‘Oh, your stomach is upset? Let’s hope you heave all over your two gate guards when you get there.’
‘Yes. And suddenly it’ll be midnight and like a doomed man I will count the steps to the gallows awaiting me at home. Pray to Beru and every other ascendant the world over that you’re asleep when I get here, or at least feigning sleep.’
‘I’ve had a busy day, husband, just thinking of all the things I’d like to do to you for breaking that promise. And when you get home, why, I’ll be dreaming dreadful scenes, each one adding to that pleasant smile on my slumbering visage.’
‘I shall attempt to sleep on no more than a hand’s span of bed, stiff as a planed board, not making a sound.’
‘Yes, you will. Darling.’
And the perfunctory kiss, smooch smooch.
Blue light painted the streets through which Torvald Nom now hurried along, blue light and black thoughts, a veritable bruising of dismay, and so the buildings to each side crowded, leaned in upon him, until he felt he was squirting-like an especially foul lump of excrement-through a sewer pipe. Terrible indeed, a wife’s disappointment and, mayhap, disgust.
The princely wages were without relevance. The flexible shifts could barely earn a begrudging nod. The sheer impressive legality of the thing yielded little more than a sour grunt. And even the fact that Torvald Nom now held the title of Captain of the House Guard, while Scorch and Leff were but underlings among a menagerie of underlings (yes, he had exaggerated somewhat), had but granted him a temporary abeyance of the shrill fury he clearly deserved-and it waited, oh, it waited. He knew it. She knew it. And he knew she was holding on to it, like a giant axe, poised above his acorn of a head.
Yes, he’d given up slavery for this.
Such was the power of love, the lure of domestic tranquillity and the fending off of lonely solitude. Would he have it any other way? Ask him later.
Onward, and there before him the estate’s modest but suitably maintained wall, and the formal gate entranceway, its twin torches flaring and flickering, enough to make the two shapes of his redoubtable underlings look almost… attentive.
Not that either of them was watching the street. Instead, it seemed they were arguing.