humour.” Morgrim paused in his pacing, tilted his head as if an idea had occurred to him. He looked like a falcon noticing a coney. “Of course, I suppose you may share it. Perhaps I spoke too hastily. By all means, press the button if you wish.”
Jasper winced away from the umbrella as if it had suddenly grown teeth and bared them at him. It was clear he wanted to drop it but did not quite dare to.
“I’d...better not.”
“I think it best.” Morgrim resumed his pacing. Rain was now dripping from his face and from the tip of his very pointy black beard. He wiped the wet away impatiently.
“I...very well, sir. Should I go then, sir?” Jasper asked.
“Have I given you leave to go?”
“No, sir.”
“No. Then perhaps you can make that decision without asking silly questions.” Morgrim stopped again and turned to face Fenn. “Mr. Todd.”
Fenn started. “Aye? What?”
Morgrim gave him a long look. “You are asleep on your feet, Mr. Todd.”
Fenn blinked. That a man like Morgrim would deign to notice that he was tired seemed unlikely to say the least.
“Been a long day,” Fenn said uncertainly.
“Then I’ll make this brief. Do you know what you’ve done by crashing in here like this?”
“Disturbed you. I know. And I’m right sorry, but I didn’t mean—”
“Yes. But what you have also done is to rip a hole in a very expensive boundary spell.”
Oh strewth.
“Now, I didn’t mean—” Fenn began.
“I have heard your story, which is all very well. But I would like you to stay here at the tower for a while. If it will not inconvenience you, that is.”
Fenn peered up into the clouds. The rain was easing to a light drizzle, but it was still impossible to see the upper parts of the tower. “Can’t see nothing broken.”
“Can you not? Then you will have to take my word for it. Have you an occupation, may I ask, apart from introducing worple horses into other people’s courtyards in the middle of the night?”
There was a sarcastic note to the sorcerer’s voice that made Fenn bristle. Mustn’t let it show.
“Can turn my hand to most things,” he said, evenly. “Outdoors work, mind. Used to be a groom.”
“Did you? And have you worked for any gentlemen? Ladies? Houses of repute?”
Should Fenn tell the truth? But he’d already given his real name, so best not. He stuck to the usual half-truth. “Worked the posting inn at Crielli Pass for a few years, until they finished the tunnel and there weren’t no need for horses anymore.”
“And do you have letters of recommendation?”
Fenn stiffened, as that was still a sore point, but kept his voice level. “No.”
“No.” Morgrim echoed, as if he’d been expecting just that answer. “And your accent? Crielli’s in the north, but you’re from the south, are you not? Duchy of Parsa? Maybe a little further east? Abbacy of Salmo?”
But before Fenn could say “Mandillo,” to his utter surprise Morgrim made him a small bow.
“But these are trifles. I apologise, Mr. Todd, for keeping you on your feet.” Morgrim turned his head. “Jasper, prepare a room for Mr. Todd. The tapestry room in the gatehouse, perhaps. If the moths have not overrun it.”
