"Actually, I asked for my cane back," Solomon muttered a touch belligerently, "but he couldn't do that; and then I asked for my soul back, but he said that would be a bad idea. He was probably right." He took a sip of his whiskey. His head was feeling comfortably light, now, but not so much that he didn't have some awareness of what he was saying; just that he didn't care quite so much.

"It wasn't," he said ironically, "as I'm sure you know perfectly well, very fun immediately after the fact. Occasionally it's not particularly fun even now, actually. I have more control, it's true; but who would have thought that death would be so sharp? No wonder it's addictive. The high keeps you from realising how badly you're being cut by your own sword."