the smuggler’s bible

Gül

The thunder and lightning start when he’s halfway up the hill. The prosletyzing—well, that only really gets to rolling as he swings open the churchyard gate.

“Sayeth he who has the power, ‘use those hooks and those crooks as ye have and as ye can, for so are they given unto ye,’” a voice booms out of the chapel. “Amen.”

“Nice try, preacher,” Gül says, “but you know the rules. Seven souls under seven altars. That’s a prime number, to keep you idiots honest. No factions and absolutely no splinter cults.”

Lightning strikes, much closer now. “Damn the rules.”