Slave Line (The Young Ancients) Read Free Page A

list. Feel free to call it in to Warden if I'm not around. Ask for Petra Ward if she's there, if not just leave a message for her. She'll get it done."
    Everyone stood around staring at them both like they'd lost their minds, except Brown, who gestured toward the table.
    "Erin, why don't you come sit by me? Your parents too. I don't know what they have for breakfast today, but I bet we can work out some kind of sweets for you." He addressed this to the little girl, who looked more than a little scared of the man, even if he was just about the best looking person in the world. For men at least. Julie White, the leader of Soam, was probably the best looking person over all.
    The girl didn't move and her parents looked at her uneasily, as if she might start crying at the man or something. She looked pretty upset, like it was just possible she could.
    "Alright." She walked over to the ancient of Austra, eyes down the whole time, wiping her hands on the sides of her tan dress as she did. When she got to the table the good looking fellow pulled out a chair for her easily, as if they were old friends, not someone that had met her the day before. He was good that way, easy with people all the time.
    Not like Tor, who always felt just a little shy around people he didn't know well.
    He waved at the table, knowing it lacked grace, but not wanting anyone to feel awkward. Not more than they already were.
    "Let's see what we have today. I had oatmeal myself, but I imagine the kitchen is up to a lot less boring things if you want them. I'll duck in and check." It was his job after all. Literally. That didn't mean he had to wait on them himself or anything, but he could at least make certain they didn't have to search out crumbs of food or beg at the kitchen door.
    It took about three minutes for him to get to the right place and find Glaren, who was busily talking to her daughter Colette while her older daughter Bonita looked on. Glaren was divorced from their father, but both girls were still Baronettas for all that. That kind of thing didn't go away just because the mother changed part way through, for some reason.
    "Mother..." Collette saw him and waved, which functionally told everyone to stop talking about whatever they were plotting. It wasn't against him, Tor was nearly certain of that, but it was suspicious anyway, since it hinted at trouble of some sort. That was probably just because of his mood, he knew, taking little things too seriously, but still... It bugged him.
    "Hey all. Glaren? We have people looking for breakfast and more should be down soon. About thirty, I think. I said I'd see what was possible. I don't know what we have."
    She clapped, which got six large people, all dressed in identical green uniforms, to grab large platters. They were covered, but Glaren didn't make him guess what it all was.
    "Egg toast, fresh fruit, sweet rolls and fried ham. I know it might not seem that elegant, but we can also make whatever people want to order, if they don't mind waiting?" She grinned, because it sounded like a feast and the kitchen boss knew it.
    She was good at her job.
    "Sounds perfect. I'll just hobble back and make sure everyone has enough. I... need to talk to all of you, before I leave. Tonight would be good. Your father too? And Nita, if you see him before I do, get Burks in for it? This is important. Don't invite Carol. Please, I mean. Not to this." It was rude to not invite someone, of course, especially their step-mother, but the woman had kind of promised to kill him, which was a good enough reason , socially speaking. Not that he was worried. Death would be a bit of a relief at the moment, to tell the truth.
    No one asked why it was he didn't want Carol, though Glaren looked baffled as to why she'd been included. She shouldn't though. Tor liked her. Besides it was about her daughter, so of course she needed to be there. Family first and last, after all.
    "OK, so, here I go... Walking out now and leaving the room