I kept both hands clasped around my nose as I was led to the heart of the ruffians' illegal residence deep in the woodlands. There were more than I expected here. At least a dozen leering hooligans with the thought of crowns clearly reflected in their eyes, and all dressed in various shades of thuggery.
I didn't know what was a greater cause for my nausea. The concentrated disregard for bodily hygiene, or the fact that so many men had evaded paying for a litany of fines, licences and taxes.
That skewered boar roasting above a firepit? Hunting permit. Those dusty bottles of liquor sold over a makeshift wooden bar? Trading permit. That man shooting apples with his bow to the sound of whooping cheers and clinking coins? … Probably didn't need a gambling permit.
But I'd fine him for being a clear public safety hazard, none the less!
Left, right and centre I could see proof that my kingdom was being fleeced for each and every copper crown these shameless forest squatters had on hand. That they made their home in these private woodlands was one thing. But to then play host to a myriad of licence evasion and tax fraud was quite another.
Each crown was one less for my personal library budget. As a princess … no, as an upstanding citizen of this kingdom, I would not stand for it!
As indignation rose within me, I was brought before the sole functioning tent in this makeshift camp. Only half of it was missing. The other half, I presumed from the general wreckage around me, was being shared amongst all the other residents.
Beneath the tent's open canopy, a lone man with a black scar chiselled across his face turned in his chair. Pouches of coin lay piled atop one another on a desk. Proof of ill-gotten gains.
He glanced at me, then at the nearest ruffian who was standing far too close to me.
“Boss, we found 'er by the stream, heading down southwards. She's a real treasure, this one. All alone and the like, but with a gob as big as the moon.”
The man referred to as 'Boss' didn't stand up. A disgraceful lack of etiquette before a guest, let alone royalty. But I was here as neither.
I was here as the law.
“Salutations. I've come to rectify the catalogue of crimes I see occurring within this woodland area. Are you the brigand who bears overall responsibility for this illegal occupation of Crown property, and all the wrongful activities within it?”
The scarred man considered me with an unmoving expression. His eyes glanced down at Starlight Grace by my waist.
“A big gob. So I see. And I also see she's still got her sword. Any reason you deadbeats have brought an armed person to our camp?”
One of those who led me here shrugged.
“Well, Boss, she promised to be cooperative if we didn't lay a filthy finger on 'er.”
“That so?” The scarred man nodded. “Good. Wouldn't want Patches to happen again, would we?”
“Yeah! That's what I thought, Boss! After the last time, we should—ieeeeeeek!!”
Beside me, the ruffian's voice trailed into a pathetic yelp as a flash of iron swept by his face. A thin streak of red appeared on his cheek moments after the sound of a knife had struck a keg in the background. Someone with a tankard proceeded to make use of the ensuing drops of liquid.
The scarred man, in the meantime, rose from his chair. In his hand was gripped another knife. Its aim could have been anywhere.
“Morons! Next time you find someone with a weapon, you disarm them before you bring them to me! If they don't gut you for trying, then I will!”
“Y-Yes, Boss!!”
A chorus of kowtowing ringed throughout the camp. I wasn't sure who it was coming from, as everyone who had escorted me to this tent had now scampered with the haste of kitchen mice hearing the prowling of a cat.
I watched the scarred man attentively. Being able to induce their subjects to flight with such ease was an admirable quality. It didn't excuse the state of the noble attire he wore—clearly stolen or cheaply bought. But it was worth a single point of admiration among a sea of a thousand demerits.
Having scattered his lackeys, he turned his attention to me once more. The knife vanished from his hand as swiftly as it'd appeared.
“... The people I work with, huh. They'd have done the same thing if you were the bloody Sword Princess. Luckily for me, you're a simple-minded girl who played too far in the forest. Poor choice. There are bad sorts about.”
The scarred man chuckled, settling back down in his chair. He gestured towards the men gambling, drinking or scampering about in his camp.
“Fortunately for you, I will ensure your safety until such time that your family choose to collect you ... with a payment for my time, my provisions and my personal guarantees, of course. I take it from that fine sword by your side—which I'll insist on as collateral, I should add—that you have a very fine family I can contact. I'm sure a suitable arrangement can be made for your safe release.”
I could scarcely believe the words I was hearing.
Ensuring my safety? The implications behind those words could not be clearer even if they'd been spelt with black fire.
Such shameless criminal enterprising! So their suite of racketeering didn't merely extend to illegal residency, tax evasion, fraud and a host of other contemptuous crimes, but also kidnapping and ransoming! These were not merely unwashed hooligans. They were the worst of criminals in every sense of the word.
My resolve hardened. As did my scowl.
“Thank you. But I have no need for your guarantees of safety. What I do need is your illicit earnings as reimbursement for your crimes. You may begin by immediately yielding every illegally obtained crown in your possession.”
The scarred man stared at me with stunned silence, before eventually letting out a small smile. If he had any lackeys present as well, I was certain they'd take that as the cue to guffaw.
“Now, I'm afraid that with an attitude like that, these negotiations will be very difficult.”
For him, perhaps.
After all, the only negotiations that will transpire will be between him and his gaoler. If he pleaded his contrition, then perhaps I'd shave a few bars of soap from his sentence. As a kind and merciful princess, I'd be willing to permit a small degree of personal discretion in the matter.
“The law is clear,” I said, nodding towards the pouches behind him. “Your misadventures are at an end.”
The scarred man was plainly bemused. Rather than presenting his earnings to be confiscated, he simply took a gold crown from the table, then casually flicked it between his hands.
“What a model citizen. You're right, the law is clear. I'll make sure to think over my many crimes while we wait for your gob to quieten down. If you're smart, you'll do that instead of asking for Fat Roach or Ugly Twigs to quiet you down for you.”
He flicked his gold crown back onto the table, then lazily gestured towards me. His bemused expression had already been replaced by a calculating gaze as he assessed the worth of my person, and especially my sword.
Almost at once, I could hear a pair of footsteps trudging behind me. Tall, stocky shadows reached out either side of me.
I chose not to move a muscle. But it wasn't out of fear.
It was an oft conversation among the knights training in the courtyard that three opponents was the most even the most skilled fighter could fend off simultaneously, and that if they were surrounded, the only hope was to break through.
I had three without even counting the rest of the outlaws in the camp.
However, what our martially inclined knights didn't know was that there was another way to defeat your enemies, even when surrounded and without allies.
Why, to accomplish such a feat wasn't so much impossible as it was the goal in the dangerous world that I was brought up in. There was no greater mark of achievement than defeating your foes with your back against the wall.
Such was the demands of the oldest dance. That of the courtly realm, where enemies were friends, gallant sons wielded daggers in the darkness and timid daughters brewed whispers of poison. Compared to the foes I was trained to fight, a man boasting a scar and a band of goons was as frightening to me as a pebble in the beach.
That's why—
I smiled.
“My … how disappointing.”
“Hmm?”
The scarred man turned back again, just as he'd waved me off to be bound in whatever cage they had prepared. He looked at my smile and motioned to the men behind me to pause.
“What's disappointing?” he said, frowning.
I didn't immediately answer, instead looking down at this two-bit villain with a smile of overwhelming, absolute victory. The type that could only be used in one situation and one situation alone—when speaking as the indisputable victor atop a mountain made from the felled wishes of their enemies.
It was more than a declaration of victory. Rather, it was as if my victory was already stamped in the history books.
Predictably, utilising such a smile caused the man's frown to turn into puzzlement.
I clenched my fist, victory in hand.
Ohhohoho! Here it was!
Behold, the most powerful weapon in a princess's arsenal! Keener than any warrior's blade! Grander than any mage's spell!
My strongest, ultimate technique, relentlessly honed through years of tea parties, soirées and social gatherings, an infallible method to parry every single question the daughters of nobility put to me, without ever needing to provide a straightforward answer—
Ominously pretending I knew something others didn't!
“... My, how very tragic. For you to believe that you can simply turn your back to me. Has your time frolicking in these woodlands dulled all sense of precariousness?”
“What?”
“By evading the eyes of the kingdom, especially its watchful and beautiful princesses, I'd hoped that you would display a resourcefulness and intelligence beyond your peers. Alas, you are merely common outlaws preying on the foolish and the naive. My hopes of encountering a foe worthy of entertaining my time has passed. You do not even sense the mortal peril you find yourself in, do you?”
The scarred man blinked without comprehension.
I upped the maliciousness of my smile, all the while narrowing my eyes. It was an expression angled to perfection. A professionally curated look of condescension.
“Oh? What's this? Did you truly believe a lost girl in the woods would demand to be led here? Your string of opportunistic crimes have made you enemies in places both low and high. I must thank your subordinates. Without them being so eager to reveal the location of your base, I may never have found it. They have my gratitude.”
Silence met my proclamation.
Then, the scarred man jumped up from his seat.
“What is this?!” he shouted, his spittle flying towards every lowlife in the camp simultaneously. “She demanded to come here?! And you idiots led her?!”
A fearful murmur met this man's rage. I saw the shadows behind me shrink and fade.
I gave a small laugh.
Indeed, what need did I have of my sword, when I had my daring wits?
The critical art of negotiation was to exploit weakness as strength, and strength as weakness! To make the other party believe that the hidden hand behind my back was stronger than the one they held before me! Why, walking alone into the midst of so many adversaries clearly defied conventional wisdom ... unless I had overwhelming confidence of my victory!
Why else would I make demands from a position of clear disadvantage?
In short ... lie through my teeth!
“Frankly, I'm upset it took your goons so long to find me. Your infamy exceeds your actual talents. I'd hoped that you would at least show expediency in locating someone as obvious as I.”
The scarred man's brows almost joined as one, such was the severity of his frown. For a moment, his eyes glanced at Starlight Grace by my side. He no longer looked at it like a toy paraded by a child.
“Who are you? … Who sent you?”
The man's words caught for a moment, betraying a fear that his newly acquired monobrow failed to hide.
“My name is unimportant ... only that I caution you not to take me for the simple daughter of some mere baron. Know that I suffer your presence by my continued mercy. I have come to collect on your poor lack of judgement. My message is simple. Contrition is a long and hard road. You may begin by forfeiting your crowns … unless you wish to forfeit something else.”
I internally nodded. A strong inference to deathly peril without outright stating it. A somewhat overtired notion that was no longer fashionable. But still usable in modest amounts.
The scarred man looked like he was considering which level of vitriol to use to reject my crude threat. And yet after a moment, he suddenly widened his eyes.
“You … no … were you sent by … her?”
Creaaaaak.
The sound of the door to success opening!
That note of uncertainty! That look of spying the shadow of a familiar ghost! That allusion to a person of concern!
The opening I could seize! Clearly, an outlaw prolific enough to have his own dedicated group of lackeys would have made enemies. Whether it was banditry or politics, it was impossible to climb the ladder of authority without treading on the knuckles of those below you … or swiping at the heels of those above.
Yes, there was much a person in any position of power could fear.
In which case, what I now needed to do was …
“Heh.”
Smile menacingly!
Acknowledge nothing! Deny nothing! Courtroom politics at its finest! Allow your foes to come to their own conclusions, which would always inevitably slide towards the worst case scenario!
“No … w-wait … she can't have … not here ...”
The man took a step back, colliding with his chair. I continued to smile wordlessly.
“She shouldn't … have found me … not here … no, if it's her … oh gods, no ...”
He took another step back, pushing his chair over as he sought safety in the back of his little tent.
“Wait! I need time … tell her … tell her I need time! I can still … I can still get what she needs! I wasn't … I wasn't running away! … You ... You have to tell her! Please, you have to tell her this is all part of my plan! It is, I swear … !”
Now! The coup de grâce!
The ultimate finishing move! The natural sequel to the royal bluff!
“... Ohhohoho ...”
Here it was!
The barely contained laughter as I took shameless mirth in another's demise! Hand to my cheek, shoulders raised as I enjoyed a spectacle more delicious than a royal feast! Here was an expression trained over years of gruelling practice to instil hopelessness in all that perceived it!
“N-No ...”
The scarred man's legs gave way as he dropped to his knees beside his overturned chair. A look of ashen-white shock clouded his face as he stared inconsolably towards the ground.
Still laughing, I brushed past the fallen figure and went to the table.
Scooping up all the pouches of coin in my arms, I turned to the rest of the camp and looked down at the expressions filled with disbelief, confusion, and awe.
I rued that justice would have to be dispensed another day. I had neither the time nor the number of soap bars necessary to wipe away such a foul odour. But I could at least begin by stripping them of their capacity to cause mischief.
“I require your coin, your valuables, and your timely eviction,” I said, standing beside the slightly comatose leader of the camp. “You may begin with an orderly line.”
I kept both hands clasped around my nose as I was led to the heart of the ruffians' illegal residence deep in the woodlands. There were more than I expected here. At least a dozen leering hooligans with the thought of crowns clearly reflected in their eyes, and all dressed in various shades of thuggery.
I didn't know what was a greater cause for my nausea. The concentrated disregard for bodily hygiene, or the fact that so many men had evaded paying for a litany of fines, licences and taxes.
That skewered boar roasting above a firepit? Hunting permit. Those dusty bottles of liquor sold over a makeshift wooden bar? Trading permit. That man shooting apples with his bow to the sound of whooping cheers and clinking coins? … Probably didn't need a gambling permit.
But I'd fine him for being a clear public safety hazard, none the less!
Left, right and centre I could see proof that my kingdom was being fleeced for each and every copper crown these shameless forest squatters had on hand. That they made their home in these private woodlands was one thing. But to then play host to a myriad of licence evasion and tax fraud was quite another.
Each crown was one less for my personal library budget. As a princess … no, as an upstanding citizen of this kingdom, I would not stand for it!
As indignation rose within me, I was brought before the sole functioning tent in this makeshift camp. Only half of it was missing. The other half, I presumed from the general wreckage around me, was being shared amongst all the other residents.
Beneath the tent's open canopy, a lone man with a black scar chiselled across his face turned in his chair. Pouches of coin lay piled atop one another on a desk. Proof of ill-gotten gains.
He glanced at me, then at the nearest ruffian who was standing far too close to me.
“Boss, we found 'er by the stream, heading down southwards. She's a real treasure, this one. All alone and the like, but with a gob as big as the moon.”
The man referred to as 'Boss' didn't stand up. A disgraceful lack of etiquette before a guest, let alone royalty. But I was here as neither.
I was here as the law.
“Salutations. I've come to rectify the catalogue of crimes I see occurring within this woodland area. Are you the brigand who bears overall responsibility for this illegal occupation of Crown property, and all the wrongful activities within it?”
The scarred man considered me with an unmoving expression. His eyes glanced down at Starlight Grace by my waist.
“A big gob. So I see. And I also see she's still got her sword. Any reason you deadbeats have brought an armed person to our camp?”
One of those who led me here shrugged.
“Well, Boss, she promised to be cooperative if we didn't lay a filthy finger on 'er.”
“That so?” The scarred man nodded. “Good. Wouldn't want Patches to happen again, would we?”
“Yeah! That's what I thought, Boss! After the last time, we should—ieeeeeeek!!”
Beside me, the ruffian's voice trailed into a pathetic yelp as a flash of iron swept by his face. A thin streak of red appeared on his cheek moments after the sound of a knife had struck a keg in the background. Someone with a tankard proceeded to make use of the ensuing drops of liquid.
The scarred man, in the meantime, rose from his chair. In his hand was gripped another knife. Its aim could have been anywhere.
“Morons! Next time you find someone with a weapon, you disarm them before you bring them to me! If they don't gut you for trying, then I will!”
“Y-Yes, Boss!!”
A chorus of kowtowing ringed throughout the camp. I wasn't sure who it was coming from, as everyone who had escorted me to this tent had now scampered with the haste of kitchen mice hearing the prowling of a cat.
I watched the scarred man attentively. Being able to induce their subjects to flight with such ease was an admirable quality. It didn't excuse the state of the noble attire he wore—clearly stolen or cheaply bought. But it was worth a single point of admiration among a sea of a thousand demerits.
Having scattered his lackeys, he turned his attention to me once more. The knife vanished from his hand as swiftly as it'd appeared.
“... The people I work with, huh. They'd have done the same thing if you were the bloody Sword Princess. Luckily for me, you're a simple-minded girl who played too far in the forest. Poor choice. There are bad sorts about.”
The scarred man chuckled, settling back down in his chair. He gestured towards the men gambling, drinking or scampering about in his camp.
“Fortunately for you, I will ensure your safety until such time that your family choose to collect you ... with a payment for my time, my provisions and my personal guarantees, of course. I take it from that fine sword by your side—which I'll insist on as collateral, I should add—that you have a very fine family I can contact. I'm sure a suitable arrangement can be made for your safe release.”
I could scarcely believe the words I was hearing.
Ensuring my safety? The implications behind those words could not be clearer even if they'd been spelt with black fire.
Such shameless criminal enterprising! So their suite of racketeering didn't merely extend to illegal residency, tax evasion, fraud and a host of other contemptuous crimes, but also kidnapping and ransoming! These were not merely unwashed hooligans. They were the worst of criminals in every sense of the word.
My resolve hardened. As did my scowl.
“Thank you. But I have no need for your guarantees of safety. What I do need is your illicit earnings as reimbursement for your crimes. You may begin by immediately yielding every illegally obtained crown in your possession.”
The scarred man stared at me with stunned silence, before eventually letting out a small smile. If he had any lackeys present as well, I was certain they'd take that as the cue to guffaw.
“Now, I'm afraid that with an attitude like that, these negotiations will be very difficult.”
For him, perhaps.
After all, the only negotiations that will transpire will be between him and his gaoler. If he pleaded his contrition, then perhaps I'd shave a few bars of soap from his sentence. As a kind and merciful princess, I'd be willing to permit a small degree of personal discretion in the matter.
“The law is clear,” I said, nodding towards the pouches behind him. “Your misadventures are at an end.”
The scarred man was plainly bemused. Rather than presenting his earnings to be confiscated, he simply took a gold crown from the table, then casually flicked it between his hands.
“What a model citizen. You're right, the law is clear. I'll make sure to think over my many crimes while we wait for your gob to quieten down. If you're smart, you'll do that instead of asking for Fat Roach or Ugly Twigs to quiet you down for you.”
He flicked his gold crown back onto the table, then lazily gestured towards me. His bemused expression had already been replaced by a calculating gaze as he assessed the worth of my person, and especially my sword.
Almost at once, I could hear a pair of footsteps trudging behind me. Tall, stocky shadows reached out either side of me.
I chose not to move a muscle. But it wasn't out of fear.
It was an oft conversation among the knights training in the courtyard that three opponents was the most even the most skilled fighter could fend off simultaneously, and that if they were surrounded, the only hope was to break through.
I had three without even counting the rest of the outlaws in the camp.
However, what our martially inclined knights didn't know was that there was another way to defeat your enemies, even when surrounded and without allies.
Why, to accomplish such a feat wasn't so much impossible as it was the goal in the dangerous world that I was brought up in. There was no greater mark of achievement than defeating your foes with your back against the wall.
Such was the demands of the oldest dance. That of the courtly realm, where enemies were friends, gallant sons wielded daggers in the darkness and timid daughters brewed whispers of poison. Compared to the foes I was trained to fight, a man boasting a scar and a band of goons was as frightening to me as a pebble in the beach.
That's why—
I smiled.
“My … how disappointing.”
“Hmm?”
The scarred man turned back again, just as he'd waved me off to be bound in whatever cage they had prepared. He looked at my smile and motioned to the men behind me to pause.
“What's disappointing?” he said, frowning.
I didn't immediately answer, instead looking down at this two-bit villain with a smile of overwhelming, absolute victory. The type that could only be used in one situation and one situation alone—when speaking as the indisputable victor atop a mountain made from the felled wishes of their enemies.
It was more than a declaration of victory. Rather, it was as if my victory was already stamped in the history books.
Predictably, utilising such a smile caused the man's frown to turn into puzzlement.
I clenched my fist, victory in hand.
Ohhohoho! Here it was!
Behold, the most powerful weapon in a princess's arsenal! Keener than any warrior's blade! Grander than any mage's spell!
My strongest, ultimate technique, relentlessly honed through years of tea parties, soirées and social gatherings, an infallible method to parry every single question the daughters of nobility put to me, without ever needing to provide a straightforward answer—
Ominously pretending I knew something others didn't!
“... My, how very tragic. For you to believe that you can simply turn your back to me. Has your time frolicking in these woodlands dulled all sense of precariousness?”
“What?”
“By evading the eyes of the kingdom, especially its watchful and beautiful princesses, I'd hoped that you would display a resourcefulness and intelligence beyond your peers. Alas, you are merely common outlaws preying on the foolish and the naive. My hopes of encountering a foe worthy of entertaining my time has passed. You do not even sense the mortal peril you find yourself in, do you?”
The scarred man blinked without comprehension.
I upped the maliciousness of my smile, all the while narrowing my eyes. It was an expression angled to perfection. A professionally curated look of condescension.
“Oh? What's this? Did you truly believe a lost girl in the woods would demand to be led here? Your string of opportunistic crimes have made you enemies in places both low and high. I must thank your subordinates. Without them being so eager to reveal the location of your base, I may never have found it. They have my gratitude.”
Silence met my proclamation.
Then, the scarred man jumped up from his seat.
“What is this?!” he shouted, his spittle flying towards every lowlife in the camp simultaneously. “She demanded to come here?! And you idiots led her?!”
A fearful murmur met this man's rage. I saw the shadows behind me shrink and fade.
I gave a small laugh.
Indeed, what need did I have of my sword, when I had my daring wits?
The critical art of negotiation was to exploit weakness as strength, and strength as weakness! To make the other party believe that the hidden hand behind my back was stronger than the one they held before me! Why, walking alone into the midst of so many adversaries clearly defied conventional wisdom ... unless I had overwhelming confidence of my victory!
Why else would I make demands from a position of clear disadvantage?
In short ... lie through my teeth!
“Frankly, I'm upset it took your goons so long to find me. Your infamy exceeds your actual talents. I'd hoped that you would at least show expediency in locating someone as obvious as I.”
The scarred man's brows almost joined as one, such was the severity of his frown. For a moment, his eyes glanced at Starlight Grace by my side. He no longer looked at it like a toy paraded by a child.
“Who are you? … Who sent you?”
The man's words caught for a moment, betraying a fear that his newly acquired monobrow failed to hide.
“My name is unimportant ... only that I caution you not to take me for the simple daughter of some mere baron. Know that I suffer your presence by my continued mercy. I have come to collect on your poor lack of judgement. My message is simple. Contrition is a long and hard road. You may begin by forfeiting your crowns … unless you wish to forfeit something else.”
I internally nodded. A strong inference to deathly peril without outright stating it. A somewhat overtired notion that was no longer fashionable. But still usable in modest amounts.
The scarred man looked like he was considering which level of vitriol to use to reject my crude threat. And yet after a moment, he suddenly widened his eyes.
“You … no … were you sent by … her?”
Creaaaaak.
The sound of the door to success opening!
That note of uncertainty! That look of spying the shadow of a familiar ghost! That allusion to a person of concern!
The opening I could seize! Clearly, an outlaw prolific enough to have his own dedicated group of lackeys would have made enemies. Whether it was banditry or politics, it was impossible to climb the ladder of authority without treading on the knuckles of those below you … or swiping at the heels of those above.
Yes, there was much a person in any position of power could fear.
In which case, what I now needed to do was …
“Heh.”
Smile menacingly!
Acknowledge nothing! Deny nothing! Courtroom politics at its finest! Allow your foes to come to their own conclusions, which would always inevitably slide towards the worst case scenario!
“No … w-wait … she can't have … not here ...”
The man took a step back, colliding with his chair. I continued to smile wordlessly.
“She shouldn't … have found me … not here … no, if it's her … oh gods, no ...”
He took another step back, pushing his chair over as he sought safety in the back of his little tent.
“Wait! I need time … tell her … tell her I need time! I can still … I can still get what she needs! I wasn't … I wasn't running away! … You ... You have to tell her! Please, you have to tell her this is all part of my plan! It is, I swear … !”
Now! The coup de grâce!
The ultimate finishing move! The natural sequel to the royal bluff!
“... Ohhohoho ...”
Here it was!
The barely contained laughter as I took shameless mirth in another's demise! Hand to my cheek, shoulders raised as I enjoyed a spectacle more delicious than a royal feast! Here was an expression trained over years of gruelling practice to instil hopelessness in all that perceived it!
“N-No ...”
The scarred man's legs gave way as he dropped to his knees beside his overturned chair. A look of ashen-white shock clouded his face as he stared inconsolably towards the ground.
Still laughing, I brushed past the fallen figure and went to the table.
Scooping up all the pouches of coin in my arms, I turned to the rest of the camp and looked down at the expressions filled with disbelief, confusion, and awe.
I rued that justice would have to be dispensed another day. I had neither the time nor the number of soap bars necessary to wipe away such a foul odour. But I could at least begin by stripping them of their capacity to cause mischief.
“I require your coin, your valuables, and your timely eviction,” I said, standing beside the slightly comatose leader of the camp. “You may begin with an orderly line.”
