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you are welcome to them to the last sentence.
The major-domo's demeanour cooled noticeably, and he said nothing more as he
hustled them at great speed through another complicated series of passageways.
At last, he stopped outside one of the doors in an anonymous corridor.
"If you would be so kind as to wait here for a while, gentlemen, somebody will
come for you. He opened the door for them with evident ill grace, all but
forcing them inside and almost, but not quite, slamming the portal behind
them.
"I don't like that man, Dalquist said, once the door had closed behind them.
Presence is one thing, but he's too damn polished. He thinks High Lodge is
too good for us."
Grimm nodded, admitting, I have to say, I do prefer our own Doorkeeper."
Grimm took stock of the room, which must have been five or six times better
than his comfortable cell back at Arnor House. A long table ran the length of
the room, with comfortable leather chairs arranged around it, and a magical
fire burnt in a golden grate without consuming the logs around which it
played.
A crystal drinks cabinet stood at the far end of the room, and the mage saw
small tables arrayed around the wall, heaped with expensive viands and
delicacies. Each of these tables bore a crystal vase with a delicate orchid.
Grimm realised he was hungry and began to load a plate with food. Dalquist did
the same.
"I don't like this place, either, the senior mage growled. Don't get me
wrong: while we have all this good food and drink on offer, I'll take it; but
I don't think it's right to live like this. High Lodge is just too soft. I
thought it was some sort of paradise on my first visit, but now I think it's
little better than a decadent whorehouse. Did you see some of the mages we
passed on the way here?"
"I think I know what you mean, Dalquist, Grimm said, after swallowing a
mouthful of grilled ortolan. They were confident, well-dressed,
self-possessed to the point of arrogance, but they seemed to have all the
presence and none of the power. When I was a Student, I used to think I'd
scream if I heard that bloody phrase once more, but I think I know what it
means now. None of this lot would last five minutes on a serious Quest; it's
no wonder they get the various Houses to do all their dirty work. He sank
into one of the deeply-upholstered chairs, which hissed slightly as he sat.
Dalquist followed suit, having helped himself to a generous glass of some
noble vintage from the drinks cabinet. He placed a second glass before Grimm.
"I like comfort as much as the next man and I know you do, too, but how can
you appreciate luxury if you live in it all the time? There's something sick
in this place, a deep canker that saps all the majesty from it."
He took a deep gulp from the lustrous goblet and raised his eyebrows in
appreciation. At least the splendour of the food and drink matches that of
the décor."
Grimm suppressed a gently mocking smile: Dalquist seemed in no mood to deny
himself the opulence he had decried a moment before.
"We might as well enjoy it while we're here, I suppose, Grimm agreed, raising
his glass. He did not really like wine, but he had to admit that this beverage
was of exceptional quality.
* * * *
After an hour or so, the Questors had requited their hunger and thirst and
were deep in conversation. Grimm heard a polite rap on the door and called,
Enter."
A stout man with greasy grey locks and a sparse beard walked into the room,
the rings on his staff marking him as a mage of the Third Rank. He consulted a
small pocket-watch, and a grubby sheet of paper that he dragged from a pocket
in his robe. Grimm heard him mutter, Room thirty-four, four hours of the
clock."
The portly man's expression brightened into a dazzling smile, revealing almost
too many immaculate, pearly teeth.
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"Greetings, brother mages, he crowed. I am Shael, Assistant
Sub-Vice-Facilitator-in-Chief of High Lodge. If you would kindly accompany me
to the Presidium Chamber, Lord Dominie Horin awaits the pleasure of your
company."
The man's words dripped with unction, but Grimm could tell they were empty and
ritualistic. Of course, in such a fine establishment, Questors from provincial
Houses would not merit any great ceremony. Even so, he felt his heart beating
faster at the prospect of meeting the master of the Guild.
"If you would be so kind? Shael pleaded. The Lord Dominie has many demands
on his time."
Dalquist looked at Grimm and rolled his eyes as the two mages levered
themselves from their comfortable chairs and followed Shael out of the room.
It took several minutes, at a brisk pace, to pass along the length of the
corridor past many identical doors, and Grimm guessed that each room might
hold a party of disgruntled provincial mages patiently awaiting the Dominie's
impatient pleasure. They reached a golden double portal decorated with
intricate patterns, and waited a few minutes whilst Shael scanned his watch.
Finally, the Assistant Sub-Vice-Facilitator-in-Chief rapped twice at the doors
with his staff, to be greeted by a tired-sounding Enter from within the
room.
Far from the opulent, orderly chamber that Grimm had expected, they walked
into a chaotic mess. A vast, round table dominated the room, overflowing with
scrolls, books and papers overflowing onto the sumptuously carpeted floor. A
small man with a green eyeshade sat by the door, apparently deep in slumber. A
corpulent, sweaty old man sat on the far side of the table, in front of an
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