[A/N Thanks to Fledge for pointing out my swapped names. Corrected!]

Chapter 48 - A Gilded Cage

Further discussion of the wonders and pitfalls of labeling relationships was interrupted by the sound of a ringing bell, upon which Myria learned something else about Roustam.

Myria neither heard, nor saw from whence he came. One moment Roustam was elsewhere in the residence. The next, before the bell could chime twice, he was there beside her. One hand had grasped her arm, the other hovered near his waist, and his eyes were scanning the hallway.

"Who are you expecting?"

"No one, Roustam."

"There is a man at the door. Slightly portly. Glasses. Ill-fitting suit. Sweating." The bell started chiming again, this time with what seemed to be some impatience.

"It may be Mister Hardlee, my attorney. "

"I will inquire. Do not move. Offendi, you will ensure she remains here."

Myria heard the Jackstone's shush their children, and a whispered conversation between the adults:

"Well, he isn't half odd."

"He's the lady's bodyguard, love. He knows his business, I'm sure."

Jonathon managed, with restraint, to keep his silence.

They should not have been able to hear a normal conversation from this distance, but made out muffled sounds, indicating someone was unhappy and making it known.

When Hardlee appeared, he looked winded and red-faced. Myria noted that Roustam had one hand on his shoulder in a manner that would normally be considered friendly, but he look on his face was anything but.

"Mister Hardlee! We were not expecting you."

"That's obvious. Since when do you grill visitors at the door?"

"We have been required to use more caution. It is good to see you, but you seem rushed. Is there something that requires my attention?"

"There are things that require my attention, Lady. I received a message," He brandished a crumpled message accusatorily, "that you had changed residences, which means that you have been entering into agreements... leases or worse! Without consulting me beforehand. And who is this man and why is he clinging to me?" He turned to Roustam. "Are we to dance?

"I would lead, offendi. You would not enjoy it."

"Hmph."

"I apologize, Mister Hardlee, it has all been very rushed. This is Roustam Rhezah, my bodyguard and majordomo."

"I see. No doubt a contractual position." He turned a sour expression on Roustam. "I must insist I see the terms of this alleged contract, for the benefit of my client."

I am sure you must. And I am sure the size of the document will triple by the time you are done. "Of course, offendi. We do not yet, as I am sure you will be pleased to know, have a final contract drawn up. However, here is the initial letter of agreement, signed by both parties."

Hardlee snatched it from his hand, and with eyes narrowed scanned it quickly. "That's an impressive fee," he shot Roustam a look, and continued in a slightly disappointed tone, "but I don't see anything detrimental to my client in it. My lady, you must provide me a copy of the proposed contract prior to signing it. That's what you pay me for."

"Of course, Mister Hardlee. I apologize."

"And the lease agreement?"

"Ah, yes. It is in the room we have designated as the future study. I shall retrieve it."

Jonathon noted the long silence as Myria left the room. The Jackstones were standing quietly near the door. Their children, previously all giggles and mischief, had a slightly wary look about them. Roustam and Hardlee, however, were practically glaring at each other.

Good grief. Is this what it's like to have servants? You get to watch them jockey for position and influence all day?

He was relieved when Myria returned with her copy of the lease and handed it to Hardlee, who began devouring it and muttering to himself. "Month-to-month lease. At least it wasn't a long-term agreement. Either party may terminate. Thirty day notice except in case of acts of gods or anthropomorphic personifications. Option to purchase. To be returned in same condition as provided, or forfeit deposit." He handed it back to Myria with a sniff. "Well this seems to be in order as well." If anything he seemed even less happy with this revelation.[1] "Are there any other contracts you have signed without consulting your well-paid and highly-trained attorney?"

"We were preparing to discuss with Mister Jackstone a permanent employment agreement, Mister Hardlee."

"Excellent. I would be pleased to handle that on your behalf."

"Mister Hardlee, I must insist that I-"

"Insist away, my lady. You hired, me, you need to let me provide my services."

"Mister Hardlee," Roustam growled, "the Lady LeJean has hired you, not the reverse, I doubt you are in a position-"

"Listen, you jumped up doorman, I have served-"

"OH FOR GODS' SAKES WILL YOU ALL STOP!"

Everyone but Roustam jumped slightly at his outburst, but Jonathon was too busy dragging his fingers through his hair to notice. "Good grief, you're arguing like children." He eyed the children, who were attempting to hide behind their mother at this point. "No, that's an insult to the children."

"Jonathon."

"No, no Jonathoning me. I've had my fill of all this." He waved his hands, taking in the entire room. "I am going to go for a walk, perhaps to get a tart." He eyed the children. "Perhaps Missus Jackstone and the youths would like to accompany me."

Mister Jackstone grinned. "I could do with a leg stretch. The wife can stay here and argue with these two. Right love?" He got a nod in return.

"Fine. Great. Myria, if you will excuse us."

He was somewhat surprised when Roustam followed them to the door.

"Are you coming Roustam?"

"I need to ensure no one is lurking by the door, but will remain in the residence."

"You're not going to ensure there's no one waiting to kill me two blocks away?"

Roustam's mouth twitched. "I was hired to guard your fiancé." He noted the flinch with some satisfaction. "To guard you as well would be difficult, and is not in my contract. Are you in fear for your life?"

"No. Only my patience and sanity."

"As you say. I may be unqualified to safeguard those, offendi."

"Now," Hardlee rubbed his hands together. "Where were we?"

Mrs. Jackstone smiled a motherly smile. "This lovely lady was about to tell me," she patted herself just above her ample bosom, "why a poor but proud family should abandon our home and move into what Mister Roast'em called 'servants quarters'." Her face fell. "Oh it just breaks my heart to even think about leavin' our home. The boys will miss all their little friends, course, and all the mem'ries of their growin' up there. It's a hardship it is, even thinkin' about leaving all that behind." Her voice broke slightly, and she rallied. "But Mister Jackstone insists it's the right thing to do, sir, for the lady of course." She sniffed and teared up a little. "Oh the sacrifice we're to make."

Hardlee blinked and looked at Myria, who could only stand with mouth slightly open.

Oh she's good. Hardlee smiled broadly. "Let's just see if we can take the sting out of your deep and painful wounds, shall we?"

Jonathon realized, upon leaving with Jackstone and his boys, just how stressed he had been in that house. It was as if a weight were lifted, just walking out the threshold. He also decided he needed a drink, and invited Jackstone to have one with him.

"Not sure that'd be proper, Mister Knäcke."

Jonathon stopped in his tracks and rubbed his face. "I'm going to kill the next person who says that."

"Good thing Mister Roast'em ain't here then."

Jonathon peeked through his fingers to find Jackstone grinning at him. "That was funny." He sighed and uncovered his face, letting his hands fall limply to his sides. "Jackstone, I'm a baker. Just a baker. I'm not a lord, and I'm not a nob. So you can call me Jonathon, and we can have a beer together, and I can buy your boys a tart. Alright?"

Jackstone's grin widened, and his boys both started jabbering excitedly. "Fair enough. Just don't tell the wife."

"She's not my wife!"

"My wife. She'd never let me hear the end of it." He eyeballed his sons. "That goes for you two little spies too."

Jonathon also found Jackstone to be amusing to talk to, once you got him away from his job and his wife, that is. Some of the jokes he told Jonathon over the beer… well Jonathon wasn't sure the boys should have been hearing some of those words.

They returned, all four in good spirits. Jackstone with an extra tart for his oldest, who was apparently out running errands. They reached the front door to find that several men with brown skin and loose clothing were unloading furnishings from a wagon, under the watchful eye of Roustam. Jackstone and the boys, seeing a storm brewing, went to find his wife.

Jonathon caught a faint aromatic smell. "Roustam, what's all this? And why does it smell slightly of cloves and sandalwood?"

Roustam flashed a smile. "I'm afraid my options were limited in the short time I had available. It will air, offendi."

"Yes. But cloves?"

Roustam sighed. "These furnishings are from an empty guest suite at the embassy. I called in some favors, to get even this much. It is only until you choose more long-term furnishings."

"Yes but-" A chaise lounger went, along with several baskets of colorful silk pillows. "Was that-"

"Temporary, offendi, unless you prefer sitting on the floor for several days."

"I'd rather be sitting in my own chair at the bakery." He shook his head. "Where's Myria?"

"She is inside with Hardlee."

Jonathon noted with some satisfaction the obvious dislike in Roustam's voice, and wandered past the growing stack of furniture in the receiving room to find her in "the future study" which now contained a small table, a stool, and Hardlee.

"Jonathon! You returned!" She looked relieved.

Surely she didn't think I wasn't coming back… "Of course. How did the negotiations go?"

Hardlee piped up in response. "That Misses Jackstone… let's just say I'm glad I don't have to face her in court." He shook his head in admiration.

Myria stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Jonathon, burying her face in his chest. "It is done. I have a head ache."

"That bad, huh? Are you hungry?"

"Yes. Where would you like to eat?"

"I'd like to go to a restaurant. I haven't been out to a meal with you since this whole hearing thing started."

"Absolutely not." Jonathon stiffened and turned to find Roustam behind them. How by the gods does he do that?

"But, Roustam, I wish to do so."

"Anissa, I understand this. But I am unprepared for you to venture out into the city. We still have to discuss in more detail your routine and your potential enemies, for one, so that I can better understand the actual risks. Until I have a full understanding, I must assume the worst… that you are hunted by men with exceptional resources and ruthless intent."

Myria sagged. "I see. Then I am a prisoner in an expensive cage."

"Not at all, you have the ability to leave this place, but I must have advance notice, anissa. I need time, at least 24 hours, to evaluate the location and its risks. You cannot simply wander the city, leaving yourself open to an attack."

"Wait, you're saying that she can't go anywhere without 24 hours notice?"

"Not if you want to risk-"

"Risk not breathing. Yes we heard. Surely we can go out to eat though? It's not like whoever is after Myria is waiting at every potential restaurant in the city for us to show up?"

Roustam stared at Jonathon for several moments, but spoke to Myria. "Is this your view as well?"

"I believe that Jonathon's opinion is reasonable."

"Very well." Roustam turned and began to walk away. "I will provide my letter or resignation immediately. You may retain the furnishings until you are able to make other arrangements."

"Wait. Stop! What are you saying?"

"I have not lost a client to assassination yet. I will not start with this one."

"He's right you know," Hardlee muttered from the wall where he was leaning. "Much as I hate to say it. Remember the café?" He pantomimed holding a box in front of him, then gave a low laugh. "I bet he'd have had that courier on the ground and those wafers in the rubbish bin before you got within ten feet of them."

Jonathon and Myria looked at each other, and Jonathon shook his head. "This is your decision, Myria. I can leave for a few hours whenever I want, you're the one stuck here. You have to make the decision."

"I am unsure… It is possible that Roustam is correct, though it makes me unhappy. He considers threats we would not imagine."

"Fine." Jonathon swallowed an acid taste in his throat, and yelled toward the hallway. "Roustam! You win!"

Upon which Roustam appeared through the doorway immediately. Was he waiting just outside? Or is he really that fast?

"It is well, offendi. We will imagine the previous conversation did not occur. Now, as there is no food on the premises, and you must remain here, I will have Jackstone bring food to you. Tell me your preference, and I will choose a restaurant at random for you."

"That's fine for me, but Myria's food is at the bakery. Jessica will know where it is."

Roustam narrowed his eyes, seeing another fight looming. "What do you mean?"

"Myria is on a special diet. She has… food allergies."

"You tell me… that she can only eat this food, which is prepared in one location, from specific ingredients."

"Well… yes."

"And how is this food stored? Who has access to it? What are the ingredients? Where are they stored? Where are they purchased? Who knows of them?"

"For gods' sakes!"

"You understand completely. I am paranoid. Now to answer my questions, offendi."

Roustam didn't like the answers he heard. "Anissa, I am not comfortable with this."

"I have no choice, Roustam, I would otherwise starve. This is all I can eat."

Roustam raised his eyebrows. "Are you a djinn, that you can live on food such as this?"

"It is complicated."

Hardlee snorted at that, but Roustam just looked more unhappy. "I suppose there is no help for it, but with such predictability, I am surprised no one has attempted to poison you by contaminating this food."

There was the sudden silence. It was the silence you get in a room full of people trying very very hard to not look the speaker in the eyes.

Roustam looked from person to person, seeing the answers written on their faces. "I am unsure whether to laugh or cry." He motioned to Jonathon. "Go, get this food and bring it to me. I will check it when it arrives. No one else touches it before I am able to do so." He stomped off, muttering to himself.

Hardlee chuckled. "He's rather intense, isn't he?"

"Yes. Yes that is a good descriptor." Myria sat down on the stool and slumped. "Mister Hardlee, are the Jackstone's setting up residence as she indicated she would?"

"She started before the ink was dry. She's laid claim to be the head maid of the household, too. Wasn't in the contract, but I don't feel like arguing with her at the moment."

"Yes. I agree."

They say revenge is a dish best serve cold.

Flasher, when sober, was of the opinion that waiting on one's dish to cool was a good way to end up with an empty dish and a long list of people that needed killing.

His current list had started with the LeJean woman. That had seemed simple enough.

Then he had added Jolly, when that fat git had bailed on him. Likely slipped town from the looks of it. He'd put out word he wanted to have words with him, and got not a nibble.

Then there was Trashman. Nutzo, dirty, stinking trashman with his stupid lizard and his stupid rhymes and his stupid plans. Trashman who had promised to help get her alone and instead was hiding like a rat in a hole in Pseudopolis Yard. Now he was out of reach of Flasher's anger and frustration, which just made him more angry and frustrated.

It was enough to make a man want to kill someone, if for no other reason than to prove that he still could.

So he did. It made him feel a little better, but not by much. So he sat in his flat, drinking his eighth beer and imagining all the ways he would kill LeJean, and Trashman, and Jolly, in that order. And maybe afterward, he'd off that stupid shyster of hers too.[2]

Of course, he still had no idea how he was going to manage that, with the Watch guarding that little twit day and night. He'd tried twice, after Trashman had slunk into his hole, damn him, and both times he was sure that blasted dwarf copper almost spotted him. The second had been a near thing, and the frustration is what had started him drinking.

He was well sauced by this point, to the point he wasn't sure whether it was the drink talking when he first heard the voices.

The one that calls itself LeJean still exists.

"Oh. You again. Geroff, 'm drunk." He squinted, trying to make out the three… no six (or was it nine?) shadowy figures floating in the middle of the room.

You have impaired your physical and mental capacities with a mild toxicant. This is not conducive to completing the task.

There were two *thunks* as some rather sharp and pointy objects flew, despite his current inebriation, through the center of one of the six (or was it three?) figures and buried itself in the wall behind. "Said geroff. Busy killin' Lijjin."

You are killing nothing, human. You are in a room, imbibing liquids consisting of organic compounds with hydroxyl groups.

Flasher's bleary eyes squinted, trying to focus. His brain followed suit.

"No use. Nee' men. Tha' Trashman y'sent's lockeddy uppedy."

Then obtain them.

Brain cells cried for mercy as he drove them though the alcoholic equivalent of a brick wall. "Hrm… nee' money."

There was a quiet consultation.

That can be arranged.

[1] If there is anything an attorney, auto mechanic, or doctor despises, it's someone who didn't first earn a certification accidentally managing to not completely bollox things up.

[2] Course, he'd probably have to sober up first. And after that, he'd have to get out of town and lie low for a few years. The Watch would be sure to take notice when a nob turned up dead and all. Though, considering what he had in mind, it'd probably take them a month or three to figure out who the victim had once been.