“Is he awake yet?”

“No, sir, and if I may be so bold-“

“Of course, Max.”

“Thank you, sir. He was not awake five minutes ago, nor the five minutes before that. If he is awake five minutes hence, I will let you know.”

It was laughter that woke Reaver with a start, the quilt beneath him caught in a momentary death-grip. It only took a moment to recognise the familiar furnishings, and he relaxed, too relieved to be embarrassed. Slowly, the pirate sat up, curiously rubbing the fine fabric of the strange (not his) bedclothes that he was wearing. He felt… broken, as if something inside of him had snapped. The encounter with the banshee had poked a hole in a wall that had long stood firm, letting light shine through the cracks.

(more…)

How many had he sent to them now? Hundreds, it had to be. At first he had remembered each and every one but now their faces blurred together, features meshing, and he could have sent a dozen identical to the man who now stood before him. It did become awfully tedious, though, going through the motions like a script as he first charmed, then persuaded the man to take the perilous journey into Wraithmarsh to deliver the seal.

“See that there?” he said, quite obviously bored, not moving to reach for the dratted thing. “See that little objet d’art?” The man looked at him, blankly, and he had to force himself not to rub his temples in irritation. Reaver was anything but a patient man and this cretin was far beyond the calibre of those he normally sent on this errand. Still… beggars can’t be choosers, and he didn’t have the time to wait for another Sparrow to come along. Bad seas and high winds had delayed his return to Samarkand, turning what might have been a leisurely search for an ideal candidate into a matter of poking his head out of the port-side window and hailing the first idle rogue that walked past.

(more…)