Free Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard Page B

see.”
    They were silent again. Syl watched Paul, saw how he held his mug with both hands, his fingers interlocked, lean and strong, yet vulnerable too, as though he was trying to warm them even though it wasn’t cold. Could they really be the fingers of a bomber, of a murderer? She had to know.
    “Paul,” she said, and everyone looked at her. Paul raised an eyebrow, and she bit her lip nervously. “How did you know there’d be a second bomb?”
    “I didn’t know,” he said. “I just guessed.”
    “How, though?”
    “Because this is my home, Sylvia. I live here, and I intend to carry on living here without being blown up. That’s how it sometimes is with bombings: one blast followed shortly afterward by another. The first lures in the soldiers and the Securitats who respond to it, and then the second kills them. I figured it would probably happen that way again. I watch. I’ve been watching since I was born. Don’t you pay attention too?”
    “I guess,” she said, but she was starting to realize how little she knew about outside, about the world beyond the castle walls.
    Then his face changed, and his eyes narrowed. “Did you think it was me? You think I’d do something like that, in a place where civilians could be killed?”
    “Well, no . . . maybe . . . I don’t know. After all, I don’t know you, do I?”
    “And I don’t know you,” he countered, “yet we brought you here where we’d all be safe because we’re not like them, and because that’s what we do. We’re humans, not Illyri. We stick together.” His tone changed. There was a note of suspicion to it now. “We are in this together, Sylvia, aren’t we?”
    “She was just asking!” said Ani, jumping up angrily and clattering the cups together, then dumping them in the sink. “Anyway, it’s time we left.”
    “Yes, I think it probably is—Steven, you clean up here and I’ll get these two back to the Mile. I’ll see you in fifteen, right?”
    Steven shrugged and looked into his tea.
    “Bye,” said Ani gruffly as she followed Paul to the door.
    “Thanks,” said Syl, but her voice was weak and high.
    “Yup. Cheers,” Steven said, and then they were out on the streets again, weaving down alleys, crisscrossing their path, and she wondered if Paul was trying to confuse them so they couldn’t find their way back to the little safe house. If he was, he’d definitely succeeded. Fat raindrops started splashing around them, and Paul turned up his collar and hurried on, never saying a word. Syl guessed he was used to outpacing people, but the Illyri were naturally vigorous and lean, and even Ani’s shorter legs kept up easily.
    All at once he stopped, and pointed ahead. “Go that way to the very end, then take a right and you’ll be back at the Mile, but I’d stay away from the castle. I presume you can find your way home from there.”
    Syl nodded, but his attention was already elsewhere. Ani shrugged.
    “Right, thanks. Bye,” she said, turning to go, but Syl hesitated.
    “Thank you, Paul,” she said, and she stretched out a tentative hand toward him. “And I’m so sorry. You saved my life today—our lives—and I’ll never forget that. Truly, thank you.”
    He looked at her for real now, and his eyes wrinkled warmly again as he took her hand in his, not so much a shake as a friendly squeeze.
    “Well, it’s certainly been interesting, Sylvia.”
    “It has,” she said. “Good luck, Paul.” Then she turned and scampered after Ani.
    “See you, Syl,” he called. She looked back and waved, and he waved too. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he was laughing.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    L ater, Syl would wonder quite how they had managed to make it back under the noses of so many patrols, both Military and Corps, but somehow they did. The initial panic around the castle had quietened down in their absence and things were getting back to normal again, as happens quickly in cities that have grown used to violence.
    Apart