Chapter Fourteen
An indeterminate but interminable time later, brilliant light speared Kriss to the pavement, stabbing his head with daggers of pain. “Ya can’t sleep there, boy.” Strong, rough hands hauled him to his feet. “Bit young to handle yer liquor, eh?”
Kriss blinked bleary eyes at the tall, uniformed man who held him. “Police?” he mumbled.
“That’s right. Constable Piltzer. Now, where do ya live?”
“Black Rock . . .”
“Come again?”
Kriss tried to think. “No . . . no, Andru’s.”
“Ah. That’s more like it. Come on, then, let’s get ya home.”
Zendra answered the constable’s firm knock on the door at Andru’s, took one look at Kriss, and took charge. The constable was sent on his way, and Kriss was led solicitously up the stairs to his room. “Lie down,” Zendra told him. “I’ll be right
