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—”