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Chapter One Hundred Forty: ‘O, virtuous Wicked...’
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Emiliana followed Germal’s ushering lead off to the side of the main path as the stranger approached.
Gohvis opened one of the drawers in his desk and retrieved a large jar from it. He circumnavigated the metal globe in the middle of the room in order to greet his visitor.
“So,” came the man’s two voices, “is there a reason you’ve been jilting my messengers, or do you just like making my life difficult?” He pulled the hood of his coat off, revealing his bronzy complexion more clearly, along with a dark, beastly mustache.
“It is not my fault if the Dáinnbolg kills them before they make it here,” said Gohvis.
“You could’ve met them halfway. I’m sure they made it close enough for you to sense them, at least.”
“I have been busy.”
“And I haven’t? You DO know that the Vanguard’s nearly got us by the short-and-curlies, don’t you?”
“I have complete confidence in you, Jercash.”
“Oh, is that right?” the man laughed. He shifted something that he was carrying beneath his raincoat. “I never thought it would be your kindness that you would kill me with.”
Gohvis offered him the jar. “For all your complaining, you certainly took your time getting here.”
Jercash accepted it. “Eh. I kind of didn’t want him back. Guy’s a real prick, y’know.”
“I do know.”
“Is that why you showed him who’s boss?”
“He wanted to prove himself,” said Gohvis.
“Ah. Where’s Elinox?”
“In the jar with him.”
Jercash held the jar up to his ear and shook it. “Awfully quiet in there.”
“The whining was obnoxious.”
“Agh. How bad is it?”
“The reaper should recover in a day or two.”