Chapter 4: Six O'Clock

Grandfather received him at six in the morning, in his bedroom, in a padded jacket, with a pot of congee.

"Sit," said Grandfather. "I eat three bowls and nobody here will eat with me, because they think it's undignified. Do you think it's undignified?"

"No, Grandfather."

"Good. Eat."

They ate in silence for a while.

Anzhi finished his first bowl before the old man had half emptied his, and Grandfather watched with open satisfaction.

"My son ate like that," he said. "Everyone told him not to. I let him."

"I'm sorry I never met him."

"So am I," said Grandfather, and set down his spoon.

"Now. I will not tell you whose side I am on. A man my age cannot afford a side. Tell me what you want."

Anzhi thought about it honestly.

"Breakfast," he said. "A new back brace for Ma."

"And to know who has been cooking my life for twenty-two years without asking me what I wanted in it."

The old man began to laugh.

It was a dry wheeze, and it went on long enough that the butler came in from the next room to check on him.

"Last night your Second Uncle asked me for a favor," said Grandfather, when he could speak.

"He suggested you be given some useful work, so as not to feel idle. He thought of the foundation's old receipts."

"Ten years of boxes in the cellar. Dull work, for the sort of boy he imagines you to be."

"I like receipts," said Anzhi.

"I thought you might." The old eyes glinted. "Butler."

The butler laid a ring of keys on the table.

"The cellar archive," said Grandfather. "Every receipt this house has kept since 1951."

"The front rooms are the foundation's, open to anyone I like. The cabinet at the back is the family's private ledgers."

He tapped a small brass key with a red thread. "This one opens nothing you are allowed to open yet. Do not lose it."

Anzhi took the ring.

"Why give it to me, if it opens nothing?"

"Because it should be carried by someone who wants to know," said Grandfather, and reached for his third bowl.

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