“It’s not so much that he just asks the questions…” Said Morty, while we casually followed Dale through the streets of the Cogs.
“It’s how he asks them, I know.” I returned, and grabbed an orange from a green-grocer’s stall, and flipping a copper up high to him. “It’s a strange sort of tracking when you don’t look for footprints.”
“I guess we all leave traces we can be followed by,” he said thoughtfully.
I tossed the apple up in the air, and snapped out a couple of knives; catching the fruit on the point of one dagger, I neatly bisected the orange with the other. Then, I passed Morty a half- point first.
“Thanks,” he said, with a roll of the eyes, ‘Bit showy, huh? Remember, ‘traces’?” He pointed at Dale, “Besides, you coulda got at least two oranges for that coin. Lords know there’s no other use for a minim.”
I just grinned at him, and tucked a segment of orange into my jaws, “Gotta keep your hand in!” I swallowed, and began making passes with my hands. “Which is why…”
“Aw! Come on!” Cut in Morty, “You know I don’t like hearing about how you ‘relieved’ someone of some material encumbrance, or snagged their snook, or whatever.” He gave me a pained look, and said “Let’s not get too far behind.”
I mock sneered at his departing back and tossed the second orange to some waif.
“Happy Midwinter or something.”
“Get sunk!” The lovable urchin called back, and took a bite – skin and all.
Maybe they’d choke on it.