They passed up a narrow back stair to a carpeted hallway. The walls were covered with heavy tapestries woven with pictures of human lords and ladies at the hunt, in their gardens, dancing. Terefar knocked on one of the doors, waited for an answer, then opened it and ushered Wishbone inside.
Wishbone expected a bedroom. Instead, this looked like a drawing room. Sir sat back on a brocade-covered lounge chair, reading a book. Freed from the hat, his curled hair spilled down past his shoulders in a thick fall of darkness. The small amount of skin that showed glowed a burnished tan in the light of the roaring fire. The door closed behind Wishbone with a click that made him jump. Sir smiled, this time showing both canines, so long and sharp that Wishbone wondered how he shut his mouth without puncturing his lips. Wishbone noticed the coils of rope on the floor next to Sir's chair. They worried him. He'd been bound by clients before. Usually they displayed more enthusiasm than skill, and he had to pretend that he couldn't get loose. Sir struck him as the sort who wouldn't use something he couldn't use well, though.
"Your name is not a common one amongst your people," said Sir, marking the book and placing it on an end table. "Tell me how you acquired it."
Wishbone tugged the robe more snugly around his body and looked away from Sir's inhuman face. "There's a child's game. The breast bone of...