“I had some school days. Back at the start. Little bits and pieces anyway. There wasn’t much book learning to be had when I was growing up. On account of my situation, you know?”
I’ve read the files. Understand all that’s been recorded about her circumstances. The next steps involve a deeper apprehension.
“Remember the Crusades,” she says.
For a moment I wonder if Sind means a personal history, but she presses on:
“That king of Jerusalem, you know, the one with some condition. Always covered up, wasn’t he? That’s who you remind me of, right enough.”
I’m not one for exposure. Pale bandages, dark suit, black gloves, a white mask that shields my face from brow to chin, and dark glasses to obscure my eyes. I am protected. It’s not an affectation. It requires no explanation.
“I find the light…unsuitable,” I tell her. Courtesy costs nothing.
“So you do talk,” she says.