“Yes, what is it?”
“And how is my Lord this morning?” The elderly adviser bowed as low as his aging back would allow.
“Impatient, as always. So don’t bother inquiring after my condition. I know that you, as much as everyone else in this benighted pile of stone, would rejoice at the sight of me dead.”
Tergamet fluttered a protesting hand. “Oh no, Lord! How can you think to say such a thing to me, one of your most trusted and loyal retainers!”
“I don’t trust anyone, old man, and loyalty is a commodity to be bought, like expensive wine and cheap women.” His irritation was growing. “What news? Not the harbor pilots again, with this nonsense about Krakens interfering with their work. I’ve told them how to fight back, and what poisons to use.”
“No, Lord. It is not the harbor pilots.” Eyes that still saw sharply rose to nearly meet his. “It is the Worm, Lord. It wishes to speak with you.”
Hymneth considered, then nodded slowly. At this news, the two small eromakadi that attended his ankles danced excitedly around his legs. Termaget was careful to keep them in view. Simple contact with either one could suck the life out of a man. The Possessed they merely bounced off like agitated spaniels.
“The Worm, you say. What about?”
The senior adviser bowed again and spread his arms wide. “I do not know, my Lord. It will speak only to you.”
“And quite properly so. Very good, Termaget. You may go.”
“Thank you, Lord.” Bowing and scraping, the old man retreated toward the main doorway. As he turned to depart, Hymneth considered whether to let the eromakadi take a playful nip at his heels. Nothing serious; just a week or so out of his remaining years. Days someone like Termaget would probably waste anyway. Hymneth decided against it, knowing that the old fellow probably would not see the humor in the situation.