The room was shaped like the segment of a circle, which made sense if they were in a tower. The color scheme continued in this room, but the bed, at least, looked as if it wouldn’t be torture to sleep in. The bedframe was more sinuous copper, columns rising from each corner of the bed that split, curled around in tendrils, and met above the center. There was an ordinary-looking copper wardrobe, a couple of chairs and a stool, and a window in the curved outer wall, framed in more copper spirals. Of course, it might not be an actual window, but rather a magical image. Disorientation was a means of control, too. This apartment could be a mile from the actual Palace, and he might be no wiser.
“Which of the packs is yours, milord Duke?” the Doll asked, as he stood there, taking it all in. He eyed the bed dubiously; the Doll hadn’t specified that there was a bedchamber for Beltran. Was he expected to share it with Beltran? He could, it wasn’t as if the idea offended him, but—“Uh, the blue one,” he replied absently.
The Doll carrying the blue pack took it to the wardrobe, opened it, and began putting his clothing away. The Doll carrying Beltran’s brown canvas pack began taking it out of the room, then turned and looked at Beltran, who had not moved. “If you would come with me, Duke’s Companion?” it whispered. “I shall show you to your chamber.”
Well, that’s a relief.
Beltran followed the Doll apprehensively, as the other Doll opened a door in the left, non-curved wall. “This is your chamber of bathing and personal hygiene,” it said, gesturing to him to come and look. And sure enough, there was a bathroom like the exceedingly convenient ones in his own manor, with an enormous tub, the kind of close stool where the waste flushed down, presumably into a sewer or tank, and a sink and mirror. And a door in the opposite wall. “You will be sharing this with your companion?” The Doll sounded tentative, as if it expected him to disapprove.
“That will be fine,” he said, still a bit dazed, because this was nothing at all like his experience here as a foster, where he’d shared a tiny little sliver of a room with Hakkon, and a bathroom with a dozen other male fosters.
“Will this serve?” it asked anxiously.
“This will be fine. More than fine!” he told the Doll.
“Milord Duke will be served by three of us, if that is sufficient,” the Doll said. “This one, and the two pack-carriers. Will that be sufficient?”
He wanted to tell the thing that he’d rather not be served by any of them, because to be honest he found them unnerving, but he suspected that would only cause the Doll distress. “That will be fine,” he repeated.
The Doll pointed to a copper chain hanging beside the bathtub. “The Duke must merely pull one of those chains, and one of us will come to serve,” it said. “And we will be at hand at all times. We will also come to guide you to all functions and appointments.” It handed him a copper chain bracelet. “If milord Duke will put this on, the Duke has but to approach a Gate and speak the name of the chamber he wishes to enter, and the Gate will take him there. The Duke’s companion has been given one as well.”
Kordas knew that this kind of formal speech was a Court standard, but he found it stilted, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What do I call you?” he said at last.
The Doll suddenly froze. “Please forgive,” it said after a long pause. “This one does not understand.”
“What do I call you?” he repeated. “Your name, what is it? I can’t just call you ‘Doll.’”
It froze again. “Why . . . would . . . milord Duke . . . wish this one to bear a name?”
“Because it’s polite?” he replied.
This time the pause was very long indeed, and he was afraid that he might have broken the poor thing. Finally, though, it responded. “Milord Duke may call this one what he pleases.”
Well . . . I’m sure of one thing. Whatever is bound in there, it’s no demon. It’s intelligent, it’s aware, and it’s a slave. Bile rose in his throat. “Come with me, please,” he said, and left the bathroom, followed by the Doll. The other Doll had finished putting up his clothing, leaving the pack neatly folded in the bottom of the wardrobe, and he signaled to it that it was to follow as well. They all entered Beltran’s bedroom, which was identical to his, just in time to find the third Doll opening the door to the shared bathroom and explaining the chamber to his Herald. He waited while the Doll went through its patter, and cleared his throat to get its attention.
“Beltran, do you have anything on you that will make a permanent mark?” he asked, knowing that Beltran certainly would, since one of Beltran’s functions was to be his personal secretary.
Beltran produced a tiny pot of ink and an equally tiny metal pen from a belt-pouch with a flourish. Kordas took them from him, and turned to the first Doll. “Am I allowed to make a mark on you?” he asked.
“The Duke may do what he wishes with this one, and any other Doll,” the Doll said. “The Duke may break a Doll’s limbs, burn a Doll, practice marksmanship upon a Doll, paint upon a Doll—”
“Stop!” he said, sickened. “We have no intention of doing any such thing to you, do you understand? I just want to add a little mark on each of you so Beltran and I can tell you apart.”
“As you will,” the Doll said. “But one Doll is the same as any other—”
“No, you are not,” he said forcefully. “I know that, and you know that, and it’s only decent to acknowledge that. Now, since you either don’t want us to know your names—which is fine, that’s your right!—or we can’t pronounce your names, or there is some other reason, and you’ve said I can call you what I like, I am going to give you names.” He dipped the pen in the inkpot and very carefully scribed a five-pointed star between where the eyebrows would have been. “You are Star.”
“This one is . . . Star,” the Doll repeated, and it sounded a little stunned.
He went to one of the other two, and scribed a five-petaled flower on its forehead. “You are Rose.”
“Rose,” the Doll said obediently.
He went to the third Doll and scribed a three-leaved clover on its head. “And you are Clover.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Star, Rose, and Clover. Is that all right with you?”
“As you—”
“Please answer the question,” he said patiently. “Is that all right with you? Are there some other names you’d like to be called?”
“These names are . . . fine,” said Star. “These names . . . are . . . lovely,” Star added, wonderingly.
He heaved a sigh of relief.
“Now, I have a question, and I hope it’s not intrusive. Are you three just going to hang about the apartment all the time?” I really hope not. It’s going to take a while to get used to these things. He hated feeling that way, because it seemed wrong, but on the other hand, the Dolls were . . . well . . . creepy.