Chapter Four
Pensould had finally learned the art of knocking on doors. He still did it with unbecoming force; the moment the pounding began Llandry ran to rescue the door before he could knock it out of its frame altogether. He grinned sheepishly at her as she wrenched it open, and she realised she was probably scowling at him.
‘Good morning, Minchu,’ he said. ‘Or whatever time of day it is out here. I don’t think we are on a world, so can there be times of day?’
‘An intriguing philosophical point,’ she said, ushering him inside. ‘But I can’t at all be bothered to think about it just now.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ Pensould agreed. ‘There are much more pressing matters at hand.’
She assumed he was referring to her mother’s state, or perhaps the impending (or ongoing) attacks on Glin
