Page 36 of The Last Necromancer
"Oh. So you didn't find my reference clever or amusing enough to bother replying, or even smirking."
"I didn't say that."
"I see. You only thought me clever and amusing. Be careful, Mr. Fitzroy, I've heard that keeping your emotions bottled up will rot your insides."
"You have a dry sense of humor. I wasn't expecting that."
"And you, sir, have no sense of humor whatsoever."
When he didn't answer, I worried that I'd offended him. Then I told myself to stop worrying. He was my jailor; his feelings were of no concern to me. Besides, I doubted he had feelings.
"Why do Gus and Seth call you Death?"
"Because I've killed people."
My step faltered. I'd been trying to goad him again, and wasn't expecting his frankness. "How many?"
"Enough."
"Why did you kill them?"
"They talked too much."
I stopped altogether, but he continued on, not caring that he was leaving me behind. I blinked rapidly, then realized he was teasing me.
"And you call my sense of humor dry," I muttered when I caught up to him near the stables. "Yours is positively parched."
We walked past the stables and other outbuildings, then crossed the courtyard and headed up the back steps. He opened the door for me and I went inside. We were in the service area, near the kitchens if the delicious smell of baking bread was an indication.
We passed the servants' dining room, the butler and housekeeper's offices, scullery, and the bells labeled with the names of the rooms they serviced. They were eerily silent, as was the entire house, until we came to the kitchen. A large man hummed as he kneaded dough, his attention focused entirely on his work.
"Cook," Fitzroy barked.
The cook looked up and his eyes widened. He had no hair on his head or face, not even eyebrows, and the lack of it made his cleft chin and red cheeks more obvious. I couldn't be sure if he had a naturally rosy complexion or he was simply hot. The kitchen was terribly warm.
"Mr. Fitzroy, sir! I weren't expecting you." He screwed his hands into his apron to wipe them, but they still came away doughy. "You be hungry, sir?"
"No," Fitzroy said. "This is Charlie. Charlie, this is Cook."
"You don't eat much," Cook said to me.
"No."
He frowned. "Can't be the food. I'm a great cook."
"Yes, you are. I just don't get hungry."
"Growin' lad like you should be."
I shrugged. "Maybe I'm not used to eating."
Fitzroy continued along the corridor, leaving the cook and me staring at one another. The cook jerked his head in the direction Fitzroy had gone. "Don't keep him waitin'," he whispered. I was about to head off when he added, "You can't live on bacon and jelly alone, boy."
"Just put less on my tray next time and I'll eat it all."
He winked and jerked his head again. I nodded thanks and hurried after Fitzroy. He waited at the base of the service stairs and stepped aside to allow me to go ahead of him. I was very aware of him behind me as we ascended. I wasn't a curvy woman in front, but I wasn't sure what I looked like back there. Certainly not too round, or the boys in the gangs would have teased me for having a feminine arse. Yet they weren't as observant as Fitzroy, and had no reason to suspect me of being a woman. I wasn't sure if he did suspect, but I felt his gaze on my rear nevertheless.
We emerged from the service stairwell onto the second floor corridor, not far from his rooms. I wasn't ready to be cooped up again. There was still so much I hadn't seen. "May I look around the rest of the house, with you as my tour guide?"
