SET ALIGHT

YIN – YI TI

A dragon dove into the water, piercing through the surface like a knife dissecting flesh. It propelled itself into the depths of Yin's harbour with its powerful tail, slithering through the water as though it were a sea monster, raised on the ocean fires that burned beneath Asshai. Viserion became a flicker of gold in the murky world, navigating the ghosts of shipwrecks, forgotten monoliths taken by the sea and corpses of sand. He searched until his huge slit-eyes caught onto a flash of light. It came from the hilt of a greatsword. Tangled around it was Daario, convulsing between the crushing weight of death and urge to breathe.

The dragon wrapped its enormous clawed feet around Daario and plucked him from the sea floor. Then the creature turned and swam toward the surface at astonishing speed. It broke free – straight into flight, unfurling its wings to the sky, showering the surface in salt.

Daario gasped. His panicked lungs sucked heavy breaths. He was flying, climbing higher and higher over the harbour until he was level with the cliffs. The Jade Gates were being stormed by a half-dead mass, churning from the desert in a relentless tide. They stopped and stared as the dragon swooped low and for once Daario was glad for Viserion's painful grip.

Below, the pirate ships manoeuvred in the bay while a thousand wretched creatures tore through the city, edging closer to the docks. Snow filled the air while the accompanying storm crumbled along the edge of the world. Daario momentarily lost his grip on the sword. He fumbled for it, dragging it protectively toward his chest when the dragon banked sharply and rolled over so that its belly faced the sun. Daario screamed. Viserion dived in the direction of a pirate queen's ship.

The sell-sword swore in every language that he knew as they came upon the vessel. Far too fast. The dragon was heading for the mast. The sailors on deck shouted, pointing as they neared. Then Viserion did the unthinkable and dropped him right out of the sky. Daario panicked, forgetting the sword as he found himself hurtling toward the mast, closer and closer until it was the only thing he could see. Every minute detail became his world. A piece of old rope caught on a nail. A mosaic of bird shit on the dark wood. Smudges of charcoal from a previous life... He reached out on reflex with some dim hope despite its girth exceeding his grasp.

He hit it chest-on with a sickening crunch. His arms and legs wrapped around it momentarily and then, with no traction on the polished surface, he peeled off and fell through several layers of rigging, tearing a sail before finally hitting the deck. Daario lay face to the sky for a moment with that bloody dragon circling cheerfully above before he was joined by the Valyrian sword, stabbing five inches into the deck next to his face.

"Is it dead?" One of he pirates muttered, creeping toward Daario's body – which hadn't moved. The pirate got uncomfortably close before Daario rolled over and coughed up half the Jade Sea. He was left with the putrid taste of seaweed, cracked lips from the salt and a fucking heart attack.

Viserion casually circled the ship a few more times, chirping proudly before landing on its bird's nest causing the watchman to duck frantically into the small wooden basket while the creature settled in above.

Daario used the hilt of the sword to clamber to his feet. He leaned heavily on it, gritting his teeth at the rush of agony from his joints. Eventually he turned and held up a filthy Ghiscari gesture to the dragon. Viserion misinterpreted this as 'praise' and chirped again, bowing his golden head. He had a new crest of horns emerging while the spines on his back had taken on a sinister curve.

The pirate queen appeared from below deck to join the crew.

"Hell on the fifteen seas – what is this noise?!" If she was surprised to see the sell-sword slave alive after watching his spectacular plummet into the harbour earlier, she hid it well and met him with her standard air of distaste. Wrapped in her lurid furs, she loomed over Daario. "Whitewash is dead," she added sharply. "Your dragon pulled his pieces from the harbour and fed on them. I was fond of Whitewash."

"He's a dragon," Daario explained, as he tugged the sword from the ship's deck. In the daylight it was more beautiful. He'd seen Valyrian steel during battle. Up close it was divine, a metal of the gods, he was sure. He noticed the pirate queen's attention linger. It was treasure and her kind lusted after trinkets. "They see only the meat and they've no manners." Daario continued honestly, before the pirate queen held out her hand for the jewelled sword. Daario laughed. "This one's mine, I think."

"Slaves do not have possessions," she replied firmly. With the slightest nod of her head, the rest of the pirates armed themselves and closed in on Daario. The whiff of rum was more threatening than the collection of thieves weighed down with pockets of gold.

"Come on now, I thought we were getting along?" Daario said, lifting his sword slightly. "We had plans, you and I. Your fleet has a belly full of gold and we're sailing toward a good fight with plenty of spoils and a licence to thieve if my queen is victorious. What do you want with one more sword?"

"And we will do great things, slave," she agreed, "I'll even give you a sword but that one is mine."

"You can't have the sword," Daario insisted. "I nearly died for this thing."

"You may die for it still." The pirate queen undid the bone clasp on her shawl and let it fall to the ship's deck. Her lean, muscular limbs flexed. Her sword was a bastard, not quite a greatsword but in her hands it was spun through the air as a common longsword.

Daario needed two hands to lift the Valyrian greatsword. The rubies on its hilt shone making it appear more a jewel than an instrument of death. The crowd of pirates cheered as their blades met. Sparks tore off the pirate's blade, showering the deck as Daario was overpowered and pushed backwards, stumbling from her strength.

"You shall be bits for your dragon, slave..." The pirate queen assured him.

The creatures from the city reached the wharves and leaped into the waves, swimming towards the escaping boats. With the weight of the dragon, their boat lagged behind. The pirate queen was coming at him again, sword spinning in her hands...

"Shit..." Daario muttered under his breath.


STEPSTONES – BETWEEN THE NARROW AND SUMMER SEAS

The cliffs surrounding their safe harbour were inhospitable. Tyrion saw them as a wave that never broke, lording over them in a frozen moment of violence. Beneath their ships, the water occasionally boiled. The Dothraki thought sea monsters lived below, lazing on the ocean floor, breathing fire.

"I hear that it is common," Varys strolled by, taking another turn of the ship's deck, "for formations such as this to have warmer waters. They are similar to the volcanoes of the East only sunken below the waves. It was probably an eruption that tore the Arm of Dorne asunder, not the mutterings of Children."

"I love these chats," Tyrion was perched unwisely on the rail of the ship with one hand on a rigging line. "The joke is on you, friend, for I find flirting with destruction rather arousing when there is no other fun to be had."

"Still a lion..." Varys countered.

Tyrion was tempted to roar but his good humour was interrupted by Grey Worm stepping over the banister. Several of his commanders joined him along with Missandei, whom Tyrion could not help but notice spent more time on Grey Worm's boat than the Queen's. The weather remained still in the harbour but the storm winds roared outside making horrifying noises as they scratched at the rock walls. "Are we all ready then?"

"Grey Worm will accompany you on this journey," Grey Worm announced, standing perfectly in line with his men. Every action was painfully formal.

"I'm afraid that would not be wise," Tyrion replied. "You see, we need you to remain here – with the fleet."

"Grey Worm sail to Braavos. There will be many enemies in the city of freed men."

"That is true, I grant you but the enemies we face in Braavos are not those who wield swords. They are men of money and politics. This is why we are leaving the Queen's fleet here. If we were to sail into the harbour of Braavos spoiling for a fight, the bronze god would open his legs and rain fire on us before we could book an appointment with the bank. The – the big statue. Above the harbour. It -" he tried to explain the famous bronze monument.

"The bank?" Grey Worm interrupted, confused by what the Westerosi men planned.

"Yes," Varys interceded. "We are sailing to Braavos to meet bankers. It is not place for men of war. We will take a small detail of your best men for our personal protection and Missandei."

"And the dragon?"

"Provided it does not fly off chasing birds," said Tyrion.

"Will not a dragon anger them – these banker men?"

"Anger? No..." Tyrion assured Grey Worm. "Terrify, we hope. Braavos holds the purse strings of Westeros. With them on board with our cause we have a much better chance of a bloodless conquest."

"There is no such thing," Varys countered Tyrion. "Though you are right, it would reduce our losses significantly if some of the old houses raised Targaryen banners upon our arrival."

"So you will sail to Braavos with a dragon to talk."

"It's what we do best." Tyrion gestured at himself, Varys and Missandei. "You stay here and if anyone that isn't us comes in through that channel, kill them. No one can know what we plan. Not yet."


Tyrion watched curiously as Varys emptied a trunk full of old ship flags stolen from the Red Keep and dragged across the world. They were folded into triangles, some in better condition than others. "What on earth have you got there?" he asked, humming around Varys' cabin as though he were entitled to be there. With little other conversation to find, he gravitated toward Varys – or the dragon. Actually, he'd had some rather involved, night-long conversations with the creature. He was beginning to get attached to it and every now and then he fooled himself into thinking that the dragon felt the same.

"Banners. We must change them regularly as we sail up the coast if we want to make it to Braavos in one piece. These are difficult waters."

"Father never mentioned having any trouble importing goods to the realm."

"No, he wouldn't because he bribed the kings and councils of the free cities – who in turn paid a wage to the pirates – who stowed illicit goods on the Lannister boats. Weren't you curious as Master of Coin as to why the unexplained loss deepened at specific times of the year?"

"Curious – yes but not enough to lose my head over it. Perhaps we should fly Lannister colours and be done with it."

"I thought of that, you know but my little birds tell me that without your father frightening and bribing the realm into submission, Lannister ships have become a target. I suspect but cannot prove that your sister's private war with the Faith Militant might have something to do with it."

"That's Cersei, making new friends. We'll have to deal with the Faith swiftly if we find ourselves as far as King's Landing... There was a reason they were disbanded. Their love of poverty is a ruse while they play at king."

"With any luck, your brother will slaughter them first. Ah, yes. This will do for now." Varys unfolded the unsightly Tyroshi banner.

"It clashes with our dragon."

Varys laughed and threw it at the lion. "Run it up to the captain."

"Please. Have you been in my company so long that you've forgotten your manners?"


When Missandei was on board the Queen's ship, she kept largely to her quarters. She burned incense until her cabin developed an unnatural layer of spiced smoke, rustling around her ankles. A month. An entire passage of the moon. That is how long their Queen had been missing. Rarely mentioned, the Westerosi advisors behaved as though it were part of their plan and when questioned would simply reply 'soon'. Either that was a carefully choreographed act for the benefit of the army or everyone was too frightened to consider the very real possibility that they were heading into a war of conquest without a conqueror. By some miracle if they reached Braavos, no amount of talking would convince the Iron Bank to back their war without proof that the candidate for the throne was alive. Dragons would not be enough.

A soft knock at the cabin door startled her from thought. "Come," Missandei said evenly, sitting at her only table which she'd shifted near enough to the window for natural light to fall over it. Not today. The passing islands and their towering cliffs hid the boat in shadow expect for noon. "Tyrion," she greeted, when a golden mess of hair peered around her door.

"Our lesson," he offered as explanation. "I was not sure if – are you well?" He shifted to concern when he saw a change in Missandei's manner. Though he was certain the woman had no tears left for the world, it was clear that she was upset.

"Apologies, come in, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion did his best not to choke on the smoke in case she thought him impolite. It is the way of the East, he told himself. "Your lessons have been very successful. Varys says that I now sound like an idiot," she frowned and he quickly continued, "– by which I suppose he means that I have started forming decipherable conversation." He waited, seeing if she would smile. She did not. "That was a joke. He says I am much improved. Grey Worm and I practice on each other. He speaks Common Tongue to me and I reply in High Valyrian." He paused again. "You miss him, I am sure."

"Grey Worm will protect the Queen's fleet and fight bravely in defence of it, should the need arise."

It was a peculiar circumstance for Tyrion. Until this point his relationships with women had been clearly defined. There had been a murderous sister, a string of lovers, countless whores, the odd political adversary and a distant child-wife with a famous name he barely knew. 'Friend' was not among any of the women he knew. He certainly hoped that he and Missandei were friends. "Does it trouble you that I am a Lannister?" he asked.

She remained closed off to him. "I know that a desire for revenge against your relations led you to the Queen's service but I do wonder at what will happen when the reality of slaughtering your kin dawns."

"You have a point and normally I would agree with you. Worry not, my lady, I have already killed two of my name and been blamed for a third for which I would have gladly carried credit. Extending this service to my sister will not result in a crisis of conscience, rather there will be drinking and levity."

"What of your brother and nephew? Killing them will not come so naturally or do you expect the Queen to spare them? Exile them perhaps? Only a foolish queen would let them live and never a Targaryen." On this, Tyrion was quiet. "I thought as much." The imp had suddenly become fascinated with the surface of the table. He picked at it with his claws, avoiding her eyes. For all his clever words he did not know how to reply. "Your loyalty is not what troubles me."

He lifted his head at this. "Is it the dragon lounging on the deck? He bothers a lot of people."

"Our Queen."

"There is one thing I know about our Queen," Tyrion assured her, "the gods have an eye for her survival. If she were dead, Drogon would have returned. It is why I also suspect Daario to be alive, even if Varys fights me on this point. My childhood was a lonely one and I spent most of it reading. The stories that I liked best were of dragons and there is a trait that they all have in common."

"What is that?" she asked.

"Dragons are intelligent. Drogon will be taking care of our Queen, just as he did when he flew into the fighting pits of Meereen. Mormont is with her and we both know that he'd die protecting her – from the gods themselves if need be. Now, I'm determined that you and I shall get to know each other better. It's a long way to the Iron Throne. Your issue with me appears to be one of trust so let us play a game."

This was not the first time that the dwarf had tried to play games with her. They usually involved drinking, of which she was not fond. Missandei immediately went to protest but he shook his head and threw both hands up in submission.

"No – no. Not that kind of a game. You can ask me any question you want and I will tell the truth. I'm an appalling liar so you'll surely have me at a disadvantage."

"I do not understand. How is this a game?"

"Well, then in turn I get to ask you a question – only I must ask it in High Valyrian and you can only reply in kind. That way I'll have to improve my language skills if I want to get to know you better."

"All right," she eventually agreed. It was her turn to start. "Have you ever been in love?"

Tyrion flinched, immediately realising why this was meant to be a drinking game.


"Oh dear," Varys remarked at Tyrion's state much later in the afternoon, "what happened to you?"

"Revisiting old demons. No – leave it!" he growled, when Varys relieved him of a bottle of pear brandy. "That's such a waste," Tyrion groaned, as the bottle tumbled overboard. "Pirates of the East went to a great deal of trouble to smuggle that into Queen's stash where I rescued it."

"Let us call it a precautionary matter. I'm in no mood for a repeat. I saw enough of your favoured crutch on the way to Meereen."

"Believe me, if I'd known that I was about to be kidnapped and sold into slavery with an ill-tempered bear, I would have drunk more. Are we nearly out of all this rubbish?" he pointed vaguely at a passing island. The outcrops of violence weren't getting any less intimidating but they were certainly opening up to clearer waters.

"Nearly. We have no intention of sailing these waters in the dark."

"I hope you've got your speech planned for the Iron Bank. You might have Grey Worm believing that we have half a chance but it'll take more than a dragon to sway them to our cause. They're a flock of vultures, feeding off civilisation's ruins. They're all for a good war if it pays. I doubt they'll be charmed by our parlour trick."

"Oddly that did not escape my notice. At any rate, we are not going to the Iron Bank to ask for money like all the other contenders that have crawled begging up their steps. We're going to offer it to them."

"Are you sure you haven't been on the brandy? The Queen's got some money, I grant you but nowhere near enough to buy a throne. She wouldn't be able to pay for her army if it weren't for their low expectations and unusually strong devotion."

"We don't pay them."

"Exactly," Tyrion pointed at Varys, ever so slightly drunk. "We don't get paid either." His status had never been officially changed from 'prisoner' so he wasn't about to raise the issue with her Grace. "Go on, impress me. How are you planning to make this grand bribe?"

"Upon taking the Iron Throne, which is rather likely with three dragons in tow, the queen will repay all debts of the crown. I don't know what you find so funny."

"Your imagination, mostly."

"I assure you, there is money enough in the realm, if you know where to look for it."

"Okay, I'll bite." There was an extended period of silence in which Varys placed his palms on the ship's bannister beside Tyrion and looked at him rather oddly. "Why do you keep giving me these looks? I do not under-oh... My friend, you have made a fatal miscalculation. A rarity for you."

"Have I?"

"The vaults in Casterly Rock are empty. It's the great Lannister lie. Purchasing the realm drained the lot. I shall have to pay my debts with kindness from now on. It's a dried up corpse of a castle."

"Has it..." Varys didn't seem so sure. "In any case, whether there is money in Casterly Rock or not is immaterial. The realm believes that it resides inside that ghastly rock and you are its rightful heir. Your family will certainly not contest the point and no one else has seen inside. Who will challenge the claim? When we present you to the Iron Bank with the promise of all the treasures of the realm, they'll at least consider our terms."

"That's one hell of a gamble. One word to the free cities and our fleet will be sunk before we reach Westeros."

"I'm banking on greed," Varys assured him. "Those men have all the money in the realm and the one thing they crave beyond all else is more."

"Varys, eventually we will be required to cough up the money or the bank will turn the realm swiftly against us. I think I have an idea about where we might find the gold."

"If you're talking about robbing a bird's nest-"

"It's not really theft if all the little birds are dead."

"That was my thinking also." Varys agreed. "Speaking of dragons. Where did ours go?"

There was a conspicuously large void on deck usually filled with a sleeping dragon. "Hunting. I don't think he thought much of my last offering. He's growing, you know. Before we reach Westeros he'll be too large to hitch a lift."

"I'll leave you to inform him of that. He seems rather fond of your midnight chats. Perhaps we should add the creature to the small council. We're going to need one of those."

"Those are private conversations, Varys, between me and the dragon. You keep fussing with that – what is it?" Tyrion referred to a scrap of leather brought in by one of the saddest looking birds he'd ever seen. It wasn't even strictly a raven, more of a gnarled sea-eagle living out its retirement.

"From the North – no, not your North," he quickly amended. "Lots of places have a North. An Ibbense merchant writes that the Shivering Sea has begun to freeze over. He's lost vessels, sunk by marauding ice drifts. On some..."

"On some what?"

"On some they say they have found corpses with blue eyes, still moving."


YIN – YI TI

His forearm was about to snap. Daario could feel the pressure building against the joint. The pirate queen had him on his knees. He'd stopped a blow meant for his neck but she had height and momentum on her side and she used every breath of it to bring her sword closer to his flesh.

Daario tilted his sword, dropping his wrist slightly. The angle changed and her sword slid to the deck, slicing away another chunk of wood. He recovered, returning to his feet. Daario gripped the enormous sword with two hands, swaying it slightly from side to side, like the head of a viper. She came at him again, easily evading his counter swing. Her sword tore across his upper arm, slicing his shirt apart and leaving a curtain of blood down his skin. It rained onto the deck, mixing with the snow.

"Ow..." he admitted, risking a brief glance at the damage.

"It is not too late, slave-sword," her knew name for him. The crew jeered every time she hissed it. "Surrender the sword and I'll chop off your head before giving you to the waves."

"You really should be more concerned about what -" he paused, ducking under a swipe, "- swims toward you out of the city."

The pirate queen foolishly decided to ignore Daario's warning, lunging at him instead. Her action found his sword. Another shower of sparks covered Daario, staining the air with a burned stench. Once more. Parry. Duck. Sparks. She was relentless. The sheer weight of the elegant greatsword was tiring his injured limbs. A particularly vicious exchanged nearly dislodged it from his hold entirely.

"Up. Again." She screeched at him, strutting across the deck to the cheers of her crew. This time something in the water caught her attention. There were bodies swimming toward them. For a moment, she turned away. "That pretty sword is too big for you," she added, watching the slave-sword groan at a fresh wound on his leg. "It was made for some great Westerosi knight. How many pieces would you like to be in?"

"I'm best served as a main," Daario insisted, falling against the mast. This time he was glad of the solid wood at his back. At least it prevented him from collapsing on the deck in a pile of bones. Viserion watched from above. His tail was wrapped around the iron wood while his claws eagerly scratched through some of the rigging lines. Every now and then one of the sails blew over the crowd, running wild with only a single guide rope left tethering it to the ship. Their boat was paralysed. So, too was Daario.

"It is a lovely sword, don't you think? Like a beautiful woman. I've always had a fondness for a well made piece of steel." Daario panted. The pirate queen shifted her stance, gripping her blade with intent. "Ah... is the afternoon entertainment coming to an end?" he asked.

Daario held his sword by the blade, inspecting the handle. If he was going to die anyway, he'd rather get a good look at the item that caused it.

"This is the lost Lannister sword," he continued to explain. "There are a few Lannisters left in the world. You'll fetch no finer price than at their door, that much I swear is true. Go on then, I'd rather you do it than the creatures about to board the ship."

Snow thickened in the air. The rolling clouds cleared the mountain range and brought with them a true chill to the air. They blocked out the sun, casting a sudden shadow over the deck. It was as though the world held its breath while the pirate queen lifted her sword.

"What is dead many never die..."

Daario was startled to hear his house words from her lips. The blade sang in the air. A hideous crunch. The ship's mast snapped under the weight of the dragon. It foundations ripped out of the deck as it fell across the boat, annihilating anything below. Daario, who'd been leaning on it, veered sharply. The pirate queen missed. The force of the failed swing knocked her to her knees. Daario gripped his sword, the blade still in his hands, spun... The sails collapsed on water and ship alike with a drowning thunder. Daario plunged his sword into her back.

It was not enough to kill her. Furiously, the pirate queen ripped out the sword and smashed Daario across the face with the jewelled hilt. Viserion crashed onto the front of the ship, destroying the bow and rails. The ship lurched sharply out of the water, tumbling everybody over the deck. He opened his enormous jaws and coughed a surprised spray of fire across the ship. Daario and the queen ducked under the intense heat. It was not normal fire – it was dragon fire and it melted the metal fastenings on what remained of the mast and burned the wood straight into a steaming charcoal corpse. The rest of the ship caught alight and the crew panicked. They lined the deck, frantically waving down a nearby vessel which approached to rescue them.

Daario scrambled for the sword. The queen did the same for hers. She was first, landing on Daario's chest with her knee pinning his arm to the deck.

"A slave cannot kill a queen," she hissed at him. "You have a dragon – I have a sword at your throat."

"Do you want to know what I have?" Daario whispered. The steel cut into the first layer of his throat, tempting him with death. He could only smile in the face of it. "Luck."

Daario had hold of a burning piece of bannister. It was a two foot solid club of wood which he crashed against her skull, breaking the pirate queen's well-cut jaw. Her crew were scattered over the ship, racing to rescue jewels and flee to another boat that had pulled along side, tossing ropes and laying planks. With the flames rising around them, Daario calmly collected his sword. He returned to the queen, standing over her writhing body. "You should have taken my offer. It was fair."

He separated her head with a single motion – before being thrown from his feet as part of the cabin exploded behind him.


GRIFFIN'S PEAK - ASSHAI

Quaithe and the merchant drank milkwood tea together. They were in a favourite tavern of his, run by a sailor that became famously marooned in Asshai when he could not afford the passage home. What this curious corner of the city had been before was a mystery glimpsed only through the monstrous reliefs on every wall. Everyone called it, Griffin's Peak for the headless statue guarding the door. The feet, wings, tail and causally reclined statue suggested it had once been a fearsome griffin. It was a place populated by travellers rather than the withdrawn, cloaked natives of the city. They shied away from the noise and drink making it the safest place in Asshai.

"Did they do a deal with you?"

The merchant withdrew from his companion when she repeated her question. Her suspicion irritated him. "Deal with whom?"

"Wreab, we could play these games all day but we know how this going to end."

"Yeah, with you pullin' that crazy mind shit on me again. I ain' never been right after tha'."

"What I gave you in error was a gift," Quaithe insisted. "A blindness to enchantments is what allowed you to prosper here and you know it."

"Maybe but the truth isn't pretty. That creature with the silver woman is not something anyone would want to look on. People they come here and they think this place is a terror from their dreams – yet they don't know the half of it."

Later, when the volume of traders in the tavern swelled and Wreab had drunk his fill of milkwood, his mind loosened and he revealed that he had, indeed been approached.

"Volantis?" Quaithe was surprised to hear that. She had expected the masters from Slaver's Bay or one of the remaining Lannisters to conspire against her family. "What do they want with a Targaryen?"

"The Old Valyrians remain inside the black wall of Volantis, shut away for centuries. She has upset them, dishonoured all that their once great empire breathed for. At the very least, I think they want to meet her."

"Kill her, you mean."

"Maybe, maybe not – she remains their blood and a mother to dragons, no less. I doubt they mean to kill her."

Quaithe had been to Volantis but never inside those walls. She could only guess and what remained of the Targaryens that lived within them, hiding from the world. Were they shadow, like her? "Have you been beyond those walls?" He did not confirm it but his eyes said yes. "Can you get me inside them?"

"I didn't say yes. Besides, you've got a bigger problem. What are you going to do with the shadow binder?"

"Don't worry about the shadow binder." Quaithe relaxed back in her chair and poured more milkwood tea. The glasses shook with a distant rumble as another nearby mountain erupted. "I think I have a way for you to get your money after all."

"Would be a fuckin' miracle if you did."