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Updated: June 14, 2025
He leaned toward her; she drew nearer, inclining her pretty, disheveled head with its disordered braids curling into witchlocks on her shoulders. "'Tain't the Special Messenger, ma'am, is it?" he inquired hoarsely. "The boys is tellin' how you was ketched down to " She made him a sign for silence as the officer of the guard came up an ill-tempered, heavily-bandaged young man.
Pringle sighed patiently at the rebuff and stole a timid glance at the thinker. Espalin was a lean little, dried-up manikin, with legs, arms, and mustaches disproportionately long for his dwarfish body. His black, wiry hair hung in ragged witchlocks; his black pin-point eyes were glittering, cold, and venomous. He looked, thought Pringle, very much like a spider.
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