the smuggler’s bible


“You sure about that one?” Snake-in-the-Grass says, peering over Bloodtooth’s shoulder.

“I was.”

“And now?”



“A whole heap of them.” Bloodtooth tosses the stone slat back on the pile and digs out one with some faded paint on the edge. A bluish-green. “Does that look like sky to you? Grass? Three days and we still haven’t even found a corner piece.”

Snake-in-the-Grass stretches and walks over to the big doors across the room. He presses lightly, listens as the wood creaks.

“Maybe these doors open if we finish. Maybe they don’t. Why shouldn’t we try the crowbars first?”