“Mister Macaw is Opulence’s groundskeeper. Allow to him to unload the cart and carry it where you need.”
Alora swallowed, realizing she’d been staring with her mouth wide. “Thank you, Mister Macaw. I just have these things here.”
Mr. Macaw said nothing as he followed her around to the back of the cart. A man of few words, apparently. With two armfuls, he deposited all she had into the oversized wheelbarrow. When he was done, he stood there, watching her. Alora tried for a smile, though it shook.
“What should I do with George while I’m away?”
“Leave him with me, Miss Pennigrim. I’ll make sure no harm comes his way.”
Alora blinked at the guard, taken aback he’d felt the need to add that last bit. “Thank you.” She didn’t tack on his given name, taking his lead. Not in front of Mr. Macaw. “Shall we?”
The groundskeeper stared.
“All right, then.”
Together, they passed through the gate.
Madam Feebledire appeared apoplectic as she rushed toward them breaching the entrance. “Whatever are you doing!”
Alora thought the woman’s coloring matched her crimson vest exact, which didn’t bode well. Fighting nerves, Alora smoothed the fabric of her green dress. “I’m papering the walls today, Madam. Mister Macaw kindly offered to assist me.”
She didn’t need to glance to the large man to know his expression would say nothing of the sort.
“We do not bringwheelbarrowsinto Opulence.” A hand to her forehead, Madam Feebledire glanced all around the grand hall, then hissed, “You’re lucky Master isn’t here to witness this.”
Alora frowned at her words as the wheelbarrow wasn’t even dirty and opening was hours away yet. Before she could say anything, however, she turned toward the sound of scraping. Mr. Macaw stacked nearly all of what she’d brought along into his arms. Hurrying to help, she grabbed ahold of the bucket of glue and the brush.
“Madam,” grunted the man in a voice drawn out and impossibly deep. Then he looked toward Alora, who laughed in surprise.
Following his lead, Alora also said, “Madam Feebledire.” Then she inclined her head before walking away.
“You—you cannot simply leave this here!”
“Be back soon,” said the groundskeeper staring ahead.
“Mister Macaw!”
When the pair entered Door Twenty-five, Alora immediately set to lighting the lamp. She turned back when it was done and found the groundskeeper where she’d left him, standing in the doorway. A deep line had formed between his eyebrows as he perused the newly brightened space.
“I know. I haven’t done much to it yet. Nothing actually. But half the work is in the planning, and that I’ve finished.” Smiling like they were old friends, she began to unpack his arms. “Thank you for carrying these all that way. You’re so kind.” The groundskeeper grunted, depositing what she hadn’t taken onto the floor. “Though I’m not sure what Madam Feebledire has against the wheelbarrow. What do you use it for? Carrying dirt? The grounds are very nicely kept.” She began to unroll the paper.
“Dirt,” agreed Mr. Macaw. “Trimmings. Trespassers.”
Alora straightened at that. “Trespassers?” But Mr. Macaw, seeing her work, began to unroll alongside her. “Oh, you needn’t do that. I don’t want to keep you from your obligations.” She swallowed, imagining the darted man hauled away, limbs bentawkward and limp within the wheelbarrow. His work would scar her.
“You’re not tall enough.”
“Ah—” Alora held up a hand to stop him, but Mr. Macaw wouldn’t be deterred. Taking the glue, he slopped on a generous amount before reaching up higher than she ever could have hoped and pressed the paper on.
She winced.
“That’s too much glue,” she said, gently, taking the brush from his hand. “It will bulge. Here. I’ll paint; you press.”
Alora had planned to ask for a stool, or perhaps imagine one if Madam Feebledire proved too prickly, but this would work too. Together they made an efficient team, finishing one wall, then two, in the time it would have taken Alora to do half of one all alone.
“Do you live in Enver, Mister Macaw?” she asked as they began the third wall.
“No,” came the low reply.
