Evidently, Lord Thorn had over-extended himself in his previous night's revelries, but this was not surprising to Doorkeeper in view of the onerous demands of the responsibilities that must surely pertain to the post of Prelate and House Lord. The man was a Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank and a formidable magic-user, but a man nonetheless, sacrilegious as the fact might seem to the major-domo.

****

Thorn regarded the nervous man before him with some irritation. The two had known each other for most of Thorn's eighty years, ever since the future Prelate had entered the ranks of the House as a humble Student. Ever since his accession to the title of Prelate, the ancient Doorkeeper had regarded him with awe and trepidation. Thorn's hangover had been kept at bay by the use of some minor magic, and so his mood was somewhat better than it might have been had he been a Secular. Nonetheless, he was none too pleased at being disturbed at this early hour: even a Mage of the Seventh Rank needed to sleep sometimes.

"What is it, Doorkeeper?" he growled. When tired, hungry or overworked, Thorn had an easily roused temper, one which had often caused him trouble with the Magemasters in his youth, although he never let it affect his magic. There would be no measured words and tones here, such as those Thorn would have used to address the Presidium. Brief conversation was best when the Prelate was in a bad mood, but Thorn knew this was not Doorkeeper's forte.

"Lord Thorn, there's a boy in the scullery. I hope you don't mind, but I gave him a bed and some food. It was horribly cold and wet out there last night, you know, and I just thought-"

Thorn raised a hand to stop the flow of prattle from Doorkeeper. He sighed and, with difficulty, mustered a patient manner; angry words tended to cow the timid old man and to prolong exchanges. The Prelate's tone was nonetheless cool in the extreme, belying his placatory words.