Now his headache was still with him and his tongue was smarting something fierce. He tried to distract his focus from his discomfort to the mundane ch...re of cleaning his guns and checking his ammo for defects. Sometimes the shells were slightly dented from their exposure to the constant riding in the saddle and the fixing of the fences that helped keep their stock from straying. He usually carried a spare box of cartridges in his saddle bag to bolster the rounds on his belt and in his. . so.I sat on my chair on my side, he sat in my exceedingly ornate reject. The rat liked it. He settled in like ... well ... like he liked it.He started, “Godmama wants to ... something?”“Godmama?”“The Queen.” As if that made all the difference“Just making sure,” I said. I waved my hand in the gesture that says ‘please, continue.’He hemmed, fluffed, and started ... again.“Godmama wants to know.”“Ah ... yes ... government,” I said.His turn to make the continue gesture ... mine was nowhere as. More

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