Davy Hans hadn't spoken to Mistress Christine for more than two months.1As he stood in the dark stone corridor outside her room, he suddenly wished he had another two months. This summons had been unexpected, and he felt the uncomfortable sweat of fear slicking his palms. Everyone in the castle knew something horrible had happened to Christine; they'd all heard the screams coming from her chambers, often long into the night. She'd gone through no less than eleven servants—only half of them surviving to tell about it, though it did Davy little good, since they all had sworn a vow of silence, on penalty of death.
Davy steeled himself, wiped his hands on his pants, and knocked on1the door. On the third thunk, the door swung open violently, slamming against the stone wall on the other side.
"Enter, Davy."
It was a voice he barely recognized. Raw and scratchy—weak, as if Christine had swallowed a glass of lava, scorching her throat and vocal chords.