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   Chapter 10 No.10

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 4957

Updated: 2018-01-19 12:03


She dropped herself onto the second chair and released a sigh of satisfaction. With effort, she pulled her left foot to her right knee and undid the stiff laces of her boot. Slowly, she slid the boot from her aching foot for the first time in days and flexed her toes. The second foot had only just received the same treatment when she heard a knock at the door that startled her.

"Who is there?" she asked, getting back to her feet.

After the all-too-brief rest they had received, the sore extremities were reluctant to go back to work. She hobbled painfully as she stowed her things, particularly the sword, safely behind the bed.

"Your friend from downstairs, " answered a familiar voice.

Myranda took two steps toward the door, but stopped. She wanted very much to thank him for all of his help. Unfortunately, it was more than likely that he had come with a particular form the gratitude should take in mind. In times like these, kindness was a rarity, but charity was nonexistent.

"I. . . I am a bit tired just now, " she said.

"Tired? Well, I suppose we shall talk tomorrow then. Enjoy your rest, " he said--disappointment in his voice, but no anger.

Myranda placed her ear to the door to hear the light retreat of footsteps, followed by the scratch of a key in a similarly misshapen keyhole. His response was not what she had expected. There was not a hint of resentment or malice in his voice after he had been denied entrance to a room for which he had pai

she had expected. As it dripped down her throat, she felt the fiery heat spread, finally taking the lingering chill from her insides, just as she hoped it would.

"Intriguing flavor, " her guest commented.

Myranda coughed a bit as the powerful drink seemed to hollow out her throat.

"It does the job, though, " she managed.

"Admirably, " he agreed, lifting the cup to his lips for a second awkward sip.

"Wouldn't it be easier to drink if you pulled the hood back?" Myranda asked.

"Drinking would be easier, I am sure, but things would become. . . uncomfortable, " he said, tugging his hood even further forward.

Myranda looked uneasily at her guest. There was something very unsettling about his rigid refusal to reveal his face. She sipped at the wine as the darker reasons for such a desire flooded her head. He might be self-conscious, or perhaps if he were to reveal his face, he would place her in some kind of danger due to some dark past that is haunting him.

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