“I used to think you were the devil himself.” Doro laughed again. He had always permitted his people the freedom to say what they thought—as long as they stopped when he silenced them and obeyed when he commanded them. Daly had belonged to him long enough to know this. “Who are you, then?” he asked the slaver. “Job?” “No.” Daly shook his head sadly. “Job was a stronger man.” Doro stopped, turned, and looked at him. “You are content with your life,” he said. Daly looked away, refusing to meet whatever looked through the very ordinary eyes of the body Doro wore. But when Doro began to walk
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