And it may take some time to learn what&#39;s real

. . . so Konstam gets groans, does he?

The corner of Adam's mouth flickers in a very faint smile. He turns to Joris and says, in a smooth angelic fashion, "Tell me all about Konstam."

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... Wait, Adam is actually interested about Konstam?

If Joris did not need any sort of prompt all the other times, well-

A half an hour later, Adam (already another expert on Konstam from all that Joris has told him by now), has finally managed to turn the conversation around to Joris' past-

Or more specifically, his being a slave and exactly how much Konstam paid for him. And then on to questions to figure out how much currency would be worth from Joris' world to his.

And then on to how much boys are worth-

And then girls.

Whatever sort of plan Adam has, Joris is not quite sure what it is, but he does not see any reason to stop answering Adam's questions, even if they are along the lines of "How much for a pretty girl?"

"... Well, it depends how well brought up they've been, and whether they've been taught music and dancing and massage-"

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"Oh very well brought up," Adam says brightly, before Joris can specify what else might get special prices besides dancing and massage. "Knows everything."

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Really, it might not be best to find out what else female slaves often get taught.

"Then a handsome virgin*, with accomplishments-" Joris bites his lip, thinking for a moment. "-Can go for up to sixty thousand crowns."

*This is only said with a straight face because it is a common, rote phrase. Joris really is not thinking of what it truely implies.

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"Does color of hair and things like that make a difference to the price?"

Adam is leaning forward a little, eyes gleaming eagerly, and . . . it is pretty clear that these questions are not just in the hypothetical anymore.

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So much so that even Joris can tell! But... there is still no reason for him not to answer, so-

"Red hair does." Carefully. "Because it's uncommon. Red hair can add as much as five hundred crowns to the price."

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"Oh!"

Adam cannot control himself any longer; he wraps his arms around himself and starts rolling around in his chair, full of gleeful avarice.

"Ooh! Lead me to your world, Joris! The money I'd make! Of course," he says, breaking off suddenly, "I'd have to get Vanessa there too, but I could manage that - oh, if only we had slaves here! I'd sell Vanessa tonight!"

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Jamie has only half been keeping track of the conversation - something about Joris' world and red hair. (He's just glad Adam didn't set Joris off talking about the other Elsie.)

Muzzily: "Who's Vanessa?"

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"My sister. My sneering, bossy, know-it-all, redheaded sister," Adam says, enumerating traits precisely. "Next time she goes on at me, I shall sit and think how much I can sell her for - ooh!" He's beaming again like he'll never stop. "Oh! Ah! Sixty thousand, five hundred pounds!"

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Helen's hands cup protectively around the lump in the sleeve she's been tending to (as if worried it will hear and be horrified), and her nose comes out of her hair as she stiffens her jaw, angry.

"Greedy pig! And I thought Jamie was commercial minded!"

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- it's Helen's face!

Adam, not one to let an opportunity go by, turns to the little of the face that he can see and says smoothly, "Tell me about you."

(Best to turn the subject before it can get back to Konstam anyways.)

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"I might," Helen says, severely, after a moment, putting her hands on the table and easily coaxing the mouse out of her sleeve. It runs straight towards the biscuits.

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. . . has she been keeping that in her shirt or something?

"I didn't know you kept mice," Adam says, eyeing the mouse. His parents are not going to be happy if Helen starts shedding mice all over the house. (Neither is Vanessa, but that's significantly less of a concern.)

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"I don't," Helen tells him, with an abrupt shrug. "It lives here. It's quite sweet, but I'd prefer it if you had rats."

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Jamie rouses from his half-stupor enough to notice that this conversation is going nowhere good.

"Helen," he says, interrupting, "you ought to tell Adam about how you saw Them. Joris and I have both told."

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Helen glares over at Jamie from behind her hair. Oh, ought she, then?

Helen is getting very sick of being told what to do.

And she already told him some of it (he laughed at her).

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"I expect you remember loads more details about Them than Joris or I do," Jamie coaxes. "Seeing as it was years ago for me and I've probably forgotten things -" this is 100% a lie, Jamie does not think he will never forget any details of that day, but that is besides the point right now - "and Joris was busy clinging to a demon in a suicidal sort of way at the time. And you're more of a noticing person than either of us."

He combines this appeal to Helen's vanity with a Significant Look in the direction of Joris. If Helen does not step up to the plate, Joris is likely to jump back in with some more Konstaming, and nobody wants that!

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Voice tightly controlled, Helen begins to explain her experience with Them again. It's fully detailed, but the sentences are short and abrupt. Her voice is quieter than it usually is too, her phrasing more sarcastic.

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Adam takes off his much-mended glasses midway through this recitation and starts fiddling with them.

He's thinking. He's still not entirely sure he believes what these strangers are telling him - but there is a certain coherence to it. When you put things together.

"Funny," he says, when Helen stops talking. "You all seem to have seen Them differently." He's picked up their way of emphasizing the word, without thinking. "It's given me quite a few ideas. I'm not sure I like my ideas, either. But I know what kind of games They were playing. Want to come and see?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, just turns and walks down towards the basement.

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Past Frederick M. Allington, down a flight of steps to a basement, and as soon as Adam turns on the light for the well-furnished room-

Joris is just about back out the door and gone.

For the very good reason that it looks like one if Their game tables is sitting right in the middle of the room.

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Louder, so he can hear: "It's only models. Come back, fool."

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Jamie's also jumped back at the sight, but manages to get ahold of himself before he goes for the full-out bolt.

He remembers the games he saw Them playing. He remembers them very, very well. These don't look nearly so real, of course, but still -

By the time Jamie has gotten over his shock and tuned back in, Adam has already been explaining for quite some time (and in detail) how he makes the landscape out of paper and glue and paint and created his own mud-brown model figures. He sounds very proud of himself. Jamie is not surprised.

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All of them look like they've been clobbered over the head with something.

Adam's watching their reactions out of the corner of his eye, as he picks up a ruler to measure the distance from one of his tanks to one of his father's regiments. "I think I've got him," he remarks idly. "When he comes back on Sunday, I'm going to crush him. It takes real skill, you know."

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