Gideon wanted to sing. Gideon wanted to dance her up and down the corridor. She broke out in a broad, unnervingly un-Ninth smile, and Naberius Tern—who had gone from greasy villainy to aggrieved caution—was having to force his smirk. Ianthe just looked a little amused. “The plot congeals. Since when has the Ninth been bosom with the Sixth?” “We’re not.” “Then—” Harrowhark said, in the exact sepulchral tones of Marshal Crux: “Death first to vultures and scavengers.”
