"Okay," he said. "If you say so."
"Let's drink it then," I insisted, raising the mug to my lips. As I sipped from the cup, Rythian picked up the jug of whiskey and emptied the last of the contents into the cup. With shaking hands, he wrapped the empty jug in the old bandage that I had used earlier, and shoved it into his trouser pocket. He stared into the distance, deep in thought.
"Do you have any matches?" I asked. "Or paper?"
For several moments, he remained silent. Finally, he shook his head.
"No. No paper. Not even a matchstick."
I sighed, and tried to decide whether it was worth the risk of lighting a cigarette. I could have started by burning one of those candles, but there were too many of them around, and I wouldn't want to attract anyone's attention.
"Let's just hope that t
