"I was told someone here had seen someone answering to Sparrowhawk's description," she told the stranger.
"A subterfuge to bring you, I'm afraid," the mystery man bowed slightly. "I trust you will forgive my little deception, but on the 'phone, you might not have waited. I was afraid that you would not have understood."
Lady Sylvia looked at him again, silent for a long time. She closed her eyes, leaning back and sighing deeply. The chill sun of spring caught her face, its silver light casting strange shadows. She tried to understand the words that she had just heard.
"I'm going to trust you," she told the man. "Trust you because no-one 'ld be mad enough to use that as a decoy."
"Or perhaps that's what someone 'ld want you to think," the man in brown spoke half in jest. "But I'm going to trst you, too, trust that you're not a spy."
"From whom?" Lady Sylvia raised one eyebrow.
"My enemies," the man replied matter-of-factly. "Now, shall we go, my dear?"
"Go where?" she paused, leaning on a broken pillar.
"Why, to the next place touched by the legend," the man in the Trenchcoat pulled his cap further down over his face. "We shall go to Nanteos, for many centuries home of the cup."