Amnesia

Chapter 4 Sébastien

"No?" The blonde Englishwoman repeated in a more questioning tone, "Did you just tell me no?"

"Yes I did."

"I do not recall asking you to tell me if I should do this or not."

"Maybe not, but I am here to tell you that it is too dangerous," I folded my arms over my chest to show I meant it.

"You cannot tell me what to do. I will not take advice for something as important as this from a stranger."

"Oh, I am but a stranger, am I not, Apple? You know my name, and I yours."

"You are still nothing more than a stranger in my eyes. You know nothing of me except for my name. You know not where I was born, my age, my family, or interests. I can hardly consider you anything but a stranger when you know not a thing of me nor I of you."

"England."

"Pardon?"

"England. You were born in England."

"How are you sure?"

"Your accent is right on the dot of an English one. Your native country is England."

Her eyes narrowed, "I did not ask you to tell me where I am from. Good day, Sèbastien."

She took the clothes and shoes I bought minutes earlier and stalked away from me. I frowned as she slowly disappeared from sight.

That imbecilic girl. She is clueless being an amnesiac. She will not last long. If she goes to find those men she will surely be killed. She told me that they had said if they found out the girl abandoned her duties, they would kill her on the spot. If she is the girl that they were looking for, they may not wait for her explanation on what happened, but automatically kill her. That would be a shame.

I decided-after contemplating for a few moments-that I should probably follow her and try talking her out of this suicidal decision. I do not want to see a girl with that much potential die. Granted, I would not necessarily see it, but I would know that it was to happen if she were killed. I would live with the guilt of possibly talking her out of this choice she made.

I walked down the narrow road in the same direction she had gone. There was a crowd of people blocking my view and any possibility of safely finding her and having a reasonable discussion on this matter. I scanned the crowd to see if I could spot her. It should be easy considering her dressing, yet it was quite difficult to spot her ragged clothing.

I questioned her social status as I searched. She dressed as a low class person, yet speaks as a noble. I wonder why the majour difference in speak and dress. No reasonable noblewoman would dress in ratty trousers, shirt, and shoes, but no low class woman would speak with such integrity and dialect. I should ask her if she has any idea her social status. She most likely does not, but asking will not do harm.

"Excuse me, mister?" I felt a tug on my coat and looked down. There was a little boy, possibly about six, with dark hair, black maybe and brilliant bright blue eyes.

"Yes?" I smiled at him.

"Can you help me? My sister fell and is hurt."

"Oh, I would love to, but I am searching for someone."

He had a smirk tugging his lips, but held it back, "I can help you find her if you help my sister."

I sighed, "Alright."

"My name is Marmadue Babel. What is your name?"

"Sébastien," I noticed how he spoke english. Hmm.