Steward? The thought of him in so important a position disturbed Karigan, but it explained his being here in this office with its fine furnishings.
He squinted at her. “Do I know you?”
“Very unlikely, my lord.” Karigan prayed he wouldn’t ask her name.
“Then how did you know me?”
“The soldier.” Karigan didn’t like to lie, but right now her loathing of Barrett overrode her sense of duty. She did not want him to remember her. It was a small lie anyway, and wouldn’t hurt anything. “The soldier told us.”
“Oh.” Barrett sat in his cushioned chair, crossing his legs and looking relaxed and self-important. He gazed at her expectantly.
“We have brought a message from the king for Lord Mirwell.”
“Let’s have it then,” he said.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but the message is written in the king’s own hand for Lord Mirwell’s eyes only.”
Barrett sat up, his expression one of displeasure. “But I am Lord Mirwell’s eyes. I’m his steward.”
“Duty requires I present the message to—” and here Karigan faltered, almost saying “Timas” “—to Lord Mirwell.”
“Is it urgent? Life or death?”
“I do not know what the message contains, but I was not given to believe it was urgent.” Truly, she knew the message was of little importance, for this exercise was really about giving her a chance to contact Beryl.
Barrett sat back again, tapping his fingers on the armrest, his gaze calculating. “Then you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“What?” Karigan was flabbergasted. No one had ever sent her away before a message, a message from the king, had been delivered.
“Tomorrow,” Barrett said. “You can’t expect Lord Mirwell to come at your beck and call. He’s busy. He can’t see you today.”
No lord-governor or his staff had ever treated her this way. “But—”
“If it’s not urgent, and if you won’t leave it with me, you can try back tomorrow.”
Karigan tried to maintain her composure. “Very well. Good day.”
“Wait a moment,” Barrett said before she could escape. “Are you sure we’ve not met?”
“Quite sure,” Karigan said.
“Pity. Perhaps we’ll get to know one another before you return to the king. It is customary for the lord-governor to offer lodging to the king’s messengers—”
“We’ve already lodging in town. Good day, my lord.” Before he could stop her again, she gave him a cursory bow and retreated through the door. She hastened through the keep and out the entry as fast as decorum allowed. She headed straight for the horses, being held for them in the courtyard. Once she and Fergal were off the keep’s grounds, she sighed. Then she muttered some curses worthy of the sailors she grew up around on the docks. Fergal knew enough to stay quiet.
“That,” she said, “was another of my schoolmates.”
“So you did know him,” Fergal said.
“Unfortunately. He was in Timas’ circle, of course.” She couldn’t get over the sensation of slime coating her skin after being in Barrett’s presence. “And unfortunately we’ll probably see him again tomorrow.”
Tomorrow she hoped to conclude their business here and return to Sacor City. Tomorrow she hoped she’d see Beryl. If she didn’t, she did not know how to ask after her without arousing suspicion. But that was tomorrow’s worry.
The next day found Karigan and Fergal mounting the steps to Mirwell Keep behind the same soldier as yesterday. An ache had begun building in Karigan’s head throughout the morning. The thought of seeing Timas was bad enough but Barrett, too? As they crossed the entry hall, she glanced around, hoping to spot Beryl. Surely Beryl would have heard by now that two Riders had visited the keep. In hopes word would travel, Karigan mentioned to the soldier in a conversational way where she and Fergal were staying.
Once again they were led to Barrett’s office, but this time he did not shoo a serving girl out. He appeared to be actually working, poring over some papers on his desk.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” he said.
“We wish to deliver Lord Mirwell’s message.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to try again tomorrow.”
“May I remind my lord that this is a message from the king?”
“You may, but unless you’ve changed your mind about leaving the message in my care, you’ll have to come back tomorrow. Lord Mirwell cannot receive you today. He is busy.”
Karigan bridled her annoyance and managed to take leave of Barrett without exploding. He was worse than most bureaucrats she’d met. She paused in the entry hall, almost tempted to search out Timas herself, and maybe find Beryl in the process, but one did not do such things when one was a Green Rider.
On their third visit to the keep, Barrett rose when they entered his office. “Well, well, the diligent Greenies are back.”
Karigan wanted to smack the smirk right off his face.
He circled around her, closer than felt comfortable. She stiffened.
“Are you sure,” he said, “we haven’t met? What’s your name, Greenie?”
Damnation, Karigan thought. She considered giving some false name, but that was not as simple a lie. She’d be found out. It would be dishonest and dishonorable to the king and the Riders. “Karigan,” she said, not willing to give him her full name.