Menacing would be the best descriptor. They told him to sit down and be still. He’d done so and now occupied a stool opposite them, mouth shut tight. The room had no window and only a small doorway let in air and light. Today, a rough fabric curtain covered it limiting both. A lamp set to one side on a plain plank table provided the only illumination. Its wick had been improperly trimmed and it sputtered and smoked. The air was close and reeked of unwashed men and burning oil. The boy pulled his frayed cloak closer in spite of the heat. He no longer knew what these men wanted or expected of him. He had done everything they’d asked yet he sensed he’d somehow failed them. How their failed plan could fall to him, he did not know, but he’d discovered that these men were not reasonable. Either way, no good could come from this gathering. The men murmured among themselves as if he were not sitting in front of them, as if he did not exist. Lately he had become accustomed to being treated as if he were invisible by men who ruled his life.
