‘Pig, miss?’ ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently. . As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded.
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