"Ah." I could sense his smile through the door. "Excellent. You're the reason I'm here. Is your father with you?

"He's…" I hesitated. "Why do you want to know? Who are you?"

"If you open the door and let me in, I'll explain."

"I'd like to know who you are first," I said. "These are dangerous times. I've been told not to open the door to strangers."

"Ah. Excellent," the little man said again. "I should of course not expect you to open the door to an unannounced visitor. Forgive me. My name is Mr. Blaws."

"Blores?"

"Blaws," he said, and patiently spelt it out.

"What do you want, Mr. Blaws?" I asked.

"I'm a school inspector," he replied. "I've come to find out why you aren't in school."

My jaw dropped about a thousand kilometres.

"May I come in, Darren?" Mr. Blaws asked. When I didn't answer, he rapped on the door again and sung out, "Darrrrennn?"

"Um. Just a minute, please," I muttered, then turned my back to the door and leant weakly against it, wildly wondering what I should do.

If I turned the inspector away, he'd return with help, so in the end I opened the door and let him in. The hotel manager departed once he saw that everything was OK, leaving me alone with the serious-looking Mr. Blaws. The little man set his briefcase down on the floor, then removed his bowler hat and held it in his left hand, behind his back, as he shook my hand with his right. He was studying me carefully. There was a light layer of bristle on my chin, my hair was long and scruffy, and my face still carried small scars and burn marks from my Trials of Initiation seven years before.

"You look quite old," Mr. Blaws commented, sitting down without being asked. "Very mature for fifteen. Maybe it's the hair. You could do with a trim and a shave."

"I guess…" I didn't know why he thought I was fifteen, and I was too bewildered to correct him.