A
knock permeated the humid air. Henrietta, the neighbor with whom 7-year-old
Kiran had stayed since his parents disappeared, looked up. ”Get the door.”
Kiran obeyed, running to open it. When he saw who was there, his breath caught.
Last time he’d seen that uniform, he’d learned Spolingharrow had caught his
parents and a bunch of other Cancalians fighting them.
The
uniformed watchman gave the boy a look of pity. Years later, Kiran could only
remember the following words: “I’m very sorry to tell you this, lad, but your
parents are dead. They were killed in Spolingharrow.”