House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(60)
“You’re an evil cow of a woman,” Harun slurs.
“It’s barely ten in the morning,” I snap back. “Is this how you plan to deal with what’s happened – by wallowing in your own filth and drinking like a bloated old rake?”
“I was trying to,” he points out. “And doing a damn fine job of it.”
“Give me that.” I snatch the half-empty wine bottle he’s holding, and tip the contents over his head. It’s only my apparently vast hidden wells of self-control that prevent me from sending the bottle after them.
“You – f*ck – bloody woman.” He’s too inebriated to stand, so he rages at me from all fours, swaying like an old nilly in a knacker’s yard. It doesn’t have the effect he’d like. He clatters among the empty bottles, sending them rolling under the furniture and gathering trails of dust and Gris-knows what else.
“Oh yes, a bloody woman. How dare I come in to your house and point out to you what an enormous bullying idiot you are.” I set the empty bottle down on the table, and it clatters over and rolls off. I watch it. It’s not as if one more will make a difference to the state of the floor.
“Well thank you from saving me the trouble of saying it–”
“Shut up!”
Even Jannik starts.
“Now you listen to me, Guyin,” I hiss at him. “There are a thousand people out there who would work in your house, bat or not. People do not like to starve. So I can only assume that this prolonged staff problem is more down to the fact that you are a pathetic little spoiled House son who is throwing an extended tantrum because he didn’t get what he wanted, when he wanted, than in any shortage of willing labourers.”
“You know nothing of the circumstances–”
“I am not finished.” And Gris be damned, for once I will tell the truth to a House son and let hang the consequences. I’ve had enough of my own troubles and I’m too wrung out to drip pity over this idiot. Isidro is out there - anything could be happening to him - and instead of taking action, Harun will simply drown under what he thinks is inevitable. Saints. Saints and their bloody visions. I stamp one foot down, and Harun almost cringes before he recovers himself. “You will get over your snit, this instant. If you want us to help you, you will listen to what Jannik says, and when I return, I expect to find you in some semblance of order, approaching sober at the very least. I would ask that you are cleaned and dressed but I think I may be chasing fancies with such an unreasonable request. Now.” I crouch so that we are face to face. Even from here his breath is sour and foul. “Act like something resembling a man.” I stand. “Where is your House seal?”
“What?”
“Your House seal? I assume you still have some accounts in good standing with the banking merchants – if so, find your seal and give it to Jannik that he might organize the basics that you are seemingly incapable of organizing for yourself.”
I’m fully expecting Harun to start shouting at me. I pause, half-breathless, ready to yell again, as he clambers to his feet.
“Must you be so damn shrill,” he mutters as he digs through his coat pockets. “Here.” He tosses a silver cylinder to me and I catch it easily. The top of the cylinder has the familiar goat-like face of the Guyin unicorn in profile, worked in black glass.
“Thank you.” I hand the seal to Jannik. As I’m about to leave the room, Harun calls me to stay.
“What is it?”
“And while I’m doing all this.” He pressed his fingers to his temple and grimaces. “Where will you be?”
“Thankfully, far from you.” I slam the door closed behind me and smile in grim satisfaction as the sound sets of another round of groaning and cursing.
A bubble is rising in my chest. I think I have waited all my life to yell at a House man.
*
Master Sallow looks dumbstruck when I ask him if he knows the way to a public house called the Greenfinch.
“Certainly, my lady.” He has managed to recover a little of his incredulity. First the Hoblands, and now some public house in a less-than-salubrious area – poor Master Sallow must be starting to wonder if I have lost my wits.
“Then you will take me there,” I say to him and smile. My moment of venting has left me feeling as if I could take on every damn person in MallenIve. I know where Carien likes to hide, pretending she is something more than a House brood-doe. She took me there with promises of an introduction to the artist Iynast. A promise she made good on, in her own confusing way.
I don’t remember the name of the street, but it was not far from the Greenfinch, and I will find my way on foot. I instruct Master Sallow to wait for me, and he nods.
The tea shop where she made her artistic confession is not hard to find. I push open the door and the little glass bells chime merrily as I enter. It’s nearing lunch time, and the shop is busier than before, all the tables taken by Hobs taking their brief respite from the day’s labour. They nurse porcelain bowls of tea and what appears to be the speciality, a bowl of unidentifiable greens and white porridge. A few are wealthier and have added a small fatty cut of meat to their dish. The smells of the boiled meat and strong tea and old sweat hang in the closed space. I scan the crowd of dark-haired Hobs, looking for a familiar face. Perhaps, after all, she does not frequent this place nearly as often as I had hoped. My thoughts were that it was a place where she felt safe, where she goes to ground.