Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 28
had put it in Allegri’s hands. The priests would know what to
do.
The usual bustle of the hallways was muted today, out of
deference to Turcaret, whom they needed to impress, if for no
other reason than that Castor wanted not to seem too provincial
to his rich visitor. The silent summer air weighed heavily in
here, as outside, and when he had stopped puffing Jordan
headed straight for the back stairs to the kitchen.
"She's quite a filly, eh?" That was Castor's voice, coming
from behind the wood-inlaid door to the library. "Turn around
for Turcaret, Emmy."
Jordan stopped walking. Emmy. He looked around, then
put his ear against the door.
"A fine girl." Turcaret’s dry, sardonic voice. "But hard
to appreciate in all that get-up."
"Emmy, you hide your beauty too much," said Castor.
Jordan heard a faint whisper of motion as someone walked
across the room. "Turn around."
An appreciative noise from Turcaret. "Clasp your hands
behind your neck, girl."
"Sir?"
"It's all right, Emmy," said Castor. "Do as the Controller
General says. Stand up straight."
Something about the tone of the voices made Jordan
uncomfortable. He put his hand on the doorknob, hesitated,
took it away. He had no excuse to be entering the library.
"Emmy, whatever happened to that dress you had last
summer? The off-the-shoulder one? That was quite pretty."
"I-I outgrew it, sir."
"Do you still have it? Hmm. Why don't you wear it
tomorrow, then?"