Chapter 4: Kennedy and the Face in the Window

Kennedy tried not to let her chest stick out. It was, she thought, just a small embarrassment, but it was an embarrassment nonetheless. At barely thirteen she looked only slightly more like a woman than she had at ten or twelve.

She'd grown a foot, true enough. Her breasts were now visible -- at least to her mother, who'd insisted on dragging Kennedy to Macy's to buy bras. Afterwards, Kennedy was struggling with the changes to her body and the only advice in her universe was coming from Mr. Glastonbury or Dr. Juanita Grace, the OB-GYN Mr. Glastonbury had taken her to. Her mother, though, hadn't felt constrained by reality or anything else. Kennedy's mother had lectured her long and diligently about the dangers of "giving in to lust" and "allowing hormones free rein."

Once again Kennedy spent a second trying to cast out her personal demons. This was Faire, not the usual one, but another. Even so, there were a lot of familiar faces. She tried not to pat herself on the back. Hers was a familiar face, at least to some.

Duke Roger had laughed when she stood before him, at the Muster for Constables. "I see you still don't know how to hold a bastard sword, Lady Kennedy!"

She'd grinned and made Lady Kennedy hum for him, still using just one hand. "Indeed so, your Grace. My apologies for strength and skill!"

It had been the duke himself who had pinned the sprig of holly leaves on her shoulder, showing she was one of the Lord Marshal's constables for the Faire. Nothing else mattered, not really. Then he'd told her she was assigned the petting zoo and Kennedy wondered if there was anything she could to do get recognition from adults as to what she could do.

Yes, Friar Geoffrey was forever warning her about the dangers of "the nail that sticks up," but she was careful not to show what she could really do. And, if the truth be known, if vampires decided that a thirteen-year-old who could deal with a bastard sword one-handed was a mortal enemy -- well, she'd deal with that as she dealt with everything else that had come her way during her life.

The last three years hadn't been easy. There had been a lot of practice, a lot of classroom work. One thing she learned was that Amanda had been hurt a few weeks after Kennedy had met her. She had a broken leg, a broken arm, some broken ribs and a broken jaw, Mr. Glastonbury told Kennedy.

He'd watched her expression and Kennedy tried not to let it bother her. "It sounds bad; it would be bad for you or I. For Amanda, it means a couple of days in bed, a few more days taking it easy, and in a week or ten days, she'll be fit again."

"That's amazing!" Kennedy had said at the time.

"A Slayer heals faster than just about anyone -- about the same rate as a vampire does, in fact."

Kennedy had asked a question then that had been on her mind a lot. "Why don't you teach me about guns? Why swords, bows and stakes?"

"Do you know what happens when you shoot a vampire in the heart with a firearm?" Mr. Glastonbury asked.

She shook her head.

"You irritate it. Shoot it square between the eyes and you'll really get it irritated. You can kill a vampire by using a wooden stake through the heart, by lopping its head off, or dousing it with holy water. You can push one into sunlight and it will burn up if you can keep it there. Guns and bullets, however, are pretty well useless."

She'd nodded. And later, Mr. Glastonbury had reported that there had been some good fallout from Amanda's injuries: it had given her pause to think and afterwards, she wasn't as eager to rush into battle.

That had ended, though, two weeks before today and was the reason she was at Faire. Mr. Glastonbury had handed her the newspaper clipping that was only a short paragraph. "Miss Amanda Jorgenson of Queens was found beaten and strangled to death last night in an alley off Times Square. Robbery was thought to be the motive."

Kennedy had never seen Amanda but the one time. But Amanda was someone she'd thought about often, someone Kennedy dreamed about pretty often as well.

Mr. Glastonbury had watched Kennedy for a few minutes, and then shrugged. "The new Slayer is Chinese; she lives in Shanghai."

The message was clear, Kennedy had thought, she was almost old enough to go from "Potential" to "Chosen." But it wasn't her turn yet.

She'd spent a week, barely eating, practicing by rote, with no appetite even for practice. Mr. Glastonbury had suggested a trip to Faire as a possible antidote to her doldrums. She'd jumped at the chance.

Kennedy sighed one last time, and then looked at the clock tower. It was a little before noon. Friar Geoffrey had already won an archery contest in the morning and was now teaching a class of eager beginners the fine points of drawing a longbow. Kennedy had begged off, saying she was hungry. Of late, any time she said she was hungry, he was only too willing to see that she had something to eat.

She was supposed to be sitting down in the Inn right now, feeding her face instead of standing over a wishing well, with nothing to wish for except impossibilities.

She turned abruptly, intent on getting something to eat, before her shift at the zoo, which started at one.

Kennedy nearly ran into a girl her own age, the girls' hair elegantly coifed, wearing a dress that was stunningly beautiful.

The words out of her mouth came without conscious thought. "I remember you!" Kennedy told the girl.

The girl was now shorter than Kennedy; her hair was darker brown.

She smiled at Kennedy. "You have the advantage of me, then. I'm afraid I don't remember you at all, much less your name."

Kennedy stifled the urge to giggle. "Well, actually, a couple of years ago I saw you at a Faire. I remember your face and your dress."

The girl stretched out her hand towards Kennedy's waist, but didn't touch the sword hanging there. "That's real, isn't it? You're really a constable?"

"It's real and I am a constable." Kennedy couldn't stop her grimace. "I protect the petting zoo."

"My real father is a man with a very long memory," the girl said, "one of his favorite stories is the time the rabbit attacked President Jimmy Carter."

Kennedy laughed. "I'll have to ask about that one, because I've never heard it. Did the Secret Service protect the President?"

"My father said they were in a rowboat and rapidly retreated."

The girl waved at the fountain. "I was going to make a wish, then see if I can eat something without dripping anything on my mother's latest masterwork."

"I was going that way myself," Kennedy said. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Kennedy. Lady Kennedy, at Faire."

The girl shook her hand. "I'm Harriet the Over-dressed... er, Lady Harriet, according to my mother. I'd rather be plain Harriet Scrivener."

Harriet tossed a quarter into the well and watched it sink. She turned to Kennedy. "Do you know what I wished for?"

Kennedy shook her head.

"That the next dress my mother makes for me is as light as a feather and I can get in and out of it in less than twenty minutes."

Kennedy couldn't help it; she started giggling.

"What?" Harriet asked.

"Oh, I remember something else from the first time I saw you. I hate dresses; I really hate them. I was wearing pretty much what I'm wearing now, although leotards instead of buckskin pants. A tunic top. I wondered how you went to the bathroom."

"I eat at Faire; I don't drink anything for a day before. Pee?" She shuddered.

"The porta-potties are pretty bad," Kennedy agreed.

They went into the Inn and had lunch, talking animatedly.

Then it was time for Kennedy to go on duty, while Harriet had to return to her mother's booth. Harriet's mother sold dresses like the one Harriet wore, which wasn't exactly a surprise.

Kennedy showed up at the petting zoo, relieving a young man of sixteen or seventeen who looked disgusted. "This place smells! The animals are the ones we let in! You'll spend your time keeping the animals safe from the brats!"

He was, Kennedy soon learned, exactly right. As the day warmed, the smell rose. The animals seemed to ignore it, but as for the kids, too many of them were crabby and irritable. By four in the afternoon she was totally wilted. Still, she'd kept the animals safe.

The two animal handlers began bundling the critters up early, and so by four there was nothing left. She started off, intent on finding Friar Geoffrey, who she supposed would be finishing the crossbow demonstration.

Except she could see him, a hundred yards away, talking to Duke Roger, the two of them slowly walking towards her. Well, at least neither of them had shown up to check up on her, actually on the job!

Someone touched her arm and she turned to look.

It was a short, dumpy man, wearing a blue business suit; just a little out of place. "Excuse me, Miss. Is your name Kennedy?" he asked.

"Who wants to know?" Kennedy replied, her hand dropping to the hilt of Lady Kennedy, the sword.

The man produced a leather wallet and flashed a badge for an instant at her. "I'm Special Agent Tom Larkin, FBI, Miss. You are Miss Kennedy, are you not?" The badge had been visible only partially, for a fraction of a second.

"Lady Kennedy," she corrected him. "Now, let's see the badge again, only slower. Do you have any ID?"

He took the leather wallet out and showed her the badge, and then his ID card. Kennedy was very proud of herself. Friar Geoffrey and Duke Roger had closed the distance in quick time.

Kennedy nodded to Friar Geoffrey. "Friar, this man says he's an FBI agent. He wants to talk to me."

It was Duke Roger who held out his hand. "Sir, your ID?"

"And who might you be?" the FBI agent inquired.

"Duke Roger, also known as Sergeant Roger Stiles, Pennsylvania State Police. The Sterling Corporation contracts with me for security services at the Faire. ID, sir."

The FBI agent produced the leather wallet again and showed it to Duke Roger. This time he made no effort to see how fast he could do it.

"Now, if you're satisfied, if you could give me a moment alone to ask Miss Kennedy a few questions..."

Duke Roger laughed. "I'm sorry, Special Agent Larkin, but I wasn't born yesterday. There is absolutely no way I'm going to allow you a moment alone with a thirteen-year-old girl. That's just not going to happen. In any case, Friar Geoffrey is her guardian. I'd rather listen myself, but one of us, for sure."

The FBI agent turned to Friar Geoffrey. "Friar Geoffrey?"

"Yes," Mr. Glastonbury said. "I too must insist on accompanying Miss Kennedy if you wish to ask her any questions. If it's more than one or two, or if this is in regard to a criminal matter, you will have to leave and see Miss Kennedy's stepfather."

"I've talked to him already; that's how I knew where to come. I have his permission to talk to her alone."

"In writing of course?" Duke Roger asked.

The FBI agent glared at Duke Roger for a second, then turned to Mr. Glastonbury. "You're English, right? Do you know a Richard Glennie?"

"Yes, I know Richard," Mr. Glastonbury told the FBI agent.

"Do you happen to know Mr. Glennie's current whereabouts?"

"Yes. He returned home a few days ago. He's in Salisbury, England."

"And do you know why he left the country so abruptly?"

Mr. Glastonbury looked at the agent coldly. "His pupil was murdered. He'd known her for years and years. He was very distraught at her death."

"You understand, it looks bad in a murder investigation when someone abruptly leaves the country."

Mr. Glastonbury's eyes narrowed slightly. "As I recall, Mr. Glennie was giving a lecture at the Natural History Museum the night of the murder, to an audience of about five hundred people. And that he left for England a week after Amanda's funeral."

"I never said he was a suspect; I said it looked bad."

"What is it you want?" Mr. Glastonbury asked the FBI agent.

"Well, I'm going to leave you my card. Call the number on it and we'll arrange an interview for you."

The FBI agent handed him a card, then turned to Kennedy. "Miss Kennedy, how did you know Amanda Jorgenson?"

"I met her once. We said about ten words. It was more than three years ago."

"Can you explain a note in her day-planner that read 'Meet Fr. G and Kennedy, 8:00 at Han's'? With your phone number?"

"We met, we talked; it was my birthday."

"What did you talk about?" the agent insisted.

"It was nearly three years ago!" Kennedy was furious.

The agent turned to Mr. Glastonbury. "And you, sir. Did you know Amanda Jorgenson?"

"I met her just the once. Mr. Glennie and I are professional colleagues. She was going to be in the area and she brought some teaching materials from Mr. Glennie for me to use. As Miss Kennedy has already told you twice, that was thirty-six months and twelve days ago."

"And this Hans?"

"Han's," Mr. Glastonbury corrected him. "It's a Cantonese restaurant in China Town in New York. It was Miss Kennedy's birthday."

"An odd place for a birthday dinner."

Duke Roger spoke up. "Special Agent Larkin, I'm going to file an official letter of complaint. In nearly twenty years of law enforcement I've never heard anyone ask such stupid, pointless questions of someone who could not possibly be involved in a crime. Insulting questions that seem to slur everyone you talk to. Friar Geoffrey, do you know what this is about?"

"Amanda Jorgenson was beaten and strangled a few weeks ago. I am at a loss why the FBI would be investigating a routine homicide in New York City."

"And you had nothing to do with it?"

"No. Nor did Lady Kennedy. Nor, in fact, did Richard Glennie. As I said, he was lecturing at the Natural History Museum because he's one of the world's leading authorities on migratory birds. The Museum has been begging him for years to come and talk to their members. He was devastated when his student was killed. Absolutely devastated."

The FBI agent gestured at Kennedy's sword. "May I look at that?"

"No," Kennedy told him.

"Please, I insist..." the agent reached his hand towards the hilt, only to have Kennedy knock it away.

Duke Roger pulled a whistle from around his neck and blew lustily on it.

Almost instantly, half a dozen constables swarmed to the call.

"Escort this gentleman off the property," Duke Roger told them. "He is an armed FBI agent, but he is no longer welcome here. When he gets in his vehicle, take the license number and post it with the parking lot folks. Make sure he actually leaves the property."

The FBI agent went peacefully, seemingly unconcerned and unfazed about what had happened.

"It is a tried and overused technique in interrogation," Duke Roger said, shaking his head sadly, "to anger the subject, in the hopes they will blurt out something useful."

"I would like to remind you that Lady Kennedy was ten the one and only time she met Amanda Jorgenson. Richard and I have been friends for years; we often talk about our pupils. He was as proud of his as I'm proud of mine. But that was the only time I met her, myself. She ran an errand at the request of a friend. I swear, Duke Roger, neither of us had anything to do with what happened to her."

The duke nodded. He glanced around. The entire course of events had taken place just a few steps from the petting zoo. Now that it was closed, people were mostly hurrying past, intent on other destinations and paying them no attention at all.

"Geoffrey, I say this as a friend, but I too have memories. One of which is an eight-year-old girl making a bastard sword sing, one-handed."

"She's wiry strong," Mr. Glastonbury muttered.

"I also remember a time, eight years ago, when I was a corporal. We were chasing a trio of men who strangled, murdered and mutilated people. Mostly young women, but when the killing mood was on them, no one was safe. They'd killed two dozen people in three days. We tracked them to a warehouse in an older section of Pittsburgh. Twenty of us took the door, Geoffrey. Twenty young cops, armed with pistols and shotguns, wearing vests and helmets.

"I watched a dozen rounds hit one of the perps and she just laughed and jumped into the middle of a group of three officers. She ripped their throats out in an eye blink. I pumped four solid shots from my 12-guage into her. She backhanded me, but I got my head down in time and took it on my helmet. It knocked me dizzy. I went down and should have died there.

"But out of the blue, there was a sound that you know so well, Geoffrey. The sound of a crossbow bolt going past my ear. I saw it hit her in the chest. For an instant she had the oddest look. Then it was the most awful thing I've ever seen. Her skin turned to dust, then her bones turned to dust and then she was tendrils of dust, drifting on the wind.

"I caught a glimpse of my rescuer. Sixteen, I'd say," he met Mr. Glastonbury's eyes. "Wiry strong, I'd have to agree. She knocked one of the perps clear across the warehouse. He cratered one of the concrete walls. Then she stuck a piece of wood in the heart of a third perp and he too was gone; dust. The fourth one came at her swinging six feet of chain. It takes longer to describe her ducking under the swing and coming up, sword in hand, and lopping off the bastard's head that it did at the time. More dust.

"I started to get up, to say thanks if nothing else. Except the one who'd cratered the wall was back, lunging at her with a knife. She turned and struck, taking his head off too. She grinned at me, turned and sprinted away.

"No one outside saw her. Only three of the ten of us still alive inside that warehouse saw her. Officially, we killed the perps, at great loss of life.

"One last thing, Geoffrey."

"Duke Roger," Mr. Glastonbury's voice sounded sad.

"The perp who nearly killed me, the one who killed three of my brother officers? I'd watched her being loaded into a body bag, her throat torn open, her body totally drained of blood, two days before. She had been their first victim."

"I guess if you work as a peace officer, you see a lot of strange things in your career," Mr. Glastonbury told Duke Roger.

"Sure, of course. Very strange. None of us who saw that girl talked about it. What would have been the point? Oh, and the official report says we killed three bad guys there. They also hushed up a stink from the parents of the first victim, whose body had gone missing."

"There are a lot of very sick people out there, Duke Roger," Kennedy's teacher said.

"I admit to being a tiny bit curious about why the Feds are looking into the dead girl," the duke said, his voice now as bland as it normally was.

"Of late, I've heard from a few -- friends -- who say that it would appear that someone at some level in the government has decided that perhaps things aren't as they seem. Another friend said that after the Cold War ended, the Russian KGB opened a lot of their archives. There were, she told me, quite a number of very scary stories in there."

A movement in the corner of Kennedy's eye caught her attention. For an instant she saw Harriet Scrivener looking through the window of the Play House, close to the path and not very far away. Close enough, Kennedy thought, to have heard some or maybe all of what had been said. The two men, though, had their backs to Harriet.

"I think I'd like to get something to drink," Kennedy said evenly. "I've been smelling animal -- ah, animals -- all afternoon."

"Good idea," Mr. Glastonbury said.

"There are things I should be doing," Duke Roger agreed. "Let me know if there's anything you need, Lady Kennedy. Anything at all."

It took a while, but finally Mr. Glastonbury was talking to an older man, discussing the best kind of glue to use for fletching arrows. Kennedy waved at the door and he nodded that she could go.

She went out and headed for Dressmaker Alley, where it wasn't hard to find Harriet. Harriet met Kennedy's eyes, but quickly looked away.

"Harriet, would you like to go see some sword demonstrations?"

Harriet waved at Kennedy's sword. "You?"

"Me? I'm just a little girl! No one wants to see someone my age showing off with a toy sword."

Harriet raised an eyebrow, but agreed.

They walked for several hundred yards, not talking.

"I don't know how much you heard," Kennedy said quietly.

"Everything," Harriet admitted. "I saw that man touch you. I hid, ready to scream if he tried to grab you. After that, I heard -- everything."

"Did you understand what we were talking about?"

"It took a bit," Harriet replied, her face serious. "Then I realized the subject was more what you weren't saying."

"Do you understand why no one spoke about those subjects, directly?"

"Because no one would believe any of it."

"Exactly. Except that's only half the reason. Because there are those who would understand and whose existence depends on living in secret and who would do anything at all to make sure their existence stays secret."

Harriet paled. "I was going to tell you I watched, I promise you, I was going to tell you. I moved so that you would see me."

"At first, I didn't believe the stories either. Then I saw it with my own eyes," Kennedy told Harriet. "That's when I became a believer. I saw someone turn to dust, just like Duke Roger described. Do you understand that if you tell anyone, you're risking their life, the lives of their family, your life, the lives of your family and me and everyone in my family as well?"

"I keep trying to tell myself you were rehearsing for a skit."

"Well, don't even tell yourself that much," Kennedy said, grinning.

Harriet looked at Kennedy for a long moment. "Can I tell you a secret? Not about anything like that? Personal?"

Kennedy shrugged. Keeping secrets was supposed to be a girl thing; a thing most girls didn't do well. She herself had told herself a million times that nothing would ever pass her lips unless the person needed to know it.

"Until this afternoon at the wishing well... Usually I wish my mother would stop making me dresses or stop making me wear them, just like I said. Today I looked up and said, 'Please God, can I have just one friend?'" Harriet smiled, her face pale. "That's why I was where I was. I was going to come and talk to you after your stint in the petting zoo. I figured if anyone needed a friend, it would be someone who just spent the entire afternoon with farm animals and little kids."

Kennedy nodded. "I guess I'm luckier than you. I have a true friend in Mr. Glastonbury. But he wasn't much help when I had my first period. Instead, the only person I could halfway talk to was a woman who's nearly sixty, my OB doctor."

Harriet shrieked with laughter.

"It wasn't even a little funny," Kennedy said, trying to maintain her dignity.

"Oh, you should have said the GYN part, not the OB part. Obstetrics is the medical specialty having to do with having babies and pregnancy in general. Gynecology is the specialty for women's issues."

"See, like I said, there are some things my teacher is just a little -- awkward about -- when it comes to passing out information about certain subjects."

"You should have had it during sex ed in school, at least," Harriet told Kennedy.

Kennedy shook her head. "I'm afraid back in second grade I had some issues with my teacher's knowledge of the multiplication tables. Now I'm home schooled. Mr. Glastonbury has been my tutor ever since then."

Harriet nodded. "Sometimes I doodle dress designs," she looked apologetic. "I mean, I live dress designing, twenty-four/seven; my mother never stops either. There are nights I do nothing but dream of dresses."

Kennedy smiled, not wanting to even hint about some of the things she dreamed about lately.

Harriet glanced at Kennedy. "How come I don't see you more often at Faire? I mean, we're here every day, and we go to one Faire or another most of the spring, summer and fall."

"Mr. Glastonbury rations me," Kennedy told her. "It's why I don't demonstrate. What we talked about earlier."

"Maybe you should just come and have fun, instead of demonstrating," Harriet asked.

Kennedy sighed. "You have to understand that the thing I like to do best in the world is swing Lady Kennedy. Lady Kennedy is my sword's name."

Kennedy decided Harriet probably wouldn't be too thrilled about hearing her next couple of choices of fun things to do.

Kennedy smiled at her new friend. "Just what does one do for fun at Faire?"

Kennedy was startled when Harriet blushed.

"I meant, besides go around and look at things," Kennedy said, wondering why Harriet's face was still red and flushed.

"I've done that," Kennedy continued. "Some of the people can sing okay, some of the plays are okay, too. But a lot of it -- I mean, you see it once and after that it gets kind of old."

Kennedy lowered her voice. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, or anyone else's, but Faire is nice to go to now and then, but gosh, who would want to live like this?"

Harriet giggled then. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what? There are a lot of things I know, more that I don't know. I'm always interested in learning something new."

"My mother and father don't much like each other. My father never, ever, comes to Faire," Harriet told Kennedy. "So it's no big deal when we come on Friday afternoon and stay until Monday morning." Harriet waved towards a thick clump of trees.

"Over there is the Faire Village, the real one, the one for people who live at Faire. I mean, we aren't the only people who camp out the entire time Faire is here. Even more people stay the weekend, the vendors and others. After things close down at six, we all go to the village, get something to eat, and then -- well, it's pretty much a party until late that night, early the next morning. You'll notice a lot of the performers don't put in an appearance until after noon; that's because they're hung over."

Kennedy shook her head. She'd read descriptions of hangovers; why would anyone do that to themselves? Why would that make Harriet blush?

Harriet met her eyes. "Kennedy, it's sex, drugs and rock and roll. Well, not much of that last, but there's a lot of music. More sex, a fair amount of drugs, mostly alcohol and marijuana."

Kennedy decided to focus on the safest topic. "Drugs have to be the stupidest thing."

Harriet shrugged. "Kennedy, people come to Faire to forget their mundane lives. They drink; they carouse and get wasted, mostly on pot and booze. In all the years I've come with my mother, in all the nights we've spent at Faire, she's never slept alone. Guys come, guys go; some last longer than others. It's just the way it is, do you understand?"

"Men living lives of quiet desperation," Kennedy said, her voice a bare whisper.

Harriet nodded. "Women, too."

"And here I am, thirteen years old, with a pig-sticker bigger than what most guys carry," Kennedy said, laughing. "What does that make me?"

"Pig-sticker toter, par-excellence?" Harriet offered. The two dissolved in gales of laughter.

Kennedy stuck out her hand. "Friends?"

"Friends!" Harriet was quite emphatic.

Kennedy looked at the weapons demonstration area. A smile crawled across her face. "Would you like to see me use a sword?"

"Sure," Harriet said. "But I thought..."

"With swords," Kennedy told her. "Friar Geoffrey never said anything about bamboo sticks. Come along."

Two men were fencing. They wore Japanese armor; the "swords" were bamboo.

Kennedy grinned. So, there were advantages to reading the schedule!

She felt someone touch her shoulder. She turned to see Friar Geoffrey. He hefted a bundle in his hand. "Would you believe it, Lady Kennedy? I found your kendo armor in the trunk?"

She smiled. "Do you read minds, sir?"

"No, put sometimes hearts are easy enough to read. For once, let go."

He turned and walked over to the Arms Master and started talking to him, waving at Kennedy. She ignored them, confident of Friar Geoffrey's ability to get whatever he wanted and instead started donning the armor. She handed Lady Kennedy to Harriet. "Don't drop her!"

Harriet hefted the sword. "My God! This weighs a ton!"

"Only eleven pounds."

"Eleven pounds is nearly half a cat litter bag! I can barely move one!"

"Sometime, have Duke Roger explain what I do wrong when I hold Lady Kennedy," Kennedy told her.

Kennedy finished putting on the armor, but left the mask off. She carried it under her arm, trailing her kendo stick in her left hand.

She walked up to where Friar Geoffrey was finishing up with the Arms Master.

"He's called Duke Roger," Friar Geoffrey explained to Kennedy. "The other guy won't fight a girl."

Kennedy turned to the guy and stuck out her tongue. He pointedly turned his back on her. The second fighter pulled his mask off. He was, she thought, perhaps fifty. Japanese, and very, very fit.

"You are a cheeky young woman," the old man told her.