They were joined two streets down by two men: huge, bear-like men, each carrying a hand-cannon. “Here, carry ‘im,” she said, shoving the incoherent and mumbling Dex toward one. “Right buggered up, ‘e is.”
The man slung Dex over his shoulder like a sack of grain, barely grunting in effort. “Father’s waiting for you,” he said.
The woman smiled, feral and beautiful. “I’m ‘appy to be of service,” she said. “Got ‘im right and proper.”
“Turn.” Seth looked into the barrel of the hand-cannon. “It’s loaded with silver buckshot there, boyo,” said the other man. “You mess with me, you won’t be much to look at. Turn around.” One of the gwr whimpered, cringing away from the gun. Seth wrinkled his nose, smelling the argent grains. Seth did as he was ordered, wracking his brains for a way out, but he
