the smuggler’s bible

Malkin

Pale motions gently with a hand and one of the bodyguards leaves the room. He returns with a bottle and three glasses. The liquor is pungent and pitch black.

“Go ahead,” Pale says, taking his glass. “It’s not a ritual or a test. Just a drink. I want to know—last year, what did Roger send you down after?”

“He wanted Moll.” Malkin shrugs. “A hood. Small time, running some amateur ploys. He fronted a courier service and was steaming the letters open. Things like that.”

Pale nods. “I knew him.”

“Certainly you did. That factored into things quite prominently.”