“He did what?”
Castor can't be sure, but the question rumbles and resonates so deep
that she thinks both hooded creatures asked it in unison.
“I don't think the
song was for me,” she tells them. “I went to his office and
knocked. There was no reply, but I was sure I could hear a voice, a
sort of singing, so I pushed the door open and there he was.”
“The Chief
Executive?” the first voice asks. “How did he react to you?”
“Well, that's just
it,” she replies, “I don't think he did.”
“Explain.” That
was definitely both of them, firm and demanding.
“He was hunched over
his desk,” she says, “The way a child might when they want to
hide what they're doing. When I looked closer, I saw that he was
drawing on the cover of a file marked “Eyes Only”. And he was
singing.”
“What?” the second
voice asks, “What was he singing?”
“I'm not sure,” she
says, “A nursery rhyme of some sort, I think. But I hardly
recognised the language. I think it was one of the old tongues, but
I couldn't be sure.”
