“I suppose you could put it that way, in a sort of technical sense.”
“I’m not sure I like that-especially such a specialized one.”
“It does seem to have certain drawbacks. But one thing at a time. Let’s get you stabilized before we start looking for angles.”
“All right. You’ve got a captive audience.”
There came a rattle, as of a rolled stone, from outside, followed by a small clanking noise.
Luke turned his head.
“I don’t think that’s just the wind,” he stated.
“Take the last sip,” I said, moving away from the cup and groping after my handkerchief. “It’ll have to hold you.”
He tossed it off as I wrapped my wrist. He knotted it in place for me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “The vibes are getting bad.”
“Fine with me,” he replied as a figure appeared at the doorway. It was backlighted, its features lost in shadow.
“You’re not going anywhere, Pattern ghost,” came an almost-familiar voice.
I willed the spikard to about 150 watts illumination. It was Borel, showing his teeth in an unfriendly fashion.
“You are about to become a very large candle, Patterner,” he said to Luke.
“You’re wrong, Borel,” I said, raising the spikard.
Suddenly, the Sign of the Logrus swam between us.
“Borel? The master swordsman?” Luke inquired.
“The same,” I answered.
“Oh, shit!” Luke said.