Elodie curtsied. “I’m Elodie of Potluck Farm on Dair, Master.”
Rudely, Master Tuomo said nothing, just swung into the great hall with a rolling gait. He reminded Elodie of the knave in a pack of cards: his cap tight against his forehead, his face any age between thirty and fifty, a thick fringe of brown beard, wary brown eyes, short neck, barrel chest, thin legs. A rich man in a brown cloak with a silver pin at the neck. He, too, wore mourning beads.
Might he be the thief? Elodie thought. If he had taken the Replica, it would have been in anger. She returned to wondering about Master Robbie. How did he and Master Uwald come to be together? Master Uwald had been jilted by his first and only sweetheart. He had no children and thus no grandchildren.
The steward sat on Master Uwald’s other side from Master Robbie.
In a whisper, Albin added, “Master Uwald’s true love was Master Robbie’s grandmother. He’s now the boy’s guardian.”
Everyone knew the story of young Mistress Lilli and Master Uwald and laughed over its irony. She turned down the marriage offer of a poor peddler (Goodman Uwald then) because she disapproved of wagering, and he bet on anything. Soon after, he threw the dice and won the most prosperous farm on Lahnt. He’d been rich ever since.
Was the grandson going to get the riches?
Did Master Robbie love his guardian?
Two bees entered with the barber-surgeon the high brunka had mentioned earlier, her occupation revealed by her linen cap bleached to snowy whiteness. She was a large woman, young, with ripples of light-brown hair below the cap. Her face was broad with widely spaced tawny eyes, flaring nostrils, a round chin, thick neck.
She smiled at the chamber, and the smile tightened her chin and raised her cheekbones, making her handsome. Such a smile it was, mouth half open, a blazing smile. Elodie thought, When I smile that way, I’m running full tilt or standing at the prow of the cog in a strong wind with flying fish leaping about.
The woman stood behind Master Tuomo, while the bees who’d brought her sat one full bench away from the guests.
High Brunka Marya called into the kitchen, “Ludda, come. Breakfast can wait.”
Did that mean all the guests were here?
Ludda-bee, a serving spoon in one hand, entered the great hall and sat with the other bees.
“Lady El . . .” Albin bowed and held his arm out for her.
In the grand manner of mansioners promenading across a stage, they strutted to the bench, where she sat next to Master Robbie. He looked solemnly at her, seeming to take her measure.
She met his gaze. After a few seconds he blushed. They both looked away.
Albin, on her other side, leaned down to whisper, “Did you mansion at all while you were away?”
She couldn’t help smiling and whispered—shame on her—loud enough for Master Robbie to hear, too, “For the king.”
“No!” Albin said.
She felt Master Robbie jerk a little and sit straighter.
“Yes, and for the princess, too.”
Lodie! a nasal voice said in her mind. Remember your purpose. Observe!
The bees who’d been working here in the great hall came to the benches and sat together, along with the oldest bee, who had preceded them. At the end of the bench, Johan-bee lowered himself so awkwardly—he seemed not to look—that he fell. No one had forced him into this mishap. He’d done it by himself, but the others grinned. One said, “Hopeless.” Another chimed in with “Hapless.” And a third, “Useless.”
Everyone faced the crackling fire. Elodie turned and saw High Brunka Marya approaching from the center of the hall.
Elodie realized she shouldn’t be sitting. Masteress Meenore had instructed her to observe everyone when they heard the news, but she wouldn’t be able to if she couldn’t see them all. She jumped up and stood to the right of the fireplace, feeling as conspicuous as a mouse on a tablecloth. Everyone stared. Albin raised his eyebrows comically. Master Robbie continued his solemn gaze.
She scanned the people, memorizing them, beginning with the guests on the bench closest to her: Albin at the end, dear Albin in his ancient, threadbare cloak and drawstring poverty shoes, with his worn, expressive face, the deep smile lines in his cheeks, his changeable mouth; then sad Master Robbie, interesting but unknown; just-so Master Uwald, with his arm around Master Robbie’s shoulders; the steward, angry Master Tuomo, whose face had not yet relaxed.
The barber-surgeon moved to loom behind the youngest bee, the ardent young man who’d placed the benches. Why was her expression triumphant?