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Written on it was a line of perfect pentameter, although hardly Shakespearian: GO SOUTH WITH YOUR HANDS UP, YOU WON’T BE HURT.
Devar-Toi saw only the backs of the three guards in the ivy-covered watchtowers. Three didn’t seem like many, but it was five percent of the total. A start. Susannah looked down the barrel of her gun at the one in her sights and prayed. God grant me true aim . . . true aim . . . Soon. It would be soon.
The Coyote machine-pistol, switched to the middle setting, fired in low-pitched bursts of three: Chow! Chow! Chow!
Master Prentiss’s hands shot out, the fingers spread against the dark sky, and he collapsed almost at the stunned Weasel’s feet.
“I meant to have this place, where you have fed on the brains of helpless children in order to destroy the universe,
I intended to point you the way to the River Whye and the green Callas which lie beyond it, and set you on with a curse my father taught me: may you live long, but not in good health.”
blew across his coffee cup. “Over the teeth, over the gums, look out guts, here it comes! Hee!”
In his mind, mingled with the sweet singing of those voices, he heard the voice of Jake Chambers for the last time:
