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“Yes,” said Osric, in a muffled voice. “Can’t smell anything anymore. I think my septum has dissolved.”

As they neared the lighthouse, they spotted a few burly figures wandering about at its foot.

Fairhrim stopped. Osric walked into her.

“What?” asked Osric.

“Them,” said Fairhrim, pointing at the figures.

Obviously, that’s what would have her concerned—a few twits wandering about, and not the immolation of Osric’s sinuses.

“This lighthouse is meant to be unmanned,” said Fairhrim.

“It looks very manned,” said Osric.

“Perhaps they’re sightseers,” said Fairhrim. “If there are any at the top, I’ll ask them prettily to leave so we can carry on with our time wasting unobserved.”

“I should do it,” said Osric. “I’m prettier than you.”

Fairhrim threw her head back, said, “Hah!” as though Osric had made a good joke, and kept walking.

This vexed Osric, because hewasprettier than her. Wasn’t he? Was she prettier than him? Impossible. He surveyed Fairhrim with a new, jealous assessment, but only her back was visible now, and all he could conclude was that she had a good figure.

“This isn’t the time for your jokes,” said Fairhrim, over her shoulder. “Let’s focus on the assignment.”

“Iamthe assignment.”

Cloak pulled in tight against the wind, Osric followed Fairhrim through a track of crushed grass to the edge of the sea, and they argued about their relative prettiness, and Osric said, “At least admit that I’m handsome,” and Fairhrim asked, philosophically, if a disease could be handsome, and vexed him further.

The sightseers at the lighthouse looked remarkably well armed.

“A jolly bunch of holidaymakers,” said Osric. “About to have a family picnic, I’ll wager. The broadswords are to cut up the roast.”

Fairhrim did not share his amusement. “Who are they, and why are they here?”

“I’ll go find out,” said Osric. “You stay put.” Then, because Fairhrim looked as though the instruction displeased her, he added, “I need you alive, and not skewered by Dodgy Gooch and company down there.”

“Fine. Try to be diplomatic, won’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh,” said Osric.

This answer was, apparently, insufficient.

“Promisenot to hurt anyone,” said Fairhrim.

Fairhrim’s problem was that she had too many principles.

“What about in self-defence?” asked Osric.

“Self-defence,” said Fairhrim, in words that Osric immediately planned to make her regret, “is obviously different.”

“Right.”

“Will you promise not to murder them?”