“All right.” I set my jaw, huffing unhappily. “Fine. Where is this old haunt of yours?” Swift leaped up from the wall, kicking up a cloud of powder-fine sand when he landed on the ground. He clapped, crowing. “You are going to love this place. They have this ale that, well, yes, it is distilled from rat urine, but—” “Carrion!” “I’m joking, I’m joking!” He held up his hands. Still grinning, he turned and started walking up the alley. “Seriously. Can’t you tell when someone’s joking, Fisher?”
