Winds Like a Whetted Knife

When the candles have burned low and the lamps are at half-light, the third pot of coffee halfway empty and the dinner that a few Dregs brought in hours ago has been reduced to scraps on the table, Jesper leans around Wylan to look at her straight on and she cradles the warm porcelain of her cup close to her chest in the temporary quiet.“So,” he says, “Captain Ghafa,” and a rustle of quiet delighted snickering goes around the table before he continues with a wide grin, “what’s with the summons?”