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I would know you anywhere. I would recognize you at the bottom of a mineshaft on a moonless light, if I were deaf and blind.
“Damn. No one ever tells me I’ve got a tidy mind.” “It’s tidier than mine,” said Brenner. “Yes, but yours is full of spiders.” The assassin looked absurdly flattered by this.
Caliban would have laid down his life for Slate, probably with a sense of relief, but a man’s socks…that was asking a lot.
“You do good work. Even when you’re so scared you’re puking in corners. But you better handle this or I’m going to have to handle it for you.” “I don’t think you can murder your way out of this for me,” said Slate. “Darlin’, you’d be amazed what I can murder my way out of.” He kissed her forehead gently, as a friend might, then stepped back
“Prayer is for the one who prays. It would be a monstrous arrogance to think that my prayers might sway the heart of a god.”
How dare he tell me about his awful past at a particularly relevant moment? The nerve of the man!
“Wanting control over the way his people are represented—that’s a very large thing. And a very sophisticated one.”
At the time, her chief concern about his hands had been whether he would try to snap her neck through the bars. Now she watched his hands moving over the fabric and could imagine all too easily what they would feel like on her skin.
“Are you dead?” “Yes. I am dead.” “Can I have your stuff?” “None of it will fit you. Except maybe these boots.”
“We’re living with decisions made by people so long dead we can’t even piss on their bones.”
We’re not all tragic heroes. Some of us are just tragic.
“Joke’s on you, you bastards,” she muttered. “I’m an accountant. I don’t have an imagination.”
“Would you like to open the door?” asked Caliban. “What, you’re not going to just bash it down?” “I could if you like, but I thought you’d like to feel useful.”
“Did they torture you?” asked Caliban, catching her arm. He held up her bloody wrist. “I’ll kill them.” He sounded very matter-of-fact about it. The sky was blue, the night was dark, he was going to kill them. It was an alarming sort of voice, but Slate approved wholeheartedly of the sentiment.
“We haven’t met,” said Slate, “but I have a strong desire to be your friend.”
When a ridiculously handsome man decides he thinks you’re beautiful, maybe you should just shut up and enjoy it instead of trying to talk him out of it.
“If they figure it out and stab us while we’re on the body cart, or we get split up or whatever…” He was very still. Slate had no idea what she had been about to say, except that it seemed like she should say something. She settled on, “I wish we’d had more time.”
“When this is over, I am going to slap you so hard that your ancestors will apologize for you.”
All he had ever been was a sword in the hand of a god.
“To deliberately conceal knowledge goes against the teachings of the Many-Armed God,” said Learned Edmund. “So does genocide, I’m guessing,” said Slate.
