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The Palace Guard was not what it had been in Midir’s great-grandfather’s day, before the Fall. It was a well-oiled (ha) machine, so that when Midir rode up to the entrance that xe knew was nearest the elevator in the outer Ystharian wing, the guards did not say silly things like “why aren’t you at the courier stables” or “this isn’t the main entrance.” They had protocols for couriers in an obvious hurry. One of them helped Midir off xeir horse and made sure xe didn’t fall over; the other was already summoning pages, an escort for Midir, a stablehand for xeir horse, other necessary people whom Midir was too tired to notice.
“The Lord Chancellor’s office? They’ll want to know how urgent,” said the page, while the guard was gathering Midir’s small amount of personal belongings. Xe kept the dispatch bag for xemself, of course.
“Not his office. I have to see him personally—someone’s already stopped earlier messages from getting through. It can wait a few minutes but not half an hour.”
The page ran.
She must have also taken an elevator, because when Midir and the guard arrived, the footmen showed them straight to the Lord Chancellor’s office.
Lord Mdang was already standing from his desk. “What’s happening?”
Midir handed him the bag and said, “The protests in Geowen-Ar have turned into a full-on food riot. That’s Geowen-Ar on the river Vah, your excellency, not Geowen in Filin,” xe added, just in case Lord Mdang actually knew of either place.
“The what? I’ve heard nothing of protests anywhere in Hahwin, much less shortages.” So Lord Mdang did know the region. He rang three of a row of bell-cords while he spoke. “Oh, feel free to sit anywhere, sayu.”
It was sayev, in fact, but this was not the time for that, and xe was used to being sayu’d much of the time by people who didn’t expect a courier to be an aristocrat. Actually, Midir was mildly impressed that he’d gendered xem correctly, based on nothing but xeir hair, given that the courier uniform did not include any Solaaran-style cues.
“Thank you, your excellency.” Midir slumped onto the surprisingly comfy chair nearest xem.
”Is their Light incapacitated? Do you know if they sent messages?”
“The clan-heads I spoke with said they thought their messages weren’t getting through, but they didn’t know what the problem was. There wasn’t time to speak to whoever had actually gone to the Light in person. I wasn’t in town for very long—I had to prioritize getting out with the news.”
Lord Mdang scanned the letters, his face growing more set with each one.
A series of squeaks issued from underneath the desk. Midir nearly jumped.
“Not now, dearest, I have an emergency,” said Lord Mdang without looking up, and the whatever-it-was made a single, much quieter squeak before settling down.
A Palace page, a footman, and a secretary arrived in response to the summons. The secretary was… Zaal? Zahil? of the Tkinele. No, Zaoul. Midir knew him a little from when he’d been a page on rotation at the courier office downstairs. He still had remarkably long hair with all kinds of un-Shaian decorations, despite working for the Lord Chancellor. Well, the Lord Chancellor was known to be a champion of the hinterlands. Midir blinked. Someone was talking to xem. Ah, right, Lord Mdang was offering food and a bath and so on, and the footman was waiting to lead xem there. Xe levered xemself up out of the chair and followed him down the servants’ corridor.
“No, thank you,” Midir automatically responded to the offer of someone to attend xeir bath, then remembered where xe was and said, “Wait, actually, yes. Anybody is fine.” This wasn’t some small-town inn. Servants of a household of this caliber, in Solaara, would never discuss what private parts a guest had, even among themselves.
A young woman was already in the bathroom, waiting to help xem out of xeir clothes. “I’m Galina,” she said, bowing.
“Midir an Daia,” xe replied, sort-of-bowing while struggling out of one sleeve—an inelegant thing xe would never do at full alertness.
“Do you have any preferences for food and drink? We’ll have something brought in at once.”
“No meat or poultry or eggs, but fish and dairy are fine, spicy food is fine,” said Midir, because here in Solaara in a high lord’s apartments, xe didn’t have to settle for “stew of the day” and try to ignore what was in it.
(Xe wondered what the squeaky animal under the desk had been, but then yawned and forgot to ask.)
In short order there was a finely painted porcelain plate of miniature savory pastries on a tray in front of xem (with a silver fork to avoid touching the pastries with wet fingers), Galina was washing xeir hair, the hot water was soothing xeir muscles, and life was starting to look a bit sunnier.
“Just keep me from falling asleep and drowning,” xe said when Galina asked whether there was anything else she could bring xem, and she did so, just long enough for xem to get actually clean and dried off and bundled off to bed.
Midir awoke six or seven hours later. Galina appeared again immediately to help make xem presentable and offered dinner. Midir, thrown back into the rhythms of a noble household, understood her phrasing and gratefully accepted the implied invitation offered to xem as a courier, rather than eating alone as befitted a single aristocratic guest while the lord of the house was busy. After so many years of pretending to be Sayu Daia, one of the major downsides of taking xeir rightful station again was no longer getting to hear the servants’ gossip. Midir also accepted the loan of comfortable clothing: suitable for resting from a long journey but also acceptable for receiving an informal visit from a friend. From what xe had seen, xe thought this was the kind of efficient household where they’d bring a more formal wrap or robe if xe needed one. (Though if Midir’s liege lady showed up, she would of course not be here to see xem. Xe would report to her later, about the Geowen-Ar situation and whatever else xe happened to notice around here.)
Tonight’s dinner was family-style, high and low servants seated together, as well as two Imperial Guards—from the Lord Emperor’s personal bodyguard, no less. Midir didn’t know whether they were officially or unofficially attached to the household or just friends visiting. The two guards and Midir were in the honored guests’ places, in the formal Solaaran style, despite the family-style table. The tableware was formally arranged, too, though the serving dishes were mismatched, apparently deliberately.
“We try to all have dinner together at least every couple of weeks,” explained Lord Mdang’s majordomo, after he had recited the prayer to the Sun-on-Earth and everyone began to eat.
“Try the buttered leeks,” someone a few seats down called in their general direction. Definitely an informal dinner.
“The what?” said the guard across from Midir.
“The leeks! In the hibiscus dish.”
“Oh, I see.” He picked up the dish, which had little hibiscus flowers painted around the edges, and offered it to Midir. “Would you like some butter sauce, sayev? With a hint of leek?”
The woman who was clearly proud of her leeks objected, to much laughter. A remarkably beautiful girl on the other side of the table leaned in to defend her—this must be Lord Mdang’s costumier, who had originally been plucked out of obscurity by the Cavalier an Vilius himself, for her skill at embroidery. Midir didn’t recognize anyone else from the Tower or the Palace service halls so far.
The other guard, next to Midir, silently offered xem a bowl of—something mashed and brownish? “It’s vegan,” Franzel put in, mistaking Midir’s hesitation, and the guard nodded solemnly, so xe shrugged and took some. The guard then held out a basket of crackers, which meant this was a spread or dip. It was some kind of spicy cold eggplant concoction, which meant it might be from Southern Dair but otherwise rang no bells for Midir. Something else did click in the back of xeir mind, though: this man, Ato, was both northern Amboloyan and notably silent, so he must be the same Ato who was one of the group of favored guards. Midir wished xe had refreshed xeir briefings on the Lord Emperor’s innermost guard, but it wasn’t like xe was expected to encounter them often. Xe could find out who the other one, Ingo, was later.
Three of the servants at the table got up to remove everyone’s plates and bring in the next course, and everyone waited to eat until they sat back down again. Franzel informed Midir that everything with meat was in a white dish, and there were no eggs or poultry for the rest of the savory courses. The desserts containing eggs would also be marked.
As he finished explaining, a footman came in. “Hey, sorry, can anyone babysit?” He held up something securely clasped in his hands.
Several people volunteered at once. Ingo grinned and held up a hand—not raising his arm to volunteer, but as though to catch something. “Don’t you dare,” snapped Franzel, so Ingo got up and went to fetch the thing from the footman.
It squeaked loudly as the footman relinquished it.
Surely he hadn’t been about to throw an animal?!
But it was an animal. It kept squeaking as Ingo brought it to one of the servants of the chamber (another very pretty girl, hmm, interesting), and then it let out an extremely piercing squeak as he placed it right onto the tablecloth.
“Don’t worry,“ said Franzel. “It’s made of magic—perfectly hygienic.” He sounded as though he had been forced to accept Lord Mdang’s pet at the table against his will.
“It won’t touch the food, either,” Ingo assured xem as he returned to his seat.
“What is it? A hamster?” Midir wasn’t sure what noises hamsters made, but xe hadn’t seen a long tail (thank the good spirits).
“A sort of fire hedgehog beast,” said Franzel.
“We call it the dumpling creature,” said Ingo. “Because it looks like an ambulatory dumpling.”
The word dumpling did indeed feature in the general cooing and baby-talk down the table. “It’ll come here to meet you in a minute. Once it’s done saying hello to its fanclub.”
As Ingo predicted, it made the rounds to the end of the table and back up again, pausing only to accept a tidbit from someone’s chopsticks.
“It doesn’t actually need to eat,” said the head cook, on Ingo’s other side.
“It wants to feel included,” Ingo agreed.
“Oh yes. Gods forbid anyone excludes it from anything,” said the cook, rolling her eyes. “How the government was able to get on before it showed up, I can’t imagine.”
“It’s very well-behaved in the Council of Princes,” Ingo said.
Ato made an eloquent scoffing noise.
“…Mostly.”
“Lord Mdang seriously brings his pet to the Council of Princes?” It went against everything Midir had heard about the man.
“If the Lord Emperor wanted him to stop, he’d stop.”
Which, Midir realized as another shrill squeak and a burst of laughter came from down the table, was a way for the guard to say without saying…
The Lord Emperor thought that was funny. Or was smitten with the creature’s cuteness, though that seemed less likely. (Not that any of this sounded likely.)
At last, the dumpling creature arrived at Midir’s plate. They regarded each other. It was solid yet gave an impression of being formed of fire, which Midir had never seen in any kind of magical construct before. And it really did resemble a dumpling in some indefinable way, though the hedgehog aspect came through pretty clearly as well.
“Hello there,” said Midir. The dumpling turned out to have a larger vocabulary than just squeaks; it made a gently inquisitive chirring noise at xem. Xe held out xeir hand, intending to let the dumpling sniff xeir fingers if it wished, but instead the dumpling climbed trustingly into xeir palm. It was warm, like a real animal. Not furry but not smooth either.
It was bizarre, but undeniably extremely cute.
Midir carried it closer and petted it between the ears. It made more contented chirring noises.
“You can play with it after dinner, if you want,” said Ingo. “We’ll be looking after it for the rest of the night, I think.”
The dumpling emitted a sad squeak, almost as though… agreeing? And the way it had responded when Lord Mdang had told it he was busy…
“How intelligent is it, exactly?” Midir asked.
“Horribly intelligent,” said the cook.
The dumpling squeaked and flicked its little tail, distinctly smug.
“It understands everything when it wants to,” said Franzel. “Unless it hears ‘get down from there.’ Then it becomes an innocent animal that can’t be expected to follow instructions. Right?”
The dumpling’s eyes widened innocently—Midir could have sworn its eyes actually enlarged relative to the size of its head—and it looked appealingly at Midir. It was definitely following the conversation.
“I’m not taking sides,” Midir told it.
Now its head and snout were actually changing shape to look cuter, more like a baby animal. “Don’t you start with that,” the cook told it. “It doesn’t work on anybody.”
Midir had forgotten entirely about xeir food. “Uh… How far does its shapechanging go?”
The dumpling squeaked joyfully and scrambled down from the table. As it landed on the floor, it began to grow.
“No!” said the cook. Several other people noticed and also said “no!” firmly, even those who had been cooing and petting it the most.
It was already the size of an extremely large dog, though still with its prior proportions, so that it was very stout, with thick short legs and blunt claws. Franzel got up and stood over it. “Absolutely not.”
The thing let out a noise like MARP!
“I said no.”
The servant of the chamber who’d been feeding it earlier got up and gave Franzel a warning look before speaking to the creature.
“Sweetie, you need to get small again,” she said firmly.
Marp!
“Yes, I know. But only little dumplings get treats and kissies. That’s the rule.” It looked around and whined—an alarmingly rumbling whine—but everyone had exaggeratedly stern faces on, presenting a united front. She leaned in and whispered, “You don’t want to have an argument in front of a guest, do you, sweetie?”
Marrrp.
She crouched down and stroked its head. “Lord Mdang is very busy with a serious emergency. You heard what happened in Hahwin. What do you think he’s going to say if we have to go and interrupt him?”
MA-AARP. This was sulky, clearly meaning “I don’t see what you need to interrupt him for,” but the creature understood that nobody was impressed with its behavior, and so shrank down into a dumpling again.
“Good dumpling,” she said. “There’s my good little baby sweetie-pie.” She scooped it up and kissed its snout. It squeaked, disgruntled at being so blatantly appeased. She stood up and gave it another kiss. “Who’s my little sweetie? Are you my little sweetie? Yes you are!”
Everyone took this as a signal to turn back to their food and conversations.
“Sorry about that,” said the cook. “I swear mealtimes are usually not like this around here.”
“I’m sorry for putting the idea into its head,” Midir said, to be polite, but everyone around xem dismissed this and assured xem that they didn’t expect anyone to guess what it might do.
“It could just have easily shrunk down to pea-size and pretended to get lost,” Ingo said.
“So it’s… about as intelligent as a human child?”
Everyone within earshot shook their heads. (The dumpling was ensconced in an empty mug, its head peeking out over the rim, being fed directly from someone’s plate.)
“It acts very silly and willful,” Franzel explained. “But it’s mostly just impulsiveness, not selfishness. It can understand far more complex things than a child.“
“It reads and understands legal theory,” said Ato, startling Midir.
“I knew it,” said the cook. “Of course it can read. And then it expects me to believe it didn’t know hiding in the steamer basket would scare people! I checked on some steamed dumplings,” she explained to Midir, “and one of them was the wrong kind of dumpling.”
“It makes puns.” Midir was aware xe was not sufficiently concealing the flat disbelief in xeir voice.
“Oh, it loves puns,” said Ingo. “One time—”
Ato, having made his contribution for the evening, wordlessly held out a dish of starchy squash simmered in coconut milk. Midir took some. It was, like everything else at this table, remarkably delicious. Xe ate and listened intently. Xe had had a whole list of interesting things to potentially find out during this dinner, but none of them mattered now. The cute dumpling anecdotes were far more important.
Later, Midir considered what xe knew of Ato and Ingo so far, and decided that a direct approach would be most effective. They wouldn’t be in their current positions if they didn’t know how to parse courtly hints and indirect conversation; they also might just not expect it in this context and completely ignore xeir hints.
“So,” Midir said to Ingo, “are you two here for me, or is this just a coincidence?”
Xe said this while everyone was relaxing after dinner in a comfortable common room that had definitely not been part of the original servants’ halls. Not really everyone—some people were back on duty or had gone off by themselves, but eight or nine people including them ended up sitting together, talking and playing cards or doing some little craft. Ato and the beautiful girl, Féonie, were playing some kind of complicated board game that had been left mid-turn under a box for protection. The dumpling did not have faith in Ato’s ability to strategize, from the tone of the squeaking, and in the end he had to capture it and bring it to Shoänie, who had dealt with it so effectively earlier. He did this by wordlessly placing the dumpling on her head without warning, apology, or explanation. Midir had to snort, despite xeir opinions on this kind of behavior.
“Hmm,” said Ingo. “Let’s put it this way. Ato is over here a lot because he’s courting Féonie, and I came for dinner too because we’re both friends with a lot of people here. It’s nice to relax outside of the barracks sometimes—you’re a courier, you know what I mean. However… if someone in the Palace has ties to the Geowen-Ar situation and thinks Lord Mdang has not already collected all the damaging information you might have… or if they simply want to send a warning message to others… then our well-publicized presence here lets them know not to try it.”
“Assuming they’re smart enough to be deterred.”
“Of course.”
“How likely is any of that?”
“I don’t know details. I’m guessing… that my commanders aren’t seriously worried but they’re still going to take precautions like it’s the old days. And the captain of couriers agreed to give you paid leave for a few days, so tonight we’d like you to sleep here. Were you intending to visit anyone before your next assignment?”
“My cousin. She’s a junior attendant to a lady in the Grand Duchess of Old Damara’s household.”
“Oh, good. Her Grace’s household has excellent security. We’ll warn them—you don’t need to worry about anything. But let’s not send any messages in advance, all right?”
It was nice of him to phrase it as a question. Midir agreed.
The dumpling creature had wriggled away from Shoänie and was now lurking in a basket of yarn on the floor, ducking down and peeking out mischievously. While Midir wondered whether xe should warn the woman who was stretched out on the sofa crocheting industriously, she held her hand down and said, “Sweetie, could you pass me the number 6 hook? Thanks.” The dumpling chirped and retrieved a crochet hook from the bottom of the basket, as requested.
So even if Ato had been exaggerating, now Midir could personally confirm that it could read numerals at minimum, and distinguish 6 from 9 if there was such a thing as a number 9 crochet hook. Great. Wonderful.
Midir looked at Ato and Féonie. Féonie obviously wished to drag Ato into the nearest closet and ravish him, but Ingo had used the word “courting,” and Ato’s body language was studiously proper. Was there a decree that the unmarried young people in the Lord Chancellor’s household had to be above reproach? Or was this caution to avoid setting off some tension between the Guard and the second most powerful man on Zunidh? Lord Mdang and Commander Omo were reputed to be friends… But that didn’t mean their subordinates were. Midir wished xe knew enough about relations between the Service and the Guard to be able to make an educated guess. Another thing to ask about when xe went to see xeir cousin.
Just then, two of Lord Mdang’s secretaries came in, tired and apparently sent away against their will after their working dinner. After greetings and introductions, they sat with Midir and the three of them shared what they knew about the Geowen-Ar situation (or at least what the secretaries were allowed to say). Ingo listened intently, and the dumpling came over to listen as well, and to get snuggles. One of the secretaries was Zaoul of the Tkinele, whom Midir had seen earlier, and the other was Lord Eldo Vardes—well, Midir had to assume Lord Mdang knew what he was doing, taking him of all people into his household.
While they talked, the dumpling plopped itself in Lord Eldo’s lap; he rubbed its belly while it happily waved its stubby limbs in the air, and hand-fed bits of Solaaran snack mix to it, keeping most of the pretzels and cheese crunchies for himself. When the dumpling got tired of this, it jumped to Zaoul’s knee and climbed up his robes to snuggle against the side of his neck, squeaking very softly. He tilted his head to rub his cheek against the creature, unselfconsciously. “We’re fine, it’s just been a long day,” he said. ”Don’t meep at me. It’s true.”
The dumpling squeaked an interjection occasionally, and everyone responded as though they understood what it was saying. Midir asked about this. “A lot of it is clear from context, but after a while you do learn to sense what it wants to get across,” said Lord Eldo. “And it’ll tell you if you guess wrong.” Midir had to admit the dumpling’s tones of voice (tones of squeak?) were pretty expressive. So were its face and posture.
Well. If it was allowed to roam freely in Lord Mdang’s office, there was not much point trying to speak circumspectly in front of it. Midir shared what xe knew, and so did the secretaries, and Midir kept in mind that Ingo had informed the two secretaries of xeir family connection as soon as they had sat down.
It was a little annoying, but in a strange way nice to be surrounded by competent people for once, after so long on the road. When xe was steered away from the inner workings of the Lord Chancellor’s office into telling stories of courier life, xe went along with it.
Midir was awoken by the bells the next morning out of a really good sleep. It was probably the effect of all the physical exercise followed by good food, but also, xe thought, the feeling of safety within the Palace walls. As Ingo had pointed out last night after dinner, there could well be someone here who had it in for xem, but right now xe couldn’t really muster up any concern. Xe stretched extravagantly under the amazingly soft sheets, feeling rather like the dumpling—
Oh, by the names of the good spirits! Xe had briefly forgotten all about the dumpling creature. Xe had to go make a report immediately.
After brushing xeir teeth and various other morning tasks, Midir rang the bell for a chamber servant. Shoänie arrived in under a minute, with a breakfast tray she set down on a side table. The dumpling poked its head out of her apron pocket with a friendly squeak.
“What the—” Shoänie grabbed at her pocket, exasperated. The dumpling vanished, and before Midir could process this, a smug little squeak came from under xeir pillow.
Midir stood aside as Shoänie hunted in the bedclothes for the dumpling. It permitted her to catch it and hold it aloft at her eye level. “You,” she said firmly, “are being a nuisance. Sayev an Daia isn’t going to tell you more stories first thing in the morning. Go back to Lord Mdang.”
A resigned squeak, and then her hand was empty.
“I’m sorry about that,” she sighed. “It likes hearing adventure stories and doesn’t care what time it is.”
“That’s all right,” xe said, and then explained that xe wanted to visit xeir cousin who had a position in the Grand Duchess of Old Damara’s household, and would Shoänie please inform the appropriate people so that Midir did not upset the security arrangements?
Shoänie said this would be very easy to arrange, and by the time xe was out of the bath and Galina had arrived to assist with xeir hair, there was a message from Lord Mdang that xe was free to go if xe kept the Palace Guard liaison apprised of xeir schedule. Whatever investigations had happened overnight—for there had been some, Midir was certain—nothing immediately dangerous had shown up.
It was true that Midir’s cousin Aurélie was a junior attendant to a lady in the Grand Duchess’s household, and that she was currently in her Grace’s Palace apartments, and that xe would be pleased to see her again after a long separation. But there was no time for that now, because first xe had to tell the Grand Duchess’s spymaster all about the situation in Geowen-Ar and the Lord Chancellor’s response to it, and then xe had to see her Grace as soon as she had time to discuss the horrifying entity cozily ensconced in the very heart of the mundial government.
The transfer to the Grand Duchess’s apartments was perfect. Midir put on xeir freshly laundered uniform and went through the most public halls at a fairly busy moment in the late morning, attended by a Mdang household footman carrying xeir small bag to the front door instead of the servants’ entrance. He stopped to chat with the Damaran footman on door duty as Midir went in. If Midir wasn’t a target, nothing would happen; and if xe was, this public display would ensure that the other people in the courier barracks and offices would not be inconvenienced by rampaging assassins. Inside Her Grace’s apartments was one of the safest places for xem to be, until the whole matter was unraveled.
As much as xe wanted to flop on Aurélie’s bed (or sofa, if she had been granted her own sitting room yet) and talk like they used to as children, xeir duty came first.
Xe did not have to wait long to speak to her Grace’s spymaster, but it took a long time for xem to report on everything that had happened since the last time xe was here, and then xe had to wait for the Grand Duchess herself.
Finally, finally xe was sent to her office. She was gravely looking at her spymaster’s summary of the situation in Geowen-Ar. She welcomed xem back from xeir travels and encouraged xem to have some cookies from the bowl on her desk, even though she knew xe had actually arrived yesterday.
“There is something I need to know about Lord Mdang’s little pet?”
“It’s not a pet, my lady. It’s either a primordial nature spirit out of legend or… some sort of demon or jinn. I don’t know much about supernatural entities out of stories, but it’s too intelligent to be anything else.”
Her Grace sat back. She knew xem well enough to know xe was not given to overblown fantasies, or so xe hoped. “Why do you say that?”
Midir summarized the dumpling’s attributes, based on xeir own observations and the funny anecdotes everyone had innocently shared. What it all boiled down to was this:
The thing was of completely unknown origin, unfamiliar to the Ouranatha and the zookeepers, able to teleport unknown distances, able to shrink itself small enough to get through keyholes or under doors and to grow larger to some unknown maximum and change its shape, able to eat more than its own body weight within minutes with no sign or explanation of where the eaten material went (since it had no internal organs and did not excrete), and almost certainly able to make any sound it wished—including human speech—since it had no larynx and produced all its squeaks and chitters magically. It had not shown any ability to conceal its nature and look like a real animal (or object or even human), but given everything else, it made sense to assume it could do so undetected.
It was literate, and intelligent enough to follow conversations and understand all the highly sensitive information it acquired in the councils of the highest levels of government and need-to-know meetings, including things like legal theory that it logically shouldn’t understand. Its personality was complex enough to play pranks and to understand how to make itself look cuter to get sympathy.
Its only restraint seemed to be that it craved affection, and hated being scolded, and feared to make Lord Mdang disappointed in it.
They both spent a moment silently contemplating this terrifying list of the creature’s abilities. “And the Lord Chancellor’s staff kiss it and call it ‘sweetie,’ and the Imperial Guards play catch with it,” concluded Midir.
The corner of her Grace’s mouth ticked up. “What do they use for the ball, a chickpea?”
“Ah, no, my lady, I meant they play catch using the dumpling as the ball. It enjoys being flung back and forth, apparently.”
“That seems… irresponsible.”
“I’m told that the dumpling begged very adorably and then demonstrated its indestructibility so they wouldn’t be concerned about dropping it.”
“Do I want to know how?”
“By slamming itself against a stone wall several times.”
“…I see. And no one, not even Lord Mdang, can control it except by moral suasion.”
“That is what I am given to understand, your Grace.”
“I assumed the Lord Emperor, being the Lord Magus, could exert some control over it, or at least restraint. But I am not an expert on magic. If it is indeed a primordial elemental spirit, taking the form of a small animal as the surest way of getting Lord Mdang’s affection…” She did not complete her thought.
“And the affection of a great many others, my lady.”
“Yes. I have noticed that it seems attached to the Cavalier an Vilius, and the Commander and Deputy Commander of the Guard. Which makes sense, as they are Lord Mdang’s close friends.”
“And they are also the Lord Emperor’s most trusted servants,” Midir completed the unspoken part.
She took a drink of coffee, thinking hard. When she was done, she said, “I’ll check with the Mother of the Mountains, but I think an actual demon or actively malevolent entity would have done something by now. As the Lord Emperor survived his heart attack, praise be to the high gods, I don’t think it caused that. Although… with what you tell me about its shapeshifting powers…”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Well. You just spent an evening in its company, so you deserve to know. I have a solid, credible report that the high priest Iprenna’s body bore claw marks. Enormous ones.”
Midir could absolutely believe it. Faced with a deadly threat to Commander Omo, and armed with the ability to shapeshift… The dumpling wouldn’t even need to have deadly intent if it had made itself large enough.
“At the time, our informant assumed this was from a magical construct created by the defensive spells in the Imperial Apartments—which is still possible, of course.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“The Lord Emperor does enjoy its antics. I believe its absence during Lord Mdang’s embassy was the impetus behind the creation of his magical cat.”
“My lady… if I may ask…”
“Yes?”
“Does the Glorious One really call his cat Sayo Biscuits?”
“He does.”
“Thank you, my lady. I was just curious.”
“It is a cute name. And certainly preferable to naming it Invincible Zangorius the Eternally Shining Eater of Souls and forcing people to say the entire thing each time.”
Midir had used up xeir store of impertinent questions; xe couldn’t ask who exactly had done that, though xe had several uncomfortable guesses.
Her Grace drank some more coffee. “I’m going to take precautions before investigating further, never fear.” (Translation: in case it has ensorcelled the Lord Magus of Zunidh and not just all those around him.) “As for you… you deserve something nice to take your mind off Geowen-Ar.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
She smiled at xem. Xe smiled back. Xe thought xe knew what treat she had in mind: another errand, but a fun one.
Prince Belu had a lot of spies. Unfortunately, most of them were not his spies.
This was because his spymaster’s second-in-command, her trusted lieutenant, her good right arm, had been working for the Grand Duchess of Old Damara since her youth, long before she had ever entered the service of the Prince of Western Dair. Midir was not supposed to know this; however, xeir mother had come to the Palace one day, recognized the spy in the hallway as one of her childhood friends using a false name, and gone straight to Aurélie to pass this on to those who needed to know. Midir, at fifteen, had been along on this trip in the hope of teaching xem some court polish before xeir formal court presentation, and had heard enough to guess why the matter was being hushed up. Xe also recognized it as an opportunity to be given some secret responsibility of xeir own…
Xeir dreams of spying on the perfidious Amboloyans had not come to fruition, of course. Her Grace had enough sources by then that she was no longer forced to rely on teenage spies.
But someone must have remembered xeir eagerness, because an offer did come years later.
And now Midir was here, being ushered into the office of the Prince of Western Dair himself by the Prince’s own spymaster. All those years behind xem had paid off: xe had no trouble showing only anxiety and concern and concealing everything else.
“You’re serious?” said Lord Belu when Midir had finished. He was actually sweating. He had to wipe his face with a handkerchief.
“I saw it for myself, your highness,” Midir replied. “It can shrink to an impossibly tiny size, climb walls, cling to any garment. It can survive being locked in a dispatch box. And speaking of dispatch boxes—the creature is fully literate.”
“Lord Mdang could have access to anything,” Prince Belu nearly wailed.
“The Holy Emperor has full confidence in Lord Mdang,” Midir pointed out piously, just to twist the knife a little.
“Of course, there is nothing I would need to conceal from the Glorious One. But Lord Mdang’s word against anyone else’s…” Prince Belu looked around as though the dumpling might be hiding somewhere in the elaborate upholstery covering the room. Which it might be, of course. Midir could not conclusively say it wasn’t. Come to think of it, xe was doing Prince Belu a favor, warning him of the threat.
“Do you think it eats flesh?” asked Prince Belu suddenly.
“I’ve certainly seen it eat meat, your highness. Cooked meat. It’s smart enough not to let anyone witness it eating something raw.”
“Well. Thank you for coming straight here with the warning,” Prince Belu said, and sighed. “At least I’ll get to give Princess Anastasiya a good scare when I tell her.” The thought seemed to cheer him a little.
It cheered Midir, too. If xe had to live with the knowledge of a terrifying spirit-demon-whatever frolicking in the Palace with full access to the workings of the government, then at least this entertainment was pretty good compensation.