Chapter 47 - Settling In

The agent was apparently no fool. "Very good, my lady. However, in light of the modifications you are discussing, there will be a sizeable deposit against potential damages."

"Of course."

That settled, the four returned to the offices where Myria began completing the paperwork with the agent.

Roustam stood by the door, watching the traffic passing on the street. Jonathon felt suddenly claustrophobic, and pushed past him muttering about "Getting some air."

Roustam was a man who made his living by observing. He observed his surroundings, evaluating where threats might lie. He observed enclosed spaces to see where potential exits were if things went wahoonie shaped. He observed people, evaluating them as possibly meaning his clients harm. The smallest gesture, a glance, the set of ones shoulders, could give away much.

He also observed his clients and how they reacted, so he could predict what they would do under stress.

There is a man, Roustam thought, who is beginning to feel himself in a cage, and sees that some walls are closing in. Offendi, how will you react, when you see the lengths to which we must go to keep your lady-friend safe?

It was only a few minutes later when he heard the sound of keys behind them. "Ah, anissa. I see you have concluded business here? Offendi, would you escort the Lady Myria to the coach." Perhaps including him in guarding her safety will remove some of the sting.

"But aren't we going to walk?" Jonathon pointed down the side-street. "We were just there. It's only three blocks away."

"No. You two will ride. I will walk. You will remain in the coach, outside the entrance, until I open the doors. Do you understand, Jackstone?"

Who's working for who here? Jonathon wondered, and scowled slightly." Myria, however, didn't know what to do. She had, after all, already told Jonathon they should do as Roustam instructed. But a part of her, a small part, was insisting that she should be making the decisions, not her employee.

Faced with this internal conflict, Myria chose… to do nothing, and Jackstone picked up on it. "Right you are," he replied to Roustam, allowing him a head start before setting the horses a slow pace.

Even with this head start, Myria and Jonathon had to sit in front of the coach gate for several minutes before it opened and the coach entered the courtyard. The door to the coach opened shortly afterward.

Myria was feeling slightly cross at this point. "I am perplexed, Roustam. I did not see the point in this action, and you were inside far longer than was required to open the gate."

"I had to ensure the residence was secure." He bowed. "I am happy to report it is so."

Jonathon didn't try to hide his frustration this time. "But we were just there, and it was locked up behind us. You saw him lock the gates, and that's the key in your hand."

"Yes, but we were also gone for some minutes. Locks can be defeated. Men can be coopted, offendi."

Jonathon threw up his hands and stomped a deformed circle on the cobbles of the courtyard. "Roustam, you are-"

"Insane. Paranoid. Yes I know. I am also alive after spending half of my life guarding others. Very wealthy others, who often significantly underestimate the efforts their enemies would exert to make them dead, offendi. On balance, I believe I will continue doing as I have done."

Jonathon gaped for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Come on Myria, let's try to find a wall to sit against while your bodyguard does whatever insanity he dreams up next."

The next several hours were a whirlwind of activity. Once Roustam satisfied himself that Myria would not so much as approach a door without notifying him first, he left her and Jonathon to exploring the quarters in more detail.

Jonathon found his mood improving as they explored the various rooms and closets, this time with a more proprietary eye. When they got to the pantries, he chuckled softly. Maybe this time, we'll actually put some food in the pantry.

"What is amusing about the kitchens, Jonathon?

"What? Oh. I was thinking that-" His voice faded. I was just thinking about what we would stock in the pantry, that's what I was thinking. He shook his head. This is not my home. I have to stop thinking like that. One of us, or both of us could get hurt thinking like that. "I was just remembering how all you had in the pantry before was cat food."

"Oh! The cat! I had not thought of it in some time. Do you suppose it is well?"

The question caught him off-guard, but also helped deflect his thoughts from his prior concerns. "I'm pretty sure that old warrior can take care of itself, Myria." Thinking about the cat, and her previous house, gave him another idea, and he grinned. "Come on, let's see which room you want to claim as an art studio."

Meanwhile, Roustam switched from bodyguard to majordomo mode, and apparently had convinced Jackstone that a request from Roustam was an order from Myria. During the next few hours, Myria and Jonathon noted Jackstone coming or going either with or without coach, but only a few times were they actually interrupted.

"Anissa, I need your signature on this letter to the hotel, verifying you are vacating your quarters, settling any final bills, and having your effects sent here."

Later. "Anissa, are there any individuals who should know the address of your residence?"

"Well, my family of course. Jessica would kill us," he half expected Roustam to pull out his knives, and flinched, but the man didn't react, "sorry, I mean she'd be very upset if we didn't let her come see Myria's new place."

"And of course, my attorney."

Roustam's slight smile froze. "This attorney. I will not ask if you trust him,[1] but do you believe he would participate in a plot to harm you physically?"

"Certainly not! Mister Hardlee had complete knowledge of my affairs, and represented me well in a recent hearing."

Roustam tapped his chin. "Hmm. I suppose it cannot be avoided then. Provide me their addresses, and I will have Jackstone notify them at once. Excuse me for a moment, anissa." And he whirled back to the courtyard.

Jonathon turned to Myria, a strange look on his face.

"Anissa. Why does he keep calling you that?"

"Oh, that is easily explained, Jonathon. It means "dear lady" in Klatchian.

"Ah. Wait. How did you know that?"

"I speak over 50 languages and dialects, Jonathon."

Jonathon felt his legs grow slightly wobbly, and he leaned back against the wall. He was glad there was actually a wall there to lean against, the floor looked rather solid and hard. "You... do?"

Myria's face fell slightly. "I am sorry, I believe this was another example of our hubris. It did not occur to my former brethren that I should not speak every language I might encounter. I am unsure whether I can forget them at this point, but I would try if you think it preferable."

Jonathon laughed, and felt better for it. "No. No you wouldn't be you if there weren't little surprises like that." He rubbed his face, and then the smile crept back. "Why don't you surprise Roustam when he comes back, say something to him in Klatchian.

"Anissa, I-"

Jonathon watched with rapt attention as Myria turned to Roustam and a series of fluid syllables spilled from her lips with a smile.

It did not have the expected result.

Roustam's mouth tightened, and his face flared red, before he responded in what seemed to Jonathon as a very clipped set of syllables.

"Oh!" Now it was Myria's turn to blush.

"Think nothing of it, anissa. But I do need your signature here." She signed, and Roustam walked away somewhat stiffly.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"It appears I chose the wrong dialectic and the wrong tense for a discussion between one of my station and one of his station. I fear that I have either offended him, or given him cause to believe I wished to court him."

"Maybe you should stick to Morporkian." Jonathon managed after a few seconds.

"Yes, that might be best."

They had managed to collect their wits by the time Roustam returned, looking slightly wary.

"Anissa, with your permission, I will have temporary furnishings obtained. I have an acquaintance at the embassy who decorates for many of the officials when they arrive. Each has their own taste, and it is not realistic to bring their own furnishings, so he is quite skilled."

"Yes of course-"

"Myria," Jonathon interrupted in exasperation, "you have to start asking about prices. You're rich, but the money isn't endless."

"Your fiancé is correct." Roustam noted that Jonathon's face twitched at the word, and filed it away under Potential Problem – Relationship – Crisis Situation "But I cannot give you an estimate until they have viewed the space and discussed your needs with you. In the meantime, I will see if they can bring some basic items for temporary use. It should be minimal cost. That is, for one of your wealth."

"Thank you Roustam. Please make it so."

As they watched him hurry away, Jonathon was surprised to feel Myria slip her hand around his arm. "Jonathon, I must apologize."

"For what?"

"I have taken certain… liberties in naming our relationship. I realize that it was… improper considering our recent conversation."

He felt a sudden sense of relief, and then a tinge of self-loathing for that relief. "Thank you. Myria…" He had been about to say something stupid, like It's alright. Which of course wasn't true, and then he would have had to backtrack and try to explain to her that it wasn't alright, but it wasn't really bad either and that he just wasn't ready. Or something.

Instead he vapor-locked and was saved by the sound of a shrill female voice chattering and the sound of children quarrelling good-naturedly. Myria and Jonathon managed to share a look that clearly said with relief, "perhaps later" and turned to meet the next attraction at the Roustam Carnival.

Which turned out to be Jackstone's family. He was looking slightly put upon, and accompanied a red-faced and cherubic woman and two young boys with dirty noses.[2]

"I talked with Mister Roast'em, lady. And he explained your situation a bit more. So's I ran by the house and talked it over with the wife. She wanted to meet you, size you up like, if-"

There was an impressive thwack as Miss Jackstone's hand connected firmly with Mister Jackstone's back.

"Now Roger, 'ats no way to talk to a posh lady like her. Sides, I can see she's a lovely person." She attempted a curtsy.[3] "And is this your chef?"

Jonathon felt his face flame, and closed his eyes. But he heard the sound of a solid thwack, as Mister Jackstone returned the prior favor to his wife.

"E's her man friend, luv."

"Oh! Well he's well in the door then."

There was a third thwack, but this one sounded halfhearted and was accompanied by laughter from Jackstone and giggles from the youths.

Jonathon sighed and opened his eyes to find Myria doing the same. I may have to have another talk with Miss Susan when she gets back. Jonathon shook his head. I think our original plan is out the window.

[1] By Roustam's estimation, all attorneys are by nature untrustworthy. He'd sooner turn his back on a Grand Vizier.

[2] They always are.

[3] And managed what a curtsy might look like if one had only heard about such things but never seen one performed.