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And then he smiled. It was, for a paladin, a very wicked smile. “Well,” he said. “I expect we’ll be able to work something out.”
Slate sidled over to the paladin and whispered, “How are you not dying right now?” “Pure willpower. I think I ruptured something on the last flight of stairs.” “Poor baby.” She suppressed a grin. It was nice to know that the Knight-Champion thing was mostly on the outside.
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. This is not the sort of thing you can say out loud. Caliban was a little surprised that he’d even thought it.
“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.
A few minutes later, a heavily veiled woman carrying her boots and wearing a thick pair of wool socks padded out into the hall. She appeared to be limping on both feet simultaneously. “That was my last pair that didn’t have holes in them,” said Caliban mournfully. Brenner slapped him on the back. “Chivalry sucks, huh?”
it had to be Caliban, nobody else had a tread like a bull moose and a knock that sounded like an apology—and
“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.”
Caliban watched her face and very nearly ran into a lightpost. “Careful!” “It’s fine,” he said. “Jumped out at me, that’s all.”
“It sounds nuts,” she added. “But you’re you. And if you’re delusional, you’re certainly pulling it off well.” That startled a laugh out of him. “Truly a heartfelt endorsement.” “Don’t push your luck.”
By this point Caliban had reached him. He picked him up by the neck. The man stopped worrying about the knife. “Where is Slate?” “Gnnrrkk…” “You have to move your thumb or they can’t talk when you do that,” advised Brenner, lounging against the wall. Caliban adjusted his thumb and banged the back of the man’s head against the wall. “Slate,” he said. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“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.
She turned and took his face in both hands and kissed him, with a great deal of pent-up passion and no small amount of pent-up rage.
I regret enormously that I did not meet Ashes Magnus before we were going to go off and die in a wonder-engine. I wonder if she teaches classes in how to be unimpressed?
