“Really?” I said, slightly uncomfortable.

“Lately,” Garnet joined in cheerfully, “he’s reverted to that ludicrous yarn about Dantir the great rebel hero. As if the rebels would do anything to get that old drunk back anyway. The only secrets he had concerned the whereabouts of the Empire’s cache of Thrusian grain whiskey.”

“Hasn’t Dantir been dead for years?” asked Renthrette.

“At least two,” answered Mithos, distantly.

“Really?” I managed again. Against all odds, I had lost my appetite. Beads of cool sweat had pricked out across my forehead. This was not good.

“How could even someone as harebrained as Lightfoot believe that anyone would fall for such an obvious ruse?” Renthrette wondered, sipping her wine. “I mean, how asinine can anyone be?”

“The story which is supposed to bring us all running into the arms of the Diamond Empire this time says that Dantir is being moved around,” Garnet continued, now breaking into outright laughter, “with an escort of elderly ladies, or something. . ”

“One Empire platoon, actually,” I spluttered thoughtlessly. “It’s not that preposterous!” My voice was rising defensively. “All right, it might not be likely, exactly. . but it is, you know. . plausible. Kind of. I don’t see why you think it’s so obviously ridiculous. If you lot didn’t already know of this Lightfoot character you might have fallen for it. It is possible, you know, that your bloody perspicacity wouldn’t be so dazzling if you didn’t have all the facts in front of you. They could have been moving Dantir around. They could!”

There was a momentary silence as the smiles and good humor slipped away as if I’d mentioned that one of their elderly relatives had just kicked off.