There are two rooms we don’t talk about.
One’s the scullery. No need to talk about it—we live there.
The other’s Miss Mary’s room.
Master Falwell keeps the door locked. Wears the key ’round his neck. Never speaks about the daughter he loved and lost, the wispy girl on the brink of womanhood
Strike a blow against a tyrant and impress a girl at the same time? The opportunity was too good to miss.
Ashdar landed softly in the garden, wrenching his staff free of the vines he’d grown to climb the wall. He checked the runic instructions carved along the length of his staff.
“Come now. You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. Your colleagues speak most highly of your collection, professor. I’m certain that a few quotes and some pictures would do wonders for my book.”
The old man eyed his visitor. She was pretty and young, with a hint of some exotic heritage
“You lucky dog, you!”
Arthur looked up from watering flower bouquets and regarded the purveyor of this half-compliment with a suspicious eye.
“What are you prattling about now, Ben? Got another scheme in mind?”
Ben, a tall lad with an expressive face and wildly gesticulating arms, grinned widely. He leaned over the flower
Recent Comments