A Mischief in the Woodwork - By Harper Alexander Page 0,27

dead being ashamed in his presence.

Tanen's hair disrupted his face again this morning, but those eyes were just as clear as ever. They were like crystals in the sun, reflecting back at me in the dim interior of Manor Dorn. They were many-faceted, two pristine windows of stained glass secrets.

I was grateful for the sound of the screen door creaking quickly open, announcing the return of the children just before they spilled into the room, feet heavy and clumsy on the floor as they romped past. Tanen and I were broken from our guilty little trance, but I noticed him shift a little distastefully to keep his legs out of the fray as the children brushed by.

I bristled, thinking it was more than mere avoidance of their antics. They were children, for the gods' sakes. They hadn't done anything.

Letta followed them in, a bushel of feathery oats bulging in her apron. On one arm was a bucket of water pumped fresh from the well.

The makings of our breakfast.

The children were in the kitchen already, and I heard the banging of pots as they selected the necessary cookery.

“Not quite so much passion, Dani,” I heard Letta remind the boy as she disappeared into the kitchen. Things quieted down to a dull rattle as they set about preparing the oatmeal.

“They won't bite, you know,” I said to Tanen, unable to keep from remarking.

He stared back at me, shifting slightly – but in a lazy fashion, nothing awkward. “Who?” My, wasn't he comfortable in his unwelcome mannerisms.

“The children.”

There was a slight pause before he spoke. His hair fell heavy in his face, his hands heavy in his lap. His fingers draped idle and careless between his comfortably splayed legs. “I should hope not.”

I did not appreciate the way he was slouching. It could be taken as entirely impolite.

That was how I took it.

I ground tight the muscles in my jaw and drew myself more stiffly upright on the hearth, letting pride hoist the sails that seemed ever coiled around my backbone in his presence like a scroll that was a proclamation of royalty, of superiority. I knew it only hurt my philosophy that people ought to be treated as equals, because here I was spitefully looking down my nose at another, and that really it made me a hypocrite, but I just couldn't help it in his presence. And since it was pride as a person rather than because of any class, and pride for others, I seemed just in getting away with it.

Tanen shifted then, this time perhaps with the slightest need to break the tension, scraping his extended boot over the floor until it was back where it belonged and he was sitting like a gentleman, rather than a slob.

I gave an inaudible sniff of approval and fastened my eyes once again to the pages my nose was still tentatively stuffed in.

“I don't suppose you've ever seen any of it crumble with your own eyes,” Tanen mused – and it was harmlessly enough, but instead of appreciating that he was making an effort toward pleasant (could that be called pleasant?) conversation I found myself annoyed that he spoke at all, incensed that he had once again interrupted my reading.

I reminded myself that it had been my eyes that had wandered to him the first time. Promptly, I didn't appreciate the reminder.

I glanced up in thought, thinking it was an odd mix indeed to be annoyed and thoughtful at the same time. “No,” I replied. I had never seen any of it crumble with my own eyes. “We hear it. We see the evidence. But I've never seen it happen.”

It occurred to me that he had been out in the open a lot more extensively than I had, so what about him?

“Have you?”

He shook his head, bemusement and intrigue showing in the lines of his face. For the first time I noticed those lines, and that his handsome face was weathered in a way. And shouldn't it be? “I heard it once, just behind me. But by the time I turned, it had happened. I was left in the onslaught of the cloud of dust. Don't you find it curious?”

“That we never see it? We stay cooped up as much as possible. And it seems to fancy happening overnight.”

“But I crossed countless cities. And I saw nothing.”

“I don't presume to have an answer for any of it, Cathwade,” I pointed out. “So it doesn't strike me as a particularly nagging observation.” Besides,