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“I don’t want to drink with you.”

“Of course you do,” says the Magistrate. “After tonight we know one thing: if there is anyone in the havoc we can trust, it is him.”

“I might still be whoever’s messing with your equipment,” I say. “Or partnered with them.”

“But you are not.”

“How do you know? You know who it is?”

“No. But I know you enough to know that while you may be a killer, you are not nearly subtle enough to be a spy or a saboteur.”

“I think my feelings should be hurt.”

“My apologies.”

“I’m supposed to trust this prick?” says Daja.

“Yes, my dear,” says the Magistrate.

“But I don’t have to like him, right?”

“Of course not. That is your choice. But trust in these times is more important than affection. Do you not agree, Pitts?”

“Trust isn’t my greatest asset.”

“I think we can all say that. But here we are. Any combination of us could have killed any other combination and yet we are still alive. That must count for something.”

Daja sits.

“I want a drink after all.”

The Magistrate pulls off my bandages.

“Unfortunately, tonight became a bit more physical than I had hoped. I will have to restitch your wound.”

“Does that mean I get more laudanum?”

“All you want.”

“Then hack away.”

Daja picks her glass up off the floor and pours herself some wine. I guess the Aqua Regia isn’t her favorite after all.

“Everyone is outside,” she says. “What are we going to tell them happened? The gunshot? All this blood?”

The Magistrate goes and comes back with a medical kit.

“The gun was a misfire because Mr. Pitts has been drinking. He ripped his stitches during his stupor.”

“Sure,” I say. “Blame it all on me.”

“As you said yourself, Daja is the boss and I am the Magistrate. Who else should we blame?”

I try to think, but I’m drunk and in a lot of pain.

“Fuck it. No matter what we say, they’re going to take one look and blame me.”

“Unquestionably.” The fucker smiles. He starts threading a surgical needle. “Daja, please let the others in.”