It was a nice change, being able to return from a night's patrol without having earned himself dozens of blood stains and bullet holes. He'd been starting to run out of wearable clothes again.
"Welcome back, sir."
"Oh, ah... th-thank you..." Hector stopped in the doorway to pull his dark coat off. He was surprised to find Jamal still awake at this hour. "You, um... you really don't have to call me sir, Mr. Easton."
The tall guardsman looked at him evenly. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I disagree."
Hector frowned and tilted his head at him. "Why?"
"It's for the people around us, sir," Jamal said. "It demonstrates to them that I think you are someone deserving of my respect. And that affects how they see you. For the better, I should hope."
"Uh... o-okay... but no one else is even awake, right now."
Jamal paused. "Well, it may also be force of habit, sir."
Hector smiled meekly and proceeded into the kitchen to grab something to eat. As usual, he was both exhausted and hungry. He still hadn't replaced his motorcycle yet, so he'd been doing his crime fighting on foot. He'd been trying to develop a more efficient means of getting around using only his materialization. Garovel had a few suggestions for him, but they required considerable practical experience. Hector had taken more than a few bone-breaking tumbles over the last few days.
Gray Rock was a nice city, he thought. The crime here didn't seem quite as bad as other places, perhaps because the police force was so vigilant. He'd encountered them several times, and while they hadn't been especially pleased by his presence, he was just happy they weren't shooting at him. Now that the nationwide manhunt for him had been called off by order of the Queen, Hector hoped to eventually form a working relationship with the Gray Rock Police Department. After two weeks here, he still wasn't quite sure if that was feasible or not.
As for Warrenhold itself, Madame Carthrace's troupe of construction workers had already managed to rebuild three of the six aboveground towers. Hector had also offered some assistance on that front, able to save them some time with the heavy lifting. The workers had quickly grown to appreciate Hector's metal power, as he could use it to create a kind of short-range transport line for huge stacks of materials. He would lay down a long, solid strip of metal, have the materials placed at one end, and then push them along with a continuously materializing wall. And not coincidentally, this was similar to the method by which he'd been attempting to transport himself around the city.
The underground reconstruction, however, had barely started. The surveyors had only just completed their work, but at least now, Hector had a rough map of the grounds and quick sketches of all the floor plans. He'd learned that the eight underground towers all boasted twenty-four floors, with the exception of two--those being the Star Tower, which only had its top nine and a half floors, and the Entry Tower, which required thirty-two in order to reach the surface.
Expectedly, the Tower of Night was shown to be the largest with an average of twelve rooms per floor compared to the others' averages between seven and ten. In total, the castle had seventy-one lavatories, twenty-five hearths, six gathering halls, four kitchens, four adjacent bathhouses, one multilevel library, eight rainbow shrines, and then about six hundred empty rooms of undesignated function. This was not counting any of the buildings above ground or in the lake below Warrenhold.
The numbers left Hector a bit overwhelmed, to say the least. This wasn't a house. It was a town. He couldn't imagine ever needing this much space for anything. When he asked Voreese why Stasya had made it so gigantic, the reaper said that it was because she'd hoped Warrenhold would one day become a center of commerce between the surface world and the Undercrust.
'And she specifically wanted it to be a fortress so that it could protect itself from all manner of exploitation by external forces,' Voreese had said. 'When she was building it, Stasya considered Warrenhold to be an investment in humanity itself. She wanted this place to change the world.'
Hector could see why Voreese seemed to remember the woman so fondly.
And yet, he only had to look at Warrenhold now in order to understand what had become of Stasya's dream. It was a sobering realization, that. Hector would have liked to know the full story of how Stasya had died, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. He didn't see how it could be anything other than sad. Voreese never brought it up, either, but that might have only been because she hadn't stuck around very long. She and Roman had their own matters to attend to, of course.
Between the repairs to Warrenhold and the patrols around the city, Hector had plenty to do. It was a rare moment when Garovel allowed him to just relax and eat a quiet meal like this. And even more than the food, Hector was looking forward to sleeping. The bed in his temporary room was waiting for him, he knew.
But as he sat across from his guardsman, Hector recalled a question that he'd been meaning to ask ever since they left Sescoria two weeks ago. He wasn't sure when he might get another opportunity to pose it. "Mr. Easton... why did you volunteer to work for me?"
"There were many reasons, sir."
"...Well, I'm listening."
A woman's voice interrupted. "Oh, are we sharing our stories now?" The Lady Carthrace entered through the door behind Hector. Her silken pajamas bore wild streaks of bright red, and for a second, Hector thought she was covered in blood and was duly relieved to realize it was only the woman's vivid taste in clothes. She made her way to the counter for a glass of water. "Do go on, Mr. Easton. I would like to hear this as well."
Jamal leaned back in his chair. "Only if you promise to go next, milady."
She smiled. "Little old me? How could I be of any interest?"
"I'm curious why a member of the richest family in Atreya would accept a job babysitting a teenager." He glanced at Hector. "No offense, sir."
Hector laughed faintly with a raised eyebrow. "None taken... I guess."
Amelia joined them at the table and sipped from her glass. She nodded and then motioned for Jamal to proceed.
Jamal looked at Hector again. "Milord is from Brighton, yes?"
It still took Hector a moment to realize who milord referred to. "Er, I... yes?"
"That is where I am from as well," said Jamal.
"Oh..."
"As it happens, I have a very good friend who still lives there. We haven't seen each other since we were about your age, but she and I have stayed in touch all these years. And grown quite close, I suppose. I still consider her to be my best friend."
Hector exchanged uncertain looks with Garovel.
"But sometimes," Jamal continued, "I'd worry about her. She's a very... self-conscious person. And... lonely. She has an unfortunate tendency to attract certain types of men. Ones who try to take advantage of her. I knew all of this, but even still, I never imagined she would encounter that type of man..."
Hector scratched his cheek. "Uh... I'm sorry. I'm not sure I follow--"
Jamal held up a hand. "When she told me she'd nearly been the victim of a serial killer, I thought she was joking. But she wasn't. And then she told me about the person who'd saved her." The man's smile was a faint thing, and it almost seemed like it didn't belong on his face. "She actually said that, at first, she thought it was me. And in fairness, she hadn't seen me in years, and she doesn't know very many black people. And being mistaken for a hero--certainly not the worst kind of racial profiling I've ever experienced. But when she got a good look at you, she realized that you were too young to be me. And apparently, you also had a knife in your chest which didn't seem to be bothering you very much."
'Holy shit,' said Garovel. 'He's talking about the woman you saved on your very first night as a servant, isn't he?'
Hector blinked at Jamal, unsure of what to say.
"And not long after that, the media started talking about a vigilante with remarkable power. The coincidence did not escape my friend's notice. It was a traumatizing experience for her, but I think knowing that someone like you was out there helped her cope. She isn't the same person that she used to be."
"W-what... um. Oh... well, I'm glad she's doing okay..."
"You remember her?"
"Y-yeah. But... uh, I never learned her name."
"Jessica Paulson," said Jamal.
"Ah..."
"She's a big fan of yours, by the way. She was really upset when they started calling you a murderer and a criminal."
"Oh..."
Garovel was laughing his ass off. 'A fan! Oh, I would pay good money to watch you have a conversation with a fan. You should invite her to Warrenhold. Oh! Maybe Jamal is about to ask you that! Say yes, Hector. As your reaper, I command it.'
"Anyway, the point is, Jessica is the reason I believed you would be a trustworthy person, despite your... turbulent relationship with the law. However, in the interest of full disclosure, sir, that was not what prompted me to give up my old job and come work for you. The truth of the matter is that I simply did not like being a member of the Queen's Guard."
Amelia pitched in now. "Why not? It was a fairly prestigious position, no?"
"It was. But most of the other guards were pompous, insufferable bastards. Excuse my language."
"Really? Did you, ah... er, what about Lynn? Did you think she was like that, too?"
"Oh, that's right. You fought alongside her, didn't you?"
"Er, yeah."
"She never bothered me. She seemed a bit full of herself for someone so young, but at least she took her job seriously. Most of the Queen's Guard would slack off and then lord their status over anyone who wasn't famous or rich. It wasn't until after the assassination attempt that they finally started getting their act together and behaving like real soldiers should."
"Were you in the castle during the Abolish occupation?" Amelia asked. She threw a look at Hector. "That was the name, yes? Abolish?"
Hector nodded.
Jamal's expression hardened. "Yes, I was there."
"Weren't you frightened?" said Amelia.
"I was."
They waited, but the man seemed to have nothing else to say on the matter.
Perhaps sensing the growing awkwardness in the air, Amelia decided to move on. "Well, my reasons for joining our young lord are somewhat similar, though not quite so harrowing, I admit. I suppose it is only to be expected that all three of us here be veritable black sheep, in our own ways. I also came here to escape a number of intolerable individuals."
"Who do you mean?" said Jamal.
"My many nephews and nieces. It is a rather long story and one I am sure would bore you, but the short of it is that--though you were correct in your assessment of my family's wealth--for a variety of very old reasons, I inherited the Carthrace name but none of its fortune."
"None of it?" said Jamal. "You upset your parents that much?"
"Oh yes," Amelia laughed. "You know that rebellious phase that young people go through? It was not a phase for me. My parents and I saw the world in vastly different ways. And they passed that on to my brother and sister, who then passed it on to all of their children. In their eyes, I was always the corrupting aunt. They thought me a nuisance, at best. An opponent, at worst."
"Er... an opponent?" said Hector.
"In their power games. The Carthraces and the Lumenbels have a long-enduring rivalry with one another. And now, with so many of those Lumenbel boys dead, I am sure my nephews are seeing it as a great opportunity to further our family name. Unfortunately for them, the Queen has no obvious successor with whom they may attempt to arrange another marriage. In theory, if both Helen and William were to die tomorrow, rule would pass to the already-married firstborn son of her oldest brother. There is also the very likely possibility that the Queen has preemptively appointed someone else in secret--someone who will only be revealed should such a crisis ever arise. As you might imagine, the political seas in Sescoria are rather stormy, right now. I am most glad to be here with you fine gentlemen, instead."
Garovel floated over Amelia. 'Hmm. Ask her what the origin of this dispute between the two families is.'
With effort, Hector managed to.
"Oh, I could not tell you. That was before even my time. But it has sustained itself over all these years due to continually renewed feelings of ill will. In recent memory, there was the matter of Prince David upsetting my niece Delilah so much that she plainly refused to marry him no matter how my brother attempted to coerce her. Which was no small feat, mind you. My brother could have given lessons to mules on stubbornness. Even on his deathbed. The doctors said he had three days left, at most. He didn't let go of this mortal coil for another month."
Hector's brow receded. "Wow... uh... w-what did Prince David do to upset your niece so much?"
Amelia gestured with an open hand in front of her. "That, I don't know. She has never provided details. Popular theory was that he blackmailed her in some way."
Hector wondered if Prince David was capable of such a thing. It seemed rather extreme, but then again, blackmail wasn't nearly as bad as what he already knew certain other royals to be capable of.
"Regardless, it was a shame," said Amelia. "That marriage was an attempt to settle our past differences and bring the two families together. Instead, it made matters worse. A few years later, they tried again with a new couple. Sarah and Luther." She frowned. "Their union appeared to be more successful... but recent events would suggest otherwise."
It was a strange thing to think about, Hector felt--that all of the horrible things Atreya endured over these past few months might have never happened if Prince Luther had married differently. He wasn't sure he believed that. It seemed too simple. But then, he certainly didn't believe it was fate, either. And he didn't see much room for a middle ground on that point. Events were either fated to occur, or they weren't--and trying to game the system and say that events were fated but still part of multiple "possible fates" was definitely bullshit, he thought. Something to consult Garovel about later, he decided. Though, he already had a pretty good idea of what the reaper would say.
Jamal had more questions for the Lady Carthrace. "So is that your only reason for accepting this position? To get away from your family?"
"Is that not reason enough?" she said.
"It seems to me that someone of your status would be able to find opportunities to flee almost anywhere," said Jamal. "Why choose Lord Goffe?"
Hector doubted he would ever get used to that.
"I had Helen's word that Hector was a trustworthy young man," said Amelia. "And if she trusts him, well... If earning my trust were like learning how to swim, then earning her trust would be like learning how to breathe underwater."
Their conversation went on for a little while longer as they discussed the next stage of their plans for Warrenhold's restoration. The matter of the hydroelectric generator was nearly resolved, thankfully. Hector had finally found its location a few days ago, buried beneath one of the unnamed towers. The survey team hadn't been able to find it, because it sat on the far end of a flooded hallway in a room as big as a house.
Simply enough, Hector had been able to fill the room with iron and thereby push out all the water. It had proved slightly annoying, since Hector didn't know how to swim--a thing for which Garovel surprisingly did not make fun of him--but he managed. A replacement generator was already scheduled to arrive as early as next week. It was easily their most expensive purchase yet, but they decided trying to fix the one already here would likely prove problematic in the long-term, given how many years it had gone without any maintenance whatsoever.
As for the flooding issue, it turned out to be the fault of a large crack in the generator room's wall. Hector patched it up with metal easily enough, and afterwards, he was able to follow the hydroelectric generator's actual water intake stream and discover the location of something else that had been eluding the surveyors: the waterfall.
When standing in the middle of all eight of Warrenhold's great towers, anyone could hear the waterfall's faint white noise, but the cavernous echoes made it impossible to use the sound as any kind of guide. Until then, they hadn't been able to find the path that lead to it, and Hector discovered that was because the path went through the bathhouses, which were even more problematic than the generator room. The bathhouses weren't merely flooded; they were flooded with searing hot water. Apparently, Warrenhold had its own natural hot spring.
That was Hector's current project. He and Garovel had been trying to render the bathhouses usable once more--or at the very least enterable. So after getting some much needed sleep, Hector went back to it. So far, he'd managed to remove much of the excess water, but the heat was still unbearable.
Hector looked around the bathhouse another time. Aside from his pair of flashlights, he'd brought some candles with him this time. Given how damp the place was, he didn't think a bunch of light bulbs would've been a good idea. And unfortunately, as Garovel had explained to him, the floodlights he'd been using before were not named such because they were supposed to be used in flooded areas but rather just because of how they flooded an area with light.
Of course, electrocuting himself wasn't a big concern--especially considering all the times he'd been struck by lightning--but he figured it best to exercise caution in case anyone else happened to wander in while he was working.
This particular bathhouse was almost all one giant chamber. Half of it had been carved out of natural rock, and a tall divider cut right down the middle, perhaps meant to separate the male side from the female side. The big tub in the center could have probably held fifty people comfortably, and its hard perimeters of rectangular rocks gave way on the side nearest the entrance for long, flat steps that eased gradually into the water.
'Welp, I finally found the problem,' said Garovel. He'd been wandering blindly through the pitch darkness of solid rock in search of the source of the hot spring's heat.
'What is it?'
'A shitload of magma.'
Hector's eyes widened. 'How much is a shitload?'
'More than a crapload, less than a fuckton.'
'...So helpful.'
'It's pretty far down here. Won't be easy for you to reach.'
'Hmm...'
'I see two options. You can dig down here and divert some of the magma. And probably burn yourself to death at least once or twice. Or, you can try to add more layers to the hot springs in order to absorb more of the heat before it reaches the water--possibly employing some type of heat-resistant material.'
'Ugh...'
'What?'
'It's just... I mean, obviously, there's not supposed to be that much magma down there, or else the temperature up here wouldn't be so fucking high...'
'Indeed. It's probably the result of that earthquake the Queen mentioned, just like all the other flooding we've seen.'
'But it's not like the quake created the magma,' said Hector. 'It just bridged two pools together, right? Or streams... or whatever.'
'Yep. Which means there's almost certainly even more magma down here somewhere. And depending on how much there actually is, the shift in heat pressure from that earthquake might one day lead to brand new volcanic activity. Which wouldn't be very good for us.'
'No kidding.'
'So you're thinking that just adding layers to the tubs wouldn't fix the real problem.'
'Pretty much, yeah...'
'How do you intend to dig down here, then? Brute force? Even with enhanced strength, that'll take you a while.'
'Well... I don't see any other options...'
'Alright, then let me have a look around for the best point of entry.'
'Okay.'
Hector exited the bathhouse, having to go all the way through the Tower of Day's ground floor and out into the greater cavern area before finally finding a lungful of genuinely cooler air.
He decided to practice with his metal while he waited. He hadn't been training with his metal as much as he would've liked. Or at least, he hadn't been experimenting with it as much. He'd of course been getting plenty of practical experience in his almost daily patrols around Gray Rock, and while that was certainly helpful for honing his existing skills, it didn't help much with developing new ones. He knew that he needed to set aside some time soon and really see what else he was capable of now. For the moment, however, these brief periods of downtime would have to suffice.
He extended his arm out fully and concentrated. There was only one thing he wanted, and he envisioned it in his head.
The metal ball materialized in an instant, just in front of his open palm. But rather than falling straight to the ground, it popped outward first, as if it had been gently tossed. He annihilated it before it touched the ground.
It wasn't much velocity, of course, but it was a start. And he was sure he could do more, still, if he could only get a better feel for it in his mind. It was just such a newly applied concept that he was having difficulty wrapping his head around it.
Hector experimented with a few different methods of imagining the moving metal into existence. First, he just tried to envision it as 'already in motion' before creation, like Garovel had mentioned. That idea seemed to be the key, making the added velocity possible in the first place. Then, to see if he could increase the speed, he tried imagining the metal as if it were the tip of a spike, growing out of a base that just wasn't there. He knew that he could create spikes very quickly, so he'd hoped that would have an impact, but if it did, it was negligible.
Now, he was just trying to imagine everything with more precision in his mind. Clarity had always been a big factor in the past, so he figured this was probably no different. He'd been trying to research movement as a whole. He'd never gotten around to taking a physics course in high school, but he wasn't sure it would have mattered anyway, not without this desire which now possessed him.
It was also of enormous benefit to carefully observe objects in motion. A thrown ball, a dropped ball, a launched ball, their differences mattered, just as the ball itself mattered. Momentum, inertia, weight, surface area--for a subject that seemed so basic and intuitive in nature, he found the mechanics actually quite complicated and engrossing.
Strangely, it didn't feel like homework, even though he knew that it basically was. Instead, it just felt valuable and necessary--like growth. Plus, it was exciting to think about all the different ways he might be able to apply movement to his metal.
'I think I found a good spot,' said Garovel, bringing Hector back to the task at hand. 'There's a small room below the Tower of Day. Seems to be the closest.'
Hector soon found the room he was talking about. It was a storage closet, he guessed, assuming they had things like that in ancient times. He couldn't imagine why they wouldn't.
Garovel empowered him with strength and pointed at the room's bottom right corner.
Hector rubbed his hands together, making fresh iron gloves for himself and then connecting them both to the handle of an oversized pickaxe. Wielding it like a sword, he pressed his soul into it for extra oomph, and then slammed it against the wall with all his might.
A huge chunk of stone broke away from the wall and shattered into a hundred pieces. And so did the tool. And so did both of his arms.
'Hmm. I'm not an expert, but I don't think you're doing it right.'
Hector watched his elbows snap back into place and his torn flesh close itself up again. "Might've used a little too much force there..."
'Might've. Or maybe next time, you can try to swing it so hard that you break your LEGS. Wouldn't that be cool?'
He rotated his arms, stretching and flexing. He annihilated the remains of the pickaxe and created it again from scratch. He set to work again, this time with a finer touch.
'Now might be a good time to bring up the topic of passive soul defenses.'
Hector didn't stop swinging. "Passive what now?"
'As your soul power grows, you'll be able to naturally increase the resilience of your own body. So things like just now, they won't happen anymore--or at least, they won't happen quite so easily.'
"Oh. So a stronger soul makes my body tougher?"
'Yeah. In two separate respects. First, there's "resilience," which is basically the same as how you strengthen your metal. You just apply it to your body instead, and as you get stronger, it begins to happen on its own, constantly applying that extra strength to your body--albeit not as powerfully as when you apply it yourself.'
"Huh..."
'Passive resilience becomes a really big deal, eventually. Powerful enough servants can even deflect bullets with their bare skin.'
He stopped picking to throw a look at Garovel. "A-are you serious?"
'Oh yes. Not that bullets would even give them a hard time in the first place, but you get the idea, right?'
"Eh, y-yeah..."
'It tends to cause a huge disparity in power,' said Garovel. 'It makes it so that certain servants can't even be wounded by anyone who isn't close enough to their level in strength. They can just mow down hordes of lesser servants without a care in the world, pretty much.'
"Fuck..."
'Yeah. Few things are as terrifying to see bearing down upon you on a battlefield.'
Hector returned to his crude tunneling. Its downward slope was perhaps a bit too steep, he thought, and he started trying to curve it more.
'Anyway, soul resilience is only the first means of passive defense. The second is "field density," which is similar but a little less intuitive.'
"Field density...? I can't even imagine what that would refer to."
'Mm. It's also called soul pressure, which might be easier to conceptualize. It's a defense against abilities being used within your own personal space. For instance, a materialization user might try to use the orifices of the human head to create the base of a spike that then shoots straight into the brain and kills their opponent instantly. But with strong field dens--'
"Oh!" Hector stopped picking again and blinked. "I didn't even think of trying something like that..."
'It's a very advanced technique, not easy at all, especially on a moving target--but that's neither here nor there. I'm saying that one's field density offers a kind of constant defense against that sort of thing. It's a lot like how you couldn't coat Karkash in metal due to his magnetism. Same concept, only applied more broadly.'
"Hmm. How does that work?"
'By preventing the USE of the abilities in the first place. Materialization won't accumulate properly. Destruction won't tunnel properly. Integration won't fuse. And alteration users, they're fucked, too. Only transfiguration and mutation are immune, because those powers are strictly limited to the user's body, where one's own field density is strongest, so it doesn't matter how oppressive their opponent's soul pressure is.'
Hector scratched his head. "You weren't kidding about it being less intuitive than the other thing..."
'Soul resilience.'
"Yeah, the other thing."
Garovel exhaled a nonexistent breath.
"So, uh... you're saying this field density thing protects the body, but it can also double as a kind of weapon? I mean, suppressing the opponent's power seems pretty potent..."
'Yep. That's generally how the terminology is handled. "Field density" is defensive; "soul pressure" is offensive. But they both refer to the same thing.'
"I'm... not gonna remember that."
'You will, eventually. In the meantime, I'll remember for you.'
"Right, thanks." He was nearly waist-deep in the hole now, and the heat only seemed to be growing stronger. "But, um... was there a reason why you brought this stuff up now? I'm still too weak to use it, aren't I?"
'For passive defense, yes, you're still too young. But you could try actively applying the resilience to your body. Might help you cope with the heat a little better.'
"Really? How much better?"
'Oh, not much at all. You might be able to get a few centimeters closer to the magma before the heat convection melts your face off.'
"Well, that's nice..."
'It's to be expected. Our souls have only had six months to synchronize.'
That made him stand upright. "Six months..." He pressed a hand to his forehead, partly to wipe the sweat away, partly just thinking back. "It's only been six months?"
'Six and a half, to be precise.'
"That's still ridiculous..."
'Hopefully, the next six won't be quite so hectic. You've got a pretty good handle on your power now, and you're a much better fighter. We've even made a few good allies. Oh, and let's not forget our new base of operations. Seems like it's already time to start thinking about the next step.'
"The next step? What do you mean? You have something in mind?"
'As a matter of fact, I do. We should begin fostering a network of reliable contacts.'
"Oh... y'know, Roman mentioned something like that, too."
'Did he? When?'
"It was just before that big fight. The one at, uh..."
'Rathmore's Gate?'
"Yeah. He said, ah... networking is really difficult."
'He's not wrong.'
"His previous allies kinda fucked him over, didn't they?"
'Seemed like it.'
"But, uh... Roman said if we ever find someone we can really trust, we should take good care of them. He said something like... if I don't have room for them in my life, then I should get a bigger house."
'Heh, is that so?'
"And... I think he was talking about Colt. Like he was implying that I shouldn't have let Colt leave."
'Ah. Hmm.'
"Er... maybe I was just reading too much into it, though..."
'Well, once we finish sprucing this place up, perhaps we should give Colt a call. Check up on him, at least. But I won't force you to offer him a room. I know you two have your differences. And he IS a murderer.'
"Yeah..." Hector stopped digging again to look at Garovel. "I don't know if I'll ever forgive him for that..."
'...But?'
He sighed. "But I don't know. And besides, he probably wouldn't even want to live here."
'Ah, it just occurred to me that we don't know how Warrenhold affects children. Voreese said the unsettling feeling could be explained away, but obviously, that's not going to work with babies.'
"You think this place has an age restriction? Seems like Voreese would have mentioned that."
'Maybe. No harm in asking her next time.'
Hector was up to his shoulders in rock now. He took a hard breath and rested his pickaxe on his shoulder. "Geez... how much farther down is it?"
'Only a few more meters.'
"Meters?! How many?!"
Garovel shrugged. 'Nine or ten? Or... fifteen? Could be twenty, I suppose.'
"Fuck, man..."
'Hey, you try measuring while you float through complete darkness without any sense of motion around you.'
He rolled his shoulders. "This sucks. I thought hot springs were supposed to be relaxing..."