‘Never give up,’ her master sat beside her and gently forced her to sit up, ‘you still have a lot to learn.’ Her eyes cleared and she looked a... her master. Her tear streaked face seemed to awaken something in the master assassin. His eyes seemed to change to take on a look of pity. ‘What do you care? You never treated me right. You never gave me any acknowledgement for what I did for you. No compliments nor complaints on who I killed or how I killed them. And you’ve never once talked to me. The cellar was atmospherically lit by half a dozen candelabras, whose long candles had been assiduously set alight by the Servant. A squat, bulky and powerful man with a shaven head, dressed in a white shirt with a Windsor cut and black tie, blood flecked white gloves, grey waistcoat and black trousers, the Servant had worked up a sweat preparing the Slave for Mistress Wanda and he had rolled his sleeves up his beefy arms.“You have prepared the chamber well,” said Wanda, her accent cut glass. More

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