Sunday, January 4, 2015

Page 36

“Please,” Sithe said, gesturing to a round table in one corner of the room, “would you care to sit?” She was now fully in Miss Sithe mode, gracious and accommodating, the dutiful matron with every social grace and nicety intact. “Ricker,” she said, to a small boy hiding underneath the table and playing with wooden soldiers, “get out from under there, please. Please, Sentinel Ulridge. Sit.”

Ulridge, pleased at the use of his title, grinned widely and sat.

“Would you care for a drink?” Sithe asked, because it was expected.

“Won’t be necessary, Missus,” Ulridge replied, because it was expected.

“What’s happened to the poor girl?” Sithe asked, glancing sidelong at Breanne, who had taken up a position at Ulridge’s side, one tiny hand clutching his shirt of chain-mail. “She looks frightened out of her wits.”

Ulridge cleared his throat. “Found ‘er on the street, Missus,” he said, gravely, shaken by whatever he was currently recalling. “Wearin’ naught but a cloak too big for ‘er. No smallclothes, no dress. Scars e’erywhere. Fresh’uns, too. Dunno where this mite’s been, but she’s none for bein' treated right.”

The man’s dialect seemed to thicken, the more uncomfortable he got.

Sithe pursed her lips, shut her eyes for a moment, and summoned a touch of the anger that possessed her when she’d looked at Gregor Abney. A tingle of fear ran up her spine, as she remembered what else she’d seen that night, and then she wondered where Sythius was. Likely enough he was in the back gardens. He seemed to like it there.

Too little emotion, Sithe reminded herself, and he would wonder why she wasn’t more concerned for the state of a lost child. Too much, and he would wonder just how much she knew. It was a rope she was used to talking, but there was always a thrum of anticipation, whenever she did it.

The thought crossed her mind that, if ever an interview like this happened with Sister Dalton, Sithe’s secrets would likely bleed out of her like oozing wounds.

Outsmarting a Sister of Ulria, after all, was never easy.

* * *

No comments:

Post a Comment