18
Explaining the dance party to Milady wasn’t as hard as you might think. She’s met me before.
‘So the only conceivable way to avert total disaster and certain death was to challenge the tormented and wronged inhabitants of Silvessen to a dance battle,’ Milady said, just to make sure she had it straight.
‘Exactly,’ said I.
It was the next day, which was nice, because we’d had a free evening before we’d been summoned to make our report. An evening in which to get clean, and warm, and fed (again), and hugged (thank you Jay), and then to sleep the deep, peaceful slumber of Society agents who aren’t being mercilessly tortured by a quartet of unhappy glaistigs.
I had, however, been summoned particularly bright and early: it was barely seven o’clock, I hadn’t had breakfast yet, and was it
