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"I think it no secret that Murdoch works toward a valuable and undeserved appointment
at court," Joram replied, arching one finely defined eyebrow. "He may get it, too. I fear our
king is sometimes too easily moved by a tale of past injustice and a pious mien."
With a snort of exasperation for court toadies in general and Baron Murdoch in
particular, Camber shifted in his chair and started to make a sharp retort, causing Guaire
to gasp and draw his razor hand away quickly. With a shrug of apology, Camber laid his
head back again and sighed, silent as Guaire resumed his task. He was contemplating the
self-seeking Baron Murdoch, and mentally reviewing how he might possibly broach the
subject with Cinhil, when he became aware that Guaire seemed unusually withdrawn this
morning, a trace of unaccustomed brusqueness clipping his movements as he laid aside his
razor and wiped the last traces of soap from his master's face
Camber wriggled into a more upright sitting position as Guaire began combing his hair,
trying to observe Guaire unobtrusively out of the corner of his vision and wondering
whether the apparent nervousness was just his imagination. His expression must have
betrayed some of his curiosity just then, for Guaire suddenly glanced away self-consciously
and began tugging at the thick, iron-gray hair even more awkwardly. When he had
finished, far more perfunctorily than usual, he whisked the towel from Camber's shoulders
and used it to dust off imaginary specks of lint and hairs from the violet cassock as his
master stood. He did not seem to want to meet Camber's eyes.
"Is anything wrong, Guaire? You seem distracted this morning."
Guaire turned away momentarily to pick up Camber's skullcap of violet silk. His face was
impassive as he reached up to set it ha place on the wiry gray hair.
"No, Your Grace. There's nothing wrong. Should there be?"
"I don't know."
Thoughtfully, Camber turned to slip his arms into a dull, wine-colored over-robe lined
with fur, which Joram held ready for him. As he turned back to Guaire, to receive his cross
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and chain of gold, he caught Guaire's eyes again just a flash of an apprehensive, almost
haunted look. He tried to put on a more benign expression as he bowed his head to receive
the chain around his neck.
Guaire swallowed and looked down at his feet as Camber straightened.
"Your Grace, there is something . . ." he began tentatively.
"I thought there might be," Camber said kindly, sitting down again and inviting Guaire to
a seat on a stool to the right of his chair. Beyond Guaire, Joram had returned to the writing
desk and was unobtrusively rearranging the scrolls, but Camber sensed that he was now
watching Guaire as well. He wondered whether Joram had picked up the same air of
uneasiness.
"All right," Camber said gently, trying to put Guaire at ease. "Do you want to tell me
about it?"
"I yes, Your Grace." Guaire swallowed hard, dry-mouthed, and his gaze, usually
straightforward and guileless, kept shifting to points around the room and on Camber s
person anywhere except the pale, sea-ice eyes as he searched for words.
Patiently, Camber settled back in his chair to wait, twining his fingers before him in an
Alister gesture so familiar by now that it seemed second nature.
Guaire took a deep breath and looked up again, finally managing to meet Camber's eyes.
"Your Grace, I I seek a boon," he murmured, starting to draw confidence now that the
first words were out. "It it is not one which, strictly speaking, you yourself can really
give." He paused to draw a reinforcing breath. "But I dare hope that you will choose to
encourage its giving. Your opinion carries great weight with His Grace the Archbishop."
"His Grace best knows his own mind," Camber said carefully, wondering what Guaire
was driving at, "though it is true that he has been known to heed my counsel on occasion. I
must remind you, however, that if you have already asked His Grace this boon and been
refused, there is doubtless little I can or should do." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]