His mouth opened and he was about to tell her that -- no, he didn't find the demand all that odd. But his echoic memory ticked over. Malnosso Public Relations. It was enough to prompt him to step back and seemingly defer to the woman with that much more respect. Sharpe doubted such a claim was trustworthy, but he wasn't about to spoil the broth by behaving as though he doubted. It was the first lesson any sergeant learned when he first earned his stripes: yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.

Or, in this case, ma'am. And a quick enough mind could assume that, given the terminology in common, this ma'am was from that place that Katniss and Clove called Panem. And if she was from that wicked world, he wanted to be careful. He wanted to protect the girl.

"Miss Trinket," he started again -- half-wondering whether the name was indeed somehow familiar. "What little I know of Peacekeepers is enough to tell me that the Malnosso don't use'em. They have their own troops. Called something else."

He sucked a breath in through his teeth. "But if you say you're Malnosso," he offered blithely, "then it must be so."