the smuggler’s bible

Principium Hiemis

The famulus scuttles into the dining chamber and sounds its alert chime, high and clear, a perfect middle F. Principium Hiemis carefully sets down his fork and knife, takes a sip of wine and clears his throat.

“Confirm arrival.”

“Affirmative.”

“Good. Report now, navigational accuracy rating.”

“Execution rated triple-check. Course fulfilled to within 0.00001 percent deviation.”

“Hm.” Principium Hiemis folds his napkin and pushes back his chair. He walks over to the famulus and snatches it up, reaching in to pop open the maintenance panel among its many legs.

“Report again,” he says, placing it back on the ground.

“Bullseye.”