Lenny couldn’t help being the wisest man on Earth. Just as the rest of humanity couldn’t help being deeply and tragically ignorant.
He tapped his fingers against his carefully constructed booth as he sat by the vacant road outside his house.
You’d think the walking public
“We want to purchase explosives for our children.”
Most people, including most fireworks dealers, would wince at that phrasing. Not Louie Blanchard. For one thing, he knew the Pairish extraterrestrials’ translator devices sometimes missed certain subtleties in the English language. For another,
“Ah, I did say I would match you drink for drink, didn’t I?” Nathaniel Markson sways as he pulls another whiskey off a passing server’s tray. His flushed cheeks are evidence that he’s had far more drinks beyond the three with you.
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Everyone dreams of finding their one true love at a grand ball. I happen to be at a grand ball at the moment, but there’s no time for Handsome Prince Sightseeing.
Only murder.
Don’t fret—I’m not here to take a life.
I’m here to kill dreams. It’s my duty.
I clung to the yardarm as wind whipped across the deck of Brume de Mer, spraying ocean mist into the captain’s face.
“With a stiff wind and a swift current, we’ll be in the West Indies in no time, lads. Where rum and our profits await!”
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