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He looked at the clock, then pocketed it and set a small bottle of whiskey on the mantel in its place.
Lord Harms coughed into his hand. “I suggested she write down her thoughts,” he said. “And … well, my daughter is a very thorough woman.” “I can see that,” Waxillium said. “I suggest that you never ask her to pass the milk,” Wayne added under his breath, so only Waxillium could hear. “As she seems likely to throw a cow at you, just to be certain the job is done thoroughly.”
Waxillium shook his head, closing the contract. “Doesn’t this seem a little … stiff to you?” “Stiff?” “I mean, shouldn’t there be room for romance?” “There is,” Steris said. “Page thirteen.
But the mark of a great man is one who knows when to set aside the important things in order to accomplish the vital ones.
“It’s more than that, Wax. Look. Each of the women kidnapped was from a particular line. I did some researchin’. Real serious stuff.” He paused. “Why do they call it research if I’ve only done it this one time?” “I’ll bet you had to look things up twice,” Waxillium said, taking the paper and studying it.
She leaned forward. “Can I admit something to you, Lord Waxillium?” “Only if it’s salacious, personal, or embarrassing.”
“Yeah. We missed them on the first pass. Were rigged to blow when the latch was opened on a chest in the corner.” “Was there anything in the chest?” “Yeah. Explosives. Weren’t you listening?”
“Yeah. Me too. Some mistakes though, you can’t fix by being sorry. Can’t fix them no matter what you do.
“It’s all right,” Waxillium said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “There are much worse things to be than genuine, Marasi.
Why did every woman he met try to shoot him? Just because he could heal from it. That was like drinking a man’s beer just because he could order more.
