Slate would have given her ears to know how he did it. One minute he was Caliban, who always looked as if he were beating himself up internally for something, and who always carried a handkerchief. The next minute he was about an inch taller and seemed to be standing in a brighter light than everything else around him. Even his shoulders looked broader. Slate was quite sure that he was still wearing rather battered armor and a disgracefully grubby cloak, but he seemed to be…shining?
