[ Bastien hums thoughtfully, perhaps willing to concede that there might have been several intermediary steps between being jumped and tossing Byerly out of the door.

There’s no thought for the question, though. He laughs. It’s nearly a snort. ]

Not really. I was bored. For real, before I came here. Even in the dream I was looking for trouble—not with the elves. I was writing to John Silver and having drinks of Nikos Averesch, of all people. And Madame Fitcher came by looking for someone I was supposed to know. That was strange.

[ He digs into a spot near By’s shoulder blades that’s too obstinate for a more coaxing touch. ]

Were you running into people like that? —tell me if this hurts too much, don’t be tough about it.