His arse felt a bit tired. Well, he had been sitting on a stone floor. For, evidently, quite some time; he wasn’t certain precisely, but enough that his legs had gone stiff and Padmini was calling him.
He unfolded his left leg. Patted the volume on his lap. It’d follow him—not literally, but it was keyed to him, attuned to him. It’d be his secret recorder when Percival Therion-Windham arrived.
The Shout came with a small echo; his earlier spell was bouncing it from the printing press room down to the archives. Padmini’s voice said, “Er, Mr Burnett? Your captain’s here.” Her voice held a smile.
“Oh—thank you, I’ll be right there.” He got up, and set the helpful archive on the closest clean table. His knee ached; it was the same one that’d hit the ground, the day before. “He can wait in m
