the smuggler’s bible


Alisander comes to, slumped in a chair, while a varlet fills a wine glass in front of him. He is wearing a silk shirt and fine boots. Somebody has taken away his sword, and—perhaps more importantly—the bleeding seems to have stopped.

“Careful, there,” Morgan le Fay says. She is sitting across the table with her glass poised in the air halfway to her mouth, about to drink. Or perhaps she has already sipped, Alisander thinks. Her lips shine, curved slightly, the color of pomegranate seeds.

She shrugs. “You won’t die but, brother, believe me, rehab is gonna hurt.”


Manassen’s enemies tie him up and decide to kill him. But they let him ride his own horse on the way out of town, which is better than a lot of people get. Lucky for him, Morgan le Fay meets them on the road and throws a flag on the play.

“What’s the story with this guy?”

“We’re gonna drown him in the fountain,” one of Manassen’s captors says. “For screwing around with my wife.”

“That true?” le Fay asks. “What he says about you?”

“Well, you see—uh,” Manassen says, trying to gauge the temperature of the crowd. “No?”