The daylamps of the city bring me staggering back to wakefulness as they flicker to life in the streets outside, their light peeking through the half-shuttered windows of my lady’s bedchamber. Brushing my hair back with one hand, I make a valiant attempt to sit up, only to be forced back down, panting, as something slops heavily to-and-fro in my middle. Only slightly dismayed (I hadn’t honestly planned to get up to much anyhow), I become aware of two pairs of arms draped over the tau

I shift from foot to foot outside the Mandrake. Life in this city has led me to cultivate a certain outward stoicism, though I still rather hope that neither my face nor posture betrays the tangle I feel in my chest. Apprehension, intrigue, fear, and just a shred of something lustful mingling and twining over each other like the wad of tentacles on a rubbery man’s face. I fiddle nervously with the brim of my hat. The knot only grows tighter as the hands of my watch creep closer to the pred