He kept on wailing with a stamina that was impressive in retrospect. I yelled sometimes, matched his volume as I tried to get my frustrations out, but of course it did nothing to deter him. “When I was younger, living in the city, there was a baby next door that cried through the night, every night, for a week straight. “He just looks so … so happy.” He frowned at the baby, which was making distinctly cute noises at them. “Only I thought that perhaps he’d be wailing,” said Omarr. So yes, tonight is the night, unless we want to wait another month.” He ran his fingers through his lanky hair. “The tome was specific,” replied Hirrush. He held a gem-encrusted dagger in his meaty hand, which was no longer poised above the altar but instead held idly at his side. “Does it have to be tonight?” asked Omarr. These arrangements were largely forgotten as the two men argued over the squealing baby. Lit candles burnt steadily in a carefully arranged pattern that zigzagged through the room, lending the air a faint smell of smoke. Omarr and Hirrush stood over the onyx altar that had cost them a dauphin’s ransom. Special thanks to ketura for making fixes to the Scrivener-compiled HTML. It’s presented here for your enjoyment, if you’re the sort of person who likes to read mostly-finished things, but I’m very aware that it’s not in its ideal final state. Author’s Note: This work is essentially stuck in ‘first draft’ state until I can find the time and incentive to put other things aside and devote myself to fixing the numerous typos, restructuring the plot a bit, punching up the prose, and some general tidying up to make it the novel that it’s meant to be.
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