Chapter 63
Angharad went dressed in men’s clothes: hose and a doublet under a long coat with a tricorn pulled down as far as she could, her hair bundled up. There was no hiding the walking stick, but being let into Lord Gule of Bezan’s mansion through the servant entrance ought to keep most eyes off her.
As the ambassador of the Kingdom of Malan the older noble had been assigned large and luxurious quarters near the heart of the Collegium, the upper levels of the edifice a series of well-lit galleries of brass and glass that were as beautiful viewing from as viewed. Angharad, however, was not led to those salons and windows. Silent liveried servants bid her in then led her through empty kitchens and a well-stocked larder. At the end of it a heavy door needed unlocking and in the cold room beyond waited two men.
Lord Gule of Bezan was richly but comfortably dressed, in pale gray-and-orange silks with a hand on his sculpted cane – a length of smooth, polished sandalwood. That stick was likely worth as much as all the clothes on her back, Angharad idly thought. Lord Gule inclined his head in greeting, ushering her through the door with a simple gesture.
His attendant, stone-faced Jabulani, was seated on a stool with a slate and a stick of charcoal on his lap – an indication he was here as ufudu and not a servant, for none worth the name would have sat when their master stood.
“Lady Angharad,” Lord Gule said, putting his hearing horn to his ear. “I am pleased to see you again so soon.”
“And you, my lord,” she replied. “I know we discussed meeting anew after the feast, but…”
“But you cleverly made your way in using that orphanage opening,” the older man praised. “I take from your presence that you did find something.”
“The very device you sent me to look for,” she agreed.
“That remains to be seen,” Jabulani said, eyes unreadable. “I have questions. You will answer.”