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“Since when?”
He pulled off his little peaked red cap. That and a red tunic seemed to be all he wore. “Begging your pardon, Lady Sorceress, but I hoped you might take me on. We all heard how you tried to save poor Loden. I’d like to return the service as he was my friend, you see.”
“I didn’t do anything to save him,” I said.
“Not every sorcerer is as powerful as Lord Rogue.”
Oh. Eep. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”
The blue guy looked sorrowful. He didn’t say anything about glory.
“So do I pay you?”Do I pay Dragonfly?I’d forgotten to ask.
“As my lady sorceress wishes.”
Puck would know what I should be paying them and how. Maybe Blackbird as my seneschal should be doing it. I was acquiring quite the household. I didn’t really need another servant, but I hated to turn him away.
“You’re on. Please tell me you have a name already.”
“I’m Larch, lady. If it pleases you.”
“I’m Gwynn, Larch.”
“Yes, Lady Sorceress.”
“Have you just been sitting out here all day, waiting for me to come out?”
“Dragonfly set me to guarding the tent. She told me to make certain no one interrupted your amazing magical feats.”
His face was completely deadpan, but I was pretty sure that had been sarcasm under there.
“Look at this, Larch.” I smacked the pillow and it went dark. Then smacked it again and it lit up, though it was hard to see in the bright sunlight. Larch looked at me quizzically.
“You try it.” I held out the pillow to him. He poked it with a pudgy finger. “No, no. Smack it. With the flat of your hand.” I demonstrated. He slapped the silk and the pillow went dark. “See? No more fires in the tents.”
He looked at me solemnly, blinking his catlike eyes, the same shade as his skin. Not exactly the enthusiasm I had been looking for.
“Maybe we could name them Loden Pillows?”
He nodded gravely.
“Now, if you would, find Dragonfly and tell her I need needle and thread. I don’t suppose you can sew?”
“Yes, all my people can. It’s one of our main industries, besides serving nobles such as yourself.”
“I’m no noble, Larch. Oh, never mind,” I added when a worried look crossed his face. “Is there a name for your people?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, proudly. “We are The People.”
Of course. Just like everyone. “Say it again, slowly.” I concentrated on hearing the sounds, not the sense. “Brooh-nayz?” I tried.
He frowned. Silly me. It wouldn’t work for me to ape the sound without the intention behind it and if I put the intention in, he would hear only that and not the sound I made.
Then it hit me—“Wait. Brownies? Are your people Brownies?”
He cocked his head in that appearance of listening for distant music. Then nodded slowly. “That could be right. In another place and time, we’ve been that. Shall I bring others to sew, Lady Sorceress?”
“Yes—great idea. Tell them to bring pillows from their tents. Lots of pillows.”
