“Genuinely, that is a polished answer,” Beheim said joyfully. “I guess I trust you.” For the briefest of moments Vlad met his look, and Beheim had a sense both of the unsound course of the man’s contemplations and of the solidified standard of his detesting, the result of years spent lurking through the dim, disregarding the splendid existences who governed the upper ranges of his stone universe, yearning for a force that could never be his. “I have heard,” Beheim said, “that you who stay here underneath know all the mysterious methods of Banat.” “Maybe not all,” said Vlad. “Some we know.” “I have heard that you make a trip openly to all aspects of the palace.” Vlad slanted his head in a slight gesture. “Indeed, even to the Patriarch’s chamber?” “Even there, ruler.” “Great! I would have you lead me to the Patriarch on the double.” Vlad delayed. “You will pardon me, master, yet I should be so strong as to ask, for what reason do you wish to travel secret ways as opposed to looking for a crowd of people straightforwardly?” “That isn’t your anxiety.” The man gave forward with an insecure murmuring clamor, similar to the robot of a tanked honey bee, and gestured quickly, as though in concurrence with some inward desperation. “It is clear, ruler, that you have fallen into disapproval, or, in all likelihood you would not be requesting direction. This being along these lines, I would be a nitwit on the off chance that I didn’t look for an award for my administration.” “Your prize,” Beheim said, scarcely ready to keep his temper under control, “will be to endure this experience.” “For some, that would be above and beyond,” said Vlad, sounding perpetually guaranteed regardless of his compliant posture. “However, concerning myself, master, I am tormented with many feelings of dread. Demise is just one of them, and life”— he gave a daunted giggle—”life is sweet, yet its pleasantness has developed of late unacceptable.” He gazed directly toward Beheim; his hard, bewhiskered face, gemmed with those sparkling eyes, seemed furious and ratlike; the pink tip of his tongue jabbed out. “Give me the lady. Your excellent, lovely woman. Offer her to me, and I will lead you to the Patriarch.” Giselle moved behind Beheim, her hand going to his shoulder, and Beheim snickered icily. “Hear me, master!” Vlad withdrew a speed, at this point kept a specific balance, as—Beheim thought—a mongoose pulling out momentarily from the fight to pass judgment on a cobra’s exhaustion. “What will it hurt you to make this guarantee? I understand that your statement when given to, for example, I can’t be your bond. Guarantee her to me. Then, at that point, on the off chance that it suits you, you might withdraw your guarantee. Also, after I have driven you to the Patriarch, you might rebuff me for my rudeness.” The illogic that buttressed these words quieted Beheim’s displeasure. “What might you actually desire to win from such an agreement?” “Why… the lady, ruler. I accept when we arrive at the Patriarch’s chamber, you will have understood that I can be of definitely more worth to you than she. However my utilizations, I concede, will without a doubt be less pleasurable.” He supported Giselle with a stained, hole toothed grin. “What is your name, dear heart?” “Pig!” she said, sticking to Beheim. “He will butcher you for this!” “Will he, presently? My master can generally discover another bitch from which to chug. Yet, help in a period of scarcity? That is the most uncommon of wares in Castle Banat.” Vlad, appearing to be practically joyful, made a leaving run further into the passage; he wound a strand of hair about his index finger and gave it a yank, making his head sway like that of a manikin as he looked at Beheim. “Have we a deal?”
“To this degree,” said Beheim after stopping for a moment. “You will lead me to the Patriarch, and afterward, in the event that I consider it shrewd, I will rebuff you.” “Michel, you can’t—” started Giselle, however Beheim brought her into a hug and said, “I could never forfeit you. Certainly you should realize that?” Vlad laughed. “He’s distraught! How might we trust him?” Giselle attempted to draw in Beheim’s eyes, however he was looking at Vlad over the highest point of her head, offering thought to another thought. Consider the possibility that the man demonstrated right in his supposition. Who could say what may occur on arriving at the Patriarch’s chamber? In conditions like these, the help of a specialist on the topography of the palace may mean the contrast among life and passing. Again he reviewed Alexandra’s dispute that soon he would find how little Giselle intended to him. He needed to put the lie to her words, yet presently was filled with questions. “Gracious, I am frantic,” said Vlad. “Never question it. I’m frantic as morning light. One should be frantic to abide in Banat. We are largely distraught here, even the best among us. Is that not really, ruler?” Beheim gave the merest trace of a shrug.