AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Evening, gents,” I say casually to the guards at the pedestrian gate, a small archway to the left of the main one.
“You’re cheerful tonight, Rupert,” says one, smiling as he unlocks the gate for me. “Had a pint at the Old Jolly, did we?”
“Indeed.” I nod to them and stroll through, continuing across the broad pavers of the outer courtyard, past the stables, barracks, and storage houses, and then along a lane that cuts between wide dark lawns, lantern-lit with intermittent yellow circles. To my right lie the grounds of the palace proper, another wall, and the jutting towers of the palace beyond that. Just ahead is the inner wall surrounding the House of Bounty, split by a gate bristling with spiked iron bars. It’s a square within a square, the royal concubines’ secure sanctum—or their prison.
Both guards at the gate wear crimson shirts beneath their armor, a sign that they are palace guards, not those who serve within the walls of the House.
One of them hails me as I approach. “Busy day, eh, Rupert? Have you seen ‘em? The concubines?”
“We couldn’t catch so much as a glimpse of the last bunch,” complains another guard. “All shut up in wagons, they was.”
“Are they as beautiful as I’ve heard tell?” puts in the first guard. “How about magic? What kind of magic can they do?”
“To be honest, I’ve barely seen any of them,” I say. “Nor have we witnessed their magic. But when I get a good look at some of them, you’ll be the first to know. You want the report by hair color or tit size?”
The men laugh, but there’s a note of discomfort in the sound, and the first guard’s smile falls. Sympathy fills his gaze.
“By the goddess, Rupert—I ain’t heard you talk that way since before the King took your sausage and dumplin’s,” he says quietly.
Oh shit. I’m supposed to be a eunuch. I have to remember to act like one.
My silence seems to have dropped a pall of awkwardness over the two guards. One of them unlocks the gate hastily and moves back, allowing me through.
“Is everything… healing well?” asks the first guard, cautiously. His gaze drops to my crotch. I’m not erect now, but I’m well-endowed enough that there’s still a noticeable bulge between my legs. I’m suddenly glad that my tunic’s lower hem falls to mid-thigh.
“It’s healing as well as can be expected.” I give them a sorrowful nod. “If you don’t mind, I would like to rest. The walk has been… uncomfortable.”
“Of course, of course.”
Leaving them to mutter sympathetically behind my back, I mentally dip into my link with the real Rupert Diggs. My will commands his mind and elicits the memory I need. Apparently Diggs used to be a bodyguard to the King himself, until he was caught exchanging significant looks with the King’s most recent mistress. He didn’t touch the woman, barely spoke to her, but there was heat between them, and that was enough. The King witnessed the incautious look, ordered Diggs to be fully castrated that very day, and sent him to work at the House of Bounty, not as a guard, but as a common servant.
I suppose Diggs was lucky the King did not execute him. But perhaps it’s worse to live surrounded by beautiful women and have no power or desire to enjoy them.
I hold the link just long enough to get a mental picture of where my chamber lies in the monumental house ahead. I can feel the real Rupert twitching in his spelled sleep, and I release the connection before his consciousness can start to resurface. I keep walking casually onward, enter the servant’s wing, and make my way to the room in which I’ll be living for the next day or so… or longer. I don’t want to linger here too long, but I also refuse to bind myself to a schedule.
The room is plainly furnished, but comfortable. I’m used to all kinds of accommodations, from the loft in the stable of some unknowing farmer, to the empty summer cottage of a rich lord, to an abandoned Elvish mansion festooned with cobwebs and historical tapestries. This will do just fine, until I get what I came for.
I recline on the bed and search through Rupert Diggs’ purchases, discovering a greasy, warm, paper-wrapped packet I didn’t notice before. Swiftly I devour the small meat pies inside. Delicious, even if the crust was a bit heavy. I’ll wager Juliette could bake better ones.
I count the money in his coin-purse—a surprisingly large sum for a simple servant of the House. He could purchase his own shop for that amount, and a cottage in the country, too—maybe a nice piece of land. Why is he still working here if he has access to that kind of money? Perhaps he collected on a bet.
With a shrug, I tuck the purse under the mattress. A thief I may be, but I’ve stolen enough from Diggs without taking his money. I won’t use it unless I have to.
I wait a couple of hours to make sure most of the staff have cleared out of the servants’ common areas, and then I carry some of Rupert Diggs’ more perishable groceries down to the kitchen, nodding to the only person I see along the way… a skittish-looking maid. I’m lucky that Rupert is a recent addition to the House of Bounty, not particularly well-known yet among its denizens. Any odd behavior on my part will be attributed to the trauma and the abrupt change of role that Rupert has had to endure.
The kitchen is huge and empty, lit by a single lamp which gleams on the copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling rack. There are ovens and cupboards, counters and sinks, glossy painted tiles on the walls and reddish flagstones for the floor.
I dump the groceries on the table and poke around, peering into canisters and bread-boxes, then yanking open a door that breathes chilly air, no doubt leading down to the cold cellar.
I select a few of Rupert’s items that should probably stay cool, and I wander down into the cellar. On one set of shelves are rows of bins, each labeled with what I assume is a servant’s name, so I place the items in Rupert’s bin. Not that I care about his possessions—I care about food, and I hate it when food is left to spoil or go to waste.
The rest of the food in the cold cellar looks more high-grade than the stuff on the servants’ shelves. I saunter through the space, pulling off a few grapes here, using my pocketknife to slice off a sliver of cheese there, scooping a dollop of pudding out of a bowl with my finger.
There’s a chart on the wall, where servants can sign up to use the ovens, stove, or other kitchen paraphernalia after hours, when their service to the House is done. There’s also a servants’ cupboard in the corner, where I stow the rest of Rupert’s groceries on his shelf.
I’ve got the lay of the land here… time to explore elsewhere.
The kitchen lies at the border of the servants’ wing, where it joins onto the House. As I continue down the hall and turn the corner, I encounter a drowsy-looking guard leaning against the wall. I walk past him casually without checking my pace, and he merely says, “Someone rang for you?”
