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Four
Hefeltalittlesick.Thatlastimagehadhurt.Still:hewasinLordPortico’sstudy.Thatwasafirst.
Themarquistookintheroom,eyesslidingfromdetailtodetail.Thestuffedcrocodilehangingfromtheceiling;theleather-boundbooks,anastrolabe,convexandconcavemirrors,oddscientificinstruments;thereweremapsonthewalls,oflandsandcitiesdeCarabashadneverheardof;adesk,coveredinhandwrittencorrespondence.Thewhitewallbehindthedeskwasmarredbyareddish-brownstain.TherewasasmallportraitofDoor’sfamilyonthedesk.Themarquisstaredatit."Yourmotherandyoursister,yourfather,andyourbrothers.Alldead.Howdidyouescape?"heasked.
Sheloweredherhand."Iwaslucky.I’dgoneoffexploringforafewdays...didyouknowtherearestillsomeRomansoldierscampedoutbytheKilburnRiver?"
Themarquishadnotknownthis,whichirritatedhim."Hmm.Howmany?"
Sheshrugged."Afewdozen.TheyweredesertersfromtheNineteenthLegion,Ithink.MyLatin’sabitpatchy.Anyway,whenIgotbackhere..."Shepaused,swallowed,heropal-coloredeyesbrimmingwithtears.
"Pullyourselftogether,"saidthemarquis,shortly."Weneedyourfather’sjournal.Wehavetofindoutwhodidthis."
Shefrownedathim."Weknowwhodidthis.ItwasCroupandVandemar—"
Heopenedahand,waggledhisfingersashespoke."They’rearms.Hands.Fingers.There’saheadthatorderedit,thatwantsyoudead,too.
