‘The sauce was red. The stuff on the feet was dark brown. Want something to get embarrassed about, Picker, just drag Antsy along to supper.’
‘The feet was the best part,’ the Falari said.
‘He’s Seven Cities for sure,’ Picker noted. ‘All three of them, I’d wager.’
‘The fat one likes her rustleaf.’
‘If she’s fat, Antsy, then so am I.’
Antsy looked away.
Picker cuffed him on the side of the head.
’Ow, what was that for?’
‘I wear armour and quilted underpadding, remember?’
‘Well, she’s not, is she?’
‘She’s delicious,’ Blend observed. ‘And I bet she don’t get embarrassed by anything much.’
Picker offered her a sweet smile. ‘Why not go stick your foot in and see?’
‘Ooh, jealous.’
Antsy sat up, suddenly excited. ‘If your legs was long enough, Blend, you could do both! And I could-’
Two knives slammed point first into the table in front of the ex-sergeant. His bushy brows shot upward, eyes bulging. ‘Just an idea,’ he muttered. ‘No reason to get all uppity, you two.’
‘Could be he’s another Kalam,’ Picker said. ‘A Claw.’
Antsy choked on something, coughed, hacked, then managed a breath. He leaned forward until he was very nearly lying on the table from the chest up. He chewed on his moustache for a moment, eyes darting between Picker and Blend. ‘Listen, if he is, then we should kill him.’
‘Why?’
‘Could be he’s hunting us, Picker. Could be he’s come to finish off the Bridgeburners once and for all.’
‘Why would any of them care?’ Picker asked.
‘Maybe the bard set us up, did you think of that?’
Blend sighed and rose. ‘How about I just go up and ask him?’
‘You want to take a grab at a tit,’ Picker said, smiling again. ‘So, go ahead, Blend. Go on. See if she blows you a kiss.’
Shrugging, Blend set out to where the three newcomers had just acquired a table.
Antsy choked again, plucked at Picker’s sleeve and gasped, ‘She’s heading straight over!’