29.

Thursday Is a Good Day

The deep Archive, beneath First Threshold, eighth month of 200 AGH

The tea stain had stopped spreading. Josephine tested the edge with one finger while the old mind complained about her performance.

“You made the secretary sound as though he were about to declare war.”

“They brought a cage.”

“An open cage.”

“Which they rehearsed opening.”

She laughed again. The first time, at Tolly's firm refusal to bring it back the following week, she had knocked her unfinished tea with the hand holding the page. A small amount had reached the blotter. The written sheets were dry; she had checked them twice before reading on to the later years. Now the last page lay beside the others, and her cup was balanced in the narrow space she ought not to have chosen in the first place.

She put it on the lower shelf.

“I liked him,” she said. “He had finished with the cage.”

“I liked her making them finish the ceremony.”

“He still had to carry it home.”

The sound in the stone shifted. It had the slight catch she had begun to recognize when the mind was amused.

“You gave him a very good no.”

“Thank you.”

“The secretary was too much.”

She would have defended her secretary again, but she could remember how loudly she had begun “Young master.” Down here, without a door or a six-year-old boy to address, it had been an announcement to the entire chamber.

“A little too much,” she allowed.

“This one came easier.”

Josephine looked up.

“Did it?”

“Yes. I liked giving it to you.”

“I liked the boy sending them in. She says to bring the cage. She wants to look at it.”

She had lowered her voice for that, giving each instruction its own importance.

“Better,” said the mind.

“You can't have an opinion on every voice.”

“I can have an opinion.”

She reached for her register. Her upstairs work would occupy the next two afternoons; she had already marked the later one. “Thursday?”

“At four.”

“I could finish upstairs at four.”

“And then arrive here at four?”

Nine hundred and eleven steps. She could feel the last turn in her legs just by thinking of it. She had hurried that evening because she wanted to hear the cat, carrying tea she had intended to drink before leaving the upper room.

“Shortly after.”

“You arrive making a great deal of noise when you do that.”

“Half past,” she said. “Half past four.”

“Thursday is a good day.”

Josephine wrote it down. Then she picked up the cup from its safer place and took a mouthful. The tea had gone cold.

“You won't like that,” the mind said.

She swallowed. “I do, sometimes.”

“You made a face.”

“That was because you were watching.”

She took another mouthful and waited for an answer.