Page 54 of The Chain House

“Everything is about him,” Minks said, but with obvious disdain, which instantly made her wonder if they really were working together. And if not, what was he trying to do? Minks said, “He has to die tonight, as planned.”

“Or what?”

“You die.”

As if part of her will to fight had left her with those words, she dropped back to her sitting position on the floor. But she wasn’t finished. She couldn’t escape physically, but it wouldn’t stop her from trying to learn his mind. “What’s wrong with your face, Oliver?”

“What’s wrong with yours?” he asked, quickly, so quickly that she immediately tagged his response as reflexively juvenile.

“Is it a birth defect?” she asked. “A wound from later in life?”

“Stop talking.”

“Did your parents beat you? Were you tortured as a child, Oliver?”

“Stop talking.”

“What’s happening over there?” Billy Boyle asked through the hole in the wall, in an obvious panic again.

Minks pointed at the wall behind her. “Shut him up.”

She said, “Stop talking, Billy.” But she, herself, couldn’t stop. “Guy Fawkes, still … after all these years, Oliver? The mask,” she said. “It’s a symbol now … for protest. For resistance. Is that why you wear it? What are you protesting, Oliver? What have you been protesting for so long? You wore it then, and you’re wearing it now.”

“I like how it fits my face,” he said.

But she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or messing with her. She asked, “Are you Catholic, Oliver?”

“No. I’m nothing,” he said. “And I’m everything.”

“How did you meet Sal Batise? What brought you to him?”

“Same thing that brought everyone to him.”

“His charisma?”

“He’s the Breaker of Chains.”

Beth needed time to digest this, but felt a more urgent need to keep him talking. “Guy Fawkes was an English Catholic. He was part of a group who—”

“I know who he is …”

She finished her thought anyway, “—who attempted to assassinate King James the First and blow up the English Parliament.”

“In 1605,” he added in a way that felt like he was trying to impress her.

She said, “So you know your history.”

“I know the history that matters.”

“What?” she said. “History of oppression? Resistance against authority? Is that what this is all about?” He watched her, his dark eyes wet behind the mask holes. She said, “On your mask, the mustache and goatee and eyebrows are prominent … why not grow your facial hair out on your own? Is your face so deformed that it wouldn’t matter? Oliver? Or are you just scared to be noticed?”

“Stop talking.”

“Leave the room then,” she said. “Because I’ve nothing better to do in here than talk. Does Oliver Crown wear a mask? In the books? No? Then why do you?”

“The revolution is coming,” he growled, widening his eyes.

“What revolution?”