Kitty shook her head.
“Has he played the fiddle for you?”
“Yes.”
Karlov smiled. “Did you dance?”
“Dance? I don't understand.”
“No matter. He can play the fiddle nearly as well as his master. The two of them have gone across the world fiddling the souls of women out of their bodies.”
Kitty sat down weakly on the plank. Terror from all points. Karlov's unexcited tones—his lack of dramatic gesture—convinced her that this was deadly business. Terror that for all the promise of immunity they might lay hands on her. Terror for Johnny Two-Hawks, for Cutty.
“Has he injured you?” she asked, to gain time.
“He is an error in chronology. He represents an idea which no longer exists.” He spoke English fluently, but with a rumbling accent.
“But to kill him for that!”