Chapter 12

Trade Minister Incraem Falaedin was every bit the pompous bureaucrat Elizabeth had been expecting him to be.

He sat behind his huge, highly polished metal desk and barely smiled as the Lanteans were shown into the room. Only one chair had been set out on the opposite side of the huge table, despite the fact Elizabeth had specified there would be six members in her party. Evidently, Minister Falaedin had no intention of making them feel too comfortable.

Out of the window behind his desk, there was a fantastic view of the city of Uno. Falaedin's office was near the top of the tallest building within the city limits, meaning they could see a good distance, even to the towering walls beyond the bustling streets.

Elizabeth strode confidently up to his desk and extended her hand to him. 'Minister Falaedin. Thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice,' she smiled, waiting for him to take her hand.

He arched an eyebrow as he gazed at her offered hand, then slowly stood and reciprocated, his grip limp and a little clammy. Somehow, Elizabeth had been expecting that, too.

'The pleasure is all mine, Dr Weir,' he replied, his face cracking into the briefest and most pathetic of smiles. 'Please, take a seat.'

She did so, the men who had travelled with her grouping behind her chair like a human wall. A quick scan of the room showed all the trappings of affluence one might expect in a government office; fine decor, paintings, and great flourishes of flowers in expensive looking tall vases. He sat back, peering at them over knitted fingers.

'So, I understand you are interested in striking up trade with our planet,' the man began, dispensing with any hopes of friendly small talk she may have been harbouring.

'That's right. It isn't often we come across a race of people as advanced as yours. I'm sure we could begin trading in a way that might be mutually beneficial.'

'As you can imagine,' Falaedin interrupted. 'We already have many trade partnerships in place. What is it you believe you can bring to the table that would make you an appealing proposition?'

There was something about the way Falaedin said that while staring intently at her that left her with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. But Elizabeth was used to difficult negotiations, she wasn't about to let a little testosterone put her off.

'Oh, I think you'll find we have many advantages that other races in the Pegasus Galaxy cannot possibly offer you. Perhaps it would be easier to begin with ascertaining what it is your people lack, and we'll see if I can supply it.'

...A shade over two hours later, and an agreement had been reached. Apparently, Haraendon was a mining planet, and she had agreed to supply some equipment and explosives that would help speed up the process. In return, Atlantis would receive a supply of Maratae, a drug used as a sedative on Haraendon, and one that had only minimal risks in comparison to the anaesthetics more popularly used on Earth, along with a food substance that could be manipulated to mimic any other food, but which had great benefits to human health by boosting the immune system. It wasn't something they produced themselves, but they were apparently able to obtain an abundant supply in trade with another race.

Pleased with striking a deal, Elizabeth felt now would at last be a good time to broach the subject of her missing personnel once more.

'Now we have an agreement in place, I wonder if I could impose on you for another favour, Minister?' she asked politely.

'Certainly,' Falaedin smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal obviously treated and whitened teeth.

'Our advance party...a team of people I sent before me to enquire about a possible trade partnership, is missing. We've found their ship crashed some miles from here, and we need permission to make enquiries in the cities to find out if any of your people have seen them. Now we have one another's trust, I wonder if you could possibly furnish us with the necessary permissions to enter your cities and carry out an enquiry.'

Immediately, Falaedin's friendliness cooled. No surprises there; Elizabeth had expected that, too.

'I am not in a position to give those permissions,' he stated haughtily, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. 'Intercity logistics are not governed by my department.'

Elizabeth smirked. 'I understand that, Minister Falaedin, I really do. But I'm sure you understand that we are very concerned about our missing personnel , and every assistance you can give us in locating them can only cement the agreement we have just drawn up.'

She risked a glance over her shoulder where she knew Lorne was standing, gaining a surreptitious nod of approval. At least her men were on side with this not-so-subtle blackmail.

'We are a private people, very discerning in whom we allow beyond the city walls...even the movements of our own people are limited between cities, and every journey is logged and double checked. There is no possible way outsiders got inside any of our cities.'

'Yes, I've had that explained to me before,' Elizaeth told him patiently, 'but I don't think you understand how resourceful –'

'Where did they crash their ship?'

Elizabeth blinked, silenced momentarily by his unexpected question. 'Uh, Radek. Could you show him?'

Zelenka scuttled forward with his computer tablet and set it down on the minister's desk, pointing to the spot he'd asked about. 'This is where we found their craft.'

Falaedin took in the image, then looked Elizabeth straight in the eye. 'If your people crashed out in the Soulless Sands and walked towards our cities, then the most likely result of their actions is that they became a meal for the beasts that lurk beneath the lands between.'

A flutter of panic began in Elizabeth's throat, but she forced it down. She would not believe they had fallen prey to the local wildlife until she had searched every street of every city on this planet, and if they wanted help with their mining programme, they would have to help her do that. 'Even if that's the case, surely you won't begrudge us the opportunity to set our minds at rest, once and for all?' she said quietly, hoping a softer tone would strike a chord.

Apparently it worked, because in the next moment he actually nodded. 'Very well. Give me a few moment's to discuss your request with First Minister Thalaezin, and I'll see what I can do.'

With that, he stood up and excused himself. Elizabeth watched him go, seeing the slight hunch of his shoulders that suggested just how much he was against what she wanted him to do.

'So they will help us. This is good, yes?' Radek asked with a faint but hopeful smile.

Elizabeth wasn't so sure. At the back of her mind, a question was nagging. Why did this government seem so determined they should give up their search for Sheppard and his team? 'Let's hope so,' she replied, gazing out of the window and across the city to the distant towering walls closing them in. 'Let's hope so.'

oooOOOooo

When Sheppard woke the next morning, he found himself staring into another set of startlingly red orbs. Figuring he was still dreaming, he closed his eyes to give himself time to fully come round, but when he opened them again, it was to the exact same sight – a young girl with red eyes squatting beside his bed and blinking back at him.

'Good morning, John,' she chirped.

He sat up with a start, pulling his coarse blanket up over his chest. 'Uh, yeah...morning,' he replied warily, scrubbing at his ruffled hair.

'I heard you were here at last, so thought I'd come to see you,' the girl grinned, bouncing a little with apparent excitement.

Sheppard didn't have a clue what she meant by that, but she seemed harmless enough. He swung his legs out, wincing as the burned skin on his stomach pulled. Oh, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about all that. 'Is it time to get up?'

'The others are readying the morning meal, so I suppose it must be.'

The vagueness of her answer struck him as odd, and he narrowed his eyes, asking, 'You do work here, don't you?'

'Oh, no,' she replied, with a vehement shake of her head. 'I just came to see you for myself. Narandael told us you had come.'

'Narandael?' he repeated. 'So who's that?'

'You'll find out...when the time's right.'

The little girl – though decided odd in appearance he noticed now as he turned up the power in his lamp and saw not only were her eyes red, but her skin was a burnt orange hue and her hair had a strong copper hue – was far more cryptic than her age warranted. Either that, or he still hadn't had enough sleep, and that was a distinct possibility.

'Okay, so...do you have a name?' he asked, trying to keep things simple.

'Of course I do, silly,' she giggled, standing up and twirling her pretty red hair around her finger.

'Wanna tell me what it is?' he probed with a smirk.

'It's Ishraela,' she grinned back at him. 'Do you like it?'

'It's very pretty.'

'Thank you.'

A thought suddenly struck him, and he cursed himself for being so slow to pick up on it. 'You called me John.'

'Well it is your name, silly,' she giggled again, as if she found him the height of amusement.

Though she was testing his patience, he reminded himself she was only a kid, and asked, 'But how did you know?'

'Narandael told us,' she said, matter-of-fact.

'Ah Narandael again. This Narandael guy seems to know a lot of stuff,' he quipped. 'Does he work here?'

'In a way,' she smiled. 'You'll find out soon enough.'

Again with the cryptic clues. And then another thought struck him, one even more puzzling than the fact she knew his name. 'If you don't work here, what do you do?'

'I told you...I just came to see you for myself. The others will be really excited when they find out I spoke to you in person...I should go now before anyone catches me here. Oh, and don't forget...the sensory wishes to see you.'

With that, she was out of the door before he could stop her. He grabbed up his blanket and stumbled towards the door still wrapped in it. 'Wait, but how did you get in here?'

The corridor was empty; she was already gone.

Now wondering if he'd imagined the whole encounter, Sheppard closed the door and quickly dressed in some more oversized work clothes, heading down to the kitchen where he found the other servants already up and about either preparing or eating breakfast. The room was basic but cosy, with bare, undecorated walls, bar the cooking utensils hanging up on them. Warmth enveloped him the moment he stepped through the door, emanating from a fire that burned in a simply cast metal fireplace and the ovens at the far end of the room where Lanae was busy cooking various dishes. At the centre of the room sat a substantial unpolished metal table, with two metallic benches running its length on either side. It was obviously a preparation area as well as where the servants ate, since Raelzine was busy mixing something at one end while Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, as he'd now chosen to rename the thugs who had cuffed him, sat together at the other end already eating.

'Morning,' he said, announcing his presence.

'Ah, Jadrael...come, sit down and eat,' Raelzine fussed, guiding him to a free spot at the table opposite his two favourite heavies.

The food she set out in front of him wasn't a patch on what Lanae had brought to him in the hangar last night, but it was substantial and filling, and made him feel better than he had on rising. Lanae watched him from her place at the ovens; he could see her looking at his wrists from the corner of her eye as he ate. No doubt Raelzine had told her something about what had happened when they'd been cleaning the craft for him last night, but he had to wonder how detailed her explanation had been. There was no point in unduly distressing the girl, after all.

'Hurry, Lanae. We must serve breakfast,' Raelzine squawked at her, probably seeing how distracted the girl was this morning. Sheppard wondered how many of them this had happened to before...and whether they all knew how he had come by the burns beneath his cuffs. The thought brought a rush of heat to his cheeks...then he told himself to stop being so dumb. Even if these people did know Magistra Tranaedan and her friend had used a cattle prod on him, that didn't mean they knew about any of the other stuff they'd done. He was sure Raelzine had more decorum than to share that information.

The women hurriedly ate their own meals while they worked, Raelzine doing so as she tidied and prepared food for their owners, then they left carrying trays full of various choices, all of which smelled a sight better than his own food. Still it was taking the edge off his hunger... There was far too much food for two people to eat. It looked wasteful to Sheppard, but he supposed the fact the servants got to pick through what they left later made it less so. Them and those "afflicted" folks Lanae had told him about yesterday. But eating their scraps was still degrading, no matter how hungry people were.

From across the table, the two men he'd come to loathe stared, emotionless, most likely trying to intimidate him. He'd faced worse, Taliban, Wraith queens, Ronon in one of his moods and the like, so he just continued to eat and ignored them. It was awkward, but again, awkward he could cope with. What he didn't feel ready for was any kind of trouble. Hopefully, he might just get a quiet day of vehicle maintenance in and then some more rest tonight. Or even better, Atlantis would locate him and get him the hell out of there before he took root.

The two of them continued to give him the evil eye the whole time they ate, perhaps seeing him as some kind of threat to their supposed masculinity, or perhaps just too stupid to form coherent conversation. Whatever the reason, he had no cause to speak to them either, so he chose not to.

After around twenty minutes of strained silence, Raelzine thankfully returned to chivvy him along. 'Hurry and finish up your food now, Jadrael,' she panted, as she bustled in carrying used dishes from upstairs. 'Magister Tranaedan wishes to see you.'

He raised his eyebrows and asked, 'Me? Why?'

'Because he paid for you,' one of the heavies opposite growled, then they both sprayed out a chuckle that decorated the tabletop with chewed up food.

Their jibe set him prickling, and Raelzine was quick to gesticulate for him to keep quiet. So he couldn't discuss his kidnapping with the goons? Perhaps Raelzine was right and it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pouting silently into what remained of his meal, he ignored them and finished up, then allowed Raelzine to lead him up to the dining room where his other "owner" waited for him.

Raelzine announced that she'd brought him as requested and whispered to him to bow as he slipped past her and into the room.

He did, keeping his head dipped as he walked in and picked a spot a few feet into the room to stop and wait for instruction.

His arrival met with an obvious silence. For a moment, he thought Magister Tranaedan had left the room by another exit and he was there alone, but then he heard the sound of a heavy, sighing breath, and a chair scraping back across the floor. Footsteps, solid and heavy, thudded his way and, with his head still down, he saw a pair of substantial and highly polished steel-toed boots arrive just in front of him.

'So, you're the new pilot?' a deep voice asked.

Although it seemed a rather redundant question, Sheppard answered him all the same. Pilot was preferable to "slave", after all. 'Yes, Magister Tranaedan.'

'Lift your head, boy,' the Magister demanded sharply, and biting back the urge to tell him to watch his tone, Sheppard lifted his eyes to meet those of his supposed master.

The man was bigger than Sheppard had envisaged, and much older. Whereas Magistra Tranaedan was probably five or so years older than him, perhaps a little more, this man was easily twenty years his senior at least. His broad girth was squeezed into a jacket that barely buckled across him and looked as though it might explode in protest, and his thinning hair, more grey now than brown, was greased back slick against his head to keep it in order.

The man eyed him, quirking an eyebrow. 'Yes...I can't say I'm surprised...although you are a little older than I expected.'

Although Sheppard had been thinking the exact same thing, he thought it wise not to say so.

'My wife tells me you saved both her and Magistra Callaedin from a terrible attack last night,' the man said, continuing to stare intently at him.

'That's right, Magister Tranaedan,' he replied, holding the man's gaze. He had no idea if that was the right thing to do, but he was being as subservient as he damn well could be already.

'Magister will do,' the man huffed, walking away and snatching up a coat from the back of a chair where it lay draped. 'I congratulate you on your efforts. The situation could have ended very badly if you had not intervened, I understand.'

Sheppard felt a pang of guilt as he thought of the young man who had jumped in to stop his abuse at the hands of this man's wife and her lascivious friend. Had he known the woman would kill the poor bastard, he would have let him get away. People couldn't just go around handing out that kind of corporal punishment, and if the women hadn't been treating him so badly in the first place, the guy might never have done what he did...maybe he'd even suffered something similar himself. The women had said he was more than likely an escaped slave, so who knew what he'd been through in his life?

'Thank you, Magister,' he said quietly, but the words left a sour taste in his mouth as he spoke them.

'Now, I'm told you're something of an expert pilot. I think it's time we head down to the transport store and I run through the specifications of the various craft you will be required to fly, don't you?'

The big man swept past him, and it was evident he expected Sheppard to follow. Figuring it sounded like it could be interesting, the colonel tagged along without the slightest hesitation, the first time he'd done anything without a pause for thought in two days.

oooOOOooo

Although some of the details meant nothing to Sheppard, including the measurement of speed used on this planet, he was able to glean enough information from Magister Tranaedan's tour of the transport store to know which was the craft most likely to get him out of there quickest should the opportunity arise. Of course, he still had to overcome the problems of opening the hangar hatch, the identity chip that would lead the Tranaedans straight to him, and the guarded triple gates that formed the only way out of the city, but once he'd figured a way around those minor glitches, he was home and dry. Piece of cake. And once he was out, he could lead his people to Traginta Duo to look for the others who were hopefully still here somewhere.

'What craft have you flown before, Jadrael?' Magister Tranaedan asked, not bothering to look at him as he swiped his hand over the shiny black and red number Sheppard admired so much.

Was he serious? Didn't he know he was an off-worlder? Sheppard was about to name a few of the aircraft he'd flown in his many years as a pilot, then checked himself. If Magister Tranaedan didn't know he was an off-worlder while others in the household did, there might be a very good reason for that. Maybe Magistra Tranaedan had told him never to mention it to him for his own safety, not just because it would nnoy him.

'Uh...just basic craft, really. Nothing as fantastic as this,' he said, dipping his head to the ship Magister Tranaedan was caressing. It couldn't hurt to butter him up.

The distraction seemed to work. 'I should think not,' Tranaedan scoffed, his face bloated with pride. 'I'm the only person on Haraendon to own one of these beauties.' He turned toward him then, a glint in his eye. 'Why don't we take her out and you can show me what you're made of?'

Sheppard's heart gave a little skip of excitement. It didn't matter where he was, or what the circumstances were, flying was in his blood, and the thought of taking to the air in something new always thrilled him.

'Yes, Magister,' he said, eagerly stepping forward to open the hatch of the craft.

Magister Tranaedan slapped the back of his hand into John's chest and made a shooing motion, silently explaining that he was happy to climb into the ship unaided. Sheppard gave him space and time to get seated, then jumped on behind him, slipping in to the vacant pilot seat and realising this was the craft he should have slept in that first evening. The chair moulded to his shape the instant he sat in it, automatically gauging his height and weight and adjusting itself to the optimum flight position.

'Whoa! That is so cool!' he breathed, grasping the steering apparatus, which had risen up in front of him.

'It will warm up as we fly,' Tranaedan promised him, clearly missing the intent of his comment.

Realising he was lucky the man hadn't picked up on the strangeness of his praise, Sheppard made a mental note to keep his excitement to himself in future, hard as that might be when faced with such technological finery.

Tranaedan ran through the controls with him, most of them logical in their location and the various symbols used to indicate their purpose. He quickly memorised the most important ones, knowing a little about speed and altitude from the other craft, then, when Tranaedan pulled the remote for the ramp out of the hanger from beneath his jacket, where he wore it suspended from a chain, he set the craft in motion.

The ship was startlingly fast, and he found himself immediately holding back, laying off the acceleration until he felt he could fully gauge the sensitivity of the steering. It didn't take long to get the hang of it, and then he knew he really wanted one of these things. If he could escape in it, that would just be an added bonus. He wove smoothly in and out of the other vehicles around in the streets, the transport handling so much more smoothly than the other, larger craft he'd been using with Magistra Tranaedan that it felt almost as responsive as a jumper.

'Take it to the outskirts,' Tranaedan instructed. 'You can run around the perimeter with less danger of collision.'

Sheppard did as instructed, steering the vessel toward the vast wall enclosing the city, then following it round. The track around the outside of the city development was devoid of other traffic, and so he was able to increase the speed and push the ship a little harder. Inside, he felt no effects, just like the superb handling of the jumper, only the blurring of their surroundings giving any clue of how fast they were moving.

'We're approaching the gates. Slow it down,' Tranaedan barked, and Sheppard decelerated hard, again feeling no ill effects. They ambled past the gate to ensure no one was passing through it, then Sheppard set off faster again, whipping them around at breakneck speed.

When Tranaedan ordered him to slow and take them home again, the colonel was actually sorry it was over. This was the most fun he'd had since first taking up a jumper, even if it was under the supervision of his so-called master. This Magister Tranaedan seemed to be far more level-headed and even-handed than his erratic and frustrating wife. If he could find a way to spend most of his time serving this guy until Atlantis plucked him from their clutches this might actually be doable without getting the crap kicked out of him.

Still unfamiliar with all the streets, he was grateful when Tranaedan gave him guidance to lead him home. Once they'd landed, Tranaedan looked across at him, clearly impressed.

'Well, Jadrael. You don't know how surprised and pleased I am to discover you are just as fine a pilot as my wife claimed,' he said, his mouth twitching into a vague assimilation of a smile. 'I have to confess, when I first saw you this morning I thought she had simply purchased you for her own nefarious purposes.'

Sheppard feigned puzzlement in the hope Tranaedan would be convinced nothing like that was going on.

'She has an eye for attractive men,' Tranaedan confided, actually looking a little sad as he said it. 'And I am not the man I once was...'

Wondering if he was supposed to respond to that, Sheppard opted to stay quiet, not really sure how to react anyway. Tranaedan was no oil painting, that was plain to see, but looks weren't everything...money was usually important to people like the magistra, too.

'You've impressed me today, Jadrael,' Tranaedan suddenly boomed, rallying. 'If you continue to carry out your duties as a pilot with this amount of skill, I see no reason why your servitude in the Tranaedan household shouldn't be a relatively easy one.'

Now that was music to the colonel's ears. He could certainly fly ships for a while, especially if he got the chance to take this little gem out again.

'If, however, you deviate from what your duties entail in any other way,' the man's gaze intensified at this point, making it quite clear what he meant by that, 'you will be punished in such a way as to make you regret ever doing so. Do I make myself clear, Jadrael?'

Sheppard gave a sharp nod. 'Yes, Magister.'

'Good...come with me now. I have something else to show you.'

Intrigued, Sheppard jumped out behind him, following him to the elevator where they rode four floors up and headed to a room Tranaedan kept locked.

'I'm not only a collector of transports,' he announced, opening the door and switching on the light in the room that lay beyond. 'I'm also a connoisseur of fine art.'

As Magister Tranaedan walked in, Sheppard followed in his wake. The room was bedecked with paintings and sculptures, some canvases twice his height and even wider. There were portraits, cityscapes, and depictions of the landscapes beyond the city walls along with more abstract images. The walls were alive with colour, the sculptures abounding with movement and life. They were classy pieces, just like the transports. The man certainly had good taste.

'This is the largest collection of work by Haraendon's finest artists on this planet,' the magister boasted, turning full circle to absorb the work around him. 'Impressive, don't you think?'

'Very, Magister,' Sheppard nodded. He'd never been an art fan himself, but he could appreciate a good painting when he saw one, and there were plenty of them in that room. Including, he now saw, a portrait of Tranaedan's wife, clearly done a few years ago, and very flattering if not a little risqué. Figuring it better not to dwell on that one, he took a few steps closer to a cityscape and studied that instead.

'Recently, I've diversified a little...trying my hand at a bit of sculpture myself,' the Magister told him, heading now toward the back of the room. 'I was feeling inspired, but I'm not sure I quite captured the subject I was trying to depict. I call it "Fall from Grace".'

He slipped his key card into the locking device beside the door and revealed a smaller anti-chamber off that room. The lighting within it was subdued, but Sheppard could see something enclosed inside it that he couldn't quite make out. He hoped the man wasn't going to ask for a critique because that really wasn't his forte.

Tranaedan beckoned him forward, and as he closed in on the doorway, he could see a grotesque sculpture beyond – the figure of a young man, his body broken and impaled on iron spikes. His pale, blueish limbs were streaked with red, as was the base of the artwork, though Sheppard thought Tranaedan had taken the realism a little too far with the way the paint ran down the two foot drop from the plinth onto the floor below.

Then, the smell hit him.

Nauseous realisation struck. This sculpture, the one he had thought so skilfully coloured, if a little overzealous with the blood, was a real person in the early stages of decay, and from the look of his eviscerated body, he had bled to death right there in that tiny closet of a room. Shocked, Sheppard took a step back from the overwhelming sight and odour, bumping straight into Magister Tranaedan, who had closed down the space behind him.

'Thought provoking, wouldn't you say?' Tranaedan rasped in his ear as his hand clamped down heavily on his shoulder. 'Manstaen deviated from his duties to Magistra Tranaedan. Now his sin is forever immortalised...at least until his stinking carcass falls apart.'

He moved aside now and Sheppard staggered back, desperate for clean air. Tranaedan shut the door across the scene, looking on Sheppard now with something rivalling one of Ronon's more homicidal glares. 'I know I can trust you not to be so foolish.'

'No, Magister Tranaedan.'

'And you will mention this to no one.'

'No. No one.'

'Good. Now one more thing. Get on your knees.'

Panicked, Sheppard hesitated, wondering why he wanted him to kneel, afraid he might be about to kill him. That minor pause earned him a crunching blow to his jaw that knocked him sideways, stars dancing in his vision.

He knelt without having to be asked twice, more to save himself from an ungainly collapse than any desire to obey. The sudden and inexorable pull of his magnetic cuffs kicked in then, dragging his hands to the metallic floor and pinning them there, while Magistra Tranaedan moved behind him, sliding a knife out from his pocket. Sheppard felt a tug on the back of his vest, and a tearing sound followed, his master having slit several inches down from the neck of the garment.

'Next time I ask you to kneel, don't even think about whether or not to do it,' Tranaedan bellowed. 'I don't know what kind of a household you came from, but here I demand absolute loyalty. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Magister,' Sheppard ground out, but the words he was screaming in his mind were unrepeatable.

'And as a sign of that loyalty, you will wear my mark.'

A strange buzz kicked in behind him, then an excruciating burning sensation struck him on the back of his right shoulder. The smell of burning skin pervaded his nostrils and lungs, and he cried out at the prolonged sensation, a fine pinpoint of searing heat scribing its way around his shoulder blade.

After what felt like an age, the buzz stopped and the unwavering hold of his cuffs relented, allowing him to sit back on his heals as he tried to breathe through the pain.

'Now, I believe you have a craft to clean before this afternoon. I need you to fly me to an important meeting I have with several business associates, and the libations are usually flowing.'

Sheppard got to his feet and strode from the room as confidently as he could manage on trembling legs. He didn't address the man at all, and for some reason Magister Tranaedan didn't pick him up on it, allowing his lack of respect to slide this once. Perhaps he thought shock was a good enough excuse for him to forget him manners, but shock had nothing to do with it. He just had to get out of that room before he did something he regretted, something that would doubtless end up with him in even more trouble than he was already...if that was even possible.