Free Lord Melchior by Varian Krylov Page B

for I was anxious to have the evening done with, to return to the comfort of our room. Rasha, too, looked relieved, as she must have imagined, or hoped, that with Eldrich's departure she would soon be free to leave. But as she stood by the sideboard, clearly hoping for a word from the master that she might make her escape, I saw her shudder with a terrible fear that was far beyond the tense embarrassment she had been displaying all evening as she served. I could not see the master, but stealing a long look at her I felt sure that he was raking his eyes over her."
    * * * *
    "What's your name, girl?” Lord Melchior called across the room to the trembling servant girl.
    "Rasha, sir."
    "Bring that decanter over here, Rasha, and fill my glass."
    Her disappointment at not being allowed to leave, and her fear of what it mean showed plainly in her face. As she took up the decanter I saw that her hand, which had trembled all through the evening, was now shaking almost violently. Slowly she came forward, toward the master, but as I was right beside him it was like she was coming toward me, so slowly it was like she was wading through the deep water of the great baths. When she was near enough the master lifted his empty glass toward her. With her hand shaking pathetically she filled his glass, the terrible concentration on her face painfully obvious as she tried desperately not to spill any of the wine on the master's trousers. When she was done, clearly relieved and almost in tears, having spilled none of the dark liquid, she turned back toward the sideboard.
    "'Wait,’ the master ordered.
    She halted, and with a look of miserable dread turned back to face him. I heard the master swallow a mouthful of wine, then the clank of his glass upon the wood of the table at his side.
    "Hand me that decanter, girl."
    Her arm crossed in front of me and the master pulled the decanter from her grip and set it down on the table.
    "Come here, girl. Stand in front of me."
    * * * *
    "For pity's sake, Zaccheus, don't stop now!” cried Arif, frustrated with my embarrassment.
    "I had no idea what was coming, I truly didn't. And yet my heart was thumping furiously. And..."
    "And what, Zaccheus?"
    "And my ... my ... I was hard,” I finally managed to whisper.
    "Go on,” Arif said coolly, but with a ravenous look.
    "The poor girl seemed barely able to move, she was so scared. And without really knowing why, I was scared for her. White as her the blouse under her vest she drifted past me, and stood before the master. There was a long, terrible silence, and I knew he must be just sitting there, torturing that poor girl with his eyes. Her own lovely hazel eyes were soon veiled with tears, though she did not let a single one fall. Then the master spoke."
    * * * *
    "'Zaccheus.’”
    I was so absorbed in my fear, in the girl's fear, in the strange things going on in my body I didn't understand that he was talking to me.
    "Zaccheus!’ His voice was impatient now and I started, and my body, stiff with anxiety, began to tremble."
    "'Sir?’”
    "Look at me, Zaccheus.” His voice had returned to its usual soft tone.
    Standing at his side, I turned my head and looked down at him where he sat in his great chair. I had always been vaguely afraid of him, knowing he has the power of life and death over me, over all of us. But I had never feared him as I feared him in that moment. I half expected him to hand me a knife and tell me to stab that poor frightened girl through the heart.
    Even though he was sitting and I was standing, I felt as though he were looking down at me from a great height. Even then I felt his size, his strength. Everything about him—his thick, black, wavy hair, his sharp eyes nearly that same black, his angular features, his large hands resting relaxed over the ornately carved wood of the arms of his chair—made me feel small and soft. Then he smiled the strangest smile. It was ... intimate. When he smiled at me like that I felt my face flush