'Nor I. Let's go drop off our things at Blackstone and then go to his flat and wake him the hell up.'
'Best idea I've heard all day.'
Their plan, however, was thwarted by the fact that when they arrived at Blackstone, Paet was already there, wide awake, waiting for them in the main office. A few analysts, translators, and copyists sat at desks, their heads down, intent on their work.
'Welcome home,' Paet said once they were in his office. He looked genuinely relieved. 'I can't tell you how glad I am to have you both back.' It was the first time Silverdun could remember him expressing an emotion that wasn't anger.
'I lost a hand,' said Silverdun.
Paet looked at Silverdun. 'What on earth are you talking about?'
'An Annwni guardsman lopped off my hand, and five days later it grew back.'
A thin smile crept across Paet's lips. 'Is that so?'
'What did you do to us?' asked Ironfoot. 'At Whitemount. Something happened to us there. Jedron did something to us. I've been puzzling over it ever since we left, and I can't think of a single thaumatic explanation for it.
'And I'm very smart,' he added.
'I think it's time you told us what it was you did to us,' said Silverdun.
'Anything else unusual happen?'
'As a matter of fact, yes,' said Silverdun. 'I burned down an entire building with a single burst of witchfire, and Ironfoot here turned a man into his willing slave.'
'I see.'
Paet took a bottle of whiskey from the sideboard next to his desk and poured three glasses. He handed one each to Silverdun and Ironfoot and raised his glass. They drank.
'I told you to expect some unusual aftereffects, did I not?' said Paet. 'It appears as though these effects have begun sooner rather than later.'
'I assumed you meant nausea or headache,' said Silverdun.
'I was purposefully vague because it's different for everyone.'
'What is?' asked Ironfoot. 'What is different for everyone?'
'Something happened to us at Whitemount, Paet,' said Silverdun. 'And you know what it was. So tell us.'
'I can't,' said Paet. He looked tired, strained.
'And why not?'
'Because the less you know about it, the better,' said Paet, raising his voice. 'Knowledge is everything in this business. The more you know, the more of a liability you are.'
'And here we go with this routine again,' said Silverdun.
'Listen, you,' said Paet. 'I slit the throat of a woman I loved to protect the very same information. Do you think I was happy about it?'
Silverdun had no response to that, besides horror.
'Anyway,' said Paet, 'what we did to you is less important than what you do with it.'
'That's not good enough,' said Ironfoot.
'Here's what I can tell you,' said Paet. 'You're stronger than you were. You've realized that, I believe. Both physically, and with your re. You are much more difficult to hurt, and you regenerate very quickly when injured.
'There are other ... advantages as well, but I'm not at liberty to tell you what they are unless it becomes necessary for me to do so.'
'And what circumstances would be required to make that a necessity?' asked Silverdun.
Paet drained his whiskey. 'You don't want to know.'
He poured another glass. 'Now if you'll excuse me, there are more pressing matters that I must attend to.'
'What would those be?' asked Silverdun.
'I take it you haven't looked at a newspaper since your return.' Paet handed a folded copy of the Register across the desk. It was folded to a story whose headline read, 'The Inquiry into Guildsman Heron's Death Widens.'
'Heron?' said Ironfoot. 'Is this the husband of the secretary of states?'
