‘This glass for the patron and protector, the Crooked Warden, our Father of Necessary Pretexts.’ Chains carefully pushed the glass aside from the others. ‘Tonight he gives us the return of our friend, his servant Sabetha.’ Chains raised his left hand to his lips and blew into his palm. ‘My words. My breath. These things bind my promise. A hundred gold pieces, duly stolen from honest men and women, to be cast into the sea in the dark of the Orphan’s Moon. We are grateful for Sabetha’s safety.’
