"Is there anything that absolutely must be dealt with right now?" Rus asked.
"Er…" Old Gordon adjusted his monocle. "There is."
"At the end of last month, the Slate family sent a formal summons requesting your response."
"And traditionally, the head of the Claydons family holds an ancestral ritual at the start of the new year. We're still within the first month, so it's not too late."
"A summons from the end of last month… that's been nearly a month already. One more day won't hurt," Rus said, letting Petty help him out of his armor. "As for the ancestral ritual, let the ancestors wait a couple of days. I doubt they're eager to see me in the afterlife just yet."
"Yes, my lord." Old Gordon hadn't expected Rus to take care of everything right away—his duty as steward was simply to ensure the lord was informed.
Right now, Rus felt like his bones were barely hanging together, more worn out than three days in a third-class train car.
