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Julian may very well be dead. He certainly is by now. We are dead too. But we keep tending the grave of our beloved Huge, who knifed his own throat, tearing it open, bleeding to death five days after I had told him Julian was dead. We kept his ghost alive as long as we could with our lies and our selfishness. And the fact, for reasons we didn’t understand then, we were tied somehow in the spider’s web of the thing. I guess you could say we are Flying Dutchmen, now, my cousins and I for putting Huge through that torment for four years, until I found a book on magic, and used it to cast his spirit back to a calm and restful afterlife. Julian should be serving our eternal sentence with us, since it was his fault to begin with. And perhaps he is. Somewhere out of our sight. Be that as it may, once upon a time, a ghost, thinking himself alive, mourned a man who was, as far as we know, and most probably was, snakes being skillful survivalists, alive, who in spirit and soul was truly the. Big men don’t like people saying no to them. August stood, quaking inwardly, but firm outwardly. Behind him, Tematha was contemplating being dragged to the general for his pleasure. She had half expected it even on the journey, and had wholly expected it when Burton suggested it. She was flattered that Ling was seeking to protect her; it began to dawn on her that either he liked her more than averagely, or he had more of a gentlemanly spine than she had thought. Finally Burton smiled and said “You’re right, of course; there’s plenty of good warm flesh to use and discard. Many of them seem to think it an honour to be fucked by me, what about you, my dear? Since you are free, apparently, you could choose my bed. No? Oh well, stick to this fuckwit then. Come on. You have a report to give. Not you, you silly bint. HIM!”“So, you’re proposing four regions, with regional governors. Not suggesting yourself as one by any chance?” Ling smiled back; these two understood each other. The general.
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