Free Jenna Starborn by Sharon Shinn

small meteor showers to rapid-fire projectile bullets. Even if she had heaved a rock or a knife at it, and somehow managed to breach its wall, the generator power made the field self-healing; there should be no permanent tear. But systems had failed before this, all because someone did not doublecheck reality against theory, and she did not look to me like the sort of person who could be trusted not to tamper with a seductive challenge. I examined the forcefield while she watched me, and hoped she realized why I chose to look it over again at just that moment. But I found nothing amiss.
    Without saying another word to her, I headed back to the manor house, going immediately to the underground facility to read over the gauges. No disturbances registered; all, apparently, was well.
    That night over dinner, I broached the topic with Mrs. Farraday. “I encountered the strangest woman today, as I was out walking through the grounds,” I said while the four of us ate our soup. Ameletta was noisily engaged in the act of eating, so her incessant chatter for the moment was silenced.
    â€œDid you, now?” Mrs. Farraday asked comfortably. “Who might that have been?”
    â€œI did not catch her name,” I said. “She was poorly dressed, and she was sitting by herself, singing, and she gave every appearance of being a vagrant—though I don’t know how one would have gotten on the grounds. She assured me she worked in the mine complex as a—a member of the tech support team.”
    It might have been my imagination that Mrs. Farraday and Miss Ayerson exchanged quick, alarmed glances. But whatever chagrin Mrs. Farraday may have felt, she instantly mastered. “What did this strange woman look like? Do you recall?”
    â€œShe had gray hair and a scar on her face. A bad complexion, like she had not been much cared for in her life.”
    Mrs. Farraday nodded and touched her napkin to her lips. “That was Gilda Parenon, I expect.”
    â€œAnd she is in fact employed by Mr. Ravenbeck?” I demanded. “As a technician?”
    Mrs. Farraday made the smallest gesture of uncertainty. “I suppose that would be the best description of her job.... It is very specialized—or so I’m told. Mr. Ravenbeck says it would be difficult to find someone to replace her.”
    â€œSo he has met her, then? He knows what sort of odd people he employs?”
    â€œOh, yes, I believe Mr. Ravenbeck is very aware of Gilda Parenon and her services. Now, Jenna, don’t let her disturb you. It is unlikely you’ll have any reason to run into her again.”
    I could not escape the notion that I was being lied to, but I could think of no reason Mrs. Farraday would have for withholding the truth about Gilda Parenon—or indeed, any of the workers at Thorrastone Manor. “No, I don’t suppose I will,” I said slowly, “not if I never tour the mining compound.”
    â€œAnd you won’t do that,” she said, almost playfully. “Here, Miss Ayerson, would you like more bread? Ameletta, dear, you could eat more daintily. A stranger here would believe we had starved you for half the week. Pass me your water glass, Jenna, and I will refill it. Thank you, dear....”
    And so, with commonplaces and courtesies, the rest of the meal was passed without real conversation. But it seemed to me that Miss Ayerson studiously avoided meeting my gaze for the rest of the evening, and that Mrs. Farraday, not usually much of a chatterbox, never gave me the opportunity to lead the talk again. And I could not help believing that if there were something stranger about Gilda Parenon than her appearance, I would probably never learn it.

Chapter 4

    W hen I had been at Thorrastone Manor little more than a month, my account was credited with my first paycheck. It was not a fabulous sum by any calculation, but it was more than I had ever earned in a comparable period in my life, and I