‘You should have hightailed it out of here,’ Fiddler said as he settled down beside the modest excavation. ‘No chance of that,’ Cuttle replied in a low voice. ‘As you like, then, but don’t be standing there at Hood’s Gate if I mess this one up.’ ‘I hear you, Fid.’ And, trying not to think of Hedge, of Whiskeyjack, Trotts and all the rest; trying not to think of the old days, when the world still seemed new and wondrous, when taking mad risks was all part of the game, Fiddler, the last great saboteur, went to work.
