Authors: K. J. Parker
Sharps (63 page)
A long silence; then Luso said, “It’s chicken.”
“Get it out of my sight,” Father said, and the plates were whisked away. No great loss, Gignomai couldn’t help thinking; it had been sparse and stringy and tough as strips of leather binding, and he was pretty sure he’d last seen it draped over the pistol-holsters, in which case the chickens had been laying hens, not table birds, and not fit for eating. There was rather more to it than that, of course. They’d eaten layers before, when they’d had to, and had pretended they were perfectly fine.
Table of Contents
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