Quoted By:
“Keep watch,” you murmur to Sakhalin, your words answered with a tiny nod. Leaving him to gaze out into the darkening ruins and the trees beyond, you return to Leigh. Brushing dust off a spare chair, you drag it across and sit opposite him. For a moment, you just study the dishevelled young man. His skin is streaked with dirt and grime, wild tufts of hair sticking up in all directions. The biscuits are long gone, but he keeps glancing about as if there might be more. Unfortunately for him, there aren’t.
“Leigh,” you begin, your voice causing him to flinch, “What did you want to talk with us about, Leigh?”
It takes him a moment. “The King, wasn’t it?” he offers.
“I think it was the King, yes. Very good, Leigh,” you reply, fighting down an urge to shake the young man by the shoulders, “What about the King, though?”
Leigh’s brows dip into a deep frown of thought. The question seems too much for him now, so you change track with a suppressed sigh. “The last time we saw each other, you were with the Teilhard family, weren’t you?” you press, hoping to stir his memory, “Can you tell me what happened after that? You must’ve left Siegfried House at some point, and gone… where exactly?”
“Master Teilhard sent me to one of his, um, friends. A business friend, not a… you know, a friend friend. He said it was for work, so I could do something good with my life. But I didn’t stay there long, he sent me on again. To… um… Petrichor,” Leigh’s mouth twitches into an unsteady smile, “I was working there for a while.”
Petrichor, you recall, is the main city at the heart of Silvera territory. Which could possibly mean…
“Were you working for Choirmaster Moreau, by chance?” you ask, the name causing Leigh to shudder – so badly that you can only take it as a confirmation. “So, you were sent to work for Choirmaster Moreau,” you continue, “Is that right?”
“Sweeping the floors, emptying the bins, that sort of thing. But I kept my head down and I listened. I looked at things I wasn’t supposed to look at,” a secretive smile, wicked and triumphant, flickers across Leigh’s face, “She keeps files, you know. Files on everyone, even the King. I think she’s been-”
The sharp crack of a rifle cuts Leigh’s sentence short, causing the young man to fling himself to the ground with a desperate little wail of fear. Another shot rings out a second later, this one causing glass to explode from a shattered window. Dropping low and drawing your revolver, you scuttle over to the broken window and peer out as best as you can.
“I believe we have company, Master Pale,” Sakhalin says, with no more panic than a waiter announcing that dinner is served, “Master Leigh, were you followed?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” he wails, “Maybe!”
“I believe he was followed,” Sakhalin decides, brushing some shards of broken glass off one shoulder.
[1]
