What Stalks the Deep (Sworn Soldier, #3)

by T. Kingfisher

“Dark doings,” Ingold added. The way he pronounced dark as dahhhk was so pure that I had an involuntary urge to snatch up the teapot and find a harbor to dump it in.

“That is horrifying and I want to go home,” I said, although I pronounced it, “Ah. I see.”

I could think of nothing that I would like less, so naturally I volunteered.

I pulled out my lighter and flicked my wrist to snap it open and light the flame in one motion. (If you do it right, it looks very suave. I used to practice it for hours as a teenager, in hopes of impressing girls.) (Look, girls were more easily impressed in those days. Shut up.)

WHY DID YOU COME IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THE STONE? “To prove a mountain can’t tell me what to do.” I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. “Neither do I,” I said, sighing. “But I’m here anyway.”

Ingold got the hunted look of a man trying to explain psychology to an alien jellyfish creature. (It’s rare, but you know it when you see it.)

“Rules of life,” Angus said. “Be true to your friends, don’t cheat at cards, don’t piss on the less fortunate, and don’t steal other people’s skeletons.” “You just added that last bit now,” I said. “Obviously should’ve been there all along.”