CHAPTER 38
The Seal-breaker considered the display on his cell phone and answered it on the third ring.
“Yes?”
“This is Pestilence. We have a problem.”
“I’m aware of the situation.”
“What the hell were you thinking? I could have told you this would happen.”
The Seal-breaker stared out the window. He had expected this response from Pestilence. War was always in his corner. Death did as he was told and Famine was . . . well, who knew what went on his head? But Pestilence was always second-guessing, prying, challenging. It was, he supposed, inevitable with hired—if expensive—labor, but it was tiresome nonetheless.
“The project is moving according to plan,” he said. “If necessary you will liaise with War.”
“And if I decide to eliminate that loose cannon once and for all?”
“That’s not your decision.”
“That’s not what I asked,” said Pestilence.
“It’s all the answer you need.”
After Pestilence had hung up, the Seal-breaker considered his options. Knight had been left alive thus far because it had seemed more useful or less risky to let him run aimlessly around like a headless chicken. But if he was picking up a scent, he could quickly become a liability. Ever the pragmatist, the Seal-breaker wanted no more corpses than were strictly necessary, but the death of Thomas Knight might soon be inevitable. It was also a matter of serving the greater good.
The phone was still in his hand. He dialed, composing the instructions he would give War as he did so.