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"Where's that little girl?"
"Helene left by ship this morning to meet the local members at Feyren's port."
"I thought you'd take her with you."
"I have no taste for educating children, and there's no real need to train her as a Hunter."
"Oh." Medici, who stood with his arms folded watching Traynor organize his mission report, narrowed his eyes. Finding a topic that interested him, he asked, eager to stir up trouble:
"Then how did your elders judge you when you were a child?"
Traynor paused briefly in binding the report, then the stapler resumed its clicking. In a reminiscent tone, he said:
"I was born a Sequence 9. After all, my mother was only a 6 then. That was the most stable Sequence she could give me."
Medici whistled. "Not much of a starting point."
"A very low one," Traynor corrected. "Among the children within three generations of the main family and its branches, none were below 7. After I was born, there was one."
"And now you've become one of the Sauron Family's only two War Bishops. Not a trace of the talent and bloodline the Sauron Family prides itself on showed in you." Medici took out a cigarette and tapped it upright against the table several times. He lit it, waited a few seconds before taking a drag, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Why doesn't Sauron come out and say something? Ha, a Son of the Devil acknowledged by his ancestor."
Traynor gave him a puzzled look. "Why are you suddenly provoking me out of sheer idleness? You could spend that time making a plan."
"We must at least wait for the Lord to regain an Angel's power before he can reshape my body into one capable of bearing the power of a King