Death in Disguise [Modded - Pegasus]

[Andráska Venora]

27th of Cylus, 717

“Have you been sworn in yet?”

“Nah,” Andráska Venora leaned against the lamp post, looking up at the burning oil, crossing his arms and huffing a cold puff of air from his lungs. He rubbed his hands together and tightly tucked them under his arms, hugging himself through the icy leather. Soft snow flurries fell from the sky and the streets were otherwise quiet. Most residents had swarmed to cozy inns or a warm establishments with some semblance of light. Everything was so... shadowed and still.

Above him, a billion stars twinkled and played peek-a-boo with the clouds. With the moon covering the sun, it allowed other wonders to take precedence. They danced and twinkled when Andráska looked to the sky, he was speechless, the thoughts in his mind clearing in an instant. So many dots – a vast sea of midday darkness that consumed him... He was so small, and there was so much more out there. And yet, there was still light.

“So,” the other guard began, producing a pinch of tobacco that he tucked into his lip, “You leaving us to join the Guard? What a bastard.”

The noble was pulled from his wonder, suddenly reminded of his life and thrown back into his body – cold and sore and small in comparison. He shook his head and scoffed. Like his companion would decline such an offer, “Not like I had much of a choice,” he muttered, pushing off the lamp post and kicking at some snow that had stuck to the cobblestone, “It was an more of an order:” he took a breath and imitated the boy king's voice as best he could, “You will join the Ouroboros Guard!” Sure, perhaps he had a choice, but did one really decline a king? Andráska had said it would be an honor; the truth, but he had used the Iron Hand and noble responsibilities as means to avoid the vow so far. And since he had returned to Rynmere and was settling back down – he was out of excuses.

Blood in, blood out.

“I don't know,” Andráska admitted with a sigh, chewing his lip. Responsibility. The very thought of being on guard duty for the most important person in Rynmere was terrifying. Sometimes he could barely pull himself out of bed, let alone save another life at the sacrifice of certain freedoms. And if he was being really honest with himself, he wasn't fond of getting stabbed again.

“You going to have to do it sometime,” the other guard grinned, “Leave it to you to keep a king waiting.”

“Yeah, well...” His green eyes scanned the streets and he began to walk past the buildings, companion in tow. He thought of Rharne and how it would be bustling with every type of party at this time. Would he have to give up the idea of seeing that city again? “I don't make vows lightly and this ones a bit more complicated than my standard ones.”

“Well, if I didn't follow the Seven, I'd say Ethelynda would be proud.”

The comment pulled a small smirk from the noble born who shook his head and kept moving on his patrol. Ethylynda – immortal of nobility, honor, protection, snakes. Andráska wasn't sure he made anyone proud, least of all someone who he figured must be so serious in comparison. 'Well, Ethelynda? Do I make you proud?' he thought more to himself, although it could be surmised as a prayer to some.

As soon as the idea faded, there was a commotion up ahead and someone screaming for help. A switch flipped in the noble's head and he flew forward, not hesitating as his boots thundered against stone and propelled him down alleys and around corners. His sword dug into his hip as he ran, but he reached for his crossbow, sliding it off his shoulder and giving it a quick glance to make sure it was loaded. Breathing heavy, he felt his sides begin to ache as he ran and the icy air froze his lungs. He ran towards the noise, skidding to a messy stop as he searched for the cause. The temple was sitting in the distance and people were already emerging. Near the entrance a body lay face down in the snow and pools of black began to form. Another monk was conscious but collapsed on the stairs, clutching at his robes and sputtering. A few more were on the ground, clutching various injuries, but not as serious as the first two.


“Get back!” Andráska boomed, throwing himself into the fray and catching the slightest glimpse of a figure sprinting down a dark alley. He jogged a few steps in pursuit, but then looked back to the dying monk. Lifting his crossbow, his stance shifted and he bore down the sights, pulling the trigger with ferocity. With the darkness and the distance, he missed, the bolt hitting the stone wall and snapping. The guilty party had gotten away, “Fuck” he cursed, knowing he would have to be forgotten for now. Quickly crouching by the injured figures, his hands hovered over the barely living monk whose head lulled and glassy eyes looked up at him, face contorted in a horrid grimace as he tears ran down his cheeks and he moaned in agony.

People were panicking, horrified someone would attack a member of the clergy and were swarming, making it difficult for Andráska to think clearly as men and women demanded answers and his fellow knight busied himself with checking the pulses and sprinting for medical help and fellow knights. “I said get back!” Andráska snarled at a couple wailing, reaching for the bodies. More people stepped forward, and a great sense of protectiveness powered through him and he shoved a morbidly curious gossip back, who was practically craning her neck to watch a man die. This was a crime scene and if the older man died, he deserved to do so with some dignity – not with an audience of strangers and battered friends.

It infuriated him, and he growled – a feral response and he snatched the woman's scarf away – a simple cotton fabric and didn't wait for her reaction to return to the monk's side, hands shaking as he threw down his crossbow and peeled the man's fingers away from the injury and pressed the makeshift bandage to the injury. Even with the absence of light, Andráska knew it wasn't good. He gulped, sucking in deep breaths and helped support some of the man's weight by allowing him to lean against him, “It'll be okay,” he whispered, willing more than anything for it to be the truth.

Forcing himself to focus on the monk against him and not the motionless body only a few feet away, his hands turned to ice as the sticky blood soaked their hands and began to turn cold.

[Pegasus]

The scene Andraska faced was absolute chaos and he did his best to put some sense of order into the place. It was hard, though, and the morbid fascination people had with death and dying really didn't help. Andraska took as much charge as he could, though. It might even make a difference, though he could feel the life blood of the monk seeping out and he knew that things were not going well.

"Let me through! I'm a doctor! Let me through, damn you!"

The voice belonged to a middle aged man who, having elbowed his way through and past the onlookers, knelt down next to Andraska. "You need to press a lot harder. There." He adjusted Andras' hand and when he was sure that the young noble was applying enough pressure, he opened up the bag he was carrying with him.

"Keep going, you're doing a fine job. My name's Tyler, what's your name?" He kept talking, kept Andraska talking and would have spoken to the monk if he thought he could hear. "Excellent, we're going to stitch this, alright. I need your help. Hold it here, and here, and push it together. That's perfect, now, try and keep still please."

As all this was going on, other monks had come out, some people started to disperse, others remained to watch. After a few moments and the opportunity to watch someone suturing a wound, Andraska would hear the sound of the guard approaching.

Now, it had not been so very long ago, just six trials in fact, that there were riots in lowtown. The feeling of anti-nobility was high and, should he be recognised he was in danger there was no doubt. Andaraska had a chance, here, to slip away before things got any more messy, to stay and help in a quiet manner or, of course, to declare who he was. There would be an investigation about this, there was no doubt, but would Andraska want to be involved?

[Andráska Venora]

27th of Cylus, 717

The noble wasn't handling his responsibilities well, the memory of the last man he watched bleeding out reminded him that death was on the horizon. His hands had the slightest of tremors and he focused intently on a positive (if unlikely) outcome for the man before him, in hopes to keep his fears at bay. He took deep breathes, and looked past the forming crowd to the temple. Never very religious, he was running out of options, and began to softly muttered the seven sanctums.

"Thou shalt discover.
Thou shalt not betray.
Thou shalt conquer.
Thou shalt not forget.
Thou shalt be just.
Thou shalt seek knowledge.
Thou shalt endure."

After what seemed like an eternity, running feet sounded past the crowd and a man shoved his way through. “Let me through, I'm a doctor.”

Andráska's green eyes rose to meet the man already lowering himself, and nodded numbly at the immediate instruction. He applied more weight to the wound, feeling the monk's body strain under his pressure while the doctor opened his bag.

"Keep going, you're doing a fine job. My name's Tyler, what's your name?”

With all the madness around him, the question didn't register, but the medic didn't miss a beat, “Excellent, we're going to stitch this, alright. I need your help. Hold it here, and here, and push it together. That's perfect, now, try and keep still please."

Andras did exactly as he was told, this time steeling every nerve in his body and behaving much like a statue. He didn't want to mess this up, and as he watched Tyler thread his needle and continue the procedure, he noted the type of stitches and if the thread type mattered. Slowly the skin was sutured together and the rush of blood slowed. When it looked like they were wrapping up without much incident, the noble remembered the question.

“Andráska Venora,” he answered, not quite realizing the extra anxiety to the situation, as his own nerves were running high. The air felt tense, but that was because a monk was attacked, right? “I was on patrol, and I heard a scream, so I came running. Is... is he going to live?”

And then another thought occurred to him as he finally removed his hands, “The Empress should be informed.” After all, she was the one elected by the dukes to oversee the monks. If one of her men were attacked, it was necessary for her to know. However... one thing didn't quite sit well with the noble and his brow furrowed. Who would attack a group of supposed peace keepers? Why?

[Pegasus]

Soldiers and doctors, at least good ones of both profession, share an ability. That ability to remain calm in the middle of utter chaos. Andraska had seen that time and again in the field and he was watching it again now. Tyler, the doctor, remained entirely focused on what he was doing and yet he was chatting and cheery. He could see, after all, that Andraska himself wasn't doing entirely well and so Tyler was doing what he could to bring the young soldier around.

As the last of the stitches were done, Tyler touched the monk gently on the forehead. He answered Andraska's second question, first. "It's all we can do for him. If he's strong, he's got a chance. Which is more than he'd have had if you hadn't got here. He'd have been too far gone by the time I did. Good work." However, on what his name was, Tyler glanced around, just briefly. "Might want to stick to the first name. Not the most popular things right now, your family." There was no judgement in Tyler's eyes, it would be hard to tell what his opinion was, in fairness.

On the subject of telling the Empress, well Tyler knew nothing there and so did not offer an opinion. However, just then, one of the monks came over to them and spoke. "We can take our brother in, on a litter. We have a number of witnesses to what happened. Sir, are you investigating?" The last bit the monk spoke to Andraska.

Should Andraska pay attention, the few members of the Iron Hand who were here were trying to control the crowd. It didn't seem to be high on the priority list, for some reason otherwise there would be more guards arriving already. That, of course, was odd in itself.

Yet, the monk nor the doctor seemed surprised.

[Andráska Venora]

27th of Cylus, 717

Andráska was more than ready for the procedure to be over, but he managed to watch attentively, even if a little grim faced. Nodding at the recognition regarding the man's chance at life, he finally released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. Then, rather conspiratorially, the man's voice was low and he offered a word of advice that caused the noble to look around at the rallying crowd.

'Oh,' he thought, relieved when no one immediately shouted for him to be beaten, “Thanks,” he said, “Just Andráska, then.” He rose to his feet, the cold biting at the blood on his hands and he looked around for something to wipe his fingers off on when a group of monks approached. His Iron Hand brethren also seemed to be arriving and he straightened up.

"We can take our brother in, on a litter. We have a number of witnesses to what happened. Sir, are you investigating?"

The monk was looking at him and it was like slipping into a natural role – Andráska took charge, and pushed his shoulder's back, “I am,” he said confidently. After all, he had arrived to the scene first, he had seen the damage first hand. Should it not be his responsibility to take the case? He paused for a moment, thinking before pointing at the crowd,“We will need to establish a perimeter. The attacker ran on foot, meaning he couldn't have gotten far.”

Suspiciously, the noble stared at each face around him. It could be anyone... What had the guilty party been wearing? Andras couldn't remember. It had been so dark. But since there were witnesses... He looked to the monk, “Yes, make sure your brother is warmed and cleaned. In the meanwhile, we need to separate the witnesses from the gossipers. Do-” he looked to the monk, shaking his head and re-framing his question, “Is there a place in the temple we might take statements? We need everything as fresh in their mind as possible and I'm afraid travel might affect their memory.” Conduct interviews.... Maybe having the eyes of the seven upon them would rattle out some truths.

He turned, but not much had changed. A few guards bumbled around, but it wasn't nearly as organized as he had expected. His brow furrowed and a spark of frustration lit up inside him. He bowed his head slightly towards the monk, “I want nothing more than to help find the person that did this to your brother, but you must excuse me for just a moment.”

Then he turned and put his lips together, sending out a shrill and explosive whistle that split through the shuffling of feet and talk, “Attention!” he shouted, projecting his voice as best he could by pushing air from the lower part of his diaphragm, and lifting his hands” “What has happened here has been a great tragedy!” A few eyes turned and whispers hushed, the sudden attention causing his ears to suddenly burn, “But we can't let our fear overcome us. I want justice! We deserve justice!” he moved to the stairs of the temple before he lost his nerve and climbed a few so that he was lifted upwards, “But I need your help! Please, a man has died today and others are seriously injured. I will not lie to you, but I need you to extend that same courtesy.”

“The teachings of the Seven say we will discover, and endure. We will be just and seek knowledge. So please,” he swallowed, eyes looking to different faces, partially unable to remember anymore of the teachings, “If you saw what happened, if you have any information, come forward... For the seven. For the injured, and for your own conscience. Otherwise, please, go home where it is bright and warm so that we can investigate and know you're safe.”

Andráska Venora looked at the crowd awkwardly, lowering his hands and feeling the grip of stage fright creep into his bones. He wanted to run, but he stood patiently, silently willing for someone – anyone - to listen.

[Pegasus]

Andraska took charge and he got people moving. A few things happened in that time which he might notice. The crowd were reticent to move, more than that they were pushing back against the guard a little. Not a lot, but more than he was used to seeing. There was a feeling of anger and some people were questioning, not shouting, but certainly raising their voices. "Why aren't there more guards? Aren't the monks important to you?"

The mood of the people was not like it usually was, not at all. It was, in fact, bordering on anger and Andraska could almost taste that. the monk, however, nodded. "Yes, There are a number of small rooms were can use as interview rooms for you, and our dining hall is open to you if you wish a place for a number of people to be" The monk smiled at him and nodded, "Of course, as you need." Andraska just needed to do something, the monk was able to get rooms prepared.

And so, Andraska Venora addressed the crowd. He stepped up and stood on the steps and he spoke to them. There were just a few trill, then, of silence, then the muttering and disgruntled noises started again. Someone pushed one of the guards but, thankfully, of the few guards there (and it really was strange that there weren't more by now), this one had restraint and so simply stood firm, maintained the perimeter and did not move or engage in any futile bickering.

Then, from out of the crowd stepped a young girl. She was maybe in her early teens, maybe as old as fourteen arcs. She wore the kind of clothing which told a lot of who she was and she almost certainly came from Lowtown. But she stepped forward just two steps. One of the guards leaned to listen as she spoke to him. He nodded and pointed towards Andraska. The young girl walked up to him, her grubby face looking at him nervously.

"I saw it, sir an' I'm not 'fraid to say." She looked up at him and her face might even seem just a little familiar to him. Although, she had been a lot smaller then. "I knows you. I saw you, you 'elped fix our door, you did. After the war." She smiled at him. "Wot do you need me to tell you?"

[Andráska Venora]

27th of Cylus, 717

For a long trill, Andraska was convinced his speech had fallen on deaf ears, and just as he was about to deflate, a small form stepped forward – almost unnoticable among the rustling bodies. He immeidately watched her, seeing her whisper to the guard who pointed at him. In response, the young noble moved quickly down the stairs towards her, slowing his footsteps as if afraid to scare her off.

Her clothing was of poor quality, and she was most likely quite cold. While she said she wasn’t afraid, he could still tell she was nervous, and he lifted a brow at her recognition of him, “I remember the doors,” he said, smiling gently at her, “I’m afraid I was never much of a carpenter, but I was happy to help.”

He looked up to the guard that had directed her towards him, and gave a stern look, “Get more men, or we’ll have another riot.” He didn’t know where the Iron Hand was, or why they weren’t responding, but the people were restless, “Then you’ll have no choice and we risk more people getting hurt.”

Whether or not the fellow member appreciated being ordered by a knight didn’t matter to the green eyed man. He was still a lord, and giving orders was always something he was expected to do – whether he liked it or not.

He looked to the girl again, lifting a hand to unclasp the pink cape that clung to his leather armor and signified he hailed from Venora – a common accessory in the hand, and not something that said just how well he knew the duchy. Undoing it from him shoulders, he lead her a little farther away from the crowd, retrieving the crossbow he cast to the ground and slinging it across his chest. With careful hands, he stepped closer to her and flourished the cape, wrapping the pink fabric around her shoulders. It might not have been much, but perhaps something to keep away the cold, “I just need to ask you a few questions,” he began, stepping back and leading them to the door of the temple, “Let’s go inside where its warm.”

Opening it for her, he paused before following after, shouting to the guards, “If anyone else comes forward, come and get me.”

Then, he moved inside, immediately met with warmth and candlelight. Relieved, he wasn’t quite sure which rooms the monks had prepared and looked around. No doubt someone would approach them soon, but it had been a long time since he had been in the temple, and he stepped further inside. While they waited, he moved to sit on a pew and smiled, “Let’s start with something simple…” he tried to appear friendly, despite the bit of blood on his hands , “What’s your name?”

[Pegasus]

The guard nodded, not bothered by being ordered so much as confounded by how to carry that order out. How did he do what Andraska required without leaving his position and causing then to have one less man? Still, that was his to work out and he glanced around for a runner. That, at least, would be a start.

Andraska, meanwhile, focused on what would turn out to be his only witness. He knew, he must know, that more people than this little girl saw what happened, but she was the only one who stepped forward. Still, in the moment that wasn't apparent and his attention was on her. At the cloak around her, the young girl beamed in delight and she looked up at Andraska like he'd given her a wonderful gift. "Oh, pink is my fav'rite colour too, sir!"

She went in with him and sat on the pew next to him. "Tina, sir. Me name's Tina an' I saw 'im. Wots your name?" She had bright green eyes and mousy-brown hair. "Mama was 'appy wen you fixed the door. I mean, it creaked an' stuff an' a few trials later one of them 'inge-things popped righ' off it did. But it kept t'warmth in." She was young, but her eyes were far less so than her physical age suggested. "You made 'er warm an' 'appy 'fore she passed, so thanks."

One of the monks came over and told him, quietly and when Andras was ready to speak, that the dining room was ready and a few small rooms. He smild kindly at Andras, but his eyes turned to the young girl. Then, the monk spoke again to Andras. "There's warm soup and hot bread there if you're hungry, Ser Knight. You and your deputy here, of course." Tina's eyes widened and she said, very seriously "Oh, no, 'e jus' loaned me the cloak. I'm not big enough to be a knight yet."

With an entirely serious face, the monk gave a slight bow. "My apologies. The cloak fooled me. At your convenience, both."

"I dunt think he really thought that, you know." Tina looked up at Andras and frowned slightly. "He's kind, though. They are 'ere. They let me 'elp out an' give me food for it." She sighed then and pulled a face, a thoughtful frown and pursed lips. "I dunno which of the families it is, but the bloke wot did it, 'e was wearin' a .. one of them things" She motioned to her left side, where a sigil might sit. "It was a wolf, I think. Though, it mighta been a lion, but I think t'was a wolf."

Then, her eyes turned to him, completely unaware of who he was. "Are all the nobles bad like they say? Or just some of them like the one wot killed the monk?"

[Andráska Venora]

27th of Cylus, 717

The young girl slid into the pew next to him, and her hands ran along the pink cape as she introduced herself. Given all that had occurred, she seemed in relatively good spirits and Andraska was finding it easier to relax now that they were inside and away from the tense aura of the crowd. He smiled at her introduction, readying his own response, “Andráska,” he began, saying his name slower for her. It was very common for people to mispronounce his name after hearing it for the first time, but he was quick to add, “But you can call me Andras, if you'd like.”

“Mama was 'appy wen you fixed the door. I mean, it creaked an' stuff an' a few trials later one of them 'inge-things popped righ' off it did. But it kept t'warmth in”

As she spoke, memories of a woman formed in his mind. Sadly, he hadn't quite remembered Tina, but the mother began to come to life in his mind's eye. He had talked to her and she had directed him to the equipment before meeting with Faith and... What was the other man's name?

Hearing that their handiwork hadn't quite fit the bill – that a hinge had popped off so soon afterwards was humorous and he lightly chuckled, but his smile died shortly after. Apparently Tina's mother had passed. He watched her closely, more seriously, but the green eyed girl seemed to state it as a fact, and less as tragedy. In his experience, those who delivered bad news so easily were those that had dealt with it often. Andráska regarded her more carefully now, trying to assess her exact age and silently mulled over what that meant for her – for her livelihood when the monk approached.

The monk told him there was food, and he nodded. Andráska himself wasn't hungry, but perhaps she was. A generous offer, and a selfless one after such an event outside, “Thank you. Your kindness is appreciated.”

As the man began to walk away, Andráska stood, offering a hand to help her to her feet. Now that he knew where they could go, he felt it more appropriate to discuss this in private and began to lead the way as she talked. He hummed in response, his thoughts still not settling but as they began to enter the room, she started her testimony without prompting. He leaned out the door, to look around and then closed it behind them.

"I dunno which of the families it is, but the bloke wot did it, 'e was wearin' a .. one of them things" she pointed to her chest and Andraska's brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what she meant. “It was a wolf, I think. Though, it mighta been a lion, but I think t'was a wolf."

His mouth opened slightly in realization. He had thought perhaps a brooch, but a sigil made more sense. He had seen his grandfather wear them on a number of occasions, but a wolf? Maybe a lion?

'Krome? Warrick?'

Andráska looked around and noticed a napkin and a goblet of water waiting on the table, along with soup, warm bread, and a small slab of butter. Just as the monk had promised and more. Paper with a quill and ink was also on display. More silent than usual, the noble picked up the cloth napkin and dipped it into the goblet, using the fabric to clean his hands as he sunk into a new seat.

If what she was saying was indeed fact... sigils denoted loyalty, but what would either of those houses gain from killing a peaceful monk? Of Andaris, no less? 'It makes no sense.' He released a long sigh at her final inquiry – were all nobles bad? Unlikely she had been the only witness, which meant whoever had seen this crime would think that same things, and after the riots... He stifled a groan.

“Tina,” he started softly, setting the soiled cloth away from him and flexing his newly cleaned fingers, “You are very brave for speaking with me, but what I am about to tell you is very important.”

He reached for the brown bread and pulled it apart, neatly spreading butter on the crumb and holding it out for her, “In our lives, we are given choices to do good or evil in this world, but sometimes... it can be a lot harder to tell the difference... I-” he started to say something, but when he looked at her, he saw the maturity in her eyes. Simplifying it would be too patronizing, and he felt she was capable of understanding, “Do I think all nobles are bad?” He thought of his own father, then to his brother and cousin, and sister... and his next words came out strained, “No... I don't.... I think they can be. But so can anyone. The nobility are given a lot of power, and a lot of responsibility. Making the right choice is not always easy, but I do believe there are good people in this world, and I've seen both sides of the coin.”

“It's because I know not all nobles are bad – that it is very important to me that you are careful in what you say,” he looked at her steadily, “I don't think you're lying, and I want you to always tell me the truth... But words can have even more power than money.”

He thought of Pier and Pre, and gave a small prayer that they would guide both of them. Was it sacrilegious to pray to immortals in a temple of the Seven? “Until we catch who did this, we do not know for certain if it was a noble or not. Perhaps it is... but we need to seek the truth before we convince ourselves of it.” 'Or others, he almost added.

The worst thing Tina could do – in his eyes – was to tell people what she saw with the assumption it was a noble house. It could have been from a merchant... maybe a simple decoration... or a disgruntled faction? He chewed the inside of his lip. Was he trying to teach her a lesson, or convince himself now? He reached for the paper and quill and began to write down what she had told him, “If you are worried about the nobility,” he said, smiling to dissipate any tension his seriousness may have caused, “At least one of the people who helped fix your door was tied to House Venora.” he nodded to the cape he had given her, “That duchy was where I was born, so I'm familiar with the family line. In fact,” There had only been one girl in their group, and his eyes twinkled as he danced around his own identity, “She would not have been there had she not been sent by one of the noble lords.”

He leaned back, looking back down at the paper, “If you don't mind, I have to ask some more questions. The person, or people, who did this... Did they say anything before they hurt the monks? Do you know if they had been sneaking, or.... anything?”

Were they trying to send a more dramatic message or give payback? Did they give any indication as to why?

Why... Why... Why?

The word was starting to haunt him.

[Pegasus]

As Andraska examined the girl, searching her features for clues as to her age, he could only come to limited conclusions; she was young, younger than she seemed. Hardship had hardened her and as Andras considered it, he would probably come to the conclusion that she was maybe thirteen, but more likely to be a little shy of that age yet. Then, she looked older ~ which could be a very good or very bad thing, depending on how she survived over the next few arcs.

Tina watched him as he washed the blood from his hands with the kind of dispassionate interest which could only mean that he was doing something she had seen before - more than once. She spoke her testimony, gave him her truth and then she listened to his. "I think I understand wot you's sayin', but.." Tina took the bread and gave a smile, "Thank you. I mean, I know wot you's sayin' is that it might not 'ave been a noble, it might've been someone wot was tryin' to look like one, to make people mad. But the girl wot 'elped you with the door was a slave an' she'd 'ad that rose burned into 'er." Tina shrugged, falling silent for a moment.

"My da' was a slave. Got caught stealin', they said an' sent him to the arena. They burned 'im an' it got infected an' 'e died." Tina looked at Andras and she shrugged. "I don't care wot you say, people wot care about people shouldn't burn people and people wot care about people shouldn't make slaves. Nobles do that, don't they?" Tina sighed and shook her head, her expression much older than any child should wear. "I wanna believe there's good people, but none of them nobles came an' elped my Ma an' me, an' no one cares now. I'm jus' another street kid to 'em." Then she gave a sudden and very genuine grin of pure defiance. "Scared they is, cos they know they couldn't 'andle me. It's wot it is. An' it's alright, they 'elp me out 'ere an' stuff. There are kind folks."

But when he asked for more detail she thought about it. Then she thought about it a little more and Tina frowned. "He was obvious, you know. I mean, 'e was. He wore that thing an' it was obvious. It was there, an' he 'ad on a gold cloak. He went straight fer the first monk an' I mean, he went right there, to kill 'im. But I dunno if 'e was tryin' to give the other one a chance. Maybe." She looked up at Andraska and asked, with all the innocence of childhood still there, shining in her green eyes, "Why would 'e want to be seen, if 'e was killin' someone? That don't make no sense if he was wot he seemed to be."