Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [84]
“The fact of the matter is,” the Kan-Hanar began reluctantly, aware of the gaze of innocent blue eyes, “that Simkin is under arrest —”
“No!” Gwen cried in horror and shock.
“That is,” the Kan-Hanar amended, “he would be under arrest if he were here. But he escap — That is, he left rather suddenly….”
“I am certain there must be some mistake,” the young woman said with an indignant toss of her golden curls. “Simkin can undoubtedly explain everything.”
“I’m sure he can,” muttered the Kan-Hanar.
“In the meantime,” Gwen continued, moving a step nearer the Kan-Hanar and gently laying her hand upon his arm in a pleading manner, “Papa is expecting these gentlemen, particularly Father Dungstable —”
“Dunstable,” corrected the catalyst faintly.
“— who is an old friend of our family’s that we have not seen in years. Indeed” — Gwendolyn turned to look at the catalyst — “I was quite a child when you saw me last, wasn’t I, Father? I’ll wager you didn’t recognize me.”
“That — that’s quite true,” stammered Saryon. “I didn’t.”
He saw that the young woman was enjoying the daring and danger of this enterprise, never dreaming how very real the danger was. The girl turned back to the Kan-Hanar with a smile. Saryon, his heart pounding in fear, glanced out the door and saw the Duuk-tsarith conferring together near the Gate, their black hoods nearly touching.
“The catalyst and these gentlemen,” said Gwen, with a seemingly uninterested glance at both Mosiah and Joram, “are cold and wet and tired from their journey. Surely there can be no harm in letting me take them to my home. You will know where to find them, after all, if need be.”
Apparently the Kan-Hanar considered this a good idea. Looking through the door, his gaze went to the Duuk-tsarith as well, then went past the warlocks to the line of people waiting admittance into the city. It was their busiest time of day, the line was growing longer, people were getting impatient, and his partner looked harried.
“Very well,” the Kan-Hanar said abruptly. “I’ll give you passes for City Above, but they are restricted. These gentlemen” — he looked grimly at Mosiah and Joram — “are to be allowed outside only in the company of your father.”
“Or another member of the family?” Gwen asked sweetly.
“Or another member of the family,” the Kan-Hanar muttered, hurriedly notating the restrictions on the scrolls of parchment that he was filling out.
The Kan-Hanar was busy with his work, the catalyst leaned wearily against a wall, and Gwen’s blue eyes turned their gaze to Joram. It was the innocent, flirtatious glance of a young girl playing at being a woman. But it was caught in the snare of serious dark eyes, caught by a man who knew nothing of such games.
Gwen was accustomed to shedding her warmth and charm upon men and having them reflect it back to her. She was startled, therefore, to feel that warmth suddenly sucked into the dark well of a cold and hungry soul.
It was unnerving, even frightening. The dark eyes were absorbing her. She had to break their hold or lose something of herself — although just what that might be she didn’t know. She couldn’t make herself look away; the feeling was frightening, but thrilling at the same time.
It was obvious that the young man wasn’t going to quit staring, however! This was growing intolerable. The only thing Gwendolyn could think of to do was drop the bouquet of flowers. It wasn’t meant as a flirtatious advance. She didn’t even think about that. Leaning down to pick it up would give her a chance to regain her self-possession and break the disturbing gaze of that bold young man. It was not destined to work out that way, however.
Someone else bent down to pick up the flowers as well, and Gwen only found herself in closer proximity to the young man than before. Each reached for the purple tulip — which was exhibiting most untuliplike behavior, its leaves curling, its petals fluttering in what may have been laughter — at the same time.
“Allow me, my lady,” Joram said, his hand brushing