"You can count and I can count. Here is the Clattuc roster.
Glawen clearly should rank after Dexter and before Trine.
That gives him anSI of 24. I suggest that you formalize this number by executive flat, as is your privilege, and, in this case, your duty."
Fratano studied the roster. He counted with his long white finger.
"Just possibly Trine might pick up a point or two by virtue of his mother's aunt's altitude among the Veders."
"The same applies to Glawen. Elsabetta, his grandmother's older sister, is a high Wook, and he can also show Dame Waltrop of Diffin as input. And don't forget. Trine is eight years younger than Glawen! He doesn't need a 24 at his age."
"True enough." Fratano turned a cautious side glance toward Scharde.
"And there will be no more talk of criminal conspiracy-which of course is only a bad joke in the first place?"
Scharde gave a grim nod.
"So be it."
"Very well. Common sense says 24 and we will assume that the computer meant to give us a 24." Fratano took the yellow sheet and with a stylus marked through the '30' and wrote '24' in its place.
"Now all is well and I must dress."
At the door Scharde turned to speak over his shoulder.
"I
suggest that you lock the outer door after me. Otherwise you might have Spanchetta on your hands again."
Fratano gave a sour nod.
"I can manage the affairs of my own department. Gunter? Gunter! Where the devil are you?"
A footman entered the room.
"Sir?"
"Lock the door with double bolts after Sir Scharde departs.
Admit no one, and bring me no messages; is this clear?"
"Yes indeed, sir."
As they stood ready to leave their chambers, Scharde subjected Glawen to a last inspection. His curt nod concealed far more pride than he cared to put into words.
"For certain, no one will find fault with your appearance;
you may rest easy on that account."
"Hmmf. Aries will disapprove of my shoes, at the very least."
Scharde chuckled.
"Only Aries. No one else will look twice in your direction--unless you commit some awful vulgarity."
Glawen said with dignity: "I am not planning any vulgarity whatever. That is not my idea of a birthday celebration."
"Sound thinking! I suggest also that you say nothing unless you are directly addressed, and then reply with a platitude.
Before long everyone will think you a brilliant conversationalist."
"More likely, they'll think me a surly brute," growled Glawen.
"Still, I will guard my tongue."
Once again Scharde showed his crooked half-smile.
"Come; it is time we started down."
The two descended the staircase to the first floor and passed through the reception hall into the main gallery: a pair of erect figures, with similar austere features and mannerisms which suggested innate grace and strength under careful control. Scharde stood a head taller; his hair had become a coarse nondescript gray; wind and weather had darkened his skin to the color of old oak. Glawen was somewhat more fair, and more compact at chest and shoulder.
Scharde's mouth was taut and ironic; Glawen's mouth, when he was relaxed or moody, took on a pensive droop at the corners, as if his mind were off among the clouds. Girls, when they looked at Glawen, as often they did, found that this droop, with its suggestion of sweet flights of fancy, tended to play strange tricks upon their hearts.
The two proceeded to the dining room. At the portal they halted, and took stock of those already at their places.
Most of the in-House Clattucs had arrived, and now lounged at their ease in the stiff-backed chairs, gossiping, laughing and sipping lively Bagnold from the Laverty winery, or, as often, the heavier and sweeter Pink Indescense, as formulated by the Wook oenologists. At stations around the walls stood Yip footmen, resplendent in the gray and orange Clattuc livery, their faces powdered white and their hair concealed by wigs of combed silver floss.
Scharde pointed across the table.
