She blinked. ‘Your disguise is to appear as a man in his early thirties, wearing sodden, badly made wool—’ Bugg sat straighter. ‘Badly made? Now, hold on—’ Tehol nudged his servant with an elbow, hard in the ribs. Bugg grunted, then subsided. ‘That is correct,’ Tehol said. ‘A vast investment in sorcery, then. How old are you in truth?’ ‘Sixty-nine…my dear.’
Lulz
