Warbreaker

Chapter 6

“Ah, good,” a voice said. “We’re right on schedule. Perfect.”

Siri froze. That was a man’s voice. She snapped her eyes open to find an older man in brown robes standing beside the tub, writing something on a ledger. He was balding and had a round, pleasant face. A young boy stood next to him, bearing extra sheets of paper and a small jar of ink for the man to use in dipping his quill.

Siri screamed, startling several of her servants as she moved with a sudden splashing motion, covering herself with her arms.

The man with the ledger hesitated, looking down. “Is something wrong, Vessel?”

“I’m bathing,” she snapped.

“Yes,” the man said. “I believe I can tell that.”

“Well, why are you watching?”

The man cocked his head. “But I’m a royal servant, far beneath your station . . .” he said, then trailed off. “Ah, yes. Idrian sensibilities. I had forgotten. Ladies, please splash around, make some more bubbles in the bath.”

The serving women did as asked, churning up an abundance of foam in the soapy water.

“There,” the man said, turning back to his ledger. “I can’t see a thing. Now, let us get on with this. It would not do to keep the God King waiting on his wedding day!”

Siri reluctantly allowed the bathing to continue, though she was careful to keep certain bits of anatomy well beneath the water. The women worked furiously, scrubbing so hard that Siri was half-afraid they’d rub her skin right off.

“As you might guess,” the man said, “we’re on a very tight schedule. There’s much to do, and I would like this all to go as smoothly as possible.”

Siri frowned. “And . . . who exactly are you?”

The man glanced at her, causing her to duck down beneath the suds a little more. Her hair was as bright a red as it had ever been.

“My name is Havarseth, but everyone just calls me Bluefingers.” He held up a hand and wiggled the fingers, which were all stained dark with blue ink from writing. “I am head scribe and steward to His Excellent Grace Susebron, God King of Hallandren. In simpler terms, I manage the palace attendants and oversee all servants in the Court of Gods.”

He paused, eyeing her. “I also make certain that everyone stays on schedule and does what they are supposed to.”

Some of the younger girls—wearing brown, like the ones bathing Siri—began bringing pitchers of water to the side of the tub, and the women used these to rinse Siri’s hair. She turned about to let them, though she tried to keep a waterlogged eye on Bluefingers and his serving boy.

“Now,” Bluefingers said. “The palace tailors are working very quickly on your gown. We had a good estimate of your size, but final measure ments were necessary to complete the process. We should have the garment ready for you in a short time.”

The serving women doused Siri’s head again.

“There are some things we need to discuss,” Bluefingers continued, voice distorted by the water in Siri’s ears. “I presume you have been taught the proper method of treating His Immortal Majesty?”

Siri glanced at him, then looked away. She probably had been taught, but she didn’t remember—and either way, she wasn’t in a frame of mind to concentrate.

“Ah,” Bluefingers said, apparently reading her expression. “Well then, this could be . . . interesting. Allow me to give you some suggestions.”