Page 43 of The Last Necromancer
"Nobody cares about you, boy," Gillingham said from inside the cabin. "Never forget that."
"How can I, with people like you to remind me?"
Eastbrooke sighed heavily. "You ought to instill some manners into him while he's here, Lincoln. You should know how to go about doing that. I seem to recall you lacked quite a few manners when you were young." He gave a wry smile as he turned away to climb the coach steps.
Because he turned away, he didn't see the muscle in Fitzroy's jaw bunch as he ground his back teeth. I wondered what methods the general had used to instill manners in him.
The coach rolled away and we returned inside before it was out of sight. "You've known those men a long time," I said as he closed the front door.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"I'm thirty. I've known Eastbrooke since birth and met Gillingham some years later."
"He was cruel to you as a child? General Eastbrooke?"
He blinked at me, and I could have sworn he was surprised. "He never touched me."
I frowned but didn't question him further. He strode away, and I suspected he wanted the conversation to end. He suddenly stopped at the foot of the stairs.
"I forgot to show you something yesterday, on our tour," he said.
"I would hardly call it a tour. You were the worst guide."
"I showed you every room worth seeing."
"With the blandness of an automaton. There was no vivid description, and no stories about the previous occupants or the rooms themselves."
"You didn't need a description since you could see the room for yourself, and I'm not a storyteller."
"So I see. So what room did you forget to show me?"
"The dungeon."
I gasped. "There's a dungeon under our feet?"
"The previous house on this site was medieval. When the house was removed, the dungeon was not filled in. It still has chains hanging from the walls. Would you like to see it?"
"No! What makes you think I'd want to see a dungeon?"
"Boys like gruesome things."
I strode past him up the stairs. "Not this boy. I've seen enough gruesome things in my life without needing to see more."
He followed me up in silence and together we headed back to his rooms. Once inside, he locked the door and pocketed the key in his trouser pocket.
"So what happens now?" I asked, throwing myself on the sofa. "Are you going to question me again? Has the visit from the committee members rattled you enough that you want to throw me in the dungeon and apply the thumb screws?"
"No."
"Then we have hit a wall. Your men will learn nothing of use by roaming around London, and you have learned nothing of use by roaming around the grounds with me."
"You're mistaken." He touched a teapot sitting on a tray on his desk to test its temperature then poured two cups. He handed one to me then sat on the chair opposite. "I've learned a great deal from our conversation."
He couldn't have. I'd not said a thing about my gender, my necromancing, or my home. I'd been very careful. I sipped, watching him through my hair.
He sat back and sipped too, never taking his gaze off me. He seemed to enjoy drawing out the moment, teasing my frayed nerves to breaking point. Finally, he placed the cup in the saucer. "You're witty and observant," he said, "and educated."
