Chapter 16
Lines of Communication
Wolfe woke up with a throbbing headache, feeling utterly disoriented and completely numb all over. Illumination provided by a handful of oil lamps placed at strategic points around him, showed that he was in a tent, with a curtain of beads separating him from the rest of the world. Though a bit on the spartan side, the decoration told him that the tent's occupant was probably a woman of a humanoid race. He activated his hearing to probe the surrounding area for sounds, and while the complete silence was replaced by some murmuring, his hearing clearly wasn't up to its optimal level. Even the miniscule effort of throwing the frilly-edged silk covers off made him arms ache. However, the effort seemed to restart his body, and feeling rushed back to his limbs and skin.
"I told you you weren't that good," Jelly's accusing thoughts came. "You didn't even have enough power left to make your escape. You're very lucky that Holly was around to save you."
"I don't need your nagging right now," Wolfe replied brusquely, as he forced himself upright and swung his legs over the side of bed. His feet touched on a canvas-like surface, and he experimented by putting more and more pressure on his legs before finally standing up. His clothes were nowhere to be seen, but there was a maroon monk's robe draped over a low table, which also held the Phoenix Katana. He walked over to the table unsteadily and donned the robe, its coarse fabric causing his skin to itch. It was uncomfortable, but it would have to do. Then he stuck the sword—its mild temperature telling Wolfe that it was also recovering its magic—in a loop he'd made by twisting the rope belt once.
He was headed towards the curtain when it parted, admitting Holly and an attractive Light Elf, though the elf was less attractive than any other females of her kind he'd seen. Also, unlike the elf maidens he'd seen before, she was dressed in a brown martial uniform. However, the way she behaved and the circlet resting on her head told him she wasn't a foot soldier. She exuded an air of authority Wolfe had seen in few other beings, and her eyes shone with wisdom that Wolfe knew all too well, namely, the kind that could only be gained the hard way.
"I see you have recovered," she said.
"Hardly. But at least I'm awake. How long have I slept?"
"Nine hours. We were a bit concerned when you wouldn't awaken after you'd collapsed, but our healers assured us that it was a simple matter of exhaustion." The corners of her sculpted pink lips turned upwards. "I was afraid I would have to find a different bed to spend the night in."
Wolfe glanced at the bed, then shrugged. "You wouldn't have had to. It's a double bed."
Her smile vanished and one of her thin golden eye-brows shot upwards. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Whatever you want it to mean."
"Are you propositioning me?"
"I suppose that's one way to interpret it. I thought you elves liked speaking in ways that left your sentences open to interpretation."
The smile returned, this time also showing some sparkly white teeth. "My kin in the Fyrathel colony said you didn't have a sense of humour."
"My sense of humour came out of hibernation thanks to their intervention. Their web of warning made it much more difficult for my quarry to thwart my pursuit. Unfortunately he found a way to use the dense population at Astirian to shake me off."
The elf's face turned serious. "Astirian … that's something we really need to talk about later." She nodded to Holly. "Holly has volunteered to see to your needs for the duration of your stay. She'll be bringing you food and something more functional than my meditation robe for you to wear. Your other clothes were covered in blood and needed to be washed. You also needed cleaning, so Holly bathed you."
Wolfe turned to Holly, who was blushing furiously. He instinctively plucked at the robe, causing the fabric to shift and sting his skin some more. His grimace prompted another smile from the elf.
"Do you wonder how I can meditate in such an uncomfortable garment?"
"Not really. My mentor also taught me to disregard physical discomforts and put mind over matter. The problem is that I have far too much on my mind to accomplish that right now. Perhaps you could lay some of my questions to rest."
The elf nodded. "By all means, ask your questions."
"Where am I?"
"In a camp of resistance forces opposing the Duchess of Astirian."
Wolfe allowed that to sink in. When he had travelled around—though not quite in—these parts, he had seen traces of traffic that suggested a large settlement somewhere in the marshlands, but since Yamato hadn't been going in that direction, he'd decided not to follow the tracks.
"We've opposed her ever since she rose to power, fifty years ago. However, things have been going rather badly for us these last few years. When news of the fulfilment of the prophecy that foretold the return of the Shamballah emperor reached this nation, the duchess had the known realm combed for expert mercenaries and trackers who could hunt down resistance fighters and allow her to completely subjugate the nation before Shamballah's influence had the chance to take root again. The resistance was never a cohesive force to begin with, but when times got tough we were fragmented even further, which decreased our effectiveness."
"And you're the commander of this resistance group?"
"Since yesterday, when we established that our leader was killed by enemy mercenaries," she said quietly, as tears began to fill her eyes. "He has led us from the beginning. I don't know how to fill his shoes."
Tears began to run down her cheeks and one sob escaped her before she regained control. She looked so hopelessly lost that Wolfe got a powerful urge to walk up to her and sweep her in a comforting embrace. But he managed to stop himself, and just in time, because her chin came up and she looked at him with eyes like warm peach-coloured topaz gems glowing with the light of hope.
"You are the answer to our prayers. You can unite the resistance and help us take back our lives and our freedom."
Wolfe raised his hands in a warding gesture. "Hey, wait a second! Yes, the atrocious situation in Astirian drove me to act, and I'd love to fight some battles with you, but—"
"Don't you realise what you've done?" The elf stepped up to him and took his hands in hers. "You've killed hundreds of soldiers and slavers by yourself. You single-handedly overcame the feared captain of the duchess' elite guard and five of his more skilled warriors."
"The minotaur?" Wolfe asked, while he quickly withdrew his hands from hers and took a few steps back, since their warmth, coupled with the sweet scent of her hair, had sent an unsettling and all-too- familiar tingle rampaging through his body.
"Down, boy!" Jelly chided.
"It's been a year and nine months, and my incubus heritage also affects me to some extent!" Wolfe replied defensively, before focussing his attention back on the elf.
"Yes, Rhasdogul. You killed Rasdogul, and he had help, but you still triumphed! No one in his right mind would question your leadership of the resistance if you assume it, and your presence as a leader will rouse the people who have been too afraid to oppose the duchess because chances of victory were too slim. We could hardly believe it when Holly told us, but then word reached us through other means a few hours ago, and the other camps must have heard about it too by now."
"She's right, slick. Your bloody one-man show in Astirian made you a major symbol, and if you turn your back on them now you'll crush their spirit."
Wolfe heaved a sigh of resignation. "Fine. Get me some food and some clothes, and I'll see what I can do."
The elf emitted something like a strangled cry as she launched herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. Both the sound and the move were most uncharacteristic for elves, judging by those he'd met before, but, taking a peek into her mind, he saw that her habits had taken decidedly non-elf accents in the decades she'd spent outside their society. She'd also been under a tremendous amount of stress lately.
The hug wasn't exactly as brief an affair as he'd expected it to be, and Wolfe was beginning to feel a bit awkward. The clothes on both their bodies did very little to lessen the feel of her softness pressing against him, and the scent of her hair blanketed any unpleasantness his senses were registering, making the itching of the robes feel like a faint tingle.
Wolfe quickly pried her arms loose and stepped away from her, bending forward slightly to prevent his lack of underwear from becoming obvious against the robes. "I thought elves only showed such familiarity to close friends. I don't even know your name."
A pink tinge appeared on her cheeks, and she demurely lowered her gaze to the floor, her manner very different from her earlier bearing. "Patrinia Elebrië of Narindion."
"It sounds familiar. I must have either read or heard something about you in Fyrathel."
"It's possible," she said, looking wary all of the sudden. "I'm Princess Patrinia Elebrië, also known as … Patrinia the Plain. Elf women of royal blood are supposed to be more beautiful than commoners, not less so. That nickname prompted me to leave my nation in search of a place where I would be measured by virtue rather than looks."
"Your people really helped me out, but I did notice they were a narcissistic lot," Wolfe acknowledged. "And for what it's worth, the fact that you've stuck with these oppressed people for thirty years at great risk to your life earns you more of my respect that all the beauty of the pretty faces in Narindion put together would earn them."
"Thank you," she said, shyly accepting the compliment. "Now, may I ask your name? While Holly knows a lot about where you are from, and who you are, she told me she neglected to ask you your name when you two met. It would be helpful to include that information in the messages I will send to the other camps."
"Maximilian Wolfe. Grandson to the regent of Shamballah, and kinsman to the emperor."
"Getting a bit pompous, are we? Kinsman? Since when do you use terms like that?"
Wolfe ignored the symbiont, choosing to bask in the awe both Patrinia and Holly were showing and trying to look important. But the illusion was broken by the violent growling of his stomach. "Now, about my clothes and my dinner—"
"I will get you some right away," Holly said, before darting out of the room.
"Do you still have some questions for me?" Patrinia asked.
"Loads, but nothing that can't wait. You'd best get started with those messages."
The elf princess nodded and retreated through the curtain of beads, leaving Wolfe alone in the room with nothing save his thoughts. He wondered how in the world he was supposed to lead these people he found himself amongst to victory, and how the people he cared about, in a completely different world were doing, cursing the absence of reliable lines of communication.
x
Plopping down on a stool in front of the private bar that served only their group, Hermione was glad to be off her feet finally. She'd barely had a moment to herself since the last of the guests arrived with their children, which meant the onset of dozens of party games that had to keep the children occupied for a good three hours, before they'd start the treasure hunt, which was about to begin. Separate games had been held for the preschoolers, and they too would be doing a mini treasure hunt. Fortunately, Hermione wasn't in charge anymore. Mary, Janice Faust, and Claire Montoya would take care of that.
The children from the ages ten to five were divided into four teams, this setup serving to prevent the younger children from crying foul like they would had the games been individual, with the older children winning most of the games. Hermione's idea had been to start with the four eldest children as captains, adding the younger children by age, in groups of four, and putting the eldest child of the new group in the team of the youngest of the previous group. It was a sound plan, but the children didn't see it that way. Seven-year-old Peter Faust complained about being certain to lose because he was in a team with three girls, and nearly everyone else wanted to be in a different team for some reason. To make matters worse, Alexander Kelly, who was a little over four and a half, complained about being stuck with the preschoolers. Overhearing his complaints, four-year-olds Inigo Montoya and Anthony Ramos also wanted to play with the big kids.
In the end, after the better part of an hour had passed, Hermione just gave up trying to convince them of the fairness of her plans and fetched their parents to lay down the law. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so relieved, when Duncan Weasley, Robert Wolfe, Michael Faust and Nathaniel Kelly were declared the winners and received goodie bags that were slightly larger than the ones the other children would get. Her relief had been short-lived, though, because Peter Faust then made a remark about the all-boys team winning, followed by disparaging comments about the abilities of girls, sparking a flaming row with the girls from all the teams.
Matt, who had stepped away from a conversation with Harry, Percy, Lilia, Gudrun—who had finished her shift a short while ago—and Maaike, a Dutch witch from the Martial Division whom Harry had brought along, was walking towards her with a smile on his face. Hermione returned his smile before he returned his attention to Harry, Percy, and Maaike, whom Hermione couldn't but compare to muscular competitive swimmers, in her sporty black one-piece bathing suit. She knew that muscle mass could make the difference between life and death for the Combat Rangers, but she didn't recall Danielle Esklove being that muscular. She also wondered why Harry had brought her along. She'd seen him speak to Ginny and Heidi about it, and they both had seemed thrilled and eager to go along with whatever Harry had suggested. Her thoughts were interrupted when Matt took a seat next to her and flashed her a wicked grin. "Rough day?"
"I'd rather pull double duty instead of three hours with a bunch of obstreperous Ranger offspring."
"Still using big words? You're far too wound up, and you can't have fun when you're like that. But I know just the remedy for that. You need an absolute royal fuck."
"Honestly, Matt, that may be a solution for you and Gudrun, but other people do have other ways to unwind. Besides, Ron's been working very hard lately, and I don't blame him for wanting to sleep at night every now and then. And mind your language, there are children around."
Matt had been staring at her with a stunned look as she finished her sentence, but his expression quickly turned to one of mirth, and a second later he started laughing so hard that he nearly fell off his stool. He had to brace himself against the bar to keep from collapsing to the floor, which prompted Gudrun to come over and check on him, shooting Hermione a questioning look. Hermione had no idea what prompted Matt's uncontrollable laughter, and she shrugged helplessly in reply to Gudrun's unspoken query.
Gudrun placed her hands on her hips and coquettishly cocked her hips to one side, tapping her foot while she waited for Matt to recover, which wouldn't be happening anytime soon. She looked away for a moment and winked in Hermione's direction, causing Hermione to instinctively turn around to see the young barkeeper, who couldn't be a day over nineteen, bashfully looking away with a blush on his face. Gudrun must have caught him staring at her in a less than neutral way, which wasn't all too difficult to imagine considering Gudrun's look, and what was wearing. Over a navy-blue bikini with a strapless top she wore a sassy, sheer, figure-hugging dress made of stretch navy-blue mesh, so short that it barely covered her bottom. Hermione had a black one just like it, but wore it as a night dress on special occasions.
"Well?" Gudrun asked again, when Matt had finally recovered.
"Well, sugarplum, it's like this. I come here and find Hermione wound tighter than a spring after her little adventure in child-minding, and I tell her that, to unwind, she needs and absolute royal fuck. Next thing I know, she's talking about how hard Ron's been working lately and how tired he is because of it."
Hermione's hopes for clarification were dashed as Gudrun in turn erupted in laughter, taking her husband with her. The couple now clung to each other for dear life as they laughed their heads off. Before she could again ask what was so funny, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and looked at the young bartender, who, to her sudden realisation, closely resembled what Colin Creevey would have looked like if he'd reached that age. He held up a card with all the cocktail beverages and pointed to a name. Absolut Royal Fuck.
She should have known! Lots of those cocktails were named after things that had to do with sex, but in her befuddled state of mind, it had never occurred to her. Her face began to burn as she realised the extent of her blunder.
Gudrun came to the rescue and dragged Hermione off her stool. "Come on, let's walk off your embarrassment."
Hermione didn't feel like getting to her feet just yet, but Gudrun hadn't given her any choice. With Gudrun's firm grip on Hermione's wrist, they walked down the beach, leaving the more crowded club area for the nearly deserted public one, which was quiet save for a few locals here and there. Suddenly Gudrun let her go and sat down on the sand, patting the spot beside to in a gesture for Hermione to sit down, which she did, glad to get off her feet.
"I need some advice," Gudrun said, moments after Hermione sat down.
"I'll help you as best I can," Hermione said neutrally.
"I asked you because you're my designated Healer, and a friend. I-It's about … well—" Gudrun stammered, her embarrassment obvious.
Hermione reached up and squeezed her shoulder. "You know I can be trusted to keep a secret, but if you don't feel comfortable. You don't have to tell me."
Gudrun nodded, and took some time to compose herself, before continuing. "You know, that problem you have with Ron being tired? I've got the opposite problem with Matt."
"Ron and I don't really have a problem. We'll have plenty of time to rest the day after tomorrow, and I'm sure my problem will be a thing of the past," Hermione said, feeling a need to come to Ron's defence. "But what do you mean, the opposite problem?"
"I mean that, when Matt isn't on a patrol mission, we have sex every day."
Hermione could barely maintain her professional mask. "Every day? What about if you have the night or graveyard shift?"
"Then we do it before I leave or after I get home," Gudrun said, acting like every day was the most normal thing in the world for two busy professional with daily schedules that were normally full. "Anyway, the problem is when we're both together at night, and we've the time, you know?"
"No, I don't. You'll have to explain to me why this is a problem."
"Really, do you want me to say it word for word? He's killing me! A woman can only have so many 'little deaths' every night. After four hours, and sixteen or seventeen of them, I just want to go to sleep."
With a great deal of effort, Hermione prevented herself from repeating Gudrun's statement in awe. "Right … well … okay. Err, can't he tell that you're no longer aroused when you reach that point? Doesn't that make intercourse difficult?"
Gudrun grinned sheepishly. "That's part of the problem. He knows just how to touch me, and my body seems to have a mind of its own. He can bring back my arousal quite easily. When we're finally done for the night, all my muscles ache so badly that I need some magic salts in my bath to recover for the next night." She looked down at her lap with a scowl. "But that little traitor down there is always more than ready. Anyway, I was wondering if you know a more powerful restorative I could use."
"You could always tell Matt how you really feel," Hermione suggested.
"And give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's wearing me out? No way! We've always been competitive about all sorts of things. If I told him that, he'd be insufferable."
x
Ron had tried very hard not to laugh at his wife as Matt and Gudrun told the story over and over again, but seeing as it was usually he who was the thick one, he secretly took a little bit of wicked pleasure from it after all. He had to, since he needed to compensate for the mortification he felt with regards to a different part of Matt's story. He couldn't believe that Hermione had talked about his lack of drive!
It was a quarter past seven in the evening now. The sun was setting, and most of the family had gone home an hour ago to tuck in their exhausted children and recover from the busy day. Matt, Harry, Bill Charlie and Percy had stayed behind, though, as had George Ramos, who needed to put in a few hours of physical training the next day, but had a flexible schedule for doing so. Having recently returned from an extended field mission, Ron had the next ten days off, so he could participate in their drinking game without having to worry about working with a hangover.
Mary Kelly, the sole remaining single Esklove sister, Sarah, and three other single female Rangers who lived at the townhouse, two of them Brazilian and one Albanian, were clustered around another table. He knew Clara da Silva very well, since they still often met to play strategy games against each other. The other Brazilian witch, Carolina Marques, who had joined the Order in the Medical Division four years ago, he had got to know a bit better about a year ago. She'd been trained well enough up to the Order's standard of performance, but was partnered up with Hermione to gain some additional refinement. However, he'd noticed her long before that, because she was a beauty. Her spiralling curls only a few shades darker than her caramel coloured skin, her striking lime-green eyes, and her petite hourglass figure, had made her one of the principal goals in Rolf Larsson's quest for more women, until he landed himself in a situation where he had to deal with two women at once. The last witch at the table was Sylvana Prela, of the Diplomatic Division. She was known in the Order as the Mole Maiden, a nickname given to her due to her conservative views on male and female interactions, and a shirt-button sized, hairy mole on her left cheek that ruined what otherwise would have been a pretty face. However, she was proud of the mole and didn't want to hear any suggestions about removing it. Another thing she was known for was her ability to annoy Commander Faust for reasons that Ron had yet to fathom.
The four witches had arrived at half past four to soak up the milder rays of the late afternoon sun, and they had stayed for drinks, keeping their young neighbour company and making it a bit of a girls' evening out. Matt had bought them a round of drinks, specifically instructing the young bartender to give Sylvana a Virgin Mary and tell her the drink's name, earning Matt a dirty look when the bartender told her, and earning him another dirty look after she choked on her first gulp of the drink. But ever the gentlemen, Matt immediately sent the barkeep over to offer her another drink of her choice.
The barkeep's two visits to the ladies' table in rapid succession, when he got a closer look at Mary in a bikini, prompted the drinking game Ron found himself in. Apparently the bartender had been so taken by Mary's pretty face and other 'ample charms' that he kept glancing over at her table periodically. Mary caught him staring from time to time, but being her mother's daughter in that regard, she did nothing to discourage him. This prompted Matt to order two bottles of Fire Whiskey and seven tiny glasses, and for the last three quarters of an hour they'd been knocking back shots of fire whiskey every time Mary caught the barkeep staring at her. They had started on the second bottle now, and Ron was getting a pleasant buzz. But he wasn't so far gone that he didn't know he'd be in big trouble if they continued drinking this way.
"Lads, I don't know what Matt's domestic situation is, but I know Hermione won't be too thrilled if I stagger into our home at eight o'clock, pissed drunk."
"Ah, good point, little brother," Bill nodded. "Fleur will be the same way, and if there's one thing I don't want to deal with tonight, it's an angry Veela."
"I don't want to get divorced again any time soon," Geo sighed, and reluctantly flipped his glass over and slid it towards the centre of the table.
"It wouldn't be fair to Hannah if I got home reeking like Fire Whiskey," Percy said, and though he didn't elaborate, Ron knew what he was talking about. All the magic in the world couldn't take away a compulsion someone had, at least, not without damaging their mind. Hannah had had a bout of depression after her youngest was born, but she'd been sober for six years now.
Charlie chuckled. "Jasmine is so attuned to me nowadays that she gets dizzy if I'm dizzy. I was planning to stop after one or two more, anyway."
Harry crossed his arms and leaned back. "Actually, I haven't been drunk since I absorbed the pendant. Wolfe and I put it to the test once, and neither of us was the least bit drunk even after two bottles of whiskey, each. I reckon both halves want clear-thinking hosts. I could keep on drinking, but drinking alone is no fun."
"What do you mean? I'm still here!" Matt said, pretending to be hurt.
"Yeah, but you don't count."
"Wolfe … I wonder how he's doing." Charlie interjected. "Jasmine is worried sick about him. Have you received any word from him?"
"Not since the last letter," Harry said, and then he hesitated. Ron knew that look very well. Harry knew something, but he wasn't sure whether he ought to tell it or not. Maybe it had something to do with the late arrival of the last letter. It had arrived three months late, and Harry had been ready to go to the Mirror Realm. He hoped that this time around Wolfe would have the presence of mind to take the time it took for the message to reach Shamballah into account. Ron sighed, deciding not to push it if Harry didn't feel like sharing information.
Matt slid his own glass away with a rueful grin. "Well, too much of this will probably hamper the performance Gudrun expects me to put on tonight. I reckon I'll stop too."
"You said that like you're not looking forward to it. Is Gudrun losing her touch in her old age?" Geo asked.
"Nah, the sex is better than ever. She's thirty-nine now, and I think she's getting to her peak."
"That's true." Percy heaved a sigh. "For us it's long gone, but they have yet to reach that point."
"So what's the problem?" Geo asked again.
"The problem is that I'm not the type who gives up when a woman is only halfway done."
"Ah, she has trouble reaching the Big O?"
"Not at all. She has lots of them, but I always cuddle and caress her just to make sure she isn't ready for more, but she always is," Matt said miserably. "It's just that, after four hours, a bloke wants to get some shut-eye, you know."
"Four hours?" Ron exclaimed in unison with his brothers, Geo, and Harry.
"In a row? No dozing off and starting again?" Bill asked.
Matt nodded. "Yeah, in a row—well, I'm obviously not talking about four hours of shagging. There's only about two hours of that, off and on."
"Only … Two … Hours…" Bill, Charlie and Percy muttered each word respectively.
"No disrespect meant towards your wife, but, how do I put this delicately—" Geo began.
"Just give it to me straight," Matt said.
"Doesn't Matt Junior get sore after two hours? And what about Gudrun? Doesn't she get sore?"
"That's what I'm talking about!" Matt whispered in frustration. "Just a little bit of touching and I see a weeping welcome message, if you know what I mean."
"You could talk to her about it, and ask her if you're satisfying her. Tell Gudrun how you feel, you know," Ron offered, thinking that Hermione would have said the same thing.
"Are you kidding?" Matt asked incredulously. "First of all, she wouldn't give me a straight answer if I asked her whether or I not I'm satisfying her, because women are sometimes too careful about hurting our egos with these matters. Secondly, we're competitive about a lot of things, so I can't tell her she's wearing me out. She'd be insufferable."
x
Author's Note: I'm afraid real life has caught up to me, and updates will slow down dramatically. As things are now, I don't expect to be posting more often than once every three weeks. Sorry about that.
lluvatar: Here it is.
hootild: I will post a list as soon all the kids are born.
potterscientist: You know, it would be easier to use the Author Alert feature to see which fics have been updated, instead of going through the list. It'll tell you via email when a story has been updated. I don't use it, because I'm only reading less than a handful of fan fictions at the moment. Simply don't got the time for more. :-(
Gogirl: Daniel as in Daniel Radcliffe? Not really. I just like the name. And yes, he is the son from Ginny's vision. Don't pat yourself on the back too much, though. It's not like I was being very subtle. ;-)
maaike-fluffy: De email heeft je vraag al gedekt.
Fragarach: I thought it was time for a family gathering.
Blah29: Not necessary? The children of Ginny and Heidi's vision appeared. A new character that will lead in a subplot has been introduced. Even though you can't see it right now, it was an important piece of the puzzle.
Chloe Black: A year and nine months, yeah.
Catatonic Reaction: Well, for some this will be a large lull in the action. I don't have am armed conflict scheduled until Chapter 23. However, it'll be all action then, both in Chapter 23 and 24.
Lady of Masbolle: It's purely coincidental.
Foxfur: And to think that once upon a time I couldn't write fluff.
Elric Magus: The wait is over.
Saint Mike: George Lucas didn't invent Wookie. (he uses a different spelling too, namely Wookiee) Wookie is the name the Native American's in Louisiana had for Bigfoot. Heck, Lucas did a lot of borrowing from various mythologies.
Numba1: There will be an assassination attempt later in the story! Funny that you mentioned it. ;-)
Lipton: Ah, you caught the reference! I was a bit disappointed that no-one caught it.
Kristus Vesanus: I went back to Wolfe in this chapter, so I guess that answers your question.