Salazar consulted the map again. “Almost there,” he whispered. “Just another mile.” Arthur sighed… — Ian Tregillis
Salazar consulted the map again. “Almost there,” he whispered. “Just another mile.”
Arthur sighed. “Wonderful.”
Anastasia rounded on him. “Go wander the tunnels on your own, you useless pencil pusher. You have zero skills of value to offer to our current situation. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but of all the problems currently facing the city, the Guild, and the Empire, not to mention ourselves, a lack of properly filed paperwork is not one of them.”
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More from this book
The grotesque machine reassembled its head. The medical servitor stood, emitted a burst of ticktock cog chatter, then flung itself into the massacre with the fervor of a religious zealot.
“What the hell was that?”
“That was a close call wrapped in some very unpleasant philosophical questions.”
I am a pragmatist, said Mab. I do what must be done to make a better world.
“Oh, I’m sure you tell yourself that. But so does the woman who tortured Lilith. You sound exactly like her, in fact. The difference is that Berenice actually means it. She doesn’t use the pretense to justify her cruelty.”
