The Divinity Game

3: Deal

A nasty brat just spilled his morning orange juice, so Ezhil was called for cleaning duty.

This was a normal job in the effervescent Regia Palace. The brat in question was the son of the Duke of Penbound. The duke was nowhere inside the palace, but the duchess was. When Ezhil requested entry to her apartment, he could still hear the brat crying accompanied by the stomping of his squeaky sandals. The 8-year-old heir to a dukedom spilled his juice and was pulling a tantrum. May the Divines bless them all.

"Clean it, and do it fast," ordered the duchess while trying to console the little brat. A futile exercise. She was always pampering him. Ezhil hoped the boy would grow up to be a softie so that he'd be the perfect target for school bullies.

His irrational pettiness aside, Ezhil nodded and pulled out his cleaning tools. All the carpeting in the palace was woven out of the kind of fabric that made washing a living hell. This was the sort of crap he had to deal with being employed in royal business. Most people would kill to even step foot in the royal city of Regia, and while Ezhil got to be in the centre of it, it was the last thing he would hope for. He got on all fours, a bucket of water mixed with detergent next to him, and began scrubbing.

The duchess had gone to the study room. The little duke-to-be stared at him, standing too close for comfort, one thumb inside his mouth. Something about kids who loved to stare annoyed him, so Ezhil did what always worked in such a situation. He let his lazy left eye wander outward then stuck his tongue out like a sleep paralysis demon.

The boy immediately cried, but instead of running to his mama he pulled Ezhil's dark locks with his stubby greasy fingers.

"Arghh! Why you little—"

"What is it this time?"

The duchess reappeared around the corner and pretence kicked in.

"Nothing, milady. The little master got too close to the spill." He made a show of gently nudging the boy out of supposed harm's way.

The duchess sighed wearily and lifted her son into her embrace, leaving Ezhil to finish his work. When the last of the stain had disappeared, Ezhil got a satisfying kick, as he always did whenever a job was done well. He was about to head out, past the ornate arch that separated the rooms of the suite, patience running thin, when he heard a terrible retching sound.

"Housekeeper," called the duchess.

Ezhil sighed in annoyance. It was like the little gremlin was exacting his revenge on him. Vomit was harder to clean. Could he not just chuck this brush to their faces? Worse, he'd get fired, but Ezhil knew he only wished getting fired was the worst thing that could happen to him. Perhaps the duchess would demand he pay her. Or worse, the regina herself would quarter him. Does she still follow the old ways? Could palace staff get quartered—in public, no less—for hitting the peerage?

"Housekeeper!"

Before he could act on his violent wish, a page had knocked and allowed himself in, much to the duchess' annoyance.

"What now?" she complained.

"Pardon me, ma'am. The regina calls for—"

"She wants to see me?" The duchess beamed.

"Apologies, ma'am. Her majesty wants to see Mr Eradi."

Ezhil was glad he didn't chuck the brush.

The duchess was frowning hard. "Then who's going to clean this?"

"I'll call for another housekeeper, ma'am. Mr Eradi, please follow me."

Gladly. With a smirk, Ezhil surreptitiously glanced at the boy, and then twitched into his reptilian eyes.