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“How long did Ermenrich Keep you? No. Wrong question. How long have you been under a collar?”

Ctirad thought about it. “It’s twenty-ten?”

“June, twenty ten,” Timaios – better get used to thinking of him as Sir, it would make it easier later – Sir confirmed.

“Six years, sir. Ermenrich had me for four.”

“Mmm. Asshole. Him, not you,” he clarified. “I imagine I won’t know for quite a while if you’re going to turn out to be an asshole.”

“I’ve been called one before, sir.” Was he supposed to be one? That would be new.

“I’m not all that surprised. But I’d rather make my own judgement. All right. I’d put this off longer, but I want to get out of here, and I don’t particularly want to lead you out of here blindfolded.”

Ctirad swallowed. “That would be interesting, sir.” He could do it. He could do lots worse than that. But he hated blindfolds. Even having his eyes closed like this was getting nerve-wracking. “Sir? Why do you want to put it off?”

“Because I look like one person with my Mask on and one with my Mask off, and both of them are going to make you have a reaction, if past experience serves. I wanted to know what you were like as much as possible before that.”

Ctirad considered that for a minute. “Sir? I can handle having my eyes closed for a bit longer.”

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