2
When my mother said she’d given me the most beautiful name she could think of, it might be of interest to know that she was referring, more or less, to her own. Delia Vesper sat inside the mouth of the cave, propped against the dark rock wall, and shrouded in so much shadow that I could barely make out the details of her form.
‘Is that your Waymaster?’ said Delia from the darkness.
‘Yes, but we tend to call him Jay.’
‘Jay Patel,’ said Jay. ‘Hello, Mrs. Vesper.’ He was so polite, I’m sure he would have shaken hands with her if he could.
Her voice, when it came again, was wry. ‘It’s Miss Vesper, but you may call me Delia.’
Further questions bloomed in Jay’s mind, judging from the brief glance he made at me. I privately hoped I wouldn’t have to answer too many of them.
It occurred to
