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thought at Harvester.
    He created it despite his gesture’s contrary implication. Aldo is more about appearances than he would have you believe. You might want to kill him.
    Kill Aldo? Kholster snorted. I just came to get him to stop spying on me .
    Killing him would achieve that end rather efficiently, sir .
    I think Conwrath is right about you, Harvester . Kholster felt a smile touch his lips despite himself at the thought of Captain Marcus Conwrath and Japesh, the two human souls Torgrimm had assigned to keep him . . . What? Company? Keep him in touch with his mortal way of thinking? Kholster did not know and had not asked, but he was grateful for their presence.
    Right, sir? The warsuit intoned. About me?
    Yes. He says you’re bloodthirsty.
    I hardly think so, sir. There need not be any blood. Strangulation, burning, poison, heart attack, stroke . . . a death is a death. I cannot recall ever being thirsty for anything.
    You know what I mean.
    Actually no, sir, but I am certain Captains Marcus and Japesh would. Shall I summon them?
    Not in front of other gods.
    As you will, sir.
    Kholster thought about correcting that “sir” and insisting on being called “Kholster” or “friend,” but even thinking about it sent a spike of anguish through his chest. Harvester wasn’t Bloodmane. Could never be Bloodmane.
    Perhaps that was good. Kholster was not sure yet. Thinking about his own loss, Kholster wondered what exactly had happened to cause the god of knowledge to become what he was, this being who needed to look through the eyes of others. It occurred to him then, how such a need could be used. He marked it in the same way he’d noted the strengths and weaknesses of the human settlements between his mortal home in South Number Nine and the Guild Cities. He’d relayed them all to his Overwatches, in case the information were ever needed. Then. But now, without Overwatches, if any preparations were to be made, he would have to make them. “All going well in there?” Aldo asked. At some point during Kholster’s reverie the god had settled into the high-backed chair, its crimson upholstery covered with embroidered words that flowed and changed beneath the dramatic illumination provided by globes of mystic fire.
    A pair of human-looking eyes peeked out from Aldo’s ocular orbits behind platinum-rimmed spectacles, and he had grown to more Aernese proportions. Aldo peered up at Kholster over the rim of his glasses, head bent over a volume of forgotten lore, as if Kholster had interrupted him in the midst of reading.
    â€œI—” Kholster began.
    Not waiting for an answer Aldo “returned” to the book. It shrank as he read, pages vanishing, as he turned them.
    I think I see what you mean , Kholster thought at Harvester.
    Him, then Dienox, sir. Just a suggestion.
    And then Shidarva, I suppose?
    Nomi and Sedvinia. Then Shidarva.
    That’s quite an itinerary you have plotted out for me.
    You are a better god than they are, sir. You understand the mortals more. You are more trustworthy and you care. It is simple logic and expedience.
    Let me finish talking to Aldo, first. There was mirth in Kholster’s thoughts, and he wondered if that had been Harvester’s intention all along.
    Of course, sir.
    â€œSo you weren’t spying on me?” Kholster prompted.
    â€œHmmm . . . ?” Aldo closed the book and sat back, hands steepled. “Spying?” He rested his chin on the points of his fingers. “Are we still going on about that?”
    â€œYes, we are.”
    He’s trying to bait me, isn’t he?
    It is likely. Not to be repetitive, but I refer to you my earlier suggestion, sir. Strictly as a prudential measure.
    I’ll take that under consideration. And then, not liking himself for doing so, Kholster gave Harvester his plan for dealing with Aldo should the need arise.
    I will make the request, sir, Harvester