You recall the chamber we summoned my familiar in.

[ Muttered -- an assurance slipped between two friends like a note. Waist high black water in the bowels of the island full to the brim of cave-dwelling creatures ready to make short work of a corpse. He’d never be found.

Even so: Mr. Dickerson reaches carefully with his tongs to pry back one of Richie’s fingers pinching the lyrium sliver in place against his forearm, and states more authoritatively: ]

I’ll ask you not to crack wise about the fate of our patient, Madame de Foncé.