Inn forty-eight

Someone else heard it too. From the rooftop came a soft "Oh my grace, it's BACK."

There was then the absence of the sound of someone climbing down from a roof. Weft dropped the last short distance, to land in a perfect crouch. He looked around him with quick, abrupt movements, including a glance round the closest corner of the building. There was another distant "bwok".

"SYLVIE!" Weft called. No, it wasn't a wail, merely a little bit cetaceous.

She paused at the dead fountain, empty bucket on its rim, and looked at him over her shoulder, asking, "What is is, Weft?"

Weft looked too distracted to be threatening as he bounded over to the fountain. "You haven't seen him near here recently, have you? Tell me he's somewhere out of harm's way!"

"No, that noise just now was the first might-be sign I got of him since he left." She found Weft's behaviour rather childish and a little confusing.

"Mwr... what?" He blinked at her several times.

"No, not that! Sebastian! The guy we protected from that last time! I think it's come back for him!"

Sylvie took a deep breath. "The last time I saw Sebastian, he was with you." So you'd know better about in which harm's way he might be.

"And that overgrown chicken does not eat people our sizes, Weft."

Weft appeared to settle down as soon as he heard her first statement. He was inclined to believe Sylvie on this.

"Certainly seemed like it had it in for him, whether it was peckish or no. If Sebastian isn't close by, I'm not concerned."

Weft looked towards the treeline, his pale green eyes back to their usual semi-closed state.

"Good." Sylvie sighed wearily and scooped a bucketful of greenish water.

"Thank you. Anyway."

Weft began to stroll off in the direction of the forest.

Sylvie asked quite calmly, "Weft, are you planning to kill that overgrown chicken?"

Weft stopped, turned back to her, then returned. He half-sat on the edge of the fountain, keeping a seemly distance from Sylvie.

"I could have killed it last time," he said. "If I'd really wanted to, the pair of you couldn't have stopped me." Especially when you spent all your time tying Sebastian up with creepers, he didn't say. "Sylvie... I don't know, but I think you might have a wrong impression of me. Do you think I go round cutting people up for no reason?"

"I didn't get the impression you counted 'that' under people."

"Well no, obviously not, but I'd appreciate hearing an answer to that question to begin with."

"Sorry, I thought you were evading..." she began distractedly and considered, looking at Weft.

What she finally came up with was a decided "Probably not".

"Thank you," he said, sincerely.

Weft considered a moment, dropping his gaze as he did so. "Hearsay gets silly," he continued presently, finding her face again. "I am combat trained. In fact, on many occasions, I have been sent to kill people -- and things, including worse things than chickenbeasts. It's a job. I don't especially enjoy it."

It was usually obvious when Weft was lying, and at the moment he wasn't obviously. Whatever that meant.

"I am not permitted to hurt or kill things arbitrarily. I have not been hired to kill the chicken creature, it is not presenting an immediate threat and three people, including you, have asked me not to."

"All right." She needed a moment to take that in, and stared into the algae-clouded water. "Sorry I jumped to conclusions there." The mention of hearsay reminded her of someone, and she sat down and looked at Weft directly.

"Speaking of hearsay, I got a bit of that about you. Would you mind giving your side of a particular story?"

Weft looked guilty. "If it's about dereliction of duty, it's probably true. I... yeah. Not proud of it."

"No... Jaina thinks you tried to kill one of her friends."

Weft couldn't hide his reaction to Jaina's name.

"Um. What? A vampire?" he asked.

"She didn't specify." Sylvie spoke calmly, watching Weft. "She said his name was Lance, and that she found him unconscious and bleeding, with you right there, knives out."