The Silenced Tale, стр. 121
“We shan’t be selling it, I don’t think,” I say, with a meaningful look at Bevel. “I find myself in need of two houses, suddenly.”
“Is your manor not large enough to accommodate just two more?” Bevel asks, and I realize that we haven’t yet given my brother-in-law an accurate impression of what my station is, and what dwellings are really like in the Overrealm. How ridiculously inflated the housing market is in urban British Columbia.
Pip snorts. “‘Manor,’ my arse, Bev. No one has manors. It’s too expensive to keep staff. Our whole place could fit inside the Great Hall, with room to spare.”
“Ah,” Bevel says, looking baffled, but not adding anything else.
When it seems that no one else has anything to add, I thank Juan and Gil for coming all this way to hand-deliver this news, and promise to meet with them to finalize the handovers with the lawyer tomorrow afternoon.
Juan shakes our hands, and goes. But Gil lingers beside Bevel, looking as if he’s just discovered religion.
“Forgive me,” he says. “But I can’t . . . I just . . . listen, you are uncanny. Elgar never said that he based his characters on real people, and you and . . . this guy”—he waves at Kintyre—“you’re just perfect. Your accent. Your bearing. You even have that damned little scar under your eye.” He points to it, and Bevel jerks back, away from him. Less because Gil was coming at his face with a pointed finger, and more because Bevel is still horrifically self-conscious about that scar. “Right, sorry. I just . . . look, here’s my card. Come to set, okay? I’d love to have both of you on set when he’s on his feet again. Just . . . come consult, or something?”
“Consult?” Bevel turns to Pip for explanation, the way he does whenever he is confronted with something particularly Overrealm-ish.
“You’re familiar with the Kintyre Turn books?”
Bevel grins and snorts. “Intimately.”
“Then come to set. Please. See how TV magic is made.”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” Bevel snaps, and it is churlish, mutinous. He is still angry about that.
Gil, however, seems unaware that he is poking the Bulldog of Bynnebakker and keeps on. “Oh, this is going to be fun. I like you . . . Bevel.” He forces a business card into Bevel’s hand.
“I make no promises,” Bevel grunts at length.
“No, I get it,” Gil says. “I do. I don’t . . . let me be clear, I don’t want you to replace Elgar, okay? Nobody can do that. You’re not runner-up to him. But you . . . you both . . . please. When he’s up and around. What a resource you could be. Just think about it?”
“I will,” Bevel reluctantly promises.
Gil takes the time to shake everyone’s hands, and then rushes out after Juan, grinning like Alis when confronted with a whole mountain of paper to crumple to her heart’s delight.
“Well,” Pip says, slumping into the chair beside the bed. She reaches out and brushes a lock of hair off my brother’s forehead. “That was a circus. You sure missed something just there, Kintyre Turn.”
Bevel hands me the business card, and I explain the process of getting in contact with Gil, if he wants to.
“Should I?” Bevel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and laying a hand on Kintyre’s knee. He is rarely out of physical contact with his trothed for long. I do not know who this is meant to comfort more, but I suspect that it is not the man asleep in the bed. “He wants me to help.”
“Only if you want to,” Pip says, grinning up at me. “Consider his offer, Bev. Once Kin’s up and at it, you two will want to do something to keep you busy. I know you don’t miss being Shadow Hand, not the way Forsyth does, but you’re going to have to find some way to occupy yourself. This might be a good opportunity.”
Bevel chuckles a little to himself. “You know as well as I that Kintyre Turn will never be content with simply telling people how things must look or happen. He will pick up the prop sword and wade into the choreography himself.” Bevel groans and rubs his forehead. “And I will have my hands full with the ruddy great brute while he does, won’t I?”
“Will that be so bad?” Pip asks softly. I look away from Bevel to find her patting Kin’s arm. “Just like old times, right? Just like that time with the King’s Players.”
“Yeah,” Bevel croaks. He swallows hard, clears his throat, and then adds: “I’m dying for a pipe. I’ll, uh . . .” He gestures awkwardly at the window over his shoulder, indicating his intention to go to the courtyard. He was quite put out to learn that he was not allowed to smoke indoors, at Kintyre’s bedside.
I wait for Bevel to exit, then take one of the seats. Pip offers me the paperwork from the lawyers to read and, ah, yes, I do see the reason for her outburst. That is a veritable flock of zeroes.
“He passed the series on to you,” I say, conversationally, as I peruse the rest of the document. I will read it seriously later, when we are back in our hotel room. “Why did you not speak up?”
“I haven’t made up my mind. I . . . Juan and I are emailing, a bit,” she confesses. “Mostly about the legal stuff, but they’ve mentioned wanting a new story consultant. I didn't say anything because . . . I don’t know, it will be good for Bev and Kin, don’t you think? To have a link back