Free Oracle: The House War: Book Six by Michelle West Page B

soured milk. “I’m not invited to drink when the guests are of import.”
    “I’m an errand boy, as you’ve said, and I’ve no intention of letting Ludgar polish this off on his own. I suppose you
could
bring just one glass on the off chance Ludgar insists on patrician formality.”
     • • • 
    Ludgar arrived in the sitting room within the half hour. In that time, Jester conversed with Ivarr and glanced at the shelving upon which very prettily bound books sat. He very much doubted Ludgar had read them, but noted by their titles that many were of recent vintage. The furniture itself had seen a notable upgrade since Jester had last paid a visit; the glasses that Ludgar procured were likewise new.
    None of this was suspicious in and of itself, but Haval’s bland words had done their work; Jester was alert. Alert, however, meant Jester became far less formal; he chose to shed the subtleties that Ellerson had done his best to instill. The desire to please, to appeal, was at its strongest when danger was present; Jester worked with it, rather than against it. He eased himself into a chair, adopting a seated posture that Ivarr wouldn’t notice and Ellerson would have disliked in the extreme.
    “Jester,” Ludgar said, as he entered the room. He cast a glance at Ivarr; Ivarr shrugged. Ludgar was at home in this house, and Ivarr did not consider Jester to be a threat.
    Neither, if it came to that, did Ludgar, who not only took a seat, but dragged it across the carpet to bring it closer to both his visitor and his visitor’s theoretically fine vintage.
    Jester chuckled. “I’m aware I’m not the star of this show,” he said, handing the bottle to Ludgar for the merchant’s inspection.
    Ludgar did not whistle, as Ivarr had. His eyes rounded slightly, and then narrowed far more noticeably. He set the bottle down on the table between them as if it were now the stakes for which a hand of cards might be played.
    Which is why Ludgar was captain to Ivarr’s first mate. He did not, on the other hand, demand that Ivarr retreat into invisibility. Jester noted that Ivarr didn’t pull up a chair. He was watching both Ludgar and Jester as if he was trying to figure out the game now being played.
    “I’ve been informed that you’ve been sent with a message?”
    “I have.” Jester shifted in his chair and removed the scroll case Finch used in moderately important correspondence. It was sealed; the seal had not been broken. Long years of practice had made clear just how tricky breaching such a seal was if one wanted to read a private message without either sender or receiver being aware of the intrusion.
    It was not, however, impossible.
    Ludgar’s frown was a natural part of his face. “You don’t know the contents of this message.”
    “It wasn’t verbal, no. In general, Finch doesn’t trust me with important verbal messages. She feels I get too distracted.”
    Ludgar lifted a brow in the direction of the unopened bottle. “Not without cause.”
    Jester offered an unrepentant smile. “I’ve never said she’s a fool.”
    “She sent the wine?”
    “Let’s just say it came with her message.”
    Ludgar did smile, then. “The steward of the cellar’s going to be blue in the face at the loss.”
    “It wasn’t doing anyone any good in the cellars,” Jester pointed out. “And The Terafin has never developed an aficionado’s sense of wine.”
    “Meaning you think she won’t care, is that it? She will, boy, when she sees the value this bottle has in her steward’s books.”
    “I, however, have had the good sense to develop an appreciation for the finer things. May I?”
    Ludgar grinned. “With my permission, yes.”
    “You’ve learned grace and the manners of a gentleman,” Jester replied. He reached for the bottle and fished a corkscrew, with a suitable lack of elegance, out of a pocket. He did not appear to be watching Ludgar with any concern; he was.
    Ludgar rolled the tube in his hands, inspected