Mosca and Saracen shared, if not a friendship, at least the solidarity of the generally despised. Mosca assumed that Saracen had his reasons for his persecution of terriers and his possessive love of the malthouse roof. In turn, when Mosca had interrupted Saracenโs self-important nightly patrol and scooped him up, Saracen had assumed that she too had her reasons.
Frances HardingePush something in someoneโs face, and they will shove it away reflexively. Threaten to snatch it away from them, and sometimes they become convinced that it is what they want.
Frances HardingeSo this was a nest of radicals. She thought a hotbed of sedition would involve more gunpowder and secret handshakes, and less shuffling of feet and passing the sugar.
Frances HardingeSometimes fear made you angry. Perhaps after years anger cooled, like a sword taken from a forge. Perhaps in the end you were left with something very cold and very sharp.
Frances HardingeIt did seem hard to be doing something heroic while everyone was too busy to notice.
Frances HardingeYes, I know,โ she said in answer to the unasked, for there was no time for explanations. โYes. My face is spoilt.โ Grandibleโs jowl wobbled and creased. Then, for the first time that Neverfell could remember, he changed to a Face she had never seen before, a frown more ferocious and alarming than either of the others. โWho the shambles told you that?โ he barked. โSpoilt? Iโll spoil them.โ He took hold of her chin and examined her. โA bit sadder, maybe. A bit wiser. But nothing rotten. Youโre just growing yourself a rind at last. Still a good cheese.
Frances HardingeDesperation is a millstone. It wears away at the very soul, grinding away pity, kindness, humanity and courage. But sometimes it whets the mind to a sharpened point and creates moments of true brilliance. And standing there, nose tickled by the dusty hide of the stuffed deer head, such a moment visited Mosca Mye.
Frances Hardinge