Strauss coughs. “I'm not sure this is any better,” he says, turning to leave, but the door they came through has gone.
Moments later, an aging, crooked man presents himself with a deep bow. “Greetings,” he says, “My lord assured me you'd be here, and here you are.” He nods curtly to the cats. “Ladies.”
He looks Fiona up and down, as if sizing up a joint of beef. “Come now, we must get you prepared.”
“Prepared?” Fiona inquires.
“For the ceremony.”
“What ceremony.”
“The ceremony of Presentation.”
