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long room with a bit of a throne-like chair at one end and rows of seats along the walls.
    “This is the court room,” Dane announced. “This is where the people of Westsea come to ask for assistance, make complaints, and hear news from away. There is no judge in these parts, so Fiona hears disputes as well. She sits once a week.”
    That would be a tough job, making those kinds of decisions. I wouldn’t want to have to do it. It would have been interesting, though, to watch Taro doing it. He could be very lordly when he wished. “So everyone waits in those chairs?” It was considerate, I thought, to make sure the petitioners were comfortable.
    “Those are for the spectators.”
    “People who have no stake in the disagreements watch them?” As though it were some kind of entertainment?
    “Aye. It’s considered important for people of the area to see justice being done and all that.”
    “So who are the usual spectators?”
    “The High Landed, mostly.”
    Ouch. So some average person would have to beg for assistance with all those aristocratic strangers watching and probably commenting. That was a harsh test of fortitude. I supposed, though, it would discourage inappropriate or vexatious suits.
    We followed Dane from the court room to the sitting room we’d been in the night before, through that room and into the second largest dining room I’d ever seen. A wide table of blackwood stretched from one end of the room to the other, long enough, I figured, to comfortably seat about sixty people. It was bare, gleaming in the morning light shining through the row of windows in the northern wall. Candelabra peppered the southern wall, and the eastern and western walls were painted with more landscape murals.
    “We don’t eat in here much,” Dane told us. “The servants expected us to, when we first arrived, but it would be ridiculous, the four of us eating at this enormous table.”
    “Were all the staff here when you arrived?” I had no idea how that sort of thing worked.
    “We brought some people with us, and we had to let a few go because they weren’t able to tolerate the change in titleholder”—I wondered what that meant, exactly—“but it’s mostly the same people who were here under the Duke.” He headed toward another door, which opened into a tiny alcove and then another door. “This is the kitchen. Attention, everyone!”
    For this room, unlike the others, was full of people working. They all halted their slicing of vegetables and scrubbing of pans to look at Dane. Then they looked at us, some with interest, some with indifference, and a couple with scowls. I wondered how we’d managed to annoy them so quickly.
    “I just wanted to introduce you all to Source Karish and Shield Mallorough. I expect you to show them the same quality of care you’ve shown my family.”
    His words made me a little uncomfortable. They seemed to imply the staff didn’t know how to do their jobs without being told. It was kind of insulting.
    “Now, Shintaro, Dunleavy, are you able to cook for yourselves?”
    That was an unexpected question.
    “I can,” Taro answered. “I wouldn’t expect much from Lee.”
    Prat. “I can cook,” I added. Just not very well. And I hoped he wasn’t suggesting we demonstrate right then. The long row of scrubbed stoves looked different from anything I’d seen before, and they were intimidating.
    “We ask that should you wish for something during the night, you prepare it yourself. We prefer that the staff isn’t disturbed, once they’ve bedded down.”
    “Of course,” I said, but I wouldn’t be doing any cooking while half-asleep. I’d probably burn the whole place down. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at an odd figurine on the wall in one corner of the room. It had a star shape for the head, its body was made by a circle around a cross, and its limbs were all different lengths. It was quite ugly.
    “It’s a kitchen guardian,” he answered. “It’s to protect