Poor World Read Free Page B

man’s face. He stared at me with as much curiosity as I stared at him — which surprised me so much I forgot to fake sleep, and opened both eyes to meet that interested gaze.
    Light blue eyes, framed by black lashes, regarded me with no expression I could fathom. Something about the shape of those eyes was vaguely familiar. Not enough to recall anyone, but to draw attention to the odd shape. The underlid curved in such a way that the blue part didn’t touch, like most people’s. There was a rim of white underneath, which made his eye-expressions hard to read. His mouth was tight at the corners, also making it hard to read.
    The rest of him was ordinary enough. Black curly hair worn short, medium height for a man, slight build, plain clothes: white shirt, dark trousers, no weapons.
    He didn’t speak immediately, and neither did I. We just stared at each other like that for the space of a few breaths, while my head throbbed, and then the man moved away.
    A soft snort at one side reminded me of the girls. Trying not to move my head, I eyeballed the room. We were in a kind of parlor. The room was absolutely plain, wood walls painted a bland light green, a single window, and wooden floors unvarnished. We’d all been dumped into chairs, awake or not; Diana and Dhana both looked groggy, and Irene rubbed her temples. No one had her knife belt, I noticed, but we didn’t seem to be in any kind of a dungeon — at least, I’d never seen one with planed wood flooring and green-washed walls. So what was this, some kind of interview room?
    And who was that man watching us all like he knew us?
    I said in Mearsiean, “Irene, you okay?”
    â€œYeah,” she said, still rubbing and wincing.
    â€œSeshe?”
    â€œHere. I think.”
    â€œF’line?”
    â€œDead and gone.”
    â€œDiana?”
    â€œAlive.”
    â€œGwen?”
    â€œ37% of the pieces here.”
    â€œGet cut?” I asked, turning to look. Waves of headache fogged my vision.
    â€œYup,” Gwen said, wincing as she held up her arm. “I fell and sliced myself with my own knife, just like a clod — ”
    â€œJust like a Chwahir,” Faline butted in, joking as always.
    â€œ — but I’m okay.”
    â€œDhana?”
    â€œHere. I think. But don’t bet on it,” Dhana said crossly.
    â€œHey, CJ,” Sherry said, her big blue eyes rounder than ever.
    Those and her cherubic face and bouncy curls make her seem like some grownup’s idea of the model kiddie, but despite her angelic demeanor she has an endless taste for practical jokes, the sillier the better. In fact, I don’t think she or Faline are capable of taking life “seriously” — which is why they are so much fun to have around.
    Anyway, she said, “I’m gonna ask a stupid question. You know I have to ask it every time we get splorched into some kind of mess, just to get things started right. So we’ll win.”
    â€œGo ahead,” I said, feeling a small urge to laugh, despite my headache and the weird situation. Only Sherry could figure that silliness would actually guarantee our safety. “I’ve got my sarcastic answer all ready.”
    â€œOkay. Here goes.” Sherry groaned realistically, then moaned, “Where ARE we?”
    â€œRight ... about ... here,” I snarled.
    â€œOh, what a relief to know!” Sherry snickered, and then added, “By the way, who’s this pop-eyed floob watching us? Can’t be a Mearsiean.”
    â€œDunno. Hasta be with that batbrain with the green feather. Since we’re all here — wherever that is — and since I don’t think we’re under any dark magic wards, why don’t you all move close to me, and we’ll dust outa this dump. But I wish I could first blast that smirk-faced gaboon — ”
    â€œBefore you continue,” the man with the blue eyes said in slightly accented