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"
Well
,
well
,
"
he
said
.
"
So
we
’
re
privy
councillors
now
.
Just
fancy
.
"
"
Hmm
,
"
said
the
assassin
.
"
I
wonder
what
’
s
the
difference
between
ordinary
councillors
and
privy
councillors
?
"
wondered
the
merchant
aloud
.
The
assassin
scowled
at
him
.
"
I
think
,
"
he
said
,
"
it
is
because
you
’
re
expected
to
eat
shit
.
"
He
turned
the
glare
back
on
his
feet
again
.
What
kept
going
through
his
mind
were
Wonse
’
s
last
words
,
as
he
shook
the
secretary
’
s
limp
hand
.
He
wondered
if
anyone
else
had
heard
them
.
Unlikely
.
.
.
they
’
d
been
a
shape
rather
than
a
sound
.
Wonse
had
simply
moved
his
lips
around
them
while
staring
fixedly
at
the
assassin
’
s
moon
-
tanned
face
.
Help
.
Me
.
The
assassin
shivered
.
Why
him
?
As
far
as
he
could
see
there
was
only
one
kind
of
help
he
was
qualified
to
give
,
and
very
few
people
ever
asked
for
it
for
themselves
.
In
fact
,
they
usually
paid
large
sums
for
it
to
be
given
as
a
surprise
present
to
other
people
.
He
wondered
what
was
happening
to
Wonse
that
made
any
alternative
seem
better
.
.
.
Wonse
sat
alone
in
the
dark
,
ruined
hall
.
Waiting
.
He
could
try
running
.
But
it
’
d
find
him
again
.
It
’
d
always
be
able
to
find
him
.
It
could
smell
his
mind
.
Or
it
would
flame
him
.
That
was
worse
.
Just
like
the
Brethren
.
Perhaps
it
was
an
instantaneous
death
,
it
looked
an
instantaneous
death
,
but
Wonse
lay
awake
at
night
wondering
whether
those
last
micro
-
seconds
somehow
stretched
to
a
subjective
,
white
-
hot
eternity
,
every
tiny
part
of
your
body
a
mere
smear
of
plasma
and
you
,
there
,
alive
in
the
middle
of
it
all
.
.
.
