[b]Observatory.[/b]

Sidwell spun at the noise of the voice but was already throwing his arms to his temples with a pained face, blotting out the sensory world. The lordling had not even yelled, but his fragile, dreamy sense of calm had cracked and was shattering under the angry, questioning torrent. "Oh mercy," he gasped, dropping to his knees, an imperfect prayer position on the hard timber, and the prayer was already spouting. "Et dimitte nobis debita n-nostra sicut et nos dimisimus debitoribus nost-t-tris," he murmured rapidly, only slightly breaking the latin rhythm as the prayer ground to a halt at its end. '[i]And forgive us our debt as we forgive our debtors[/i]'. Mildly appropriate for Hell, but the teenager in finery was not quite Satan.

The questions Sidwell had heard were foreign to him, but even as they spoke a meaning was assembling itself out of them. Complete memories of words in perfect Frankish, as if there had never been another language. Voice, tone and and accent were all preserved to the finest, most human detail.

A cautious lift of the head to look at his speaker again. Not in the face, of course. "My, ah, my la- Liege," he addressed, unsure of the sex of his fellow damned soul but unwilling to stare. "Your friend is named Innocent, of the Sidwells. I believe I am dead, but I do not know."