The borman’s chest heaved. “What you do?”
“What are you doing?” Bubs snapped back. “I told you to leave.”
“Why you wait?” the borman demanded, alarm splitting his voice. “You open, more blood come. You must help travellers! You must!”
“Is she your human?” Bubs’ tone did not rise.
“Yes!”
“I am obliged to help travellers, same as any guard.” Where the borman’s words were fire, Bubs’ were unmelting ice. “I am not obliged to fix anyone’s things and toys. Another’s property.”
The borman —
Deltington’s wing flared poison-yellow, the one stretched between the borman and Bubs. Yu stumbled back, struck the cot behind him, and fell onto the mattress. From there he stared, breath caught, chest locked, unable to grasp what rection, what danger Deltington had seen — only knowing he had missed it.
“If I let go now,” Deltington said, “this leg will tear off. Do not make me.”
It was a warning, dead-serious. But then, his teeth showed. Rows of needles gleamed beneath the beak-like overgrowth that carved his face into its ever-fixed rictus. In the stark white light, the grimace seemed to flare wider, a grotesque grin burning across a poison-yellow mask.
“Or do make me?”
No!” The borman’s arms shot up, shoulders bunching.
“Deltington,” Bubs’ voice cut clean.
The grin vanished, but the poisonous colours still burned across Deltington’s face. “She will lose it,” he repeated. This time the words carried no dare, only threat.
“No!” The borman suppressed his roar, voice ragged, close to breaking.
“She may keep it,” Bubs words sliced through the tension. “Maybe I try. Maybe I do nothing. That depends on you, borman.”
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