“Thank you for the rabbit solution.” Then he sighed. “Eric almost beat the man to death, didn’t he?” he asked. “Never mind, I can tell from your expression, he did. There’s no point in telling him not to. I’ve tried. He retorts that he doesn’t tell me how to cast a spell, so I shouldn’t tell him how to be a Gamekeeper. Then he gives me very well-argued points about why this has to be done. And I have no refutation for him.”
She nodded slowly. “I thought of most of that myself. I can see it. I know that the constables are even worse, and I have no idea what his own Guild would do to him, but they are not refined men, the butchers, and they already have to work very hard to keep their reputation clean. I mean, that’s why they have a Guild and Guild rules and laws in the first place, so people will know they can trust what they buy. But I don’t like it, and it seems wrong.”
“We think too much,” Sebastian told her ruefully. “That’s what Eric would say. We keep trying to appeal to reason and finding a way to make sure punishments fit the crime. We keeping thinking that there must be a better way, while people like Eric say, ‘Breaking heads has always worked before, so there’s no reason to change.’”
She made a rude noise. “I’d be more inclined to say that everyone else thinks too little. And on that note, I’ve been reading that book about The Tradition you gave me, and it is not a comfort!”
He grimaced, and pushed his glasses up. He was always doing that, but then, they seemed to be perched on his nose with no real way to keep them in place other than the wires that wrapped around his ears. “It isn’t meant to be. Here, have some pie. Pie always makes me feel better.” Instead of waiting for the servant to do so, he reached across the table and put a generous wedge of pigeon pie on her plate.
Since she hadn’t been served anything yet, she took a forkful. It really was awfully good…
“I was wondering — is that why you’re in breeches?” he continued hesitantly. “And being all hearty and…”
“And acting like a boy… Yes,” she said. “I’m working at it very hard, in fact. Since Eric took it into his head that I need to be outside more, I’ve been in his company a lot. I admit, I like being outdoors. And the rest of the work in the stillroom will be making a few specialized things, mostly for you. I don’t embroider, I don’t need to sew, here, the servants take care of the household very nicely and being out makes me feel less like a prisoner. But…I… Eric is very fond of women…and I don’t mean in the sense of friendship.”
Sebastian’s face suddenly darkened. “If he’s offered insult to you, I’ll — ”
“No!” she exclaimed. “Since I came here, he’s been quite…reasonable.” We won’t mention what he did before I came here. “No, but I could see The Tradition setting us both up for a star-crossed piece of nonsense, you know, The Lady and the Rogue sort of thing, and this was the easiest way I could see to prevent any such thing. I’m not even sure that I like Eric, and I certainly don’t need The Tradition forcing me to fall in love with him!”
“Ah. I’m glad to — I mean, it’s a good thing I gave you that book, then, so you can make up your own mind about things and not be forced into them by The Tradition. Especially that sort of thing. The Tradition really seems to favor putting people into…ah…romantic situations that are just not very wise.” Sebastian’s expression lightened, then darkened again. “Maybe I had better ask you to do the same with me,” he added sadly. “Push me into treating you like a little brother, or the Wizard’s Apprentice. Isn’t there a girl-in-breeches model for the Wizard’s Apprentice? I mean, there are some rather awful Traditions regarding werewolves. And I — ”
“Oh, stop that,” she snapped. He did stop, looking at her owlishly from behind those thick lenses. “Really. The next thing you are going to do is start dressing in black and writing terrible poetry about your tormented soul, and if you do that, I will run off from here without the King’s leave. I scarcely think you are going to leap up from the table and tear my throat out before the cheese is served. There are only three nights in the month that you are a danger to anyone. And besides, I’ve found at least a couple Traditional tales in that book of yours where the werewolf protected the people he cared for.”
He looked up at that, startled. “You did? I never finished that part of the book. The other stories just made me feel so sick inside that I came close to throwing myself out of my window.”
“Yes, I did,” she said firmly. “And you know just as well as I do that since we know about The Tradition, we can make it work for us, instead of against us. As for throwing yourself out a window, you are not allowed to. The only way you go out a window is if you start writing bad poetry. Then I will pitch it out the window, and you to follow.”
She managed to startle a chuckle out of him.
“Obviously there is a Tradition, however small, of helpful were-beasts. So, since I know absolutely nothing about transformative magic and am going to be no help there, I propose that I ask the Godmother to find us all the Traditional tales of protective or guardian were-beasts and I’ll figure out what they all have in common. And as for you…” She eyed him critically. “You need to stop moping alone out here and go back to the society of other people. If you had other people around here, there wouldn’t be any talk of windows and going out them in a terminal fashion.”
His head came up like an alarmed horse. “But I can’t!” he exclaimed. “I’m — ”
“A danger three nights a month. Yes, I know,” she retorted. “There are twenty-seven nights a month when you are not. Not to mention all the days. So why don’t you make use of them? You could use some sun! And don’t tell me that you get all the sun you need up there in your workroom. You need to get out. You need to see people. You need intelligent conversation! You need to remind people at Court that you still exist. And you need to do that so that the King can’t one day decide you are an inconvenience and make you vanish. And you know he would, if he thought he had to.”
Before he could answer, she went on. “Now, if you are just using this as an excuse because you really would rather be a hermit, that’s one thing. But otherwise, you are depriving yourself of a great deal of pleasure for no reason at all. And if all I had to depend on for conversation and company was Eric? I think I’d throw myself out of a window. He isn’t stupid, but his interests are so narrow I doubt I could slip a sheet of paper in between them.”
He stared at her in astonishment for a moment, then broke into laughter.
“All right,” he said, finally, wiping his eyes with his napkin. “You win. I’ll consult with the Godmother and the King and see what can be done. Bella, I am horribly sorry that I did this to you, but I can’t tell you how happy I have been since you arrived. You just keep looking at things and seeing answers where I couldn’t. I haven’t heard music in so long — ”
“Oh, now that I can remedy!” she exclaimed. “Some of the Spirit Elementals actually are musicians, as you suggested. You can listen to them anytime you like. Just ask them.”
“I — Well.” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea of the amount of change you’ve made here for me in just the last month?”
She raised her chin. “Of course I do. I’ve stopped the waste in the kitchen, I’ve organized your stillroom, I’ve replenished many of your herbal supplies, I found out that some of the servants are quite intelligent and can talk, and that some of them are musicians — ”