Danton’s face went white with shock and his mouth thinned. Stormaway became more self-effacing than ever. Andoran and Sargon’s faces broke into smiles.
“Danton. Fancy seeing you here!” said Andoran cheerfully, tossing his head to flick his mop of unruly red hair falling out of his eyes. “This is great!” He frowned. “Who’s your friend?” he added less enthusiastically.
Danton had recovered himself sufficiently to produce a friendly smile, “This fellow here is Threadneedle.” He said, inventing freely. “He is a tailor, you know. Met him on the way to the camp here.”
Andoran laughed, “A tailor, eh? With a name like Threadneedle, I never would have guessed.” Andoran sketched an ironic bow, “An honour to meet you, sir. I am Andoran and this is my friend, Sargon.”
Stormaway bowed to them both,
