There was a rustling of pages as the prefect appeared to consult his ledger.
“Ah, yes, here it is. Shekalane Ravencraft ... tile number 232-77-7217 ... chosen in the autumn tumbling, notified by courier on ....” He trailed off abruptly. “Oh, now ... what is this?”
Dravidian’s pulse quickened as a flickering green-white light filled the tent. A hologram. The hologram.
“You have carried out a brilliant deception for the cause, my love,” he heard Valdus say. “But time is a luxury we are running out of fast. I ask that you wait here while I attend to something.”
Then, Shekalane’s voice, as smooth and vespertine as the twilight: “And I ask that you make time for me. This one time. Help me to help you.” —followed by the sound of trousers being unbuckled.
Asmodeus broke his silence. “Well no
