Robin Hardy's Abbey Lands
Funny Short Bits
Table of Bits
In this scene from Book 10: Lord Efran and the Runaway Bride, Efran and Minka have been at the Abbey Fortress for about 17 months with a growing number of men who have come to serve in the Abbey Lands Army. (One of these men is their Westford Commander Wendt, who has been blinded.) The husband and wife are in the second-floor workroom with his Steward Estes and Administrator DeWitt.
At that time, Wyeth, beaming, walked in with the Commander. “Ah! Captain Efran! Lady Minka,” Wyeth said, bowing to her.
Efran narrowed his eyes at him. “A happy Polonti is a suspicious thing. What’ve you been up to, Wyeth?”
“Captain, we have found that Commander Wendt can see me as he does the Lady Minka!” Wyeth said, greatly pleased.
Estes looked up, open-mouthed, and DeWitt exclaimed, “Really? In outline? Why, do you suppose?” Efran was interested and Minka conflicted as they studied the Commander and the Fight Instructor.
Wyeth said, “Yes, Administrator, in outline, but why I do not know, only, I have seen faerie for years.”
Minka roused herself to come kiss the Commander’s cheek. “I am very glad, Commander—that opens up great new opportunities for you. Please sit and have your tea.”
Wendt opened his mouth but Wyeth said, “I am sorry, Lady Minka, but I am to take him out to the sparring fields to watch, since he can see me.”
“But he hasn’t had his morning tea,” Minka objected.
“Forgive me, Lady Minka, but we do not want to keep the men waiting,” Wyeth said.
Minka looked up at the Polonti warrior, recently decorated with the coveted Meritorious Cross, and said, “I will fight you for him.”
The men, including Wendt, looked at her in astonishment. “What?” Wyeth said, uncomprehending.
“You heard me,” Minka said, tossing her curls, compliant without pomade. “I will fight you to keep him here for his tea.”
“Minka, I—” Wyeth, he of the gentle soul, newly married, could hardly express his consternation. Efran’s shoulders started shaking.
“You think I am unserious,” she said in her chickening clothes, “but I can take you down with a simple trick that Geneve [his wife] showed me.”
She took his large brown hand in her little ones and separated out a finger. Efran bent to the table, shoulders shaking and tears in his eyes, while Wendt watched the combatants in fascination. Despite his blind eyes, he could see both Wyeth and Minka in bright outline.
“This is very simple; I’ve seen her do it frequently,” Minka explained, attempting to bend his finger.
“May I show you how?” Wyeth asked submissively, head bowed.
“No, I can do it,” she asserted. By this time, Efran had to sit to lean his head on his arms on the table. Estes and DeWitt watched with smiling faces.
“There. Is that not excruciating?” she said, holding up his hand with one finger crooked.
“Minka, I am married,” Wyeth said plaintively, which caused Efran to fall back over the chair, holding his head to laugh.
In this scene from Book 2: Lord Efran and the Man of Science, Minka's father, Surchatain Lightfoot, has arrived at the Abbey Fortress mentally impaired. To forestall his being deposed by an enemy, Efran, Minka and Estes give him shelter and begin issuing proclamations in his name, including a drastic reduction of taxes. Suspicious of their legitimacy, Lightfoot's scribes come to the fortress demanding an interview with him.
Doane, standing as door sentry, approached Efran briskly. “Captain, three of the Surchatain’s clerks are here. They demand to speak to him.” Estes came from the foyer as Doane was giving the message.
“Graduliere?” Efran asked, his stomach knotting.
Estes replied, “No, it’s three of his long-time clerks. They have a copy of the proclamation.” Minka came up to listen.
Efran exhaled, “They want to validate it.”
“Understandable,” Estes admitted.
“We have to let them speak to him, or it won’t be regarded as legitimate,” Efran said.
“That is correct,” said Estes.
“But not in this room. We need a setting conveying authority. Where are they?” Efran asked.
“In the foyer, Captain,” Doane replied.
Efran instructed, “Put them in the receiving room off the foyer to wait. Give them refreshments.” As Doane saluted and trotted off, Efran turned to Estes. “Have the large chair that looks like a throne placed before the crucifix in the keep. I am going to change into a dress uniform and stand beside him.”
“Captain,” sighed Estes, “once they hear him—”
“If we are exposed, then we are exposed. I intend to play it out,” Efran said.
“I am standing with you,” Minka said, adding, “I happen to be already dressed.” She smoothed Elvey’s handiwork in pride. He looked at her, and smiled.
Shortly, Lightfoot was led by the hand to sit in the great chair in the keep, with Efran standing at his right hand and Minka at his left. Efran had started to explain to him what was about to happen, then gave up the idea.
The three clerks were brought in to stand before Lightfoot, and a crowd of soldiers entered behind them to watch. Surveying the clerks, Efran recognized one of them, Wedderburn, as having presided at his aborted hanging.
After the clerks had bowed, Efran said, “As you requested, Surchatain Lightfoot has condescended to grant you an audience. State your purpose.”
Wedderburn began, “Surchatain—”
Sitting on what appeared to be a throne and seeing people advance to bow put Lightfoot in a familiar frame of mind, even without the clarity. “Who are you?” he barked.
Wedderburn was caught off-guard. “Sir, I am—”
“This is my son-in-law Efran and my daughter Minka!” Lightfoot shouted.
“Yes, Surchatain, I recognize—”
“You are a potato!” Lightfoot said.
As they gaped at him, Minka cleared her throat. “That is a family idiom for a . . . dullard,” she explained with reluctant sweetness.
“Is this your proclamation?” Wedderburn shouted, waving the document.
“Did I sign it?” Lightfoot out-shouted him.
A secondary clerk said in a conciliatory manner, “It looks like your signature, Surchatain, but—”
“Who asked you, potato head?” Lightfoot erupted, now red in the face. “How dare you question me.” This last statement, uttered in a flat tone, caused silence to fall in the hall.
Wedderburn swallowed. “Forgive us, Surchatain—”
“I will have you hanged,” Lightfoot said in that same toneless voice.
The clerks backed away, paling. Efran stepped forward to say, “Gentlemen, if you leave now, I will attempt to mollify my father-in-law over your presumption.”
They bowed low to the throne and to Efran, then jostled each other to get out.
Those remaining in the keep listened quietly to the retreating footsteps and the great doors closing. Efran gestured at Neale, who ran out. Momentarily he returned to say, “Their carriage is off the switchback and away.”
Everyone in the hall let out his breath and started laughing in relief. Efran turned to catch Minka up and kiss her. “Tell me that ‘potato’ is truly an idiom in your family.”
“It is now,” she said impishly, and his smile faded in tenderness as he held her. But she asked, “How did you know it would work out like that?”
“I didn’t,” he said helplessly. Then Efran turned to face the crucifix. “God of heaven, you are the Master of subtlety. Again You have saved us.”
“Amen!” some said heartily, and some laughed on their way out of the keep.
“The wine is terrible!” Lightfoot said, offended.
Sighing, Efran mounted the steps under the crucifix to place his hands on the arms of the chair and look his father-in-law in the face. “Surchatain, you have earned the good wine. I will have you sent a bottle.”
Regarding him, Lightfoot said thoughtfully, “I am glad I did not hang you.”
Efran looked down, his heart breaking all over again for Blake. But he murmured, “I as well.” Turning, he gestured to Shane. “Take him back to his quarters and fetch him a bottle.”
Minka came up to take her father’s hand. “Come, I will sit with you till it arrives.”
“Who are you?” he said.
“I am your daughter Minka. Efran is your son-in-law,” she said, smiling, and half the keep repeated it with her.
In this scene from Book 24, Lord Efran and the Girl Troll, Efran is trapped in a hut with a dangerous faerie, Solace, who wants to be Queen but needs the power of her signet ring, which she thinks he has (but he doesn’t). While she is torturing him to make him give it up, another faerie friend has summoned his rescuers.
A mass of roaring trolls was surging toward the old stone bridge, and the wall gates. Their stocky, subhuman bodies wore filthy rags that might once have been saddle blankets or feed bags. Their thick, wiry hair, home to many small creatures, fanned out in their excitement, and their bulbous noses twitched in detecting their prey. Their great mouths gaped even when not bellowing, and their tiny brains could nonetheless focus on a joint course which they pursued to the death.
They poured through the playground gates to the open door of the hut. Solace paused in torturing Efran; he, sweating profusely, looked over his shoulder at the approaching mass. His horse Kraken bounded away from the door.
Like Kraken, the trolls found themselves blocked from entering it—the leaders rebounded off the invisible barrier to knock over everyone behind them until two-thirds of them lay sprawled in the dirt. However, they saw Efran, recognized him, and saw the woman behind him.
(The following actions can only be understood along with the dialogue among the trolls. This Nibor reproduced faithfully in her account. However, the Librarian’s speed translating proved unequal to the task of rendering troll grunts, whistles, and diaphragmatic utterances to be both comprehensible and faithful to the original, which was a high trollish language comparable to Shakespearean or King James English. Therefore, the following dialogue, while accurate as to the essential meaning, falls short of the true linguistic experience. Readers are thus advised to read the following aloud with troll vocalizations and farts at the appropriate places.)
The troll leader, Number One, said, “The obstruction to the entrance of yonder habitation has been erected by the power within, which is our reward. Gaining entry is a test of our worth thereunto. Hence we must find another means of ingress.”
Troll Number Two said, “Is that not Captain Efran guarding our prize? At hand is his horse, which is a beast of wondrous strength. He, also desiring entrance, may be enticed to create an opening.”
Number Three: “Let us inquire.”
The trolls then surrounded Kraken, who reared and struck out at them. However, they bypassed him to pat the side wall of the hut. Number One enjoined him: “O noble animal, thou wishest entrance to thy master? We also have been summoned to this place. Despite the might of our arms and the strength of our numbers, we perceive that the vast amount of time it would require us to break asunder these walls, constructed by cunning Polonti criminals, is unacceptable to our purpose. However, if thou settest upon them with thy sharp hooves, that may suffice to accomplish all our ends.”
Kraken, smarter than even high trolls, understood the suggestion. He snorted, jerking his head, and they shuffled a short distance away to watch. Despite the encumbrance of the saddle, Kraken turned his back side to the wall to kick mightily. After three shuddering blows, the layers of wattle and daub crumbled inward, creating a jagged hole. This was possible because Solace’s power, not great without the signet, was mostly consumed in blocking the door and burning Efran.
With the crashing, she and he wheeled to look at the hooves appearing through the large gap in the wall. So she left off the torture and raised a hand preparatory to blocking the new entrance. But Efran, also freed, grabbed her hands and threw her to the ground, falling on her. With one hand, he turned her head to the side, covering her whole face to prevent her invoking a blocking spell.
Now the trolls were shoving through the hole, which was sufficient for them but not Kraken. As they came roaring upon Efran, he rolled off Solace to land against the far wall, his shirt in tatters along the burn lines. Straightening on the wall, bracing himself to fight, he paused instead.
Where he stood, he watched the trolls cluster around Solace, lifting her in their midst. And Number One cried, “Here, as promised, is our very own Queen, who shall henceforth be known as Queen Faeces of Troop Dunghill!”
“Hail!” “Hail Queen Faeces of Troop Dunghill!” “Hail to the most beauteous Queen of all troll queens of all the Earth!” they cried, rushing her out of the hut.
Held aloft in victory, she was being slowly transformed from a delicate faerie into the troll idea of a perfect beauty, with a stocky body, wiry hair, fleshy red nose, little black eyes, and especially breasts that sagged down to her lower ribs. And the trolls bounded up the road into the woods with their prize.
This excerpt from Book 26: Lord Efran at the Faire involves an unemployed visitor to the Abbey Lands, Verlice, who is looking for work on Main Street. He pauses to watch Efran and Minka at an outdoor eatery across the street.
Without knowing what he was doing, Verlice crossed the street toward them. A cart driver shouted profanities along with the word “crosswalk” again, and Efran’s head jerked toward him.
But a woman in a strange dress chose that moment to step on the sidewalk between the two men and turn toward Efran. So Verlice was treated to a view of her back that extended from her neck to the top of her buttocks.
He was shocked. Was this the style of Abbey Lands women? Walking around with naked backs? “What are you thinking?” Verlice exploded at her. “Why in the world would you parade your whole backside like this? Can’t you leave any surprises for the bedroom?”
As there was a burst of laughter around them, she wheeled to stare at him. “Oh, and you’re so lovely,” Verlice groaned. “Did your mother never tell you about buttons?”
The object of his scrutiny, Leila, was speechless. Because she was one of Elvey’s models, Lady Elvey herself, who had just come out of Croft’s, heard his harangue and began to stalk over to them.
Heedless, Verlice was saying, “Oh, no, no. See here, what you want to do is tease, not give away the whole show on the street.” So saying, he took hold of the back of her dress to begin rearranging its layers, folding them over the wide gaps. A number of people, men and women, stopped to watch.
Leila hissed at Efran, “Will you tell him to shut up and stop it?”
He winced, “I can’t. I agree with him.” Minka hid her face on his neck under the lilies so that no one could see her chortling. “Shut up,” he whispered, laughing.
“No, here, look,” Verlice was telling Leila as Elvey drew up behind them. Due to the crowd gathering on the sidewalk, Firmin came out to look. Verlice went on, “Here, drape that part around your neck and your chest. Keep some of these assets behind the door lock instead of on parade.” Efran’s men behind his table were grinning broadly at the show.
Leila couldn’t see what Verlice was doing with the back part of her dress, but Elvey stood at his elbow to watch as he rearranged the layers this way and that. Then he tied the sash authoritatively. “There. Isn’t that better?” he asked Elvey with no comprehension of who she was. “Then they’re looking at the dress instead of her body parts. And unless the shop’s a meat market, they want customers to look at the clothes, right?” The crowd around them laughed, some applauding.
The owner of that shop studied him, then said, “I am Elvey. Who are you?”
“Hello, Elvey. I am Lord Verlice of Wirrin Valley,” he said, glancing up as he made minor alterations to the back of the dress.
Firmin, trying to get his attention, called, “Lord Verlice? Are you an actor? We have openings for performers here at Firmin’s.”
Verlice opened his mouth but Elvey said, “Firmin! You have an opera star and a sommelier! Can’t you see that we need him to do something with all these clothes that no one can wear? Come with me, Lord Verlice. We need to talk about a position for you.”
She took his arm firmly to lead him back to her sprawling complex. Firmin went back into his restaurant; Leila tried to see what the back of her dress looked like; Wystan came out to help Delano finish unloading the wagon, and Minka nestled happily on Efran with her lilies.
By the time Verlice came out of Elvey’s a few hours later, Efran’s party had left. As Elvey’s new stylist, Verlice wore a sleek blue-gray suit with feathered hat and dashing cape. And he walked around Main so that everyone could see him in it, especially Justinian.
In this excerpt from Book 33, Lord Efran in Two Parts: A Tale and a Promise, Efran and 20 of his men have possibly been exposed to dangerous parasites. So the skilled butler Hartshough has brought antidotes to the Fortress for them:
Hartshough appeared at the door of the dining hall with a large basket on his arm. “Yes, Lady Minka. Lord Efran, I have medicines to counteract any possible parasitic infection, so those of your men who were injured this afternoon need to come receive a bottle.”
So saying, he placed a four-ounce stoppered bottle before Efran. Hartshough added, “This is not an application for the skin, but to be taken by mouth.”
Picking it up with immediate suspicion, Efran took out the cork stopper to sniff the milky white substance that filled half of it. “What’s in it?” he asked, grimacing slightly.
“I do not know, Lord Efran; the treatment was prepared by my clan the Guppenbergers, who are experienced with such matters,” Hartshough said.
The men gathered around him to take the small bottles. But they all waited for the Captain to drink his first. He looked increasingly dubious, tilting the bottle to watch the viscous liquid slowly progress to the opening. Abruptly, he put it down to demand, “Where is Mattias? I haven’t seen him since we dropped him off at Featheringham. Hasn’t he come to the Lands yet?”
This was the wounded Hollowan boy who didn’t want the undertaker to bury him. Efran had left him at Featheringham to recuperate about seven weeks ago. There was laughter at the obvious dodge, and Captain Rigdon said, “He’s still at Featheringham, Captain, because Commander Barr made him Chief Utility Officer. His donkey Qui is wearing a yeoman’s badge.”
“Oh.” Efran regarded the bottle in resignation as his men looked on, grinning. Everyone knew how particular the Captain was about what he put in his mouth. Taking a breath, he upended the bottle to chug it, which was the fastest way to get down something nasty.
Except, it wouldn’t chug. It was too thick. Indifferent to Efran’s impatience, it made its way leisurely down to the mouth of the bottle to pause maddeningly at the very precipice over the waiting throat. Then it dropped in a unified glob right at the epiglottis, where it then had to decide which part of the blob would lead the way down the esophagus.
Efran sat up, gagging, then made several concerted efforts to swallow, the last of which was more or less successful. He coughed to clear his throat, then looked with watering eyes at Minka, who was watching guardedly.
“Very good, Hartshough,” he gasped. “There’s, ah, beeswax, obviously, with a touch of honey, and, ah—”
Since he was stuck there, the men began eyeing their own bottles. But Youshock, across from Minka, uncorked his bottle and shook it upside down vigorously until it evacuated the blob, which landed with a splat on the flatbread on his plate. Then he took up his knife to spread the medicine evenly over the flatbread and eat it contemplatively.
The men scattered to their places to do likewise. Efran nodded at Youshock, who raised his flatbread as a toast and said, “Thank you for the warning, Cap’n.”
“You’re welcome,” Efran grunted, tossing the empty bottle in Hartshough’s basket.
In this bit from Book 7 Lord Efran and Master Crowe, a Committee of Concerned Citizens of the Abbey Lands has come to the fortress with complaints. Captain Efran, his Steward Estes, and Administrator DeWitt meet with them. After the first few items on their list prove baseless, there is a momentary silence.
Then Lady Neanne spoke. “I was assaulted by a Polonti in this very fortress but a month ago.”
Efran leaned forward. “That is outrageous, madam. Can you identify him?”
“If I saw him again, certainly,” she said, lifting her face courageously, as she had done right before he kissed her.
“Then let us ascertain the assault,” Efran said, while Estes and DeWitt watched in alarm. “Did he approach you at a run or a walk?”
She looked off, thinking. “At a walk. He walked toward me in a very threatening manner.”
“What did he say?” Efran asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Did he slide his arms slowly around your waist?” Efran asked.
Still looking off, she nodded.
“Did he bend his face to yours?” Efran asked. Estes covered his face with a hand, knowing the identity of the perpetrator.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did he caress your lips with his?” Efran asked in a near whisper. The other committee members stared at him. DeWitt put his head in both hands, also knowing.
“Yes,” she said, also in a whisper, eyes on the corner of the ceiling.
“For a long time?” Efran asked.
She raised a shoulder. “Maybe a minute.”
“Did you open your mouth?” Efran suggested. The woman didn’t answer, looking conflicted. “Did you put your arms around his neck?” Efran pressed.
“I don’t remember,” she gasped. The citizens were concerned that this interview was turning into an assault itself, but they didn’t interrupt, waiting to hear more.
“How long did it last?” Efran asked gently.
“A while,” she breathed.
“Did you enjoy it?” he murmured, smiling.
“No, of course not,” she said, breathing heavily.
“It certainly seemed to me that you did,” he said. “And I was pleasantly surprised at how well you kissed,” Efran continued, leaning back.
The committee members stared at him; Neanne finally looked hard at him, then giggled.
Efran got up for a cup and a bottle of Goadby’s. This he poured to place both cup and bottle in front of her. “We can reenact it, if you’re unsure of the details.”
She sat back laughing, a hand at her chest, and drank the ale while Efran drank his, laughing with her. DeWitt shook his head. Estes looked resigned.
The committee members rose silently from the table and began filing out. Efran stood by the door to catch Neanne by the hand as she was leaving. “Come complain to me any time,” he said, leaning down. And she reached up to kiss him quickly.
After the Committee of Concerned Citizens of the Abbey Lands had departed the foyer, Efran said, “That was fun.” DeWitt tore the meeting notes in half, and Efran objected, “Those are official documents.”
“Efran,” Estes began, then couldn’t find the words to express all of his mixed feelings.
They exited the small dining room into the foyer. “Moekolohe,” Efran told DeWitt. “That’s the word for Southerners’ sexual attraction to Polonti whom they otherwise treat like dirt. Minka taught me how to turn it inside out,” he said contemplatively.
“Did you really kiss the woman like that in the foyer?” DeWitt demanded.
“In front of a foyer full of people, after she walked in and objected to my kissing my wife,” Efran said. “I’m pleased that Lady Neanne got into the spirit of it today.”
In Book 10 Lord Efran and the Runaway Bride the Abbey Fortress administrators have discovered that the head floor cleaner, Haight, has been selling information about Minka to unfriendly interests who want to use it against Efran. While the administrators don't know what to do about it, the Fortress faeries have been conscripted to help with a little faerie misdirection:
Haight strode down the lower corridor, eyes and ears alert to every breath, every movement around him. Up the corridor a ways, he saw Exley, one of his more reliable sources, looking confused. Eyes narrowing, Haight drew up to him. “What is it, Exley?”
“Yes, sir, it’s very strange,” Exley said. “I can’t imagine why the Lady Minka is whooping it up like that in the men’s bathing room.”
Haight jerked his head to look at the sign on the nearby door that said, “Men’s Bathing.” He put his hand on the door handle and paused, as he could not recall a men’s bathing room inside the fortress, especially not right here in the first-floor corridor. But there was the sign that plainly read, “Men’s Bathing.” Cautiously, Haight put his ear to the door to hear masculine voices along with Minka’s rich laugh.
So Haight opened the door and walked right in to be met by screams and a flurry of fleeing flesh. Some of those bodies, having wrapped towels around themselves, turned on him armed with pots, kettles (hot) and wooden-handled brushes aimed at his head.
Throwing up his arms, he floundered for the door, but the undressed women in the room had shut it immediately after his entry, which meant he took a fierce barrage of blows before being able to find the handle and then turn it.
At last, staggering out into the corridor, he was met by a sentry who, drawn by the ladies’ screams, looked at him in astonished contempt. “Haight! Have you lost your mind? Why are you barging in on ladies bathing?”
Swaying, Haight looked back at the sign on the door, which read, “Women’s Bathing.” Exley was nowhere in sight. Glaring back at the sentry, Haight staggered up the corridor. Then he spotted the execrable Exley just ahead, talking to a group of servants.
Brimming with fury, Haight lit upon him: “You stupid lump, you sent me into the Women’s Bathing Room! And I didn’t see Minka anywhere in it!”
Exley, sounding much different than usual said, “You went into the Women’s Bathing Room looking for Lady Minka?”
Haight blinked at the mismatched voice and face, and suddenly he was looking at Commander Lyte, who was regarding him in incredulous contempt. Haight looked around at the captains glaring at him, then from behind came solid wooden blows on his head, accompanied by the shrill screeching, “How dare you? How dare you? You filthy animal!”
With a cry, Haight lurched up the corridor to run through the foyer and out the front doors. He almost fell down the steps before staggering across the courtyard to catch himself by a hand on the gate. While one of the gate sentries watched him in astonishment, he looked aside at Minka in a riding dress. She turned her brilliant blue eyes to him with flush lips parted, curls lifted by a gentle breeze, and said, “You’re not Polonti, but you’re cute. Kiss me.”
Gazing at her, he yielded to her command, and fell upon her to press his mouth to her luscious lips. She or someone seemed ambivalent about his acceptance of her invitation, because small fists landed forcefully on his eye and nose, and the toe of a boot slammed into his shin.
With another cry, he looked out of his undamaged eye at Squirt, the stable boy, aiming another clenched fist at Haight’s battered face. Barely evading it, Haight fell away from the gates to run, limping, around the corner of the fortress toward the back grounds.
Here, Haight paused to assess circumstances. “I am not seeing what I think I’m seeing,” he breathed. “The dam’ faeries are having a spot of fun with me.” He turned to glare at the faerie tree as it waved its branches insolently at him. Spotting an axe lying up against the fortress wall, he muttered to the tree, “Laugh while you can.”
He strode over to pick up the axe and begin hacking at the base of the tree. It was wonderfully satisfying to see great chunks fly out with each stroke of the axe, but soon he heard a dangerous creaking, so he began desperately hacking on the other side of the tree to prevent its falling on him. Meanwhile, the men in Wyeth’s and Nyland’s sparring groups gathered to watch Haight flail at an iron fence post with a surveyor’s stake.
At the sound of a tremendous cracking, Haight looked up in terror to see the tree with the face of Grendel and a hundred arms reaching for him as it fell toward him. He screamed, covering his head.
“Oh my goodness, are you all right?” said a soft voice. He looked out from his arms at Minka leaning over him with worried blue eyes.
“Oh, no. Ha ha ha ha—no, I’m not falling for that again,” he said shakily, scooting away on his back. “No, you won’t fool me again, you beautiful little vicious vision. You invite me to kiss you then punch me in the bathing room. No, no, you little demon—”
Great arms lifted him as he continued ranting for twenty paces, then Wyeth tossed him over the seven-foot front fence. Minka watched in dismay. “There’s something wrong with him,” she said as Wyeth stalked back.
He barely glanced at her before ordering his group, “Reform your lines!”
In Book 23 Lord Efran on the Game Board, Justinian breaks out in song:
"Just one more kiss before we part
To soothe a loving, aching heart
For all the world is still asleep
As you and I our secret keep
Just one more smile ere I arise
Just one more look into your eyes
For that to me were paradise
Just—One—More—Kiss!"
These lyrics are from an actual hit vaudeville song written by Archie Bell in 1923, and if I could sing at all, I swear I'd record it and upload it here. Are there any singers out there?
You could call it Chataine’s Guardian 2.0