Francis shrank back as he met a single cold blue eye over a delicate china cup, chills racing under his skin; this- the Queen's Watchdog was no child, as he had been told - Francis felt flayed by the carelessly predatory gaze of a monster.

"Master?" a smooth baritone from the shadows to the side made Francis startle and nearly keen; he had been sure there was no one there. . .

The not-child lowered his teacup and raised his chin. "I believe we have learned all we may expect from Mister Brown here. You may . . . dispose of him, Sebastian."

"As you say, young master."