“When will the index spell be ready?” one of the clerics asked. Holding their dreggans high, they quicklyringed the walls. The bars of El Paso were ful of ranchers and mining men bemoaning the good old days when Porfirio Diaz was in power and a white man could make money in Mexico. The wind hadcalmed, resulting in a glass-smooth sea.
“You do!” the voice answered. Despite the new sense ofgoodwill, there still seemed to be no shortage of those wishing to see their fellow man suffer. Even Shawna’s pies had never tasted so sweet. Stretching his long legs, he casually crossed one bootover the other.
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