Dorrin heard the clatter of boots at the front of the house and went to meet the servants and send them toward the back. Then she collected her household. “We’re about to cleanse the cellars, and that may be dangerous. For your own safety, you must do what I say. Efla, Jaim, I want you in the stableyard, with Gani and Perin to guard you and the horses. Inder, you stand outside the front door to warn away any visitors.” Not that she’d had many visitors she hadn’t brought home herself. “Eddes and Jori”—her two boldest, who had made the most progress in arms, according to Selfer and Bosk—“come with me. You will be my personal guards.”

The five looked more eager than afraid and jogged off to get their swords. Efla put her hands on her hips, looking remarkably like Cook back at the domain. “I have two fowl in the oven.”

“You matter more than supper,” Dorrin said. “Out with you now.” Jaim was already out the door, as close to the outer gate as he could get. “Keep Jaim calm, Efla.” That might keep her calm as well.

When they were all disposed as she wished, she nodded to the Marshals. “Do you recognize any traps on this door?” Oktar asked her.

“No. I can try the Verrakaien command words if you like.”

“Do that,” Oktar said. “It may save us some struggle. But stay to one side, where we have room for our blades.”

Dorrin spoke the words. Nothing happened at first, then a key materialized in the lock, as if condensing from the air itself. Dorrin eyed it warily, but when it finished solidifying, it looked like an ordinary key—which it surely was not. Marshals Tamis and Veksin advanced with the Relics of their granges. “Wait,” Dorrin said. “Let me try another—” She spoke again, and the key turned slowly in the lock with a metallic screech.

Tamis shrugged at the noise. “We weren’t ever going to have surprise,” he said.

Dorrin tried one command word after another; finally the door ground open, scraping on the stone flags of the passage. The air inside smelled stuffy and faintly sour. “Bring a lamp,” she said, annoyed with herself for not having lamps ready. In moments Jori was back with two lamps, both lit.

By the lamps’ light they could see a large room stretching into dimness, its level stone floor lined with chests on the left, shelves above them. Cloths draped whatever was on the shelves—by the blurred shapes, bowls, pitchers, stacks of plates. Along the right wall they saw full sacks, some plumply smooth as if they held grain or meal and others lumpy as if holding fruits or roots. In the middle of the room, a worktable with a stack of folded cloths and a hanging chain over it for lamps, though no lamp hung there.

“That’s not what I expected,” the Marshal-General said. “I wonder …”

Jori pushed past with the lamps. “I’ll hang these up so you can see better,” he said, and strode into the room.