---
Edda, who had been about to throw more light, paused. "I hate this fluffy thing," she said.
"Most people do," Fizz said cheerfully. "They get used to it. Some die first. Do you want to dei?"
"Fizz," John said.
"What," Fizz said. "I am doing a morale roast."
Brann drew a tight circle around his own boots and stepped, three paces sideways without moving his feet. Circle three tricks, neat and practical. He reappeared by the back window and smashed the board with his elbow. "Stall them," he snapped. He was not going to die in an old house for two gold coins.
"Professional," Edda barked after him, angry that he had just made them sound unprofessional.
Fizz zipped after Brann. "Oh no you do not," he said, and spat a string of sparks along the window frame. The old tar whoomped like a cat startled by its own sneeze.
