Saga of Menyoral: The Service Read Free Page A

did say so himself. Even Tatiana had commented on it, just last night when she had come on her weekly visit, and for the first time in years, he could see his own feet.
    Lech hadn’t said anything, but Krakus hadn’t expected him to. They weren’t speaking much these days, at least Krakus wasn’t. Lech went on and on as he always had. Used to be Krakus would offer something to shut him up, but no more. No matter how much Lech ranted and raved, no matter how closely in front of his nose a simple solution might hover, Krakus didn’t say a word. He liked being able to sleep at night.
    “Go outside, Krakus,” Lech said. “I can’t concentrate with all your noise.”
    “I’m comfortable where I am.” Krakus contrived to make his puzzle ring a little louder, watching Lech from under half-lowered eyelids.
    Lech’s jaw clenched, but he kept on with his work. Every time Krakus made a sound with his toy, Lech’s mouth pinched tighter. Finally he threw down his quill. “Krakus—” He stopped and breathed, steepling his fingers over the desk. “I’m about to take a meeting.”
    Usually that was enough to chase Krakus out, but today he felt mulish. “Meet away,” he said, shrugging.
    “It isn’t your kind of meeting.”
    “None of them are, Lechie.”
    “Mm.” Lech’s lips pursed more tightly than ever. His ears started going red —he hated being called Lechie, what Krakus used to call him. “Be that as it may, this meeting in particular holds nothing of interest to you, since you persist in your refusal to promote the interests of Father Muscoda and the Church.”
    “Everyone knows you’re the brains of this outfit,” Krakus said sweetly.
    “Go play with your freaks.”
    He smiled. “Fuck you.”
    “Ah, yes, profanity. The last resort of a tiny mind.”
    Krakus snorted. He was on the point of saying something about tiny genitals and Lech’s obvious need to compensate, but a soft knock sounded from the door. Feodor opened it a crack and said, “Estevan Barshefsky to see you, Father Lech.”
    “Excellent. Send him in.” Lech looked down his nose. “Last chance, Krakus.”
    Krakus didn’t budge as Feodor opened the door for a man so average the eye slipped off him even when bookcases and the jamb framed him in. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height—not even a scar or tattoo marked him.
    “Good afternoon,” the man said, in a voice as mild as fresh curds.
    Lech nodded sharply. “I suppose you know why I called you here. Shut the door behind you.”
    The ghost of a smile crossed the man’s face. He shut the door. “And I suppose you know I don’t generally respond to being summoned, or ordered around. I thought you might make it worth my while, Father Lech, but perhaps I was mistaken.”
    “Yes, well. There are times, for every man in my position, when … impediments must be removed for the greater good. The impediment in question is a thorn in the side of Church and State, Mr. Barshefsky, and—”
    “Stop.” The man crossed to the desk, Krakus’s side, and held out his hand. “May I, Father Krakus?”
    Wordlessly, Krakus handed over the puzzle. In five heartbeats, no more, the man handed it back with the largest of the rings separated from the rest. Krakus tossed the puzzle into his desk drawer and rummaged for a horehound stick.
    “As you can see, Father Lech, I specialize in solving problems. Your reasons are your own. Give me a name.”
    “Vandis Vail,” Lech said, and Krakus rolled his eyes. Two horehound sticks, he decided, and slammed the drawer shut. “I want it done within a fortnight, at their Longday Moot.”
    “Ah.” Barshefsky frowned slightly. “I’m afraid that will not be possible. Even if I could reach Knightsvalley in time, which I could not, the thing you ask cannot be done. Even if I could pass all the Knights around Sir Vail and reach him, which I could not, it is out of the question.”
    Lech opened a drawer on his side and pulled out a canvas sack. He