Duncan, Luis, and the workmen accompanied Roo in silence as they walked from Krondor’s temple square. When they were free of the center part of the city and halfway back to the warehouse, Luis said, “Gods, I hate funerals.”
Duncan said, “I doubt even the priests of the Death Goddess are overly fond of them.”
Roo said, “I’ll stink of woodsmoke for a week.”
One of the workers said, “And death.”
Roo threw the man a glance, but nodded. One of the features of the temple of the Death Goddess was the ever-present woodsmoke that hung around the place. Herbs and other scented woods were placed in the fire, but there was always a hint of something else in the fumes, something that Roo would rather not think of. He had smelled enough of it during the sack of Maharta to recognize the stench of burning flesh.
Reaching the warehouse, they entered and found the drivers and other workers standing around. Several bottles of strong ale were arrayed upon a bench and were quickly opened and passed around. When each man held one, Roo said, “Helmut Grindle. Hard but fair, a good partner, a loving father, and deserving of kindness.”
“May Lims-Kragma be merciful,” said Luis.
They drank to Helmut’s memory and talked of him. No one had worked for the man longer than Roo. As successful as Helmut had been, until he had joined forces with Roo he had always operated alone. In less than a year, Roo had more than tripled Grindle’s income, and now seven men besides Duncan and Luis worked full time for Grindle and Avery.
Given there was not much history among the men who now worked for Roo, the discussion quickly turned to wondering how the old man had died. Roo listened awhile, then sent the workers home early.
When the workers had gone, Roo held a quick conference with Luis and Duncan, sharing with them what Helmut had said. They discussed what they needed to do, and when at last plans had been made, Roo departed.
He was so filled with anger and dark purpose that he nearly walked past Karli’s house. He knocked upon the door, and when Mary opened the door, she instantly stepped aside so that Roo might enter.
Karli had changed from the traditional black clothes of mourning to something that bordered on the festive, a bright blue gown with lace trim. Roo was amazed to find a full dinner waiting and suddenly discovered he was famished.
They ate in near silence. Finally Karli said, “You seem so distant”
Roo blushed and said, “I’m so caught up in my own anger about your father I haven’t given any thought to what you must be going through.” He reached across the corner of the table that separated them and took her hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “I am sorry.”
She returned the squeeze. “No need. I understand.”
They finished eating and Mary cleared the table, while they moved to the sitting room Roo said nothing as she fetched him a brandy, far finer than anything her father had ever served. In a moment of surprisingly strong feeling, Roo said, “Helmut,” held up the goblet a moment in salute, then drank the brandy quickly.
Karli sat and said, “I’m still unable to think that he will not walk through that door in a moment.”
Roo glanced toward the door and nodded. “I understand.” He felt the same way.
Suddenly Karli said, “What am I going to do?”
“What do you mean?” asked Roo.
“With Father gone . . .” Suddenly she was in tears again, and Roo found himself with his arms around her shoulders while she sobbed against his chest.
After a moment he said, “I promised your father I would take care of you.”
Karli said, “I know you meant well, but you don’t need to say something you’ll be sorry for later.”
Roo said, “I don’t understand.”
Karl forced her voice to calmness. “I know Father intended us to marry, Rupert. You’re the first of those who came to see him that he took a liking to. But I also know that he was getting on in years and worried about just this circumstance. He never talked to me, but it was clear that after a while he expected we would simply . . . decide to wed.
“But the business is now yours. You needn’t feel any obligation.”
Roo felt as if the room were turning on its side. He didn’t know how much of that was the brandy, the long hours, the anger he felt, or his dealing with this strange, often unreadable girl.
“Karli,” he said slowly, “I know your father had plans for us.” He lowered his eyes, “And truth to tell, when I first came here I was ready to court you to win his approval, without thought for you or your feelings.”
“He fell silent a moment, then said, “I don’t know if this is something I can explain, but I have come to . . . value you. I find I . . . enjoy the time we spend together. I do feel some obligation to your father, but my feelings toward you are more than that.”
She regarded him a moment, then said, “Do not lie to me, Rupert.”
He kept his arms around her waist “I would not do that. I do care, Karli. Let me prove it to you.”