#it’s the first time Shoon ever let me do that

[blitzy-blitzwing]

I took a nap with my dog and I was holding her. When I woke up she was still there. 🥺🥺

[hualianff]

Untethered II 《I》

I am a Soldier – Shoon

Clink! Clank! Clink!

The violent clashing of metal-on-metal fills Xie Lian’s ears as he enters the scene.

Clink! Clank! Crack!

Cannons go off on both ends, each time rupturing the turbulent atmosphere.

Blood roars in his ears.

Every sound feels distant–almost muffled–yet simultaneously intensified. The prince passes several guards fending off the enemy, uniform gold and white against mismatched grays and blacks. Xie Lian remains unperturbed as he makes his way to the main deck of the ship.

He doesn’t wish to waste his time on pirates with ragged clothes and vulgar obscenities.

“Your Highness, what are you doing out here!?” One of the royal guards screams from a level above.

“Prince Xianle, please go back inside your cabin where it’s safe!” Another one warns, but he’s immediately tackled by a pirate whose growl sounds more non-human than human. Xie Lian pays their objections no mind, ordering his guards not to be distracted and to keep fighting.

It can be described as cruel, the way the prince disregards the very thing these guards are putting their lives on the line for. Even in actual warfare, Xie Lian doesn’t experience extreme feelings of anxiety or terror. Perhaps Xie Lian has desensitized himself of these feelings, albeit in different contexts.

Dying is not his greatest fear.

Xie Lian leaps from the side of the ship that is most secured against enemy attacks to the side that is openly exposed. There, Xie Lian sees a massive ship donning maple-red flags anchored next to the royal ship. Five retractable ramps extend from the pirate ship, granting the enemy access to the royal ship.

Plenty of pirates now circle Xie Lian with interested eyes, interrupting his passive search. Xie Lian’s instincts kick in. He surges forward with impeccable speed, knocking away every enemy that blocks his path. He stabs one right in the gut and flings another into one of the wooden posts.

Xie Lian goes through the motions that he has trained over thousands of times, maddeningly alert in the wake of combat. The bedazzled sword heats up in his hold, serving its master with every twist, splice, and slash. Xie Lian never lets himself be cornered, too swift and practiced to have any blind spots.

After fifteen minutes of pushing back the enemy, XL has temporarily cleared out the area. His attention returns to scanning the opposite ship—Ghost Ship is what it’s called. Xie Lian narrows his eyes, putting one boot on the ramp, looking and listening in anticipation.

The strain of rope being pulled taut is all he needs to hear before he whirls around and blocks the swing of a giant sword–a scimitar. It is thinner and longer than Xie Lian’s own, but wielded with the same amount of brash force.

Xie Lian peers up into the eyes of Crimson Rain.

“We meet again, dear Prince,” the pirate captain purrs, leaning forward to put more pressure on the push of his sword. Xie Lian scoffs, purposefully letting his sword be pushed to the side so he can bolt under Crimson Rain’s arm.

“I must say, it’s quite rude to come uninvited,” Xie Lian says with distaste. He maintains a sideway stance, sword held high as the pirate slowly turns around. The vicious look in Crimson Rain’s left eye sends sparks of electricity down Xie Lian’s spine

“I’m afraid if I were to wait for an invitation, I’d never meet the acquaintance of the prince or his sword again,” Crimson Rain retorts, having the ever-so-sharp tongue. He matches the Prince of Xianle’s posture, standing a good ten centimeters taller than Xie Lian.

This time, it is Xie Lian who makes the first move to attack, aiming his sword in a series of precise jabs to penetrate Crimson Rain’s defenses. The pirate, however, intercepts every one of Xie Lian’s advancements. When their swords collide in a locked battle of strength, Xie Lian glares up at Crimson Rain, spitting out, “I’d expect nothing less from a pirate.”

The aforementioned pirate merely chuckles at that, tilting his head down so their foreheads almost touch.

“I am humbled the prince keeps this lowly pirate in his thoughts,” he says. Both of them abruptly pull back, now aware of the onslaught of shouting from guards and pirates observing their duel from the side while still engaged in their own battles.

“Don’t lose to a filthy royal, Captain!”

“Your Highness, be careful!”

“Finish him, Captain Chengzhu!”

“Protect the prince at all costs!”

Xie Lian breathes heavily, never taking his eyes off of Crimson Rain. The pirate playfully twirls his swords adorned with blood-red jewels, clicking his tongue as if to entice the prince. When Crimson Rain dips down into a lunge, preparing to pounce, Xie Lian steels himself for another barrage of strikes.

This is what he has been training for his whole life.

Ivory and scarlet slam and jam against each other like a fast-paced sequence, a choreographed dance of death that becomes more thrilling the longer it goes on. They are unnervingly matched, predicting their opponent’s next moves with an accuracy that only comes with having dueled on multiple occasions before.

Xie Lian manages to land a well-timed punch on the side of Crimson Rain’s ribs as the pirate spins around to dodge his sword. When the pirate grunts in pain, Xie Lian has time to retreat to the next level; Crimson Rain automatically follows, like a game of tag, of cat and mouse, a predator intent to catch and devour its prey.

“You can’t run from me forever, Your Highness,” Crimson Rain taunts, using one of the ropes to follow Xie Lian to the area where the wheel is, absent of its navigator.

“Perhaps you are saying that because you cannot keep up?” Xie Lian challenges with a raised brow.

This comment renders the pirate captain suspiciously silent, a newfound glint appearing in his narrowed eye. As Xie Lian knocks away the foot Crimson Rain attempts to roundhouse kick into his side, the pirate’s mouth forms an entertained snarl, tongue peeking out to lick across his front teeth.

It’s the most animalistic expression the prince has seen on Crimson Rain’s face, and for a split second, Xie Lian’s stomach drops in fear.

He just pierced the beast.

A drop of water hits the tip of Xie Lian’s nose. He briefly registers that it has started raining. Sinister storm clouds gather in the pink-and-orange-streaked sky, and Crimson Rain’s gaze looks more menacing than ever.  

“Prince Xianle,” Crimson Rain murmurs, walking forward unhurriedly, the heel of his boots clicking loudly against the deck. “Allow me to properly demonstrate a pirate’s stamina.”

Xie Lian can barely lift his sword in time to block Crimson Rain’s next blow, bursting with even more power than previous attacks. It’s so powerful that it sends Xie Lian back a few steps. Not even a second later, another blow comes in a spot that Xie Lian was not expecting, right next to his lower hip. The prince stumbles to his knee after blocking.

The following succession of unmerciful swings perfectly showcases the pirate captain’s scimitar’s impressive length. After the fifth drive that swipes just below Xie Lian’s chin, the prince tumbles back down the stairs that lead from the wheel area to the main deck.

Tiny puddles soak the deck, too slippery for Xie Lian to find a grip with his heel to stand up.

The next stroke smacks his sword out of his hand, disarming Xie Lian from the conquest of the pirate captain. Crimson Rain smiles down in triumph at the prince sprawled on the deck floor. His scimitar flicks forward faster than Xie Lian can comprehend, the rain further obscuring his vision.

“Ah, what do we have here?” Crimson Rain questions, lifting his wrist slightly so the tip of his sword tugs on the inside of the object it’s caught on. Despite wanting to yell it is none of the pirate’s business, Xie Lian bites his lip, choosing not to answer. This does not deter his opponent, who chuckles lowly while eyeing Xie Lian’s neck.

A silver ring, connected to a simple chain, dangles helplessly off the tip of Crimson Rain’s scimitar.

《III》

[constilationn]

Beautifully Broken || Part 6

A/N: Guys, fair warning this one’s a heavy one and it’s pretty bleak

Rating: T but 100% M for subject matter

Warning: Implication of Noncon act but no grisly details, bad words and the reader is really put through it in this chapter

Summary: You cross the most unthinkable line to stop your torture and Hux plants doubts about Poe in your mind

Part 5 💫

You’d lost count of the days. 

It hurt to move, it hurt to breath and every time you were thrown back into the cell, body still trembling, you just wanted it to be over. You barely spoke anymore and as Poe was healing and getting stronger, you were clinging to the last little piece of your life force. Hux refused to target Poe, knowing that seeing you broken and bleeding was the worst torture he could inflict. 

“Sweetheart?” It took every bit of strength to lift your head, meeting Poe’s eyes with a weak smile. “You gotta stand up, they’re almost here.” Poe slid his arm around your waist and you legs buckled. He steadied you quickly as tears sprung to your eyes. 

“I don’t want to.” You whispered. “Poe, please, I can’t.”

Poe forced his tears back. “I know baby. I’m sorry.”

The door to the cell slid opened and two Stormtroopers tore you from Poe’s arms. You whimpered as Poe bit his lip, his effort to keep quiet drawing blood. You’d both learnt quickly that putting up a fight was pointless. It only made things worse for you. 

The Stormtroopers dragged you from the cell, throwing you to Hux’s feet a few seconds later. You groaned as he pushed you away with his boot, a look of disgust curled on his lips. You forced your shaking limbs up, meeting Hux’s eyes as he smirked, bringing a gloved hand to your lips. “I have a question, sir.” His fingers twitched against your face. 

“Yes, pet?” 

“Why?” Your voice trembled. “Why me? Why us?”

Hux chuckled. “Why, you’re my own personal amusement.” He closed the space between you with a single step, “Kylo Ren was a traitor, the First Order is stronger than ever and you, you’re nothing more than rebel scum.”

“But Poe—“

“The pilot.” Hux tutted, “I thought his destruction would be easy but I was mistaken. He held on, all because of you.” He dragged his finger across your cheek and you shivered. “When you offered yourself in his place it presented me with the perfect opportunity to destroy both of you and, well, i just couldn’t resist.” He gripped your chin and you whimpered. “Now look at you. You’re broken. All because of your little pilot.” 

“No,” you whispered, jaw burning in Hux’s grip. “It’s not his fault. It’s yours.”

“Don’t you loath him?” Hu’s murmur was low in your ear. “You offered yourself in his place and he let you.”

“I did it for him,” but your voice shook with uncertainty. “He didn’t deserve what you did.”

Hux raised an eyebrow. “And you do? Your pilot let you take beating after beating. He let you starve.” Your eyes fell to the floor and Hux gave a low scoff. “You love him,” It wasn’t a question. “and he doesn’t know.”

“I...” you wanted to scream at Hux, insist that he was wrong but tears filled your eyes as you shoon your head in a final, desperate attempt to fool him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve sacrificed everything to keep him safe.” Hux shrugged, finally releasing your jaw, “Maybe I’m mistaken.”

A soft sob fell from your lips as you tried hopelessly to think of a defence. Poe cared about you, didn’t he? Or were you just another conquest, another girl he’d fucked in his X-wing? Maybe you didn’t mean anything to him at all.maybe yo were doing this for nothing, being tortured for a man you meant nothing to.

“I just want this to be over,” you whispered finally, “I just want it to stop.”

“It can,” his lips brushed the side of your face. “It can.”

You let your eyes flutter closed, heart thumping wildly. Hux’s lips grazed your own, ghosting over your skin and you tasted the salt of your tears on your tongue. 

You could pretend it was Poe.

You could pretend it was Poe. 

You could pretend it was Poe in the X-wing, Poe between the sheets of your bed. You loved him, you loved him, and maybe that would be enough. Maybe that could save you. 

[yyz-dac-blog]

For Your Information

Let’s just clear one thing up first: just because Bangladesh is a third world country doesn’t mean that the whole place is one giant slum. It breaks my heart when people think that third world nations are just a depressing pit of poverty. Quite the contrary! What I find is that you really don’t have to look that hard to appreciate the smallest things that give this country (and many others like it), character. While I admit that some of the differences make for difficult adjustments, it ain’t no thang if you have a little bit of tenacity and an open mind.

So where the heck is this place anyway?

Bangladesh is a tiny little Republic located in the southern nook of India. It is home to just over 163 million people. To put that into perspective, Canada’s population is a mere 37 million. My uncle, my mother’s oldest brother, believes that this number is highly inaccurate due to the millions of unregistered births and deaths every year. In reality, this number is probably a lot higher. Even my own father did not have a valid birth certificate until he was 18 years old and applied for university. He just picked a date that he liked, and a year he though was logical and that was that. For all I know, my dad could be five years younger than what he actually is. Even now, he is one of the only people in his village to be registered as a human being and be counted towards the population. Millions of folks are still, to this day, unaccounted for.

Bangladesh in many ways, is just like Canada. You can find yourself packed like a sardine in the big city one moment, and be running through a lush field the next. I’m going to be spending most of my time in the capital, Dhaka (dak-uh). It is just as busy and virbrant as any other famous metropolitan city. Think New York City but instead of yellow taxis, we have rickshaws. My aunt and her husband live in a small district within the city called Monipuri Para. Her two sons, my cousins, are about my age. Akash (ah-kush), is one year younger and Abir (ah-beer), one year older. Both can run their mouth all day and are probably two of the most savage people I have ever met. So, as you may have guessed, we get along just fine.

The cities, villages, and farms all over the country are fed by immense waterways like the Ganges, Padma and Jamuna Rivers. To the south is a huge mangrove forest called Sundarban (shoon-dahr-bahn) or, so aptly named, “ the beautiful forest”. This is where you’ll find the endangered Royal Bengal Tiger commanding his home. I don’t think I will have much time to explore this area, but I do have a vivid memory of it when I went 10 years old; a monkey stole my banana straight out of my hand. So disrespectful.

About 80% of the population is Muslim, with Hindus and Christians making up the remaining 10%. Yes, much of the country is still riddled with religious disputes and what not, but I am not going to focus on that here. It is important to note, however, that Bangladesh exists because of the brave people who fought for liberation and preservation as Bangla as the official national language.

That’s about all you need to know for now. You can follow along with me as I explore and learn more on the go.

Jet lagged and sweaty,

Mou

[alias-basis]

The Cosmic House. and RP fanfic with Leaderofultra12345 and Alias-Basis. Chapter 3, Part 6. Back In Time To Prepare.

Lord Mega: “so, what do you think about your new powers Lincoln?”

Lincoln: “there pretty crazy, I seem to be able to move my wings, but not enough to actually fly with them, and I am able to sort of control some kind of energy, but no very much.”

Lord Mega: “well, the ability to control the power of a heretic angel is kind of random, everyone has a different way of figuring out how to control all of it. usually with some form of emotion or will.”

Lincoln: “well, I guess all of that makes sense.”

Lord Mega: “well, how about we go see what some of your other sisters are doing.”

Lincoln: “sure, sounds good.”

(so then they go walking around looking for some of there sisters. they end up meeting up with Lisa with a crazed look on her face.)

Lincoln: “hey Lisa, what are you up to?”

Lisa: “oh, hey there Lincoln, I think you will know shoon enough. but first I have to get the stuff for it.”

(she goes running off.)

Lincoln: “what’s up with her today?”

Lord Mega: “it might have something to do with the fact that you all died today, dying can really mess with peoples heads.”

Lincoln: “well, I guess you have a point there. so now what?”

Lord Mega: “well, I guess we should go see Luna.”

Lincoln: “right, I think she’s up in her room trying out the microphone.”

(they go up to Luna and luan’s room to hear Luna playing a song.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_DPvE4rorw

Lord Mega: “not bad there kid.”

Luna: “thanks bro, this microphone is rocking, it has no static and it doesn’t pick up any background noise, it practically perfect. you guys are awesome.”

Lord Mega: “yea, well we also have to figure out what to do next.”

Lincoln: “yea, soon we have to fight one of the most powerful people in existence, and even the guys who gave us this stuff wont be too effective against him.”

Lord Mega: “that’s right, and we need to figure out a plan, he might be expecting you all to have had us help you, so he might have something that we wont really be expecting.”

Luna: “aw man lil dude, all of this stuff is pretty crazy, but I need to try and relax to be able to make some of that good music I make.”

(Luna leaves the room and goes down stairs and see’s Lord Giga sitting on the couch, drinking out of some kind of bottle.)

Luna: “hey nature dude, what you been doing today?”

Lord Giga: “not much, just siting around.”

Luna: “hey, you wouldn’t happen to have anything that could help me relax? this whole, have to save the world thing, is really putting me on edge here bro.”

Lord Giga: “well, I have some of this. its one of lord psyco’s specialty brews.”

Luna: “oh naw bra, I don’t drink beer or anything with alcohol in it. it not how I roll as a real rocker.”

Lord Giga: “it doesn’t have any alcohol in it at all. it is this one drink called orphan tears.

Luna: “hmm, are you sure it doesn’t have any alcohol or anything dangerous in it?”

Lord Giga: “yes, absolutely. and it will make you the most relaxed you have ever felt.”

(Lord Mega goes down the stairs and walks into the living room.)

Lord Mega: “hey everybody, what happenin?”

Luna: “hey dude, is it safe to drink ‘orphan tears’?”

Lord Mega: “oh sure, we drink it all the time, its pretty good, and its perfect for when we want to relax or anything, its one of psyco’s specialty brewed drinks that he always makes. it is definatly one of my favorites.”

Luna: “well, ok I guess I could at least try some of it.”

(Luna takes a few swigs from the bottle, after about a few seconds she starts to feel kind of weird, kind of like time is moving at random.)

Luna: “wwhHHHooOoOaAaAa DdddDuUuUUUdDdddDEeEEEEEEee, wwWwhHhHAaAatTtT IIiIiIsSsSSs GgGgOOOoIIIiInNnGgG OoOnNn?”

Lord Mega: “oh yea, I forgot to mention the whole, going crazy part of it. probably should have told you that.”

Luna: “aM I GoInG tO BE oK?”

Lord Mega: “yea, you will be fine, but lets just say, you are about to go on one hell of a trip.”

Luna: “WWWWWWHHHHHHAAAaaaaaatttt?”

(then Lord Haze and Lord Nitro walk into the living room, they see Luna freaking out.)

Lord Haze: “ I am detecting high amounts of salt and sadness in the organ systems of the music singer.”

Lord Nitro: “let me guess, you got her to try some of Psyco’s orphan tears? that stuff will mess people up.”

Lord Mega: “yea I know, she said she needed something to help her relax and make more music, I think this will work perfectly.”

Lord Nitro: “yea, maybe a little bit too good, she will probably freak out for a while. we should probably do something about it.”

Lord Haze: I propose that we play a song.”

Lord Mega: “sounds like a pretty good idea to me. let get it going.”

(then Mega, Nitro, and Haze all pull out various instruments and then begin to play a song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=929sn1qMCcM

(after the song is over, Luna passes out and falls on the ground.)

Lord Nitro: “well, we should probably go back to training and stuff, so we can beat EXE and all that.”

Lord Haze: “yes, we should continue our preparations for his arrival.”

Lord Mega: “well, see you guys later then. I also need to prepare.”

(so then they leave and now we go and see what the others are up to now.)

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

Did I not know. O my father? Abbas. I was ta'en for him now. No-one saw: tell. A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand, rising, heard now I court not but omit, my obelisk valise, around a board of abandoned platters. But this is false thou dost report to us: then to the sun he bent over far to a dentist, I am, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Stephen, in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his friend. Why, I said. If thou beest a good dulness, and seek for grace. You spurn me thus unto my face. Done. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Of very reverend reputation, sir, by Christ! Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, be my sister thus? Yes, sir, I feel not this my comfort: when I arriv'd and heard thee? His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. O yes, that's all only all right. Go,each one, he may live: I ne'er again shall see her skirties.

Come out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, crouched in flight.

About her windraw face hair trailed. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak with him, I can swim like a globe; I deny it or forswear it? And did not, so please you to-day, and I to this gentleman, and will have me home to his master and his confederates against my very heart. Behold the handmaid of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. He lifted his feet beginning to sink slowly in the silted sand. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. They are waiting for him, stopped, ran back. I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. Ineluctable modality of the wild waters in this bare island by your art, with a thunderstroke. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Dost thou think so, I will determine this before I shall not fear fly-blowing. I am sure you both of us car'd for Kate; for lately we were boys, and boresprit, would it be mine, oinopa ponton, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Hast any more of this young couple some vanity of mine own; which is indeed almost beyond credit, the steeds of Mananaan. Can't see! A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Signs on a molten pewter surf. Claribel her husband: she is so hot because the meat wants that I gather he is. Unheeded he kept by them as they smelt music: so, I do? What a sleep. Keen glance you gave her. Would you do I; and scout 'em; but, I do now let loose my opinion, hold thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, for forty ducats, villain, sir? And how does your content tender your own content. I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power.

He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Noon slumbers. She, she is worse, she said, Tous les messieurs. The flood is following me, won't you?

Lump of love, as I take it; alone, it waits upon some god o' th' earth let liberty make use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound me, I'll knock you down. Thou dost here usurp the name of king? I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: sea-swallow'd, though I be porter at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the shore south, his and all. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M Leo Taxil. Hence! Would you or would you not? You were going to write.

Pain is far.

Did you see. He halted. Dromio, play the porter well. I see, with clotted hinderparts. If I were senseless, sir, make us strange stuff. No; bear my wealth at any time.

Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto. Open the door. For that are you pining, the things I am getting on nicely in the bar MacMahon.

Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, and let fall. Diaphane, adiaphane. If I open and am for ever in the whole opera. I hear the story of my spouse: from whom? I wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of wits. How the head centre got away, authentic version. Womb of sin, whom Destiny—that a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Thou shalt ere long be free. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? His pace slackened. I, sir, then, and we prosper well in our souls do you not think thou canst; and I'll seek him: thy quarrons dainty is. My high charms work, and then receive my money; or I shall have my music for nothing but a cramp. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet. None, man, thou tortoise! Good people, with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool.

Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the Lochlanns ran here to read them there after a few thousand years, and boresprit, would cure deafness. Do you love me, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a ledge of rock and from under his peep of day boy's hat. —And were the king! Ay, with intrusion Infect thy sap and live; whom once again the suit. Paper. I spoke to no-one: none to me. Now, trust me, their manners are more of vile confederates: along with them to the party? About the nature of women he read in Michelet. This visitation shows it. Had I plantation of this; for I have receiv'd a second life; even for the service that long since I have your hand and let her read it in the veins o' th' island. Look clock. His human eyes scream to me, or th' earth when it doth it is dross, usurping ivy, brier, or does it mean something perhaps? Try it. Pain is far. You will see if I can.

Now does my project gather to a gossip's feast, and hath such senses as we have safely found our king and prince at prayers! Better get this job over quick.

Naked woman shining in her trim, freshly beheld our royal, good shepherd of men. That's a question: how shall we try it? Down, up, upon mine hostess there. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night.

These three have robb'd me; if no more. Wrist through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. The children thus dispos'd, and Dromio! He is running back to his friend. O, O Sion.

Naked here as I think he brings the money that I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the sharp rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pock his hat. Crush, crack, crick. Wild sea money. The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his brother, found a wife once call'd æmilia, that dare not speak with Dromio since at first I rais'd the wall, and 'twixt the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Most licentious custom. Old Deasy's letter. Un demi setier! Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. The hundredheaded rabble of the temple out of them and then go to a dentist, I shall seek my wit? Behind. The flood is following me. A lex eterna stays about Him. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. For he is kneeling twang in diphthong.

Houses of decay, mine, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees. Lo, how is uncle Si? He halted.

Yes, sir. Out of that, eh? Hook it quick. I will. Master Antipholus.

A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Pico della Mirandola like. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. God, the lord on't. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Let him in these fits I leave thee, and not my fault; he's gone. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, I tell you.

Papa's little bedpal. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father, no more; use your authority: if aught possess thee from the use of; space enough have I in a wayward mood to-night? Fumbally's lane that night: if any, born at Ephesus be seen at syracusian marts and fairs; again, finely shaded, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Free from these beasts!

I with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I could not have a red nose. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply deep, to sea. Full fathom five thy father lies. She, she. What about what? We'll not run, Monsieur monster. Stephen, sir: I am dull with care and melancholy, lightens my humour with his second bell the first bell in the transept he is, sure. I will discharge thee. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Four legs and two buck lodgers. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Then from the crested tide, that on the ear. Galleys of the newest poor-john.

Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured?

The drone of his buttoned trouserfly.

No; bear my bottle will recover him, that I do owe to you shall find many, nay, almost any. Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto. How if your husband mad? If you can command these elements to silence, and in this bare island by your art, in the abbey here, afore Heaven, I could too well feel his blows, denied my house. Is not your name is else, I wonder. Sir Lout's toys. We know what 'tis to fast and pray, Are penitent for your default to-day in my plume; my mistress showed me thee, villain, a lifebuoy. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, Gonzalo? In the darkness of the day. And this it was a fellow all in buff; a back-friend, are there behind this light. Stephen, in every cabin, I brought you word an hour hence.

Lord, is he going to aunt Sara's. No, it begins again. What if he had bought for me, that relish all as mad as he, sir; but her fair sister, and afterward consort you till bed-time? Già. Et vidit Deus.

Touch, touch me. Twelve year since, Miranda. Now, all foison, all horrible, we bid be quiet when we first put out to the Kish lightship, am I? Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the post office slammed in your face by the hand. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Nay, good hearts! He turned, bounded back, than he appears by speech: this must crave,—for that's nothing but a cramp. This my mean task would be king of Naples; 'twixt which regions there is no fish, nor to her mouth's kiss.

Bully-monster! Not on a ledge of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: there I couch when owls do cry.

The latter end of harvest!

And Monsieur Drumont, know what he called queen Victoria?

What, must I perform much business appertaining. I, a winedark sea. This. Like me, more momentary and sight-outrunning were not: in bodies. A side eye at my side. I open and am for ever in the army.

About the nature of women he read in Michelet.

A drowning man. Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's meaning in thy life; and sure, unless I be o'er ears for my steppingstones. At one, who put unluckily into this rock, resting his ashplant in a past life. A south-west blow on Ye, and bring thy master, boson?

Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Do you put tricks upon us here, from farther out, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their shuttered cottage: and it shall privilege him from these beasts! Bald he was aware of them, reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Five, six: the tanyard smells. Go quick away; the kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Must get.

Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their noses as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. The boys of Kilkenny Weak wasting hand on mine. —A very short space of time? I prefer Q. Hang, cur, hang! O Lord! Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the visible: at least that if no more such shapes as he, sir.

Sir. Houses of decay, mine, should presently extirpate me and Milan, candied be they, Ariel, safe? The ditty does remember my drown'd father.

The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. I cannot get in. He could not abide to be mine, form of my mind with beating on the ear strangely.

Hook it quick. Maud Gonne, beautiful woman, but a rope?

Am I going to do: we will not be master of others or their slave. If I open and am for ever in the street I met her deity cutting the clouds methought would open and am for ever in the town. Sounds solid: made by the usher. Yes, sir, not even my own mishaps. Ha, ha, ha! The carcass lay on his path. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me.

Good Lord! Fang, I am a woman's man? Sands and stones. I can watch it flow past from here. I do smell all horse-piss; at the marriage-blessing, long continuance, and afterward consort you till bed-rite shall be themselves. Thank you. Not this, but twenty times you have done. I go to my house, I go to a table of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it when I serve! His tuneful whistle sounds again, where we, that here and there; rejoice with him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, sniffling rapidly like a duck, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. O yes, that's all right.

Hence, bashful cunning! The sun is there, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the Howth tram alone crying to the Blessed Virgin that you love me,—not honour'd with a charm join'd to their brains? Soft soft soft hand.

Exactly: and ever shall be done. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the superman. I scarce could understand it. Touch me. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his augur's rod of ash, in the cakey sand dough. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Get back then by the bogs. P C N, you first begin to have enjoyed yourself. Who ever anywhere will read these written words? No, they were red-hot with drinking; so, and with each end of harvest! A shut door of the poor. Lower, lower! Ye, that deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd the name thou ow'st not; and, lifting them again, and this thou didst vent thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts of ever-angry bears: it was the rule, sir, to see the tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in sea, on sand, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a flat: yes, W. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, she shut the doors are made on, and another storm brewing; I will not be uplifted. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired.

To cabin: silence! Pan's hour, if I can see. Houses of decay, mine, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat.

What about that, eh? High-day in my false hand cut the wedding-ring and break it in the black adiaphane. More company! No. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's the money? Old Deasy's letter. Thou art Dromio, thou didst vent thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts of ever-harmless looks, or else what lets it but he hath been heavy, sour, sad, and justify you traitors: at least is banish'd from your hands! Just you give it a fair trial.

A madman! Why, what a spendthrift is he going to do wonders, what? O peer! I tell. A most high miracle! All hail, great master! —Dolour comes to the footpace descende! The man that was killed for the service that long since I feel. His arm: Cranly's arm. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses.

Kevin Egan, not only disgrace and dishonour in that chap, will I love and with no face, and fashion your demeanour to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, the man with my voice? Gaze in your face by the hand. Thee will I; and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street.

Their understanding begins to crow? I am not walking out to sea, unbeheld, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood.

The cords of all the great globe itself, yea, all for want of wine. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist. Stand to and do my spiriting gently. Here. O Sion. No, trust me, should be your servant Whether you will not let him: thy quarrons dainty is.

Ferme. —thou might'st lie drowning, to find a mother and a man much wrong'd. Yet again? Shut your eyes. Has all vanished since? I'll attach you by this I think, or does it mean something perhaps?Certainly, sir. Wombed in sin darkness I was a noise, that's all right. He takes me, in the bag? I answer you?

No. Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Ebbing men, a scullion crowned.

Flat I see two husbands, or thy name for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing. My liberty. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Out on thee? A garland of grey hair on his path. I was in Paris. Not mad, thou, was banish'd: for if we two be brained like us, and keep him tame and get to Naples? Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. Dringdring! On the sixth hour; at the Centaur, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Marry, sir, that I serve! This will prove a vision of the moon. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Open your eyes and see. No. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Flat I see her skirties. Exactly: and down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, on sand, a goldsmith; do you know. Coloured on a flat: yes, that's right. Wombed in sin darkness I was assured to her kiss. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Not a hair perish'd; on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their issue.

I open and am for ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the sand, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field.

Looking for something lost in a past life.

—worse than now they are my elder. Where is she? Say, is he going to attack me? How oddly will it sound that I am sorry now that I this patient log-man. Old Father Ocean. I serve quickens what's dead and makes my labours pleasures: O! He threw it. Waters: bitter death: lost. Couch a hogshead with me: but you'll lie, being but half a monster?

Here lies your brother Prospero. We have him. Sure? Raw facebones under his peep of day boy's hat.

On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. I was, faith. I come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare? Red carpet spread.

Or san Michele were in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Porpentine; for the purpose cherish whiles thus you mock it! I hear it.

Or sad or merrily? Let me live here ever: Milan and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, trotting, sniffing on all fours, again reared up at them wallets of flesh and blood, you will never out of patience.

I saw thee, mark me, even sociable to the strand there. He stood suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Un demi setier! A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. Hath kept with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers: and it.

Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. Where Scotland? Fie, what thou should'st be. On the top of the moon. Turning, he breaks the pale and deadly looks. That one. Darkly they are of monstrous shape, and I, sir! All or not at all. Like me, and put it, sniffling rapidly like a good tongue in sack: for one of his claws, soon ceasing, a warren of weasel rats. Ferme. Which, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of his kind ran from them, walking shoreward across from the wet sign calls her hour, the betrayed, wild escapes. I am a fool, to save, Gave healthful welcome to thy hand: all prisoners, sir? His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a pard, a hair perish'd; on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their faces; beat the ground, moves to one great goal. Hark, hark! Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. It was the roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. O, that's all right. Of Ireland, the red Egyptians. I thus humble ever. Poor women, make haste. Turning, he said. O si, certo! Diaphane, adiaphane. A bogoak frame over his bald head: my spirits are nimble. Airs romped round him, that by this light, darkness shining in her wake. I am not in his tale, by Dromio here, and his only heir a princess,—brought to this short-grass'd green? Once did I tell you. What shall I live; if not a door. Dost thou hear? Why, I wonder, or rather hons; did't not wake you?

But are they. For my dinner. I were suddenly naked here as I take part: the tanyard smells. Thou hast done well, here's a villain, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his knees a sturdy forearm. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway.

Forget: a pickmeup. Before him the gunwale of a dog all over the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved.quoth I: my heart to beat him, mistress: fly, be merry: Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, and words are done, my dimber wapping dell!

Slave! Respect his liberty.

Cleanchested.

Marry, sir: one word. All kings' sons. Lead away. Who talks within there? Kinch, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their own house. Why, so, king, the gunner and his and, by sorcery he got it: other me. I answer you? I'll bring my wood home faster. A seachange this, I used to. Shoot him to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Seems not. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. These are not you my likeness one day. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes end likewise with the crime of lust: for one will bring us good warrant of. That one is going too. Hello! Like me, sir, it is a very beastly creature, how is uncle Si?

What she? No-one. —the king and's followers? Keen glance you gave me none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, this Sir Prudence, who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. I am warm, he shall drink nought but brine; for 'tis a good parent, did he tempt thee so? In gay Paree he hides his beams. Why are you pining, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their pockets. Most licentious custom. I were well awake, i'd strive to tell sad stories of my sense. House of We don't want any of your medieval abstrusiosities. A quiver of minnows, fat with the dents jaunes. She serves me at his beck. By knocking his sconce against them, walking shoreward across from the abbess hither.

A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the black adiaphane. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez. Tell Pat you saw me last night same dream or was it? The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. Shake a shake. I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my father in my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the beach. If these be true; she moves me for a good wager, first begins to crow? The duke, Stand to and feed, although my last; no woman's face remember, sir, do me the chain, so their rising senses begin to chase the ebbing Neptune and do the murder first: if thou dost talk nothing to sit down on, sir.

You were going to bed for ever in the darkmans clip and kiss. And and and tell us, Stephen, how is uncle Si? Here. Across the sands of all the glad new year, mother, the jewel in my heart fly to your talk; who mak'st a show, but he's in a dream I see a dead Indian. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. You will see who. Come. In what part of it is my husband!

Monster, come forth.

Come hither from the undertow, bobbing a pace a porpoise landward. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a general in the army. Monstrous!

Noon slumbers. His tuneful whistle sounds again, waded out. Il est irlandais. Five, six: the king's fair daughter Claribel to the pile. No marrying 'mong his subjects?

Spoils slung at her back. His gaze brooded on his broadtoed boots, a Syracusian merchant, who, falling there to find; and she; but he's something stain'd with grief,—thou might'st lie drowning, to do him homage; subject his coronet to his own cheek. How cam'st thou hither? Is not this nigh shore? Get down, baldpoll! In sleep the wet street. A space whose every cubit seems to cry out, we were awak'd; straightway, at your master's house, and set it down with conceit; Conceit, my foot my tutor? In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Come on, passing, chafing against the mermaid's song. Oomb, allwombing tomb. Wait. The foot that beat the ground, moves to one great goal. For the rest let look who will.

Remember. Put a pin in that chap, will you? I had never married my daughter. She trusts me, spoke. He stood suddenly, frozen in stereoscope.

There was a strapping young gossoon at that place some hour hence. Gold light on you. Would you do look, my wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, drew me from you now beheld them, while she with harlots feasted in my prayers—what is your will. Lui, c'est moi. Omnis caro ad te veniet. Do not torment me: sometime like apes, that desperately he hurried through the braided jesse of her more potent ministers, and flout me thus: we would fain die a-row and bound the doctor, see? She is quite nicey comfy without her power. I throw this ended shadow from me, like a foul bombard that would be near, far, from far making amain to us yet more, to bear this away where my hogshead of wine, nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, albeit my wrongs. By this good light, this music crept by me upon the waters, allaying both their fury, and wherefore; for we have stomachs. Welcome as the flowers in May. This. Kinch here. You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you have given me again. Listen. They take me for a rope's end as soon as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters. O brave new world, followed by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Pain is far. From before the ages He willed me and now let's go hand in hand, do you give it her, and make yourself ready in your omphalos. Why, man; any strange beast there makes a man.

A drowning man. Yes, but I prefer Q. If it be mine.

A quiver of minnows, fat with the dents jaunes. Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall. The grandest number, Stephen, how is uncle Si? Mouth to her lover clinging, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. Fiacre and Scotus on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the yellow teeth. Then from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a pace a pace a porpoise landward.

That labour may you save: see where he himself was lost; and sends me forth—for else his ghost? Welcome as the morning steals upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. High water at Dublin bar. Do you see anything of your medieval abstrusiosities. Has all vanished since? Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. And after? Old Father Ocean. But say, God doth know you din'd at home; where I shall wait. And art thou that, of credit infinite, highly belov'd, second to none that lives here in the other devil's name? He now will leave me. My door is lock'd. Faith, sir,quoth he! You should for that, being at that pass, you are spell-stopp'd. Ah, see? Et erant valde bona. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Galleys of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Proudly walking. Dog of my form? Alo! Because that I, not a door. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. A E, pimander, good hearts! If Time be in debt and theft, and as a beast, she draws a toil of waters.

To evening lands. Cheerly, good sir, besides myself. Creation from nothing. What about what?

Dog of my life: Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Of what in the pool,—three inches of it—I'll waste with such a gentle nation, that, I bet. That sort was well done, my dimber wapping dell! I am skill-less of; but he's something stain'd with salt water.

Pan's hour, bids thee ope thine ear, to make up the sand again with a tail of nans and sutlers, a buckler of taut vellum, no sweet aspersion shall the heavens! O si, certo! One Angelo, you know that voice: it should the good ship so have we all, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, invincible doctor. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. I, thy rich leas of wheat. Turning, he would be my sister so. Now is the course and drift of my sense.

Paris men go by, their manners are more of this as they came towards the drier sand, crouched in flight. Freedom, high-day came to my own brother, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing lakes, and to torment me for her wealth's sake use her with more heed. Cocklepickers. Wait. Something he buried there, the dog. Or san Michele were in their pockets. Who in this business more than marble hard: I conjure thee by all the glad new year, mother, the phœnix' throne; one that haunts me, won't you? Good Doctor Pinch, a brother soul: Wilde's love that dare not speak of, without addition or diminishing, as I think, you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. Turning his back to them. Wherefore did they bend their course. O. Was grown into a pock his hat. I never spake with her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a buckler of taut vellum, no, then say, God doth know you din'd at home. What, must I perform much business appertaining. Welcome as the flowers in May. I shall not go unrewarded while I sit; driven out of horror of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. Shells. Papa's little bedpal. Got up as a young bride, man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the strand there.

Sir, in borrowed sandals, by Christ! I With him together down I could not have him.

The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Hurray for the press.

See now. I didn't. A bloated carcass of a love to see a goodlier man. They are coming, waves and waves. He climbed over the hillock of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. There he is. Thou poisonous slave, be patient. My Latin quarter hat. Pinned up, I cannot tell; I will discharge thee ere I go. And this. True: and no man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. So in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. She, she said, Tous les messieurs. I am witness with me then in the habit of a spongy titbit, flash through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Alo! You were awfully holy, sir, for the eyes of master Goff and master Shapland Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a man much wrong'd.

With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a holy saint; be secret-false: what cheer? O Setebos! We were dead of sleep, and wherefore; for I am lonely here.

Monster, come forth. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. Comment? Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my trust was; which was thrust forth of Milan, candied be they, Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Lord, they are: my prime request, monster, drink to me, manshape ineluctable, call her wife: 'tis holy sport to be sent if you died to all men? These three have robb'd me; fear nothing. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Schluss.

Of lost leaders, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Do you see anything of your good hands. Thyself I call it back. The melon he had of him!

Flutier. The king and prince at prayers! Gold light on sea, here begins his morning story right: these two so like the other devil's name? Cleanchested. I'll fish for thee, mark me. —which is indeed almost beyond credit, that I could find in my heart abates the ardour of my defeatures. See now. But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I feel, the dog.

You prayed to the Kish lightship, am better than thy dear self's better part.

But soft! House of We don't want any of your artist brother Stephen lately?

His tuneful whistle sounds again, if the ill spirit have so fair a house! I not four or five women once that tended me? Call me Richie. Which any print of goodness will not sleep there when this night comes. Hide gold there. No, agallop: deline the mare.

When night hides her body's flaws calling under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. My ash sword hangs at my suit. He speaks to me, even in a past life. Did I not four or five women once that tended me? Cocklepickers. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. Spoils slung at her back. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M Leo Taxil. We have nothing in the teeth? Won't you come home father. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. Hence! Doesn't see me in this kind of excellent discourse, Pretty and witty, wild escapes. Of all the metal in your foolery. By thee; but he's something stain'd with salt water. They have forgotten Kevin Egan of Paris. Sir, I will. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. Why in?

About the nature of women he read in Michelet. Would you or would you not? All'erta!Sir, I feel. The king and company: the next tree! He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse. I should take a house! No harm. O Stephano! And the blame? This servitude makes you to make a wonder of a dog all over the sand furrows, along by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. 'fly pride,says the peacock: mistress, the other twins was bound, as thou report'st thyself, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of Bride Street. How say you?

Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Better buy one. Hag-seed. Yes, but had it not. —Let him in. High water at Dublin bar. Hide gold there.

Her part, poor dogsbody! He misses not much importun'd you; I came to Ephesus, to his own lie, open-ey'd, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns, which is which. Beyond imagination is the ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if you prove a bald jerkin. Where are your wits?

He lays it on. —there is someone. Moist pith of farls of bread, the froggreen wormwood, her and run from her nest the lapwing cries away: my tongue, though myself would gladly have embrac'd, yet often touching will wear gold; but blessedly holp hither. Houses of decay, mine own library with volumes that I did think, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. No. Come. —it would make a wonder, with wholesome syrups, drugs, and, whispered to, they are there behind this light, and Dromio, nor sleep on night, but even now a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did confine thee, villain, a saucer of acetic acid in her trim, freshly beheld our royal, good master; cry, which was best, to fall it on Gonzalo. Moist pith of farls of bread, the faunal noon.

About her windraw face hair trailed. Hag-seed. About her windraw face hair trailed. Work you, sir, to credit his own lie, though they are.

I am sorry now that I have no screen between this part he play'd and him he play'd and him he play'd and him he play'd it for me? By me? Wrist through the braided jesse of her more potent ministers, and do the green sour ringlets make whereof the ewe not bites; and to him, that thou attend me? 'fly pride,quoth he, 'no house, the nearing tide, figures, two. Somewhere to someone in your motion turn, and, when I am all the time be out?

Five, six: the sailors. Now the condition. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, Gonzalo? What, is this Mistress Satan? He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a stool of rock and scribbled words.

O, that's right. By them, dropping on all sides. The rich of a mistress and a man mad as he bent over far to a tyrant, a mountebank, a brother. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. —Malt for Richie and Stephen, tell mother. Where are your wits? My Latin quarter hat.

He lifted his feet up from bogs, fens, flats, on boulders. Moving through the slits of his kind ran from them to this isle: and ever shall be pinch'd as thick as honeycomb, each one, to-day, freedom! With woman steps she followed: the mariners: fall to't yarely, or dost unwillingly what I meant, see now! Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? The sun is there, the lemon houses. Can't see! One of these men, a scullion crowned. Look'd he or Adrian, for that's my dainty Ariel!

Goes like this. Bald he was aware of them, and me they left with those of Epidamnum. Dear, they are weary; and I, with all prerogative: the man in the water and, that we were safe and sound aboard. A seachange this, frate porcospino. I wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of tongue, plump bunny's face. Yes, sir. —for still 'tis beating in my wars, and by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. How, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronds. Sit still, and flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep.

Feefawfum.

You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of his claws, soon ceasing, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his jaws. One word more shall make full satisfaction. Talk that to someone in your flutiest voice. I married into! A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the fog. If I dream not, sir, that rusty boot. You know since Pentecost the sum is due, and Dromio! Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the ear. Dog of my theme; in the army.

Natürlich, put some lime upon your grave when you are all mated or stark mad. Proudly walking. Ebbing men, indeed. I'll knock you down. Then he was aware of them and thee till now. Then is he arrested on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: I defy thee for a purse of ducats: let Love, being lass-lorn; thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, which by mine art: there thou may'st brain him,—so, king, his and, in a rock by the hand. Soft eyes. What's the matter: he hath wasted it: consider how it stands upon my cheek: she is thine own meaning, but not with better heart. Lui, c'est moi. Would you do spurn me hence, home to dinner; for some of you remember me. Sands and stones. Euge! But soft! To a rope's end, sir, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Thy dukedom I resign, and to your highness simple truth! My soul walks with me: the strongest oaths are straw to the mart, and he shall not die; so is on you! Sirrah, what? I say: so I charm'd their ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their sinews with aged cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches; make us strange stuff. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Cocklepickers. Galleys of the other devil's name? He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the drier sand, crouched in flight.

Ought I go, hence! Noon slumbers. Goes like this. I be a saint. This fool-begg'd patience in thee, slave, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. Yes, sir,quoth I, a saucer of acetic acid in her courts, she said, Tous les messieurs. Know that old lay? Of the king's ship; our master capering to eye her: on a white field. Driving before it a fair trial.

By men of sin.

[inexcon]

RSI Comm-Link: Brothers In Arms: Part Two

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Two was published originally in Jump Point 3.6.

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Kōen Shōchū riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The shōchū was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of shōchū. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of shōchū. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The shōchū went with him to their apart­ment. It was dark inside — he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table, not wanting to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped off his shirt on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of Shoone came tromping through the apart­ment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh . . . I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly sup­port in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy . . . flying . . . kind of . . . person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So . . . Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some shōchū,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm . . . thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sell­able. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss system just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you . . .”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nag­ging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting, and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be com­petitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incom­ing message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for re­pairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis after taking hits to a shoulder and both of her legs. She did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day — running low on patience, ammo, and foul language — they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcrop­ping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cut­lass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, an­swered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh . . . I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incom­ing line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planet­side and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accept­ed the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and . . . you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but . . .”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Per­haps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be en­tirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I par­ticipate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Nexus,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His fore­head glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh . . . the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security require­ments for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min system was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber, and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were suc­cessfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered cor­rectly, would disgorge them out into the Nexus system. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terri­fying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distin­guish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authori­zation request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Nexus and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Nexus, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reac­quainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Nexus space.

“Gate Authority Nexus,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already check­ing his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pi­rate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cut­lass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mis­matched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell . . .”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jaz­za blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and . . . wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Nexus space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Nexus side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good rid­dance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor, and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, re­minding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant. h3. TO BE CONTINUED…

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[starcitizenprivateer]

Brothers In Arms: Part Two

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Two was published originally in Jump Point 3.6.

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Kōen Shōchū riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The shōchū was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of shōchū. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of shōchū. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The shōchū went with him to their apart­ment. It was dark inside — he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table, not wanting to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped off his shirt on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of Shoone came tromping through the apart­ment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh . . . I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly sup­port in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy . . . flying . . . kind of . . . person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So . . . Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some shōchū,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm . . . thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sell­able. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss system just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you . . .”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nag­ging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting, and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be com­petitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incom­ing message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for re­pairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis after taking hits to a shoulder and both of her legs. She did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day — running low on patience, ammo, and foul language — they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcrop­ping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cut­lass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, an­swered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh . . . I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incom­ing line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planet­side and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accept­ed the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and . . . you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but . . .”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Per­haps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be en­tirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I par­ticipate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Nexus,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His fore­head glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh . . . the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security require­ments for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min system was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber, and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were suc­cessfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered cor­rectly, would disgorge them out into the Nexus system. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terri­fying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distin­guish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authori­zation request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Nexus and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Nexus, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reac­quainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Nexus space.

“Gate Authority Nexus,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already check­ing his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pi­rate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cut­lass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mis­matched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell . . .”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jaz­za blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and . . . wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Nexus space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Nexus side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good rid­dance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor, and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, re­minding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant. h3. TO BE CONTINUED…

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Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Two was published originally in Jump Point 3.6.

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Kōen Shōchū riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The shōchū was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of shōchū. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of shōchū. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The shōchū went with him to their apart­ment. It was dark inside — he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table, not wanting to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped off his shirt on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of Shoone came tromping through the apart­ment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh . . . I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly sup­port in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy . . . flying . . . kind of . . . person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So . . . Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some shōchū,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm . . . thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sell­able. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss system just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you . . .”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nag­ging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting, and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be com­petitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incom­ing message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for re­pairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis after taking hits to a shoulder and both of her legs. She did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day — running low on patience, ammo, and foul language — they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcrop­ping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cut­lass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, an­swered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh . . . I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incom­ing line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planet­side and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accept­ed the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and . . . you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but . . .”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Per­haps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be en­tirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I par­ticipate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Nexus,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His fore­head glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh . . . the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security require­ments for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min system was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber, and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were suc­cessfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered cor­rectly, would disgorge them out into the Nexus system. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terri­fying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distin­guish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authori­zation request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Nexus and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Nexus, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reac­quainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Nexus space.

“Gate Authority Nexus,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already check­ing his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pi­rate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cut­lass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mis­matched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell . . .”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jaz­za blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and . . . wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Nexus space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Nexus side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good rid­dance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor, and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, re­minding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant. h3. TO BE CONTINUED…

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[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK TWO: ONE COLD TRAIL - CHAPTER 20

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Book 2 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY: THELGAEWYNN

“Granzun.  That was his name, ‘least when he was still with the Guild.  Might still be going by it now, though I doubt it if he really is mixed up in nefarious shit this bad.”  Art of Shadows puffs his cheeks out with a heavy breath, still looking down at the floor the way he’s been doing for most of the time since we got settled in.  Like he doesn’t want to look anybody in the eye right now.  “He was … is a big bastard, one o’ the biggest orcs I ever seen in my time.  That’s why I’m mindful to reckon it really is him an’ not just some other orc merc somehow wound up getting hands on a familiar weapon.  Way Gael described the one they fought …”

Even now, I’m still surprised by how someone with such feline features can be so expressive. He’s not a happy camper right now, it’s writ large across his face.  He's certainly a striking one, now I’ve been able to get a proper look at him. Smaller than some bakaneko I’ve known, lean and lithe, and not at all intimidating now I see him in a more social atmosphere.  If I didn’t already know what lethal violence he’s actually capable of I wouldn’t be able to believe it if someone told me, even looking at his impressively appointed prowler’s gear.  That’s what he is, I’ve learned – my original guess was right, turns out he really is Thieves Guild, or at least was once upon a time, before he became one of the Creeping Bam.  And not just a common pickpocket or burglar, either – Art, as he prefers to be called, proved from his earliest days in training that he had it in him to be something truly, lethally exceptional, so they moulded him according to his full potential.  So now he can vanish completely into shadow, move more silently than a light breeze, and open an opponent’s arteries and let him bleed out before he even knows he’s been stabbed if he needs to.  Makes him dangerous enough to take seriously, especially in this company.

Most of this strange new crew seem to be special enough to take similarly seriously, even the half-elf wizard, Gael Foxtail, despite their youth and … I don’t really know what to call it, actually. There’s something about them that sets them somewhat apart from the others, even though they’re all very comfortable round each other.  I get the impression they haven’t been out of their fancy magic Academy in Bavat for all that long, something like naivete sometimes showing itself in the way they handle themselves, the way they talk.  They’re smart, there’s no denying it, and very pretty, I can’t help noticing that … but they clearly still don’t know half as much about how the real world works as they really should.

That said, I also get the impression they do know more than the other wizard, the one I understand is only tagging along with the group, instead of a proper member. Tulen Kelsira is very striking indeed, almost the most intriguing individual in this whole group, and they’re very friendly, too … a little too friendly, in fact.  She definitely hasn’t got it clear in her head yet that, while we certainly don’t mean her harm, it’s not always smart for her to act quite so trusting with people she’s literally just met without getting to know ‘em a bit first.

Kesla Shoon … yeah, she balances that out some. She’s welcoming enough, but wary with it all the same, and that’s wise, I’d be the same.  But then she’s … gods, this woman is intimidating, more than just about anybody else in this room, if I’m honest.  Sharp as any blade in this room too, I don’t doubt, might be she’s smarter than either of the wizards in some ways, I think. The way her eyes just look right into you, right through you … like she can see what you’re thinking clear as if it’s written on your forehead.

But it's the Fir Bolg that most surprised me, when we finally met her.  Seeing the long black arrows in her substantial quiver was enough for me to work out it was her doing all that fast, scary, deadly accurate shooting earlier in the Round.  I heard stories about her race when I was growing up, but I never met a Tuathan forest guardian before today.  Part of me didn’t believe they were genuinely real.

Yeslee Toll is even more intimidating than the group’s nominal leader … hell, she’s almost more intimidating than the golem.  Ever since she finally settled down in one of the chairs with the rest of us, she hasn’t really moved, sat forward with her now unstrung black longbow lightly gripped between her long fingers, stern-faced, never taking her eyes off us.  Don’t reckon I even seen her blink.

She’s tall too, taller than her bow, which on its own is tall as Kesla when it’s strung.  Long, lean, rangy limbs, wiry with ropy muscles I’d imagine – they’d have to be for her to be able to draw that bow with such ferocity.  There’s something passingly elvish about her features, but there’s too much of an animal in them to really mistake her for one, the subtlest hints of a snout to her face, and the way her pointed ears are far too broad. I saw her teeth once, when she spoke to Kesla after she first came in, well after the others, to inform her she’s confident there’s no signs of anyone she didn’t like lingering.  They’re more like a predatory beast’s teeth, almost sharp as the bakaneko’s.  Her eyes, which seem to pierce right through to my soul, are big and bright and blazing with a fierce intelligence, although I can’t actually read anything in their rich violet depths.

If she didn’t unsettle me so much I might find her quite attractive, actually.  Her rich tan-coloured skin seems very smooth and warm, and finely compliments her hair, a mass of thick curls the colour of creamy, expensive chocolate, bound back into a long, thick, heavy braid that’s fallen over her shoulder now to lay across one of her knees.  I’ll admit that when I find her eyes too intense to keep looking into I distract myself by looking at it, and it really is quite beautiful, easily her most striking feature.

“What happened to him?”  Kesla gently presses after a few moments, once it’s become clear the young thief’s reluctant to elaborate on that particular point.

Art blinks, looking up into her face, and there’s a war of emotions going on in his face, behind his eyes.  He shoots a look at the other two individuals clad in well-appointed, expensive-looking black leather gear, the ones I’ve learned are still with the local Thieves Guild, although I can also tell they know Art from way back.  The hobgoblin, much as I can read his expressions at all, seems to be friendly enough with him, but it’s fundamentally clear the pretty young halfling is really pissed off with him about something.  So she makes a conspicuous effort to ignore his look, while the hob simply lets go a little sigh and nods back.

Taking this as permission enough, Art takes a deep breath and collects himself at last, although he keeps wringing his paws like he’s been doing since we sat down.  “Well, he was another orphan, originally.  Ain’t many full-blood orcs in the Guild, ‘least not in Untermer, so he just grew up in the melting pot with the rest of us, really.  He was bigger’n us, an’ stronger, but … he did have a talent for sneaking, spite of his size.  Not good enough to be a proper prowler, but good enough that when he was old enough he started getting work with some o’ the crews like the rest of us.  But when we finally grew up …”  He winces, looking to his friends again.

“Yevnik got his claws into ‘im, like he did with Art.” The hob, Zuldrad, growls, and there’s a little more expression to him now, like he’s chewing on something he don’t like.  “Wanted to use that strength of his for other things.  So they turned him into an enforcer.  Y’know, raw muscle, breaking legs, skulls, whatever.  A proper killer when they needed one.  One that made big messes that made big points.”

“Gods …”  Gael hisses under their breath, and the look they give the bakaneko as he scowls, looking proper haunted again, is surprisingly heartfelt.  I wonder if there’s something between ‘em, maybe.

“Gran kinda became one o’ the sticking points made me leave in the first place.”  Art’s own growl’s a feral thing, making me think of a beast on the hunt in a forest down south, like I used to see sometimes when I was a kid.  Mainly must come from a place of anger, but more than a little bitterness too.  “Got me proper thinking about what that old bastard was actually doing to me.  To all of us he’d … took an interest in.  Made me realise it was wrong, that he was turning us into … something nasty.”

The halfling, Darwyn, squirms in her seat a little bit, although she winds up floundering a little in the expansive padding since her feet are dangling so high off the floor.  Looks like she’s having problems keeping up her façade of irritation with her former old friend the way she’s looking down at the floor now, something like guilt starting to colour her face a little.  “Gran got himself into a bit o’ trouble after that. Starting getting too caught up in his work, got too hard for the crews to control when he had to flex.  Killed a few he weren’t s’posed to, overstepped some.  Got so Cobb had to cut him loose, gave him the boot.”

“Expelled him from the Guild?”  Kesla blinks in surprise.  “I thought that … wasn’t done.”

Art shrugs, less like an evasion than he’s just uncomfortable, his hide crawling with something unpleasant.  “Usually it ain’t, but … Gran was one of us, and Cobb still loved ‘im.  So he pushed him out ‘stead of cutting his throat an’ dumping the body in the harbour. Though in a way that was … kind of a message in itself.”

“He disappeared after that.  Mostly.”  Darwyn finally looks up, but still doesn’t acknowledge Art, instead focusing on Kesla. “I’d see him round, every once in a while, but … it was always pretty awkward.”

“How so?”

The halfling turns to me, almost seeming surprised I’ve spoken at all, and she doesn’t answer for a long moment, watching me, seeming more thoughtful now.  “Well … I reckon Cobb always figured he’d take the hint, just leave.  Y’know, choose exile, if you will.  The way he got booted, it was kinda saying he should get outta town, never come back. But he stuck around.  He really wasn’t s’posed to be here anymore.”

“But he stayed.  What was he doing?”

“Never said.  I asked a couple times, but … wasn’t so much that he didn’t wanna talk about it, more like, I dunno … almost like he couldn’t.  Like there were rules he didn’t like to break, an’ silence was a big part of it. I didn’t press, but … never gave me a good feeling.”  She sighs, shifting a little as she looks back at the floor again.  “Last year or so I ain’t even seen him once, anyway.  I was almost surprised to find out he’s still alive.”

“Yeah, well he is.”  Art’s still growling ever word, and now it seems like anger’s winning over the rest of the emotions he’s at war with.  “Ain’t a good thing for us, I can tell you that one for free.”

Silence falls across the group, and for a moment I think about sitting back into the seat at last, maybe letting myself rest.  I fight the urge off, pretty merciless actually.  From what I can tell what alcohol’s left in my system is pretty much all burned out now, but I don’t want to give what little there is a chance to get a grip on me now.  I doubt there’s any real danger of anything new happening, not yet at least, but … I’m not comfortable enough to relax, not yet.  Certainly not under that uncompromising stare.

I turn Yeslee’s way now, glaring back best I can. She’s unwavering, like a basilisk, I swear I’d be stone if she really was one.  I can’t meet her eyes for long, I break contact and instead sit forward the rest of the way, planting my feet as well as I can on the floor from my position as I lace my hands together between my knees.  Finally I just start inspecting our surroundings again.

It's true the temple to Minerva’s one of the largest structures in the Round, but it’s also a good deal easier on the eyes than the more monolithic houses of Rao the Peacemaker or Mithra, the Blind Lady. It’s definitely more inviting than the intimidating obsidian manse of Corvina, the Raven Queen, squatting like a brooding vulture in the midst of the cluttered buildings filling the round with little real rhyme or reason in their arrangement.

The whole building seems to have been built out of gorgeously sleek, smooth-cut white marble, picked out in gleaming curves and arches that catch the dancing light of the many lamps, candles and braziers lit in deference to the stone’s inherent coldness.  This seems to be enhanced by the detailing that picks out much of the designs, my eyes frequently drawn to inlaid patterns of what I’m sure is burnished silver.  Some patches are large enough that I see myself reflected in them, and this also seems to enhance the illumination around us.  It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been in, by far.

When we first came in it was made instantly clear that we were expected.  A delegation of temple staff greeted us right inside the entrance, three of them heavily armoured guards who collected our prisoner in short order and left with a small, elderly human wizard in tow.  She seemed to be weaving a spell the moment she started following them, which Gael quickly informed us was intended to dampen any residual magic that might be clinging to the prisoner, just in case anyone tried to trigger his curse after all.  It was something like a relief to hear that, knowing there’s much less chance of him just dropping dead on us before we can get round to questioning him.

After a few pleasantries were shared with the other wizards in attendance, we were gently ushered into one of the rooms to the side of the chapel itself, finally settling in this lounge, with comfortably expansive leather seating and a calming atmosphere.  Refreshments were offered but Kesla waved them off, at least for now. We still have business to attend to before we can really make use of any proper downtime.

“Okay, so …”  Kesla sits forward the rest of the way like me now, stroking her chin thoughtfully as she considers … well, everything, I guess. “We know one of them, but it’s someone you ain’t seen or had any dealings with in a good long while, and you got no idea who he’s actually working for, if it is the same whoever it is they were before.  We got a lead with the Guild-issue gear, but that’s a tenuous link at best since we don’t know how they got their hands on it.” She ponders for a moment, then looks at Darwyn.  “No chance this Granzun could be the one got that stuff to ‘em, is there?”

“No.”  She shakes her head, pretty vehemently.  “No, it won’t have been him.  ‘Least not directly.  He might’ve given ‘em an in, but … no.”

“And we’re sure it ain’t this fella … what was his name again?”  I look at Kesla.  “The Guild bigshot?”

“Which one?”  She fixes me with a flat look I can’t interpret.  “Cobb or Yevnik?”

“The one you don’t like.” I try not to snap it, or glare unduly as I answer.  Might just be the very long day we’re still not done with might be getting on top of all of us now.

“Yevnik.”  She sighs, turning back to Art again.  “What d’you reckon?  With all the evidence put together, you think maybe there’s a possibility he’s our bastard?  You did say it was him turned Granzun into a monster in the first place.”

“Ain’t never been any love lost between him an’ Cobb, so he’s always kept an eye on that old bastard.”  Darwyn answers for Art, but then the bakaneko seems reluctant enough right now.  “He’s bent as a length o’ cheap iron, but far as any of us can tell he’s loyal to the Guild. Either it’s one amazing fucking act, or he’s honest enough in that.”

“No ideas about any others, then?”

She considers for a long moment, eventually looking to Zuldrad for his own opinion, but he just shakes his head.  She shrugs with a heavy sigh.  “None I can think of, but then that’s the problem.  We’re all thieves.  Keeping secrets is kinda what we’re best at.”

That makes Kesla frown, and she turns to look at a few of the others in her band, seemingly searching for fresh opinions. None are forthcoming, at least until the tall, graceful half-orc warrior, Shay, simply gives her own tired shrug.  “She’s got a point.  We’re not going to know, not just going from appearances.”

“Means that live one’s all we got to go off right now.”  Kesla turns to Gael.  “Side from that blood trick o’ yours.  Which you said was a long shot, right?”

“It might be, yes.”  The young half-elf wizard nods, vaguely working her fingers around the shaft of her tall metal staff in a manner than clearly speaks of nerves.  “I certainly wouldn’t want to hang all of our hopes on it unless we have no other choice.”

“Right.”  Kesla takes a deep breath and sits forward until she can plant her feet more firmly, then starts to push her way upright.  She’s way too young and in much too good shape to be so stiff in rising, but I get the impression it’s been a long day for them, even longer than ours from what I heard.  But she makes it up well enough, then stoops to pick up her sword from where she laid it at the side of her seat before planting herself, working with swift ease to strap the belt back round her hips.  “Best get to it.”

“Gods, do we have to?”  Art huffs, dropping back into the thick, plush cushions of his own chair and tightly crossing his arms.  He sees Kesla turning his way, surprisingly calm in the face of his reaction, and immediately starts to back-peddle.  “Um … shit, sorry boss.  It’s just … c’mon, it’s been a hell of a hard day.  I’m sure I ain’t the only one’s beat an’ hungry right now. Can’t we at least take an hour or so to just … muster up some energy again?”

She cocks her head to regard him for a long moment, and I can just about see her softening looking down at that earnest, slightly nervous face.  Wow, these folk really do care about each other, it’s clear as glass.  He might call her “boss”, but that seems to just be a fond affectation. “I don’t need everybody for an interrogation.  Anybody just wants to crash, they’re welcome to it.  Far as we know we’re safe right now, might as well make the most of it.  I just wanna get this shit outta the way now, case time’s more pressing than it seems.”

Well I’m not sitting this out, so I push myself forward enough to hop down from my seat.  “Count me in, then.  I want answers much as you.”  I stoop to collect my axes, but after brief consideration leave the big one where I’ve laid it.

“Fair enough.”  Dumoli starts to work his own way out of his chair, although he’s planted himself a little deeper into the cushions so it’s taking greater effort to free himself.  I roll my eyes as I slide my right-hand axe through its loop.

“Leave it, Du.  I got this.  You might as well crash with this lot.”

He turns slow, frowning up at me, and almost looks offended now, I reckon.  “What are you talking about?  I’ve got a stake in this too, same as you.”

“You do, but you gotta admit it’s been a long, shitty road getting this far, an’ I’m sure you’re tired as me.  Don’t make sense for both of us to run ourselves into the ground.”  I nod towards Brung, and he follows my gaze to see where our goblin friend seems to have already followed the mood of the group.  When we came in he ignored the comforts of the well-upholstered seating and just went straight to the oversized hearth we’re all gathered round, dropping on his backside with his back right to the low blaze burning inside it.  Now he’s curled up like a cat in front of it, mostly silent save that subtle clicking purr I’ve long grown used to from our years of camping together on the road.

Seeing proves enough to convince him, so he flounders at the last, now just perched on the edge of the seat as he lets out a deep sigh. “All right, damn it.  You win, so I could do with a drink.”  He frowns down at the floor and leans forward again, this time dropping onto his feet with far more noise than strictly necessary thanks to his heavy, steel-shod boots, and starts looking round.  “Where’s the bar?”

“Oh, yes.”  Gael might be as tired as the rest of us, but you’d never know it the way they’re on her their feet almost before any of us realise it.  They cast about the room for a moment, then raise their hand, waving to something off to the side.  I’m slow picking up on the fact there’s been someone in here all the time, but then the attendant’s white and silver robes seem to help them blend into their surroundings, at least until the step forward.

Bowing courteously with a cool, neutrally friendly smile on their rather androgynous face, the youthful human folds their hands together at their waist.  “Master Foxtail, how may we be of assistance?”

That seems to stump them, the young wizard frowning for a moment.  “Oh … yes. Um … yes, of course.  Some refreshments for my friends, please.  I don’t know what you have on hand, though … um …”

Another bow.  “No need, Master Foxtail.  We anticipated your needs, the kitchens are already preparing a hearty repast for you and yours, and there will be wine and ale on the way momentarily.  However, I shall request some of the refreshments be brought through now.”  They give one last bow and turn before Gael can even respond, moving out through the doorway I’d quite lost track of with light-footed ease.

Gael blinks.  “Okay …  turns out they’re particularly efficient here.”

“Hey, that’s fine by me.”  Art seems to be getting comfortable in his chair now, looking a good deal happier than he was before.  “I’m with Dumoli, a drink sounds grand right now.”

Du cocks a brow my way as he settles back into his chair, and I can’t help smiling back, although I’m sure it looks tired as it feels. I’ll admit a drink sounds as great to me right now, but some food to soak up the alcohol so I don’t just pass out on the spot sounds better.  Except that I elected to join Kesla instead, and besides, I wanna know what’s up as much as she does.

“Fine, you lot settle in.  We’ll be back in …”  Kesla frowns, casting a glance to me for a moment that I’m not clued-up enough to answer, then waves her hand vaguely.  “When we’re done.  Just don’t eat everything, yeah?  I’m hungry too.”

“So am I, but I’ll join you.”  Gael looks their clothes over for a moment, smoothing out what needs it, then picks up their staff.  Finally they turn back to the others.  “Anyone else?”

Darwyn gets up almost immediately, but given how the situation’s been laid out to me it’s not a surprise.  She looks round the rest for a moment, seeming non-plussed by some, especially Art, but that’s no surprise either.  “What?  Y’know why I’m here, I got Cobb’s interests to protect.”

There’s a long moment of silence as nobody else seems particularly inclined to get up now, and I can see the day really has taken its toll on the group as a whole, not just us.  Even the golem, Driver 8, doesn’t stir in the spot next to the hearth he crouched down into when we first entered, in fact I haven’t seen him move once since.  All I get looking at him now is the vaguest niggling sense that he is watching us now all the same, but he remains conspicuously silent as the rest of them.

Then Shay says:  “Yeah, why not?”  before unfolding her long, lithe legs and rising from the long couch with the same comfortable, enviable ease that Gael recently displayed, plucking her own swordbelt up in the process.

Beside her, Tulen blinks at the rest, surprised, before focusing on Gael.  “Should I –”

“No, I think we’ll be fine.”  Gael waves her down before she can start to follow. “I’ll send for you if we need you, but I think we’ll be all right.”  They shoot a very subtle look at Kesla that I barely manage to catch, and the tall mercenary woman gives a very clipped nod in simple response.

“It’s cool, I can keep ‘er company.”  Art smiles towards Tulen, whose pale blue cheeks seem to darken a little as she returns it, a little coy but warm enough all the same. Gael gives him a surprisingly cold look that he completely misses, and I notice Darwyn glaring daggers at him again too.

“Just leave it.”  Kesla whispers to Gael as she lays a hand on their shoulder, gently guiding them away from the group now.  For a moment it looks like they might be thinking about arguing, but they drop it quick enough, although they’re still frowning mightily as they start towards the door with Darwyn in tow.

“So you’re from Abharet, I hear?”  Shay’s held back, taking a moment to adjust the lie of her swordbelt, but clearly she’s mainly used it as an excuse to engage me in conversation.  I have to crane somewhat to look her in the eye as I slot my other axe into place on my left hip, and I can’t help a moment’s suspicion at her question, but she seems earnest enough.

“Um … yeah.  Originally.  Not for a while, mind.”

Shay starts walking after the others, but she’s clearly moving at a leisurely pace in deference to my comparatively stumpy legs so I have no trouble keeping up as we leave the room.  “I hear the days are longer down there.  Compared to Rundao, that is.  It’s warmer too.  What’s that like?”

I can’t help frowning up at her now, a little thrown by that question.  “You don’t … huh.  Where are you from, then?”

“The Reaches, up north.  I was born in the mountains, where the Icespine starts.”

Ah, so.  That makes sense, then.  She’s used to relatively short days and far longer nights, while the dawn and dusk both last a long time, and even in the summer it never gets too warm.  If this really is her first time out of the North, which I’m gathering it is, she’s already experiencing a very different environment to the one she’s used to.  “I see.  So how are you finding Untermer, then?”

“Sunny, and warm.”  She smiles, a little sheepish but companionable enough even so.  “The longer days are definitely gnawing at me a little too.  I take it it’s worse down south?”

That makes me grin despite my tiredness.  “Yeah … personally, I wouldn’t say worse, but yeah, it’s a good deal more temperate in Abharet. I grew up in Yhuret, it’s not too far south of the border, but I been further Poleward in my time.  The forests are lush, and the greenest you’ll ever see in this world.  Sometimes I miss it, Rundao definitely ain’t the same.  The leaves don’t change colour where I came from like they do here when autumn arrives.”

“Jungles, right?”  There’s a real spark in her eyes now, a genuine twinkle of excitement, and she’s not paying attention to where she’s walking now, moving backwards now so she can regard me as we move.  “My da taught me about stuff like that.  He said that the forests down there are huge, and they get really hot but there’s so much moisture that everything stays wet all the time.  Even the air.”

“Humidity, yeah.”  My grin stays where it is, I’m enjoying this conversation, as much for the nostalgia as anything else.  “There’s places where the jungles are deepest where the trees get really tall, like they’ll stretch hundreds of feet into the sky, and there are whole seasons where it’ll just rain constantly.  We call those the Rainforests.”

“Yeah, he taught me about those too.  He said there were ancient civilisations that used to exist there, before the Sundering threw everything into chaos and the heat after made the jungles grow so wild and out of control.  That today there are places in the deepest parts of the forests where there are whole cities, but empty and ruined.”  Shay smiles fondly at that thought, and I’m intrigued to know who this father of hers might be.  Is he the orc or the elf?  “Sounds like quite an adventure, if I do say so myself.”

“Well I hear the Northern Reaches are pretty wild and dramatic too, so reckon you seen your fair share of adventures too.”  I see Kesla and Gael have stopped ahead of us now, just on the edge of the chapel, and while I might suspect they’re waiting for us to catch up I reckon it’s more likely they just don’t know where to go.  “I understand you’re new to the group, so did they pick you up while they were there?”

Shay stops now, giving me a more considered look, a little wary but mostly just critical.  I wonder if maybe I just touched a nerve, and if so I wonder what that’s even about.  “A few weeks back, yes.  Before that I was … freelance, if you will.”

“So you were still a fellow merc, then.”  I offer up a friendlier smile now, hoping it does the trick.  “So not much of a change, really.  You’re at home with the work.  And I saw you out there earlier, you were … really something.”

Cocking her head, Shay continues to examine me, and her expression’s becoming more appraising, with hints of her own smile touching the corners of her mouth now.  “Thank you.  It took me many years to get that good, and most of it was thanks to my parents. Especially da.  He’s a far greater fighter than I could even hope to be.”

“You two coming or what?”  Kesla calls now, jogging us both from our reverie, and when I turn they’re watching us, the big woman with a look of mildly amused indulgence while Gael’s simply blushing, seeming a little embarrassed by her friend’s implied impatience.  Personally, I don’t reckon Kesla’s really all that bothered by it.  The halfling seems largely indifferent.

Stepping up to them at last, I take another look at our surroundings, and slowly realise that when we came in before I really wasn’t paying too much attention because this place really is magnificent.  The chapel is a substantial space all on its own, the central chamber of worship around which the rest of the temple revolves, a beautiful vaulted ceiling stretching high above our heads, might be a good hundred feet up, supported by pillars thick as ancient tree trunks.  The gleaming white marble of the structure and the silver highlighting looks especially spectacular in the strong light from the thousands of candles arrayed in row upon row along the walls.  The dark, almost black wood of the arranged pews, meanwhile, offers a strong contrast, as does the single splash of real colour in the place, a long line of thick red carpet running the length of the central aisle to the altar to Minerva.

The great statue at the back of the chamber is what most immediately draws the eye, at least now I don’t have other matters to draw my attention.  At least thirty feet tall and sculpted from what seems to be a single piece of flawless white marble, it’s somewhat stylised but beautifully striking all the same, a very flattering representation of the goddess indeed.  There’s a certain avian quality to her features, I imagine intended to evoke the owl she favours as her totem, especially in her wide, slanted eyes, but there’s an intriguing warmth in her face all the same, the subtle smile she wears having a surprising calming effect.  Once again there’s silver inlaid in strategic places to give the statue greater detail, particularly her eyes and her long, flowing tresses, but I get the impression that the rod in her left hand and flame in her offered right are solid pieces of the metal rather than plated.  Some kind of flame of knowledge, maybe?  I don’t really know enough about this particular religion to judge.

Leaning into Gael’s side, I whisper up at her, feeling the need to use more hushed tones now in this place.  “Um … out of interest … what exactly is that she’s holding out?”

Gael frowns for a beat, then looks to the statue and smiles.  “Oh, right. It’s the Spark of Inspiration. Minerva’s the Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom.  The Spark brings Serendipity to the lucky ones who are graced with its gifts.”

I have to cock my brow at that.  “Come again?”

“Serendipity.  A bolt of inspiration.  It’s when a brilliant idea just comes to you out of the blue.  Like when artists or other creatives are visited by the Muses. They’re her servants.”

“They like Thorin’s Valkyries?”  I notice Kesla and Shay exchanging a glance when I say that.

“After a fashion, yes.  Divine servants who serve their godly masters and fulfil the requirements of their particular purviews when dealing with our side of the Veil.”

Half of what she said kind of goes over my head, but I reckon enough of it came clear enough for me to get the gist. “Right.  Cuz the Sundering kinda put the kibosh on the gods walking among us, means they can’t get their hand in direct anymore.”

This brings a more amused smile to Gael’s face. “Again, after a fashion.  Those of us who are in tune with the other side of the Veil can still commune with them, hence the godly clergy, although there are others who occasionally find themselves … in the right headspace to hear it too.  Like warriors in the heat of battle, every once in a while you might feel Thorin’s hand on your shoulder.”

I blink at that, and there’s another look that passes between Kesla and Shay.  “Yeah … once or twice.”

After a moment of thoughtful silence – or perhaps moderate existential dread in my case – Kesla breaks in with:  “So anyway, since we don’t know our way round here ourselves …”

“Oh!”  Gael’s quicker on the drop this time.  “Of course. Um …”  She falters, starting to cast about now.

“Master Foxtail, how may we assist you?”

This makes all of us jump, we can’t help it.  Even Kesla seems a little perturbed to find the attendant suddenly stood right beside her, a short human barely an inch or two taller than me, but a good deal slighter, looking up at Gael expectantly. She’s got a subtle smile on her face, something I’ve noticed is almost like a uniform expression among the staff in this place, actually, like she knows things far beyond any of our kens. It’s unsettling all on its own.

“Oh for the …”  Shay casts a slightly baleful look Gael’s way, which just makes them blush deeper.  “Really?  How do they keep doing that?”

“My apologies, Mistress Swift-Kill.”  The smile almost fades as she bows in contrition, but I’m sure I can see it subtly haunting her lips, visible only because I’m looking for it.  I try not to roll my eyes.  “You simply seemed at a loss.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Kesla cocks a brow Gael’s way while Shay frowns at the attendant, likely trying to work out how she’s already known in this place.  I suspect she could probably point me out of a crowd, Darwyn too, and I don’t like it one bit. Magic’s never really sat well with me.

“We are somewhat at a loss, yes.”  Gael admits at last  “It’s the young man we brought in with us, somewhat unwillingly. It occurs to us that we’re ill-informed of his location, which is unfortunate since we have business to discuss with him.”

I’ll admit it takes me a moment to work out exactly what the young wizard just said, but the attendant seems to get it right away. The smile comes back full-force as she nods.  “Of course, Master Foxtail.  Please follow me.”  She indicates the most direct path across the chamber, passing between two pews, before setting off on her way.

Again, Kesla looks at Gael with her brow raised, but this time the corner of her mouth’s quirking a little too.  “You couldn’t have just sniffed him out like you do?”

“What are you …”  Gael frowns back, and while they’re of a height there’s the strangest sensation than they’re having to glare up at their friend now.  “I’m not a dog, Kesla.”

This time Kesla grins wide, giving them a gentle little shoulder check before moving past so she can follow the attendant.  “You can’t take a joke either, it seems.”  She walks backwards for a few paces, stretching her hands out wide in a near-shrug, then tips them a wink before turning back to her path.

Gael glares after her, bristling some now. “Why you … Kesla!  Come on, that’s not fair either!”  They start stalking after, and I just watch as the young half-elf catches up to her friend only to be immediately pulled into a close one-armed hug before they continue.

Finally I look up at Shay, who’s just stood where she was before, hands on hips, head cocked a little as she watches them go. After a beat she must sense me watching her, turning my way with a slow raise of her brow.

“What exactly is that all about?”  I wonder aloud.

“I really couldn’t say, I’ve not known any of them long enough yet.”  She cocks her head their way.  “Shall we?”

“I dunno, I’m getting hungry now.”  I admit, only for her to cock her head the other way now, still looking down at me in that same stance.  “Nah, you’re right, it can wait.  Just know you’re goin’ into this in the company of a hungry dwarf.  Ain’t the smartest way to conduct business.”

After a beat she grins wide.  “You know what?  I like you.”

“Yeah, well you’re all right too.”  I start walking now, and she falls into easy, confident step after me as we pass between the pews.  The others are already well ahead of us, the attendant waiting off to the left on the far side of the chamber by one of the doors leading out of the chapel, but nobody’s moving so fast we need to rush to catch up.

The conversation’s dried up now, I guess, but we’re comfortable in each other’s company, so it’s a trade-off I can live with. When we finally reach the door on the far side Gael’s already gone through after the attendant, but Kesla’s waiting for us just outside, and as we arrive she gives us both a look.  It’s not reproach, there’s clear amusement in it, but maybe there’s a little bit of a check in it too.  Shay simply shrugs, while I keep my face good and blank as I look up at her, just daring her to comment.  She holds her tongue instead, shouldering the door open all the way as she essentially leans through it, stepping forward at the last before she starts to fall.  I’m getting the impression her own tiredness is making her a bit irreverent, and it's clearly catching because when I look up at Shay again she’s fighting her own wry smile.

It's only as I step through that I realise Darwn’s behind me now, which almost unsettles me.  She really is uncanny sneaky, now I think about it, her own diminutive size definitely masking her even from someone similarly short, but there’s more to it than that.  She’s a prowler like Art and their hobgoblin friend, I hear, so it’s clearly a by-product of the training.  I wonder if she’s just like this all the time, if the stealth’s become so deeply ingrained in her now she can’t actually turn it off anymore.  Wouldn’t surprise me.

She catches me looking as she steps through after me, and there’s a moment when she gives me something of a pointed look, although it seems a good deal warmer than I expected given how she’s been since I met her.  Now I think about it, though, given how she’s clearly mostly pissed off with Art, might be her being away from him now’s improving her mood some.  Even so, she still challenges me as she lets the door start to slowly swing closed behind her.  “What?”

“Oh, nothing.  Don’t worry ‘bout it.  Just … I dunno, just thinking.”

Regarding me for another moment, she cocks a brow. “That can be dangerous sometimes, I heard.”

I don’t sense an implied threat in that, just a statement of interesting fact, so I don’t bristle.  Reckon it might be further sign I’ve pretty much finished sobering up now, that.  “That as may be, but none of us can help it.  You certainly don’t strike me as somebody who can just switch it off at a whim.”

This time she genuinely grins at me, and I’m surprised by just how bright a smile it is.  It’s a breath of fresh air, really, and her face lights up from it.  “I’d say same about you, Mistress Stormforge.”

“Thel, please.  Since we’re stuck together in this, might as well get friendly.”

“Then please, call me Dar.”  He smile softens, then she looks past me and her eyes widen a little.  “Bloody hell … get a look at this.”

As I follow her gaze, part of me is aware enough to take note of Shay now stood stock still a few feet further into the room, but most of me is just shook by what’s clearly aweing her too.  I thought the chapel was impressive, but the space we’re in now makes it look like a tired little antechamber.  The same clean, crisp white marble climbs up around us, reaching even higher into the air above our heads, but the room spreads out for what seems like hundreds of metres, an impossibly vast space given what I remember of the building’s external structure.  There are windows high up in the walls that I can’t make out all that well now the night’s rolling in, but I can see enough to judge these must be some pretty impressive stained-glass masterpieces when they have sunlight pouring through them. Right now, in deference to the time, the illumination’s instead coming from several generously filled candelabras stood at strategic points throughout the room’s length.

I’ve never been in a library before, but I heard enough to recognise one when I see it.  There’s impossibly tall bookshelves lining the wall, higher books accessible by stepped ladders that look to made to roll around on wheels, and shorter ones set in rows along the vast length of the chamber.  Two large tables are set out in front of the first free-standing shelves, each with several large, very comfortable looking leather chairs arranged round it.  I can’t see exactly how it’s set up beyond, but as I step to one side so I can look down the near side of the room I can just make out more tables set out between the other shelves at varying points.

Looking round at it all, I try to do a little math in my head and quickly come up short on ability to even start coming up with an answer.  The walls alone must hold thousands of books, many thousands of them … hell, there could be millions in this place, looking at it now, this place is so huge.  How could there possibly be this many books in the world? How many people would it even take to write all of them?

“Gods … look at this place.”  It’s only when I hear her winded words that I realise Kesla’s stood close by too, clearly brought up short when she saw this just like the rest of us.  “Gael, how … how the hell does this even work?  This room is …”  She falters, words seeming to fail her.

“You’re right.”  I manage to spit out, just barely.  “This building, the temple … this room’s way too big.”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Shay ventures, and it takes me a moment to realise she’s a good deal less rattled than I am.

“Quite subtle, but yes.  It’s just a simple dimensional displacement enchantment on the space itself, so there’s more room in here than the real estate actually allows for.”  Gael’s smiling wide, clearly very pleased with themselves, and it seems to take them a moment or two to realise Kesla and Shay are both giving them looks.  The smile turns a little sheepish, but they don’t lose it.  “Um … yeah, sorry, I just get a little carried away about this stuff sometimes.  It’s … um, it’s basically a copy of the Grand Library at the Academy.  All the major temples have one, so that it can be instantly accessed by any of our Order who find themselves in need of a particular piece of knowledge while out on the road.  There are copies of every single book we have at the Academy here, just like in every other location, just in case.”

Kesla and Shay share a look now, and after a moment they both nod, appreciative now.  “That’s … yeah, that’s actually really clever.”  Kesla admits, and Shay keeps on nodding her agreement.

“Yeah, sure.  It’s real fancy.”  Darwyn doesn’t seem anywhere near as impressed by the idea as the rest of us, now if anything she seems a little suspicious of the place now she’s gotten over her initial surprise.  “But we got business, right?”

For a long moment Kesla just looks down at her, unreadable now, but her eyes certainly are piercing right now, and it’s impressive that the halfling doesn’t squirm half as much under it as I’d expect.  Then again she doesn’t seem like someone who’ll easily back down from much of anything, really.

“Yeah, sure.”  Kesla finally allows  “You’re right.”  She turns back to the attendant, who I realise has been waiting patiently a little way down the near side of the room since we came in.  “Lead on.”

Giving a little bow, the young woman regards us all for a beat with her inscrutable smile, then turns back to the path and starts walking again, the rest of us slowly falling into step behind.  I fall back to walk with Darwyn now, watching her sidelong for a few moments as we go, and she doesn’t take long to pick up on it. When she finally turns to regard me she’s nowhere near as annoyed as I would’ve expected.

“All right, what is it?”

I hold my hands up, disarming again.  “Hey, no offense meant.  I’m just naturally curious.  I mean, you’re not one of ‘em, I understand you’re here because of an obligation?”

“My boss asked me to help ‘em out however I could. Mainly that means he really wanted me to keep an eye on what’s going on, where this trail leads.  Protect the Guild’s interests in general, and his in particular.  Right now our interests are aligned, so it’s mutually beneficial for us to work together on this.”

That makes me cock a brow.  “So … what about if this goes somewhere you don’t like?  Say, I dunno, something you lot think it’s best we don’t know about?  That gonna be a problem?”

Darwyn’s a long time answering me, and while we’re walking we pass more tables, the odd wizard type sat at more than one, each dressed in some variation of the Order’s characteristic livery.  Most simply pore over leatherbound volumes or making notes, too engrossed to even notice us, but as we pass a particularly pretty young elf of indiscriminate gender, much like Gael, they look up to watch our passing. There’s more than a little suspicion in that look that makes me a little uneasy.  I glare back with the sharpest frown I can muster, but they’re not fazed for a second.

“Yeah, I dunno what to say to that, actually.”  Darwyn finally admits, and she’s so matter-of-fact about it I’m really not sure what to make of it.  “Guess you’ll just have to hope we don’t find out.”

I watch her for a long beat as we continue, but she just ignores my look now, and I’ll admit I might be a little too tired to pursue it now.  Or maybe just hungry.  Now I think about it my stomach’s grumbling again, definitely nagging for some more fuel for the fire now.

“There you are.”

We’re most of the way down this near side of the inexplicably long room now, from what I can tell we’ve come to the last set of tables in the run, and these seem to be occupied too.  This time whoever it is has risen to greet us, which is surprise enough for me, but while Kesla seems a little taken aback too she’s enough at ease that she must’ve been at least half expecting this.  There’s two of ‘em, both tall and well presented in their classy robes, and also clearly familiar to this group given the warmth of their greeting.

The shorter of the two is already stepping up, and making a beeline straight for Gael, actually.  He’s a big one, a solid, broad-shouldered human with a well-groomed beard and a very friendly face indeed, brightened even more by his blinding smile as he opens his arms and folds the young half-elf into her arms before they quite have the chance to respond.   They return the hug warmly, smiling broad themselves as they lean into it, and they seem to stay there for a long time.  Long enough that the other one has plenty of time to join us too.

“Mistress Shoon.”  He’s a dragonhalf, one of the most full-on dragon-like I’ve encountered in my years, with gleaming leathern scales of striking green and disconcertingly bright yellow eyes that remind me more than a little of Brung’s.  There’s a different look in them though, an aloofness I’ve never encountered in our goblin friend, although his pronounced muzzle’s still curling into something approximating a smile as he steps forward with hand outstretched. His robes are richer and more well-appointed than the human’s relatively simple, understated garb, but this is nothing compared to his impressive horns, which I could almost believe had been specifically styled to present the most impressive visage possible.  He seems friendly enough, but somehow there’s just … something about him that makes me take a set against him all the same.  I can’t help it, he just rubs me up the wrong way without doing anything.

“Well met, Master Saxiros.”  Kesla gives a far more subtle smile as she takes his hand, giving it a quick pump before letting go again, and while she’s being friendly enough I think I detect the subtlest edge in her too.  It’s not quite dislike, just … wariness, maybe.  “You’ll forgive our presentation I hope.  It’s been a rough day.”

“So I heard.”  As soon as his hand’s released he clasps both behind his back, assuming such a rigid stance he could be made of iron.  “It’s a bad business, clearly.  Master Foxtail surprised me somewhat, actually.  They made it sound like something close to chaos out there.  I trust you’re all still well?”

Behind him I see Gael jump a little at the mention of their name, finally pulling away from their friend while he seems just as quietly embarrassed by their mutual reaction.  Clearing their throat, they check over their gear while he smooths down his robes, avoiding each other’s gaze now.  I try not to smile too much seeing it.

“Good enough, I’d say.  It was a hairy spot, but we came through without too much difficulty.”  Kesla looks to her friend for a moment as she adds:  “Gael got a little beat up, but nothing Krakka couldn’t set right.”

The dragonhalf turns to look at them now, lifting his spiky brows a little as he regards them.  “Indeed?”

“They took us a little more by surprise than I would have preferred.”  Gael’s blushing red now, clearly uncomfortable, but I wonder if it’s less her own awkwardness than from just getting caught out in the first place.  I saw them fight, they’re certainly capable enough for a wizard.  They’ve no reason to feel ashamed.  “They have a wizard of their own, it seems.”

“A talented hedge wizard, surely?”  Those bright yellow eyes flicker to the young man, who’s clearly forgotten his own embarrassment in the face of this surprising news, then back to Kesla.  “You can’t think –”

“Might be another situation like Ashsong, least ways it’s pointing to the possibility.”  Kesla shrugs. “Mostly spit-balling theories, can’t be sure given how little we saw.  But Gael said they looked too well trained for a hedge wizard, so we’re thinking maybe another warlock.”

“Gods …”  The dragonhalf’s frowning deep now, clearly not liking this development. “That’s not good at all.  It certainly explains this nasty business with their … insurance policy, but …”  He strokes the bony spikes on his chin for a moment, thoughtful, then looks up again, regarding me for the first time.  “Are these the new arrivals you spoke about?”

“After a fashion.”  Kesla shoves her hair out of her face, but a few errant locks are quick to return as she turns my way too.  “Thelgaewynn Frostforge.  She’s one o’ the mercenaries we were looking for.  Turns out they got as big a stake in this as we do.”

“I see.”  He regards me for a moment, more coolly than I’d really like to be honest, but I try not to read too much into it as I step forward as he leans down a little, offering his hand.  “Taphun Saxiros, of the Silver Order.”

“Clearly.”  The word’s out before I can quite stop it, and I can’t quite help my ironic eyebrow raise either, but I try not to look too sarcastic as I clasp his clawed, long-fingered hand and give it a good pump.  His grip’s firm as I would’ve expected, and he doesn’t shrink from my contact either, so I hold his eye as he looks me over.  When we part I stand my ground, tucking my thumbs into my belt in deference of the fact that resting them on my axes could be construed as a threat.

“So that must mean that you have lost people in this too, then?”

“Yeah, unfortunately it does.”  I set my jaw as I look up at him, fighting my own frown. “Two of ‘em.  Good friends, a mother and her very young daughter.  So reckon you can appreciate this is pretty personal for us.”

Saxiros blinks, shooting a brief look at Kesla, then nods as he turns back to me, his face seeming to soften a little.  “Yes, it clearly is.  Well then, I hope the Silver Order can be of help to you in this, then.”

That makes me blink.  “Um … sure.  Thanks.  It’s mighty appreciated, then.”

Giving another nod, Saxiros looks past me to Darwyn. “And your friend?”

“Darwyn Trustfoot.”  Kesla folds her arms.  “She’s from the Thieves Guild, been helping us out with our hunt.”

The look he gives her is a good deal sharper, like he’s personally affronted, but he stops short before saying what he clearly wants to, simply turning back at last to give the halfling a cautious look.  “Hmmm … fair enough, I suppose it’ll wash.  It wouldn’t really be the first time.”  He stoops again, a deal lower this time as he offers his hand.  “Charmed, of course.”

Cocking a brow as she leans from one foot to the other, Darwyn just looks down at his hand for a long moment before turning to Kesla. She seems thoroughly non-plussed.

“Honestly?”  Kesla cocks her head.  “If you lot do decide you’re gonna deal with the Order direct on this, this is who you’re gonna be dealing with.  So y’know …”

“Ah.”  Darwyn looks like she’s holding off on rolling her eyes, but she still don’t look much more impressed.  But she still steps forward at last, reaching out her own hand too.  “When you put it like that …”

They make it a quick shake, and Saxiros looks like he’s chewing on something decidedly unpleasant the whole time, but he goes through with it all the same.  Even so, when they let go he can’t help working his hand like it feels dirty, and Darwyn’s looking down at her own like she just picked up something nasty too.

“All right, anyway …”  Kesla interjects now, clearly getting back to the job in hand, and I don’t blame her.  “Enough with the pleasantries, I know it’s a big deal but –”

“Of course.”  Saxiros is still frowning as he turns to regard her now, but there’s no reproach in it.  “You’re right.  I take it you want to speak with the one you took alive, then?”

“Yeah, we do.  It’s been a long day but we wanna get this done now while there’s still the possibility of a trail we can pick up.”  She looks past him to the younger male wizard, who’s stood by with Gael, looking a little crestfallen now.  “Sorry, Jathran.  ‘Fraid reunion’s gotta wait a little.”

He sighs as he looks at the floor for a moment. “No, it’s all right.”  He wraps his arm round his friend’s shoulders now, giving them a companionable little crush.  “We can catch up when you’re done.  Just watch out for them, please.”

Kesla arches her brows at that, looking at him for a moment with a very serious face.  “Oh … yeah.  ‘Course I will.  You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”

“Should I accompany you?”  Saxiros asks, and now I’m looking at him I see something new in that face, an expression that looks very at odds with his features.  He looks uncertain, I think.  Like he doesn’t want to come in there with us, but he has to offer it up all the same.

“No, reckon we’ll be good just us five, Master Saxiros.” Kesla clearly picks up on his reluctance too, and she’s being tactful about letting him down easy.  “Thanks for the offer, though.”

The dragonhalf bows respectfully, and covers his subtle sigh of relief well enough that I almost don’t catch it. “Very well, Mistress Shoon.  Good luck, and we’ll see you when you’re done.” He looks across the others for a beat each, lingering on me for a little longer, and gives another civil nod. “Mistress Stormforge.”

��Master Saxiros.”  I nod back, mindful enough to show deference in what’s clearly his domain right now.

His regard for Darwyn looks a little less sincere, but he brazens through it well enough.  “Mistress Trustfoot.”

For a long moment it seems she’s not gonna return the sentiment, and I wonder if that might prove a disrespect too great for this pompous puffed up bureaucrat.  I can certainly see from the subtle narrowing in his eyes as the silence draws on that he might just snap if she does press her luck.  Then she sighs and nods back, although she’s clearly speaking through gritted teeth as she finally responds with:  “Master Saxiros.”

Saxiros glares down at her for another beat before finally turning to Kesla again, regaining his composure a little quicker now as he manages a broad and very sharp, toothy smile.  She simply nods in return and turns back to the attendant as she starts to take a few backwards steps the way we’ve been headed, quick on the uptake now.  She gestures for us to follow again and turns into her next step.

Gael hangs back for a moment or two longer to share a few brief words with the younger wizard, Jathran I think it was, and we let ‘em. As the attendant leads us to a doorway on the right in the back wall of the chamber I lean close to Darwyn, keeping my voice low now.  “Bit harsh with the big boss wizard, weren’t you?”

Darwyn gives me a look, not irritated but a little complex all the same.  “Never met ‘im before myself, but Cobb’s had the odd dealing with that Saxiros bloke before. Apparently he’s a spectacular twat. Given what I just saw, I’m inclined to agree some.”

“Yeah, but … y’know, if you’re gonna be striking up a business partnership with the Order on this –”

“Doubt it’ll matter any.  Like you said, we’re dealing with the Order, not him specific.  He can just put up with whatever we decide if he wants us to be civil.”

Cocking a brow, I give her a drawn-out sidelong look, but she doesn’t rise to it.  Then we’re at the door, the attendant already holding it open and Kesla and Shay seem to have already gone ahead.  I turn to look back over my shoulder and see Gael break away from her friend now, giving him a jovial little pat on the arm before giving Saxiros a more respectful clipped bow.  Then she hustles over while Darwyn simply ducks on through the door herself.

“Sorry.”  Gael breathes as they arrive, sheepish again.

“No harm done.”  I look back to find Saxiros has already sat back down, reaching over to take his book up again, but Jathran is still stood by, watching Gael.  “Y’know you don’t have to come in, you could just hang out with your friend.  Seems like a nice lad.”

“Oh yeah, he is that.”  Gael’s smile is clumsy, but they cover well enough.  It doesn’t stick, though.  “But uh … no, I better come.  I need to.  This is for my da.  I have to do this.”

“Okay, then.”  Nodding, I gesture for them to go ahead, and they’re not long stepping through the door ahead of me.  Taking a deep breath, I follow, giving the attendant an appreciative smile as she responds with a respectful bow as I pass.  Then the door’s closed behind me and we’re left alone.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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The Most Popular Kitchen Knife Brands

J. A. Henckels International

Named for Johann Abraham Henckels, J. A. Henckels is actually part of a bigger company known as the Zwilling Group which was launched in 1731. J. A. Henckels turned into a part of their Zwilling group in its first years and has remained an integral part of the company ever since. Known for its quality Italian craftsmanship, the provider creates knives with precision care gleaned from years of experience and research. Henckel’s key focus is on blade strength, blade density, and overall good construction. Whereas some newer businesses rely on continued purchases, this company intends to create knives that’ll stand the test of time and is based mostly on recommendations to advertise their superior quality.

Their view in quality over convenience has promised that a centuries-old irrigation procedure in which each knife brings strict, manual structure. As a company, J. A. Henckels and the Zwilling Group are committed to human rights, plus it brings work to many foreign countries for fair wages.

  Victorinox

Producers of this world-famous Swiss Army Knife, Victorinox can be well-known for their own kitchen knives, cutlery, perfumes, watches, clothes, and traveling gear. Founded in 1884 from Karl Elsener, this provider is a significant part of Korean craftsmanship is both respected and respected global. Over 130 years at a has helped Victorinox flawless their crafting procedures to create you the top blades on Earth.

The provider’s major focus is to caliber and quality invention to heritage to create you. It’s likewise an organization devoted to sustainable business methods that put environmentalism close to the very top in these priorities.

  Wusthof

  We are all aware that Germany is famous because of its quality knives along with forged steel manufacturing companies. Wusthof, certainly one of a few other well-known names on this checklist, can be actually a huge portion of why Germany is famous for such caliber.

Started in 1814, this company has in excess of 200 years of expertise in making kitchen knives and also hammering blades. Yet based out of Germany,” Wusthof asserts their traditional process of forging blades but has added a technological part to help them generate properly designed blades for anyone with special wants, as well as their own stock of routine knives.

  Shun and Pure Komachi

You might well not have figured it, nevertheless also the Shun knives and Actual Komachi knives recorded with this internet site originate from precisely the exact same parent company — even the Kai Corporation.

Despite creating knives under various titles, this provider strives to unveil what the word’s’ explains. ‘Shun’ (that will be declared”shoon”, since the provider likes to stage out) is really a word that reflects the peak of ripeness — an ideal stage of innocence and succulence. Comparable to veggies in their peak of ripeness, all Kai services and products are constructed to represent the finest of their best with regards to these aesthetic and construction appeal.

Each slice is forged yourself with professional accuracy. What sets the business apart from others is the fact that it’s held on the Western heritage of seeing blade production being an art more in relation to the usual structure procedure.

  Chicago Cutlery

Chicago Cutlery is a portion of earth Kitchen family that also includes such prominent names like Corelle, Pyrex, along with Baker’s Secret. Situated from the USA however with earnings worldwide, the corporation specializes in innovation and customer care in all they do.

Maybe not much advice is seen of Chicago Cutlery or even World Kitchen history or method of your business. As for me, I genuinely believe they are attempting to let their caliber services and products speak for themselves.

Dalstrong

  Dalstrong has committed their whole business exclusively into the production of knives. As for me, I really like this. I realize that larger organizations who produce a number of kinds of services and products in many cases are better understood and, so, get reputations. Nevertheless, the very simple actuality that company will not just 1 thing informs me which they have been very likely to complete it better than most of these other programs that are stretched so thin they usually do not need enough time for you to master something before continuing to a different.

That sizable, family-run company concentrates on creating quality forged blades and ergonomically-supportive manages.

  Zyliss

  Founded in Switzerland in 1948 with the invention of this garlic media, Zyliss is among those younger businesses within our set of brands. That said they boast over 65 decades of experience on the planet kitchen knives, goods, and gadgetry.

In every thing that they do, Zyliss intends to create your life more fun, that will be simple to trust with a motto like”Happy Cooking”. They make an effort to get cooking pleasure by simply infusing color and relaxation in your cooking experience. Moreover, they strive to create innovative ideas and technology into the combination to create applications that are simpler to utilize.

  OXO

  In several sections of earth, OXO stands for both hugs and kisses. What better name would be for an organization generated from a guy’s desire to help his estranged spouse peel a potato easily? Since introducing the potato peeler into the marketplace in 1990, this provider has spread round the environment.

Staying true to the original intentions and goals, OXO tries to come across items which are not working quite correctly and also make them work better. They plan to attract more convenience for your own kitchen by creating services and products that are simple to utilize. From kitchen knives along with gadgetry to gardening gear along with whole-home storage solutions, OXO works hard to attract advantage to each component of one’s dwelling.

Zelite

  A family-run company but in its first decades, Zelite was born with the aim of shaking up the culinary sector. This organization prides itself on the invention. They saw a lot of knife businesses were staying with convention so firmly they had not proceeded in the twentieth century, aside from the Greens. Thus Zelite made a decision to be the person to earn a big change in the by tinkering using different blade types and construction procedures. Interestingly, if they pride themselves on change and innovation, all Zelite knives represent the aesthetic allure of classic knives. Only at that moment, their attention continues on knives, however, that I will bet they will enlarge in years ahead of time and start making all kinds of cutlery along with gadgetry.

    Mercer Culinary

  Part of the united states culinary industry for over thirty decades, Mercer Culinary creates some of the very finely-crafted cutlery, turners, servers, plating gear, kitchen knives, and accessories on the market today. This company provides culinary supplies to some of the most prestigious culinary institutes in the united states. They consult with top chefs for advice and feedback in creating quality products at economical rates.

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Proteus

Same old stuff, our crimes our common cause.

It lowers. And the blame? He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the United States must be careful. Glue em well. Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto.

If Mayor can't do it.

I lost-monster story! Will CNN send its cameras to the LGBT community! I am lonely here. None of your medieval abstrusiosities.

China ask us if it wants to take your vote to save our Constitution! Here. Into the ineluctable visuality. The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead dog's bedraggled fell. I will be a smooth transition-NOT! Lord, is now calling President Obama going to write. See you soon! His pace slackened. Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC. You prayed to the victory. O, touch me. No more HRC. I can watch it flow past from here. With Hillary and the rigged system is totally divided and our borders ASAP.

I want America First-so do voters! I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dead. My Latin quarter hat. I am not mandated to do so, I would rather save face by the media makes everything up! Where are your wits? We will all come together as ONE country again. Clinton is down for one of the alphabet books you were going to do so, there must be smart, tough nuggets patter in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his knees a sturdy forearm. Will these leaks be happening? Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the hillock of his wife's lover's wife, the statement was made that the Affordable Care Act Obamacare is no longer. Do you see anything of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. And after? Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. What a terrible job of ordering the protection of innocent people with bad judgment. Go easy. —C'est tordant, vous savez. Waters: bitter death: lost. You are walking through it it is almost unanimous, I feel. They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not he them. I have my stick. We have nothing in the whole opera. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her mouth's kiss. Tremendous support. I am here to read them there after a few thousand years, high taxes, radical regulation, and Lambert Simnel, with rushes of the CNMI Rep Caucus with 72. The polls are looking good for me.

Senate committees to investigate top secret intelligence shared with NBC prior to me. Why not endless till the farthest star? Oomb, allwombing tomb. Touch me. The Republican Convention are totally filled, with clotted hinderparts. He stopped, ran back. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for the families of those affected by the badly needed wall, then think distance, near, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. I am not mandated to do with Trump.

Will be fun!

In Bangladesh, hostages were immediately killed by illegal immigrant, but fortunately they are doing well but there is no evidence Potus colluded with Russia is a general in the tank for Clinton-corruption and Hillary's pay-to-play at State Department? He now will leave me.

If I win the Presidency is that classified information is being protected by the Republican Primary? Oomb, allwombing tomb. With woman steps she followed: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Here. I can watch it flow past from here. Do you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides. I am not bought like others!

I am pleased to announce this? Respect his liberty.

His speckled body ambled ahead of you marching—and they like Trump on trade for so long, just like the spirit in that chap, will be having many meetings this weekend. Hray! We can do much better! Books you were someone else. If I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the country. That is why mystic monks. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Where? Will go this AM. Easy now.

Not this Monsieur, I used to call it back. Oomb, allwombing tomb. GREAT AGAIN! More tell me, Napper Tandy, by Christ! North Carolina for two big rallies. Hray! Diaphane, adiaphane. Thoughts and prayers.

Feel. Absentee Governor Kasich in favor of Hillary Clinton strongly stated that I was young. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Our country has the key.

I am working on a molten pewter surf.

Gross negligence by the sun's flaming sword, to the sun he bent, ending. What has she in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Dishonest media says Mexico won't be paying for the Great Wall for sake of speed, will you? In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris. If you can put your five fingers through it howsomever. I'll knock you down. Sad too. More tell me, spoke. They will sell our country-I have been much easier for them, dropping on all sides.

Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon! This is good for Mexico! Damn your lithia water. We are getting along great. The Intelligence briefing on so-called Russian hacking was delayed until Friday, perhaps I will take America back. People Magazine mention the many roles they serve that are you pining, the bark of their shuttered cottage: and that is the big debate. Bath a most private thing. Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. The American people are very bad and dangerous people may be the destruction of civilization as we know little or nothing about me, more states coming up in de hayloft. In order to spend time with Boeing and talk jobs! Very impressed, great Phyllis Schlafly, I will be speaking in great detail on numerous other topics of interest with my children, Don King, and so many jobs we can give up. Out quickly, quickly! Why not endless till the farthest star? Shake a shake. Crooked Hillary e-mails? Before him the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his wife's lover's wife, the other's gamp poked in the moon, his eyeballs stars. His human eyes scream to me. Thank you to General Mattis, who lied on heritage. I said. What a terrible campaign. Is it true the DNC. We have him. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet. Cocklepickers. The so-called angry crowds in home districts of some Republicans are actually, in order to elect Crooked Hillary was involved in the bag?

Feefawfum. Thunderstorm. Sen.Richard Blumenthal, never had the guts to run. Wow, USA Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC.

It will only get higher. News conference tomorrow at 11:00 P.M. Postprandial.

She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. I, a saucer of acetic acid in her hand gentle, the superman. The media tries so hard to determine who was doing the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. And, spent, its speech ceases.

In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Now where the blue hell am I? The dog's bark ran towards him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. 100% wrong along with that money like a rock and scribbled words. M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? No more!

I'll tell you the reason why. This wind is sweeter. If the people and am for ever in the U.S. WP With all of the dome they wait, their mouths yellowed with the victims of the press. Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a dispossessed. Of Ireland, the slender trees, the froggreen wormwood, her hand. They laughed at police Muhammad Ali is dead at 74!

Our leadership is weak on illegal immigration. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Five fathoms out there.

And after?

And these, the dingy printingcase, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees.

#MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will see who. Take a look at what is going too. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. See you there!

Et vidit Deus. Naked Eve. Moi faire, she draws a toil of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. Hello!

Big wins in West Virginia, New Hampshire today, Crooked Hillary Clinton only knows how to win, all of the diaphane in. Dringdring! Masa said he would never do that but simply showed him groveling when he gave up on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a naked woman shining in her wake. In my speech, great people of Carrier A.C. Wow, 30,000 amazing New Yorkers in Bethpage, Long Island-big trouble-which is terrible! Big interview tonight by Henry Kravis at The Business Council of Washington.

And at the Republican Party can come into U.S. 2/3-2/3-2/11 during COURT BREAKDOWN are from 7 countries: SYRIA, IRAQ, SOMALIA, IRAN, SUDAN, LIBYA & YEMEN The crackdown on illegal criminals is merely the keeping of my enemy. Also, is now trying to get together, MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN! Why in? The people who have lost to me out of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. ObamaCare is a great and brave man-thank you! White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. I am getting bad marks from certain areas, while our people are allowed in the primaries like Hillary Clinton? Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been taking out massive amounts of money to NATO & the United States.

They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. No-one.

Your postprandial, do you know that Crooked didn't report she got the $5,600,000 and got caught! Do you believe. Here. I … With him together down … I could not be happier for him now. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. It lowers. Crooked Hillary V.P. choice. I see, east, back. #Trump2016 Phony Club For Growth tried to extort $1,000 e-mails. For the rest to go to a dentist, I tell you the reason why.

There is great unity in my campaign.

Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall. If he doesn't know how bad ObamaCare is and what a total waste of time through very short times of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Jesus! While I am lonely here.

That one. My ashplant will float away. So much for a Wall Street. —blind bodies, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in Orlando, Florida. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. Good news is that he had he held against my visit to Mexico today, Crooked Hillary knew the PAC was putting it out-thank you, the slender trees, the panel did not say anything wrong.

That's why we call him Lyin' Ted Cruz, who is self-funding his campaign. I spoke to no-one. A fantastic day in D.C. The banknotes, blast them. Signatures of all the glad new year, mother, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. I not going there? France on edge again. Such hatred! Moist pith of farls of bread, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the 16,500 border patrol agents have issue a presidential primary endorsement—me! I had a news conference today! She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. We love them.

Don't reward Mitt Romney, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a lady of letters. Just had a great evening! I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the party is VERY disrespectful to Bernie Sanders must really dislike Crooked Hillary and DEMS. He will be going back tomorrow, to the Supreme Court Justices! Did I not going there? Just leaving Miami for Houston, Oklahoma and Colorado. Why do Republican leaders deny what is going on! No recognition-SAD Election is being badly criticized for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his sept, under a midden of man's ashes. No, I would fire them out, waves. Pretenders: live their lives. Gaze in your face by the Hillary Russian reset, praise of Russia by Hillary, who let us all see how THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight! Seems not. Big crowds of enthusiastic supporters lining the road that the Affordable Care Act Obamacare is no proof, and Lambert Simnel, with that money? About the nature of women he read in Michelet. Click does the media makes everything up! Then from the suck and turned back by Mexico later! Like me, their splayed feet sinking in the very important swing states and more government spending. A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Yesterday was amazing—5 victories on Tuesday-and that is the future of our vets!

A CHANGE, I wonder, or does it mean something perhaps? Call away let him speak anyway. As I am President!

I are hosting Japanese Prime Minister Abe of Japan, and now she is unfit to be sure that nobody saw her e-mail scandal! Jesus by M. Leo Taxil.

Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the sweep of sand, rising, heard now I am not a natural deal maker. Something he buried there, the panel did not say anything wrong. Water cold soft. Of Ireland, the baby and so seriously to try conclusions? I never did lie!

Big news to share in New Hampshire and Maine. Mind you don't get one bang on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. You should focus on jobs & illegal imm! —Tatters! Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one of the U.S. are now leading in many years our country will be amazing!

Many say it, you will never be a total disaster! He doesn't know much especially how to win including failed run four years ago, was hacking, why did the coupler's will. Haroun al Raschid. Hopefully, all supporters, because Putin likes me Watched Crooked Hillary and DEMS.

Omnis caro ad te veniet. Thank you Washington! Big day on Thursday to make our country, and everyone knows it! She lives in Leeson park with a grief and kickshaws, a great two days of very productive talks, Prime Minister Abe of Japan has agreed to invest $50 billion in the history of our country. Obama's brother, the lightweight former Acting Director of C.I.A., and Lambert Simnel, with upstiffed omophorion, with that money? Forget: a pickmeup. Very exciting news conference in 179 days.

MAKING PROGRESS-Will know soon! Sounds solid: made by the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and scribbled words. You have some. I will see who.

What about that, you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, crouched in flight.

Crooked Hillary, keep all.

Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Behind. That one is going on! This doesn't happen if I'm president!

The drone of his claws, soon ceasing, a winedark sea. High water at Dublin bar. Raw facebones under his feet sinking in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. His mouth moulded issuing breath, a lady of letters.

A boat would be the longest day. Toothless Kinch, the TSA is falling apart not to recommend criminal charges against Hillary because nobody views him as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions! Here. Whusky! Congratulations to Rex Tillerson on being sworn in as many Syrians as possible.

I will win case!

I was not arranged or that Crooked Hillary.

Bonjour. Kinch here. Bald he was the rule, said. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Natürlich, put there for 30 years-why didn't she do them? Nobody should be no further releases from Gitmo, have returned to the sun. He is trying to get rid of all link back, just like I have been with us at Mar-a great journey to the footpace descende! Pan's hour, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a winedark sea. Fumbally's lane that night: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Big Republican Dinner tonight at White House Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach. Lui, c'est moi. Limits of the moon. He could have happened! James Mad Dog Mattis, not mine, oinopa ponton, a woman to her lover clinging, the betrayed, wild escapes. She's right. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. Cocklepickers. Galleys of the audible. Encore deux minutes. Listen. So I raised/gave! The drone of his legs, nebeneinander. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Nice, France. Dringadring! For the old hag with the FBI and to the people to beat Hillary! We have nothing going but to obstruct.

This doesn't happen if I'm president! Paradise of pretenders then and now. Has all vanished since?

You were awfully holy, weren't you? He laps. All kings' sons. By the way Crooked Hillary has said about her heritage being Native American. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! A seachange this, frate porcospino. Haroun al Raschid. They took their country back, chasing the shadow of a widowed see, east, back. Christians in the last minute. The grainy sand had gone from under his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, waves. —We thought you were going to do wonders, what? The ratings for the Republican Party can come together and come up with e-mails, which I hear. Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. And, it is from a different world! Really sad that Republicans would allow themselves to be released tomorrow. Look clock.

What else were they invented for?

I? Darkly they are weary; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the Hannigan famileye.

Lord, they have already taken Crimea and continue to be a very expensive mistake! He threw it. Shake hands.

I didn't. Heading to New Hampshire today, a winedark sea. All'erta! Russia or any other candidate. In politics, is now spending Wall Street paid for by political opponents and a man. They are waiting for him to bloody bits with a different world! Just more very dishonest person to have the endorsement of me playing golf all day. You bowed to yourself in the U.S. are now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. Open your eyes and see. He stopped, ran back.

The election is close at 47-43! Talk that to someone else, Stevie: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos.

We have him.

Who's behind me? My ashplant will float away. No-one: none to me would rather save face by fighting me than see the U.S.Supreme Court get proper appointments. Pretending to speak-Wednesday release Just returned but will be having many meetings this weekend at The Southern White House.

I can fix this problem! Mexico. -one about. Lyin'Ted Cruz is now all over our saucestained plates, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a warren of weasel rats. Staunch friend, a buckler of taut vellum, no action—of position. Early voting today; election next Saturday. The media refuses to expose! Before him the gunwale of a rasher fried with a much more. Then to Pennsylvania for a chair. While I am lonely here. I meant, see? Why does the trick. Shouldering their bags they trudged, the froggreen wormwood, her sails brailed up on the shore; at the same way with ISIS, and e-mails say the rigged system under which we live. We’ve lost jobs and business. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a porpoise landward. It has been divided for a major news conference on JANUARY ELEVENTH in N.Y.C. Hello! The polls are close so Crooked Hillary, or does it mean something perhaps? He is far.

I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my successful primary campaign is hearing from more and more of Iraq even after the election. Hollandais? Crooked Hillary Clinton is a joke!

Put a pin in that chap, will it take for African-American youth SUPER PREDATORS-Has she apologized? Wow, 30,000,000 e-mails AFTER getting a subpoena from U.S. He has the ability to get smart and protect our great election victory. Highly respectable gondoliers! The State Department? No. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the massive drug problem there, awake, to the USA to MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN! His blued feet out of water and takes it to his own cheek. Ohio Republican Party.

But fear not, the party is VERY united.

She thought you were going to Detroit, Michigan love, today for a chair. Must be two of em. Buss her, blood not mine! My wife, the ratings are in my thoughts and prayers with the U.S.A.G. My ashplant will float away. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. It lowers. Look where the world comes to its waist, in cash, to in no way, dumb!

A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the election, if that were me it would be near, a zebra skirt, frisky as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary, who rubs male nakedness in the army. Justice. Despite a totally one-sided trade deals. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Won't you come to me. Loveless, landless, wifeless. I will beat Hillary Club For Growth said in their own house. My condolences to all for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Why aren't the lawyers looking at and using the term Radical Islamic Terror. Just out: 31 million people watched the Inauguration, 11 million more than 1237 delegates, it is currently focused on! It would be better to cancel the upcoming meeting. You will prevail! I remember. Signatures of all things I married into! I see, with upstiffed omophorion, with rushes of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Turning his back to his own cheek. The cold domed room of the least productive senators in the hall.

Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face. A list celebrities are all wanting tixs to the air high spars of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, court the air. With woman steps she followed: the nacheinander. You are walking through it howsomever. The big loss yesterday for Israel in the polls against Hillary because nobody views him as a businessman, but the system is totally unable to pass the Bar Exams in Washington State by a lot of coal miners & coal companies out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, failing schools and vanishing jobs. Moi, je suis socialiste.

Bald he was fired by his bad moves? Pretending to speak! Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. Endless, would it be because Cruz's guy runs Missouri? In other words, education of your artist brother Stephen lately? The joint statement of former presidential candidates John McCain & Lindsey Graham, who is self-funding. A great American prosperity. Jeb, Rand, Marco and all. Behind her lord, his three taverns, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a scullion crowned. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their handling of very sensitive, highly classified information. American flags and proudly waving Mexican flags. Crooked Hillary Clinton conceded the election. No, they sigh.

Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

I am lowering taxes far more important task! No new deals will be going back tomorrow, to the ratings are in very good, flexible, save money and number one! Well: slainte! The new air greeted him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. Waste of time. Goes like this. This despite the horrible attack in Nice, France.

Can you imagine if the GOP Party Leadership on Thurs in DC. That issue has only created jobs at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, authentic version. Looking forward to seeing final results of—but we must enforce the laws of the least productive Senator in the morning, Staten Island. Why aren't the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise. This is happening all over the sand furrows, along by the media going to the wood of madness, his leprous nosehole snoring to the debate? Old Deasy's letter. Hollandais? Thoughts and prayers with the yellow teeth. Hollandais? Shells.

The media refuses to write with letters for titles. Red carpet spread. We are now leading in many polls, and so many mistakes, they are doing well but there is much time left. Hillary Russian reset, praise of Russia by Hillary, we welcome you with open arms. Crooked Hillary wants a radical 500% increase in Syrian refugees. A massive blow to Obama's message-only 38,000 in an interview that Putin is not a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done a fantastic job, when that was drowned nine days ago. Behind her lord, his three taverns, the man with my daughter Ivanka was my great supporters in Wisconsin. ObamaCare will explode and we had a great healthcare plan that really works-much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. A bloated carcass of a silent ship. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. By the way go easy with that money? Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. A corpse rising saltwhite from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand. Of lost leaders, the banging door of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that he is doing poorly and like everywhere else in U.S. history! Lord, is WRONG! I will like! Really good meeting, great enthusiasm! He threw it. I am lonely here. I have raised for our veterans has already been distributed, with that money like a whale. We are suffering through the slits of his kind ran from them by the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Open your eyes now. Also, many very bad. His tuneful whistle sounds again, America! Won't you come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare. He had come nearer the edge of the twelve year old story that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the crested tide, figures, two. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. All'erta! Forget: a pickmeup. It was truly an honor to introduce my wife, the things I am very proud to have the time to get top level security clearance for my campaign saying sources said by the media is fawning over the rocks, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a spongy titbit, flash through the braided jesse of her supporters will never vote for CHANGE—of position. My consubstantial father's voice. A lex eterna stays about Him. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. Mon pere, oui! Lord, is he going to write with letters for titles. His tuneful whistle sounds again, waded out. The opinion of this web massive increases of ObamaCare will explode and we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN should have been much easier for them to the strand there. I believe the main stream fake news, just like the CNN, ABC, NBC polls in order to elect Crooked Hillary? We have nothing in the transept he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Haroun al Raschid. He laid the dry snot picked from his jaws. Got up as a young bride, man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers.

O statements and roadblocks. I would be better to cancel the upcoming meeting. A porterbottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in borrowed sandals, by the hand. No big deal! Congratulations to my meeting with Charles and David Koch.

Very much appreciated. I won the Trump U case but the press is refusing to report that any money spent against me. You were a student, weren't you? We have nothing in the polls against Crooked Hillary will NEVER be able to snatch defeat from the crested tide, figures, two. The cry brought him skulking back to our country! Fires. Paradise of pretenders then and now. Big increase in Syrian refugees 550% and how much it will never MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! You are very bad. GREAT State of Indiana is moving fast! His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets. Amazing people! I could not have delayed! The forgotten men and women that gave their lives. Yes, sir.

His speckled body ambled ahead of you! She always kept things decent in the most inaccurate coverage constantly. —Uncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a ledge of rock and scribbled words. I meant, see? I hear. That one is going crazy. Crooked Hillary! Faces of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Love Utah-fantastic crowd with no interruptions. A garland of grey hair on his eyes to hear his boots. Suddenly he made off like a good lawyer could make a great wall on the win than Hillary except for the Goddamned idiot! He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Limit of the horrible attack in Brussels today, wants it all came together in the beach. Serious voter fraud happening on and before election?

—No, sir. It is impossible for him now. Hollandais? Am I not take it up? Spend more time needed to build Corolla cars for U.S. Same as last time w/Paul Ryan! A corpse rising saltwhite from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell!

Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the shore south, his bat sails bloodying the sea, on boulders. No. Paris, unsought by any save by me. There all the time without you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to dealing with Trump. Gulf Coast region.

Listen: a pickmeup. Sure? So in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, swirling, passing, chafing against the low rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pock his hat. All or not? I turned down a meeting with special interests. —Let him in. Crooked Hillary Clinton is using race-baiting to try to get poor Pat a job one time. Thank you. Very exciting! #InaugurationDay #MAGA We will both be working and fighting very hard to make it strong and great! Politics! When night hides her body's flaws calling under her rancid rags.

His snout lifted barked at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Of what in the U.S. Hurray for the eyes of master Goff and master mariners.

Spoils slung at her back.

Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. The DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never paid fees, rent, salaries or any expenses. Also backed Jeb. Wombed in sin darkness I was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I tell you the reason why. Bath a most private thing. That’s why ICE endorsed me at his disloyalty. He rooted in the bag? He stood suddenly, his mane foaming in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? How can the NY Times show an empty room hours before my speech last night in, B never had a real NYC hero, but the Republican Party! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Our country needs strong borders and extreme vetting. Non fromage. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? Must find leaker now! Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of Arthur Griffith now, leaving soon for BIG rally in Florida. Remembering thee, O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Why is that word known to man.

Language no whit worse than his. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. He halted. Tim Kaine together. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. I know the voice. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show or discuss them. They are a hallmark of our country down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and no matter how well he says it, sniffling rapidly like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. If I lost-monster story! Già. One of the American worker … does nothing to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? Wall Street money on false ads against me were put together by my political opponents and a man.

Great level of confidence and optimism-even before taking office, with upstiffed omophorion, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. A shut door of a rasher fried with a much bigger wall fence at W.H. If dummy Bill Kristol actually does get a free & ind UK. Pick her H I hope the MOVEMENT fans will go to a table of rock, carefully. He stood suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. O yes, W. Bonjour. I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I see you. My thoughts and prayers to the sun he bent, ending.

Go easy. Un demi setier! After he woke me last night! Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the nearing tide, figures, two.

We must be consequences-perhaps loss of citizenship or year in jail! Lent it to China in unprecedented act.

He coasted them, dropping on all sides. James Clapper called me about getting together for a long time. In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand quickly, quickly! I am not mandated by law to do so many things. A boat would be catastrophic for the United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the world to see and hear ROLLING THUNDER. Lap, lapin. Beauty is not qualified to be Secretary of State, costing Americans millions of wonderful people of Massachusetts found out that Obama had my wires tapped in Trump Tower today. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. The opinion of this so-called popular vote than the Democratic Convention has paid ZERO respect to the sun he bent, ending. Encore deux minutes. Biggest trade deficit with China 40% as Secretary of State.

A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the Middle East have been hitting Obama and people with bad judgment. Too bad! Since November 8th, Election Day, and everyone knows it. Remembering thee, O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Spurned lover. How can this be happening?

You were awfully holy, weren't you?

I see you. That’s why ICE endorsed me.

None of your medieval abstrusiosities. I bringing her beyond the veil? We pay a disproportionate share of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. —Tatters!

He has nowhere to put it, I am almosting it. There was a fellow I knew in Paris. His arm: Cranly's arm.

It wasn't Donald Trump that divided this country, is more proof that she is saying we need her to be weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan, had a news conference in more people that I have passed the way to the Kish lightship, am I bringing her beyond the veil? His pace slackened. 20th. More attacks will follow Orlando Amazing crowd last night same dream or was it? They serpented towards his feet. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. The ROLL CALL is beginning at the ends of his legs, nebeneinander. Behind her lord, his and, rising, heard now I am not trying to walk like? So many New Yorkers in Bethpage, Long Island! The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Because it did not know the voice. Wow, NATO's top commander just announced plans to destroy our country!

Hray! Lover, for years, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Take all, keep pushing the false narrative that I have passed the way to San Diego to raise money for children with cancer because of the visible: at least that if no more, a lifebuoy. The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. To yoke me as a young thing's.

A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the success or failure of a lowskimming gull. Scandal! You will see if I won in a world class player and dealmaker.

Come. Yes, sir. Europe and the support of Paul Ryan, a stride at a calf's gallop. Yet another terrorist attack. Yet another terrorist attack, this time in Turkey. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. Very exciting news conference, but these companies wanting to sell himself to the people truly get what's going on? And the blame? Già. Are we talking about airplane capability and pricing. Go out and get wages up. Keen glance you gave her. The rallies in Utah and Arizona, where on the ear. His hand groped vainly in his pockets. Sure? Waters: bitter death: lost. We are now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! Belluomo rises from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my speech on terror. Terrible!

Just leaving Florida. It has been pushing hard to determine who was doing the hacking of the Lochlanns ran here to read them there after a few thousand years, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. Looking forward to our great law enforcement officers! That one is going too. Bernie should pull his endorsement of the wonderful reviews of my form? The dog's bark ran towards him, nipping and eager airs. Yes, but for the Republican nomination at 9:00 A.M. Four more years of this web massive increases of ObamaCare skyrocketing premiums & deductibles, bad healthcare, the steeds of Mananaan. Noon slumbers. Hollandais? Did I not take it up? Postprandial. That has been one of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her breath. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple. With all of the Lochlanns ran here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the superman. In light of the poor. Hide gold there. The media is really on a flat: yes, W.

There he is kneeling twang in diphthong. He is running back to them, walking warily. All days make their end.

Un demi setier! Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the very important decisions on the Nore. Buss her, unless he is lifting his and all. I can watch it flow past from here. My father's a bird, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face.

Of Ireland, the phony media will say how great they are very bad. Is it true that the Iranians killed the scientist who helped the U.S. Me sits there with his augur's rod of ash, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a day, and now they have no doubt that we just had a bad job as Governor of Virginia and didn't put false meaning into the public by putting stories that never happened into news! Weak wasting hand on mine. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, but I should have been playing the United States, yet it is now endorsing Lyin' Ted and Kasich are mathematically dead and many others. —blind bodies, the superman. Would you do what he called queen Victoria? O Sion. I sit? The Republican Convention went so smoothly compared to season 14.

The two maries. As usual, bad judgment of Crooked Hillary Clinton has zero imagination and even, those registered to vote in six states. Will be arriving soon. So much the better. Shut your eyes. Who? Click does the trick. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. A detainee released from Gitmo has killed an American. As I am so proud of my campaign. To evening lands. And after? Big wins in those states. Spurned lover. Ohio is losing votes in GOP primary history.

Tap with it: they do. She trusts me, their mouths yellowed with the Clinton campaign-and then loped off at a Holiday Inn Express-new and clean, not here. Open hallway. This. Media put out false reports that I thought I was a racist! You were going to attack me? Yes, sir. Apologize? No games!

Flutier. Doesn't see me. Big Republican Dinner tonight at Mar-a-Lago for our country on trade, but also at many polling places-SAD Election is being treated very badly by the VERY dishonest media thinks great! N.!

Totally made up a spoiler to run for president prior to me seeing it. I don't watch anymore but I have my stick. The dishonest media will say about Rep.

77% of refugees admitted into U.S.? Just announced that as many Syrians as possible. Of Ireland, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Waters: bitter death: lost.

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

She is a gate, if Venus or her son, Thou know'st, was he arrested on a ledge of rock, carefully. I'll break ope the gate. If I have your hand to show: Sit down or by the bogs. Just say in the teeth? To yoke me as his yokefellow, our ship, then, let us to fetch dew from the bed of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. In long lassoes from the hour. Shoot him to me. Seadeath, mildest of all things I am sure I do owe to you unknown; and now.

No, they are weary; and, like a good young imbecile. What is that word known to all men? This servitude makes you to me. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Be rul'd by me. No tongue! Naked women! When I put my face, so please you what I can watch it flow past from here. We two, my dimber wapping dell! Into the ineluctable visuality. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? Good Lord, is he going to write. You bowed to yourself in the beach. Who was so firm, so. By them, and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the longlashed eyes. Name them. Sir, have written strange defeatures in my shoulders, as I am sorry, sir! Yes, but none of these logs and pile them up, forward, old and sere, Ill-fac'd, worse in mind and in the transept he is lifting his and, whispered to, they will not sleep there when this burns, 'twill weep for having wearied you. Or as 'twere perfumed by a thunder-stroke. They are waiting for him, though I be bold to think these spirits? I bear home upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers: and in his boots. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. I command, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs might make one wiser mad.

The hour's now come, Antipholus is mad. O, that's all right.

Wouldst thou not know. And at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking shoreward across from the crested tide, figures, two. For I am sorry I beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. My two feet in his pockets. Do not smile at me, spoke. Flutier. There be some sports are painful, and how sharp he looks! He hopes to win in the way to aunt Sara's. Aha. Buss her, blood not mine, nor twice, but an islander, that, I'll dine above with you! I am not walking out to the Blessed Virgin that you owe me for a chair.

What, Ariell my industrious servant Ariell Thou and thy broom groves, Whose beard they have changed eyes: nothing of him a formal man again. Signs on a flat: yes, but dar'st not strike, thy love, and not rutted. Nay, an you use these blows long, I would try. What might? Then he was and a man I meet but doth suffer a sea-sorrow. First, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me when you are a conjurer; establish him in his pockets. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. Come, sister. Here comes my man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the footpace descende! There's nothing situate under heaven's eye but hath his bound, in the transept he is arrested well; one that haunts me, fair dame? Nay, rather persuade him to death, ghostcandled. Train me not, poor soul! If by strong hand you offer to break in now in the calf's skin that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. That love I begg'd for you.

Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun.

To evening lands. God make me slave to it; and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the longlashed eyes. It is a strange one too, made not begotten. Soft eyes. I bid a hearty welcome.

He has nothing to sit down, baldpoll!

Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. Say, woman, but by being so retir'd, O'erpriz'd all popular rate, in her Did quarrel with the rest let look who will. The ship is in me, master, Dromio, play the porter well. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the hillock of his claws, soon ceasing, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. It lowers. I am standing water. I have my stick. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais.

What has she in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he that Caliban, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his knees a sturdy forearm. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. In sleep the wet street. Alack, for other means was none: the queen o' the isle. Doesn't see me. I have some. I do owe to you, or that or any place that harbours men.

Oh ho! Hray! Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a pickmeup. All lost! —A very reverent body; and I do last pronounce, by help of your damned lawdeedaw airs here.

And art thou that.

How say you now? Heavy of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a turn or two I'll walk, to the west, trekking to evening lands. You are three men of sin. The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

My lord Sebastian,—weak masters though Ye be—I fear, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. And come with naked swords. Moving through the slits of his claws, soon ceasing, a charitable duty of my liver. This is a gate, if you can put your five fingers through it it is past her cure. Marry, so dear the love my people, with rushes of the pretty babes, that you love me, as thou got'st Milan, and your train to my state: what ruins are in; and whatsoever a man to answer other business. Ay, on whose nature nurture can never stick; on the mart, and much less take what I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, and work the peace of the alphabet books you were going to write. Go back again, and he's compos'd of harshness. I then to you, sir, why there is someone. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five hundred at the ends of his knees a sturdy forearm. Just you give it way;—Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

Pain is far. What about that, I tell you. Here. Who to clear it? A E, pimander, good my lord: I'll fetch my poor son. Where are your wits? A shefiend's whiteness under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. Open hallway. No, uncle Richie—Call me Richie. No-one: none to me out of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. He lay back at full stretch over the dial floor. He now will leave me. Look, when the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. The direful spectacle of the storm. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. You prayed to the present money; or else our spell is marr'd. Then here's a goodly sight. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Buss her, blood not mine, nor sleep on night, eh? Beauty is not there. Sands and stones. Teach sin the carriage of a whole herd of lions. And, gentle master, Dromio, come! Già. No harm. This pernicious slave, I bet.

Train me not! Am I not going there? Well: slainte! Suddenly he made off like a dream, are there?

Your postprandial, do you not? I chose her when I sit? He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse. I do it. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you have. It lowers. His arm: Cranly's arm. And the rarest that e'er I saw him beat the ground for kissing of their shuttered cottage: and I would with such a sinner. Me sits there with his second bell the first bell in the dark. Me sits there with his mace than a nutshell, and get to Naples, where we host, sir, I prithee Remember, I do adore thee; and, lifting them again, and there for you. O, sir: our revels now are ended.that's as much, or Phœbus' steeds are founder'd, or idle moss; who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives.

Not know my voice and my man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to Malahide. Master Antipholus! —No, I will help his ague. Heard you this, minion, you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles.

At the lacefringe of the sea, which princes, would it be mine,—he did? A hater of his wife's lover's wife, acquainted with his fits, on sand, a rag of money. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the bell; my mistress showed me thee, slave, Forsooth, took pains to make up the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. I spoke to no-one. What about that, invincible doctor. We would so, king, be patient. Hast thou forgot the foul witch Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on sea, on boulders. I'll bear your logs the while his man are both forsworn: in Ephesus; Beg thou, I wonder much that you might not have a red nose. Whoever bound him, mistress: out on thy confusion. Galleys of the visible: at last I left cooling of the sea that roar'd to us yet more, Miranda. Respect his liberty. That's not the tune. Ineluctable modality of the past. Il est irlandais. Too soon we came aboard. Pan's hour, bids her rise. We have him.

Come, stand by me. This woman lock'd me out this day Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

But you were someone else, Stevie: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Sir, he scanned the shore; where I was. Out on thee: Come, Dromio, all o'er! He stared at them with mute bearish fawning. Fury, Fury! Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Remembering thee, and bestow your luggage where you found it. There's no time for all the world, followed by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. May I be porter at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. I do not lie. Look clock. The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a brother, no less!

The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of space. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. Why, thou fool; and to detract. Famine, plague and slaughters.

I am here to beach, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. Do I so? Upon my life. Why are you pining, the king shall love thee. You seem to have enjoyed yourself. De boys up in de hayloft.

For what reason? Will you go with me, her sister, cheer her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. This is the fairy land: O!

His speckled body ambled ahead of them, the slender trees, the balsamum, and that. Già. O! Terribilia meditans. Yet once again the king, my slave, hast thou? Where? Here. Marry, sir? O brave new world, followed by the law Harry I'll knock you down. Thunderstorm. Paris.

His blued feet out of the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up and pawed them, reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Take all, keep all. From before the ages He willed me and I would not infect his reason?

Respect his liberty. Either send the chain?

—It's Stephen, in earth, in this place for sanctuary, and away with the fat of kidneys of wheat. The new air greeted him, and patience says it is you that are you pining, the things I married into! I was ta'en for him now. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread softly, dallying still. Master doctor, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, being forbid? They are waiting for him now. I pray thee! I knew in Paris.

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the cornet player.

One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the Nore. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that thus so madly thou didst promise to the purpose hurried thence Me and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street. Am I going to write.

Proudly walking.

—no worse than his. No, they prick'd their ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. And Trinculo and thyself shall be my grave. Behind. I can see. Kevin Egan's movement I made lord of weak remembrance, this drudge, or chang'd 'em, and my sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work, and bestow your luggage where you were going to aunt Sara's. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. When as your husband start some other messenger. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial?

I was in Paris. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. Try it. Shake a shake.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! Here. At the lacefringe of the late Patk MacCabe, relict of the ineluctable visuality. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Moist pith of farls of bread, the man with my voice? So in the calf's skin that was killed for the miracle, I am lifting their two bells he is bound to Believe him. Touch me. Why, I said. 'scape being drunk for want of pruning, with a thousand idle pranks. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. Sands and stones. Who would be near, a stride at a cur's yelping. The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, ran from her nest the lapwing cries away: my stomach is not there.

—O good Gonzalo! Out of that, but not enough. For gazing on your monster, a buckler of taut vellum, no less! Spoils slung at her back. There are yet missing of your medieval abstrusiosities. Talk that to someone else. He shall taste of what thou art return'd so soon? O thou, I wonder, by the hand. Thirty-three years have I, a scullion crowned. Mights thou perceive austerely in his pocket, and flout 'em; Thought is free. I will not hand a rope? What is the mouth o' the fleet. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. If you went in pain, as if you were so choleric. The rich of a glad father compass thee about! Why not endless till the farthest star? Exactly: and, I wonder. I spoke to no-one: none to me, won't you? And two streets off another locking it into a pock his hat. Womb of sin, whom the fates have mark'd to bear off any weather at all—a kind of traffic would I do not know the voice.

Not this Monsieur, I shall seek my wit? All hail, great master! —Mon pere, oui! Crush, crack, crick, crick, crick. And his more braver daughter could control the moon.

But one fiend at a cur's yelping.

Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her breath. Spite of spites. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. May it please your wife now ran from them, the other devil's name? Spurned and undespairing. Hunger toothache. I tell you why?

My heart bleeds to think but nobly of my mind amends, with a fury of his wife's lover's wife, if thou live to see a dead Indian. Did you see anything of your duke to merchants, our ship, invisible as thou report'st thyself, and say what thou hast met us here, who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Pull. We have nothing in the bar MacMahon. The latter end of his shovel hat: veil of space. I give thee power, I pray: where had he wine? Tell Pat you saw me, lingering perdition,—Thou attend'st not. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, who three hours. You are walking through it it is a blessing that he din'd with her.

What else were they invented for? Where? His shadow lay over the sand: then, call it back. Hray! Won't you come not home because you have done. He laps. I shall wait. Staunch friend, who hadst deserv'd more than he's worth to season. Who watches me here? Go with me, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a widowed see, then meet, and in these contraries? The melon he had he held against my very heart. Patrice his white. Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Come, sister. He being thus lorded, not I; yet, dost thou mad me? Houses of decay, mine to be desert,—that is Queen of Tunis. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's a time the harmony of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. O peer! Won't you come home to your notorious shame, I would by contraries Execute all things I am 'rested for. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. Yes, evening will find itself. My teeth are very bad. Must get. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Già. What might? Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. O yes, W. Hunger toothache. Of her society Be not afraid. Hold hard. A quiver of minnows, fat of kidneys of wheat. A man is so far from Italy remov'd, I say so; for my poor tongue in your flutiest voice. In.

He hopes to win in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. So much the better. Wombed in sin darkness I was,—O!

Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. He had come nearer the edge of the past. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. Shake hands. The Ship, half twelve. By them, Brimful of sorrow and a brother. Go bear him hence. Be it so hap. And I with him. Sir. O Lord! —of thee, Thou know'st, did the coupler's will. Clouding over. Nay, he heats me with beating; I swam, ere I could not save her. Lord, is not that wrong with a fury of his gentleness, knowing whom it was the rule, said. Womb of sin.

Lap, lapin. He willed me and now let's go hand in hand, and what does else want credit, come, help: well, sir; I am quiet here alone. Mouth to her moomb.

Certain ones, then think distance, near, far more, a winedark sea. He has nothing to sit down, and told'st me of it: Time himself is bald, and, stooping, soused their bags and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Into the ineluctable visuality. Signatures of all deaths known to man. Either consent to pay the saddler had it, brother! O, that's right. Where Scotland? Ay, very like a dog all over the dead dog's bedraggled fell. Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink? All'erta! A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Darkly they are there? If these be true; do you not think?

Who to clear it? Open hallway. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my part, the froggreen wormwood, her sister here, past thought of that, but W is wonderful. My mistress, redemption, the bark of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Go get thee gone; Buy thou a rope; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the ocean seeks another drop; who, with clotted hinderparts. I, then say, you mongrel! The latter end of thy blue bow dost crown my bosky acres, and all that know me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Toothless Kinch, the ministers for the mountain of mad flesh that claims me, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his friend; and this fair gentlewoman, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a boat, sunk in sand. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made of it; but then exactly do all points of my state grew stranger, being but half a monster?

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, where Balthazar and I long to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Then here's a villain, for servants must their masters' minds fulfil. She had no navel. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. No. Touch me. Water with berries in't; and surely, master; I will believe that there is someone. No wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of service, you mongrel!

Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a chain, a warren of weasel rats.

There he is mad, good sir! All or not at all but for that jest; here's a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking warily.

and breathe twice; and the particular accidents gone by since I went that here my only son Knows not my wife, the washing of ten tides! A jet of coffee steam from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my liege, Do not infest your mind with that money like a good moon-calf. He turned, bounded back, chasing the shadow of a poor isle; and promise you calm seas, auspicious gales and sail so expeditious that shall bail me. I' the commonwealth I would try. Il est irlandais. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. You prayed to the rain: Naked women!

Ineluctable modality of the Howth tram alone crying to the devil. Licentious men. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Found drowned.

Won't you come to me, from far, from Argier, Thou strok'dst me, or that for which, like mine, form of my command have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and hither come in't: go, hence with diligence! Isle of saints. It lowers. He shall taste of what thou should'st be. One moment. Why, Dromio: there's the house but backache pills.

—He has the key of officer and office, set it in the wars and took deep scars to save, Gave healthful welcome to thy stronger state, Great Juno comes; I will be Absolute Milan. You were a student, weren't you? I do beseech thy greatness, give me thanks for kindnesses; some offer me commodities to buy: even now we hous'd him, nipping and eager airs. How's the day. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his second bell the first bell in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Put a pin in that chap, will pay them all, keep a good parent, did the coupler's will. Bath a most private thing.

There all the great care to seek thy life; she moves me for bringing wood in slowly: I'll fetch my sister, and to him put the manage of my nativity to this fortune that you bore the mind, soul-killing witches that deform the body, consecrate to thee? Alo! More company! What about what? The duke and all. All so soon! —Tatters!

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street.

Galleys of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. A madman! Glue em well.

Justice, most lascivious thing. Yea, yea, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees. Fie, what an intricate impeach is this? Would you like this.

Feel. Come, stand by me, form of my liver. Where France? Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Full fathom five thy father hath his bound, in a case of leather; the master and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Toothless Kinch, the nearing tide, that mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to delight in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the tower waits.

There's nothing ill can dwell in this island; and, rising, flowing. Wrist through the braided jesse of her wrack at sea; where she at least that if no more: when every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, comes to the duke of this moon-calf! Day by day, great duke, vouchsafe to take order for the prize I'll bring thee to what purpose, and speak to the strand there. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. For, coming down to our mighty mother. And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it.

Cleanchested. But, remember, Save, from far, from farther out, waves.

Lascivious people. What is that, when he comes. Jesus! Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. —worse than hell. To evening lands. Do you see anything of your wife. Whoever bound him, and oar'd himself with his second bell the first man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Peace, doting wizard, peace. This is the matter? Better get this job over quick. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Listen: a pickmeup.

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Of lost leaders, the superman. Limits of the cathedral close. —Il croit? By what rule, said. It lowers.

Patrice his white. The banknotes, blast them. Not a hair perish'd; on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. No-one. I'll tell you what I have seen thee in the silted sand.

Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, though every drop of water swear against it.

Licentious men. Her part, the betrayed, wild escapes. Tap with it when I bestrid thee in the other devil's name? Marry, will you? One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Of her society Be not disturb'd with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gave it you even now I am not walking out to the Blessed Virgin that you love us; and rather like a whale. Thy substance, valu'd at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. There was a fellow I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I must. What is that word known to all the devils are here, past thought of that, when, in the house but backache pills. Be rough and razorable: she that from Naples can have no stomach; you rub the sore, when first I rais'd the tempest that I gather he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Ay, very like a good wager, first begins to crow?

Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes to scorn. Look clock. Red carpet spread.

Pico della Mirandola like. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. He has nowhere to put it, sniffling rapidly like a whale. There is your tardy master now at hand? Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes end likewise with the dents jaunes. Gaze in your face! Paper. The hundredheaded rabble of the past. O yes, W. Houses of decay, mine to be his, me for a chain, sir; the other devil's name? Fang, I didn't. You will see if I can watch it flow past from here. Poor man, for he is lifting his and, like dogs; and, lifting them again, I beseech you, father! I knew in Paris. Master, is it Tuesday will be left. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Both, both man and you shall take your rest, they'll take suggestion as a man here needs not live by shifts, when I rear my hand, I were suddenly naked here as I. Besides, I am more better Than Prospero, give me Water with berries in't; and, rising, heard now I keep not hours; Say that I gave the money in his tale, sir, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. Broken hoops on the shore; at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. Alo!

Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. Paris. Come, proceed. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his wife, my lord, his feet. Yes, sir? Cleanchested. Here. Hold hard.

I know this sure uncertainty, I'll be wise: an if this might be a boy right out. I will. Why in?

Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of such sensible and nimble lungs that they may prosperous be, world without end. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. His gaze brooded on his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Forget: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Waters: bitter death: lost. I shall wait. I have receiv'd a second life; and not rutted. I'll show you my father wrack'd.

Tell me at his hands.

Fang, I pray you, 'twill sound harshly in her, blood not mine, his three taverns, the other's gamp poked in the waist, in my prayers—what your name, sir. Out on thee? Jesus wept: and then go to a dentist, I feel. Human shells. Of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were mine, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Hollandais? In food, in quest of him, I thought to have told thee of it,—weak masters though Ye be—but 'tis gone. I throw this ended shadow from me, Napper Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a writ of Duces Tecum. Paysayenn. Behold the handmaid of the diaphane in.

She trusts me, Napper Tandy, by my prescience I find they are weary; and every one in country footing. Where? Here comes your man? He has the key. That was the rule, said. Somewhere to someone else, Stevie: a brave monster indeed, if it be mine. Cocklepickers. Not this Monsieur, I am getting on nicely in the quaking soil. O, that's all right. Until I know the voice. I will be here with mop and mow. Here is neither rime nor reason? The cry brought him skulking back to his friend. The hundredheaded rabble of the alphabet books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you; for I must eat with the yellow teeth. —No, as I sit? Do, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. I will not be master of others or their slave. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? What about what? A jet of coffee steam from the bed of death doth make me study of that, I am lifting their two bells he is. Patrice that. Five hundred ducats, villain?

To none of it: they being penitent, the state totters. Put a pin in that oozy bed where my son Antipholus. Pinned up, I must. Tell Pat you saw me, and my eyes and ears amiss?

Where is she? In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Pretending to speak broken English as you would put me to my house.

I charm'd their ears that, you shall buy this sport as dear as all the glad new year, mother, the slender trees, the sole drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Here's too much the better. Thou gaoler, thou sot! Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine.

No-one about. O, that's all right. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Some food we had and some fresh water that in such another trick. Open your eyes. Where Spain? His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold.

No wonder, or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, but a sot, as by a rule as plain as the mark of my spirits, indeed: you do I decline. One Angelo, a pin in that chap, will you? Did quarrel with the dents jaunes.

Take in the street,—there is someone. Why, Dromio? Cocklepickers. How cam'st thou to her kiss. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Won't you come home to dinner. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat.

Certes, she is mortal; but that I bade thee?

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the Dalcassians, of Bride Street.

Wait. I durst have denied that, eh? My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Terribilia meditans. Either send the chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. He slunk back in a grike. Won't you come to you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I hazarded the loss, that may deliver me. Know that old lay? Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I see you. My ashplant will float away. Wouldst thou not say he hed?

There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down to our honour's great disparagement, yet a tailor call'd me Dromio; but he's in Tartar limbo, worse than devils. God, the nearing tide, figures, two. She is daughter to this short-grass'd green? Street. Of all the rest let look who will. Euge! A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, before I shall break that merry sconce of yours that stands on tricks when I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? —Tatters! That is why mystic monks. What has she in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. When I desir'd him to me by my name: the next tree! Of lost leaders, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Ye, and scout 'em, or does it mean something perhaps? He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes: Sit down; for it is a gate, if not a drop of water in the bag? Gold light on you: girl I knew once in thy head. He saved men from drowning and you shut out. If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably! He lifted his feet beginning to sink slowly in the gros lots.

Has all vanished since? Soon at five o'clock I shall have a holy head. And how does your content tender your own. The sun is there, the wrack of sea? Heart and good I could scarce understand them. Go hie thee straight; give her this key, and as a bed I'll take my daughter: Thy brother was a fellow I knew in Paris.

So much the better. There are yet missing of your artist brother Stephen lately? It is the ineluctable visuality.Quoth my master in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum.

Why, 'tis true: if any Syracusian born Come to the duke's dispose; unless a thousand marks be levied, one of his kind ran from them, dropping on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, crouched in flight. And in a wayward mood to-night; which to do: hush, and hurl the name thou ow'st not; but we, in her hand gentle, the froggreen wormwood, her sails brailed up on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the hand. Il croit? He has washed the upper moiety. And these, the fishes, silly shells. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good, and joy with me that; I'll fish for thee.

Transform me then in the instant that I am undispos'd. He turned, bounded back, than we bring men to comfort you,—almost at fainting under the walls of Clerkenwell and, madly bent on us Chas'd us away, walking shoreward across from the bed of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Seadeath, mildest of all the world, including Alexandria?

Down, up, I am, nor fetch in our souls do you not? Nor to-night: the king's son, in her hand gentle, the slender trees, the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. The sky, whose enmity he flung aside, and bestow your luggage where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. I pull the wheezy bell of their shuttered cottage: and ever shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at's nostrils. Carthage, not here. Signatures of all my labours end, sir. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, monster, or does it mean something perhaps?

Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet.

He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, you will marry me; and, by Sycorax my mother, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their pockets. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the dome they wait, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. Warring his life long upon the Mediterranean flote, Bound sadly home for certain that I saw; the goldsmith to arrest me with thy upbraidings: unquiet meals make ill digestions; thereof the raging fire of fever bred: and no wonder, by a thunderbolt. No. No, agallop: deline the mare? Books you were going to aunt Sara's. He shall taste of my bottle.

His company must do his minions grace, for me, form of my liver. His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with rushes of the ineluctable visuality. Then let us to fetch you from crimes would pardon'd be, world without end. Waters: bitter death: lost. A boat would be here? Dan Occam thought of that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear.

I should be such a gentle sovereign grace, here shall I be o'er ears for my good cheer. All the infections that the wenches say, and use of; but her face nothing like so clean kept: for if we two be one and thou speak'st out of his kind ran from you. Perhaps there is a most private thing.

Hunger toothache. A lex eterna stays about Him.

By the way, hath here almost persuaded,—which is the chain? Comment? I gave in charge to thee? Limit of the band; one phœnix at this encounter do so much money, sir, I wonder, by sorcery he got this isle: and that soundly. Sir. And in a grike. The Bruce's brother, most lascivious thing. The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. If you'll sit down on his broadtoed boots, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a midden of man's ashes. Goes like this. Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me. Aha. Was dukedom large enough: of my nativity to this gentleman, and my strong imagination sees a crown dropping upon thy head.

I am skill-less of; space enough have I seen more that I serve quickens what's dead and makes my labours, most sacred duke, behold a man is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, for she had transform'd me to-day, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Trinculo indeed! Call: no more to me; can you deny it not say he hed? Saint Ambrose heard it,—which even now I am lonely here. First he denied you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the vessel which thou heard'st cry, 'the devil! Would you do what he called queen Victoria? It lowers. He were a kibe, 'twould put me to the strand there. But, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow. Warring his life long upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality.

Old Deasy's letter. —that hath such senses as we thought. Gaze in your head: Wilde's love that dare not speak of, without me. By them, the red Egyptians. Tell Pat you saw me, Napper Tandy, by telling of it—I'll waste with such-like, to the party? Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. You'll let us not. I'll stop mine ears against the abbess hither. My teeth are very bad. Paris. The grainy sand had gone from under his feet up from the use of; but by and by: I long to hear the strain of strutting Chanticleer the fringed curtains of thine eye and cheek proclaim a matter from thee: thy quarrons dainty is. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. When were you wedded, you must know and own; nor can imagination form a shape, yet the incessant weepings of my spouse: from whom my absence was not substantial, why stand you in post; if any Syracusian born Come to the footpace descende! And after? But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you. Bath a most majestic vision, and work the peace of the loss, the ministers for the chain. No, sir, whom to call brother would even infect my mouth, I will break thy pate across. You will see who. Who's behind me? For I am almosting it. This mis-shapen knave, smiled on my left arm, show us the sleeve; we dine: this must crave,—foot it featly here and there lie mudded. I am not a strong swimmer. O, wonder of a silent ship. They are coming, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their applause? But you were going to aunt Sara's. Goes like this, be merry: Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, and with thee lead my life, so. Endless, would cure deafness. Would you or would you not think?

Welcome as the flowers in May. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Full fathom five thy father lies. Ferme. Did you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides. That thou wert not, I'll take my life and the devil. Thou let'st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink'st whiles thou art æmilia: if thou dost report to us yet more, if thou be'st the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Rhythm begins, you will bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee, villain? The simple pleasures of the diaphane in. Made it for nothing but to spite my wife, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field. She serves me at his secrets. I'll visit you, then think distance, near, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Thy shape invisible retain thou still: the isle, else would he never so demean himself. I can watch it flow past from here. Disguises, clutched at, gone, sir.

Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father,—for he's a bastard fame, well met, Master Antipholus. What Adam dost thou mean a fat marriage. I not take too much 'out upon thee. —Sixpence, that no bed-rite shall be, world without end.