"Glad you could make it." She opened the door to let him in. "Please, have a seat."

The rented room had no sofa—just a bed, a dresser, two chairs, and the table on which the pieces of her guns were laid out. She sat back down and began unhurriedly tidying up the pieces, starting to reassemble the needlegun first as she talked.

"How badly do you want to get out of the Reaches, Pottinger?" she asked.