Blog: The Thief, part 8

Connor Oswald, JagWire reporter

With a slight groan, the doors swung open. The room was sparsely decorated; there were two beaten-up wooden chairs, an old desk with a book propped under a leg to sit level and a few faded paintings adorning the walls. An old lady sat behind the desk, staring at the window with her back turned toward the doors. Hearing the creaks of the doors, the lady slowly turned around. She gave a soft smile to the boy, and a slight frown, flickering with recognition, to the guard.

“Well, who do we have here?” she asked, pointing towards the door with one of her wrinkled, arthritis-bent hands to the boy.

The kid flinched and shuffled backwards a bit, all the while shaking his head, not willing to answer the question. The guard started pushing the boy forwards towards a chair.

“I don’t know his name,” The guard said. “He hasn’t spoken much other than some crazed rambling about his parents being gone. I found him trying to steal some food from a market courtyard.”

The lady nodded slowly, thinking, and then fixed her stare on the guard.

“Adrian, why don’t you leave the boy and I alone to have a chat?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

The guard stiffened at her words, and darted an untrustworthy glance at the boy. But he gave a quick nod and slowly backed out of the room, closing the doors behind him. The buy gulped, nervous, as the lady turned her gaze onto him.

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