Slippery Creatures

And he owned a lot of books, although just now and then, when it got dark and the shelves loomed over him, he got the feeling that they owned him.

Why do we count the cost of change, but not the cost of the world staying the same?

What I say is, one can be as moral as one likes but one should have the courtesy to do it in private, like any other bad habit.

Thank God they were British. He took a deep breath. “Cup of tea?

My dear chap, this is a bookshop. There’s never anywhere better to be.

I'd call you a whore but you're nothing so honest

If you couldn’t have a thing without hurting someone who didn’t deserve it, you shouldn’t have it.

He had no idea what civilians, or civilised people, would say in these circumstances. Thanks for that, old chap, much obliged, perhaps? Ought he apologise for coming in his mouth? Would this be a good moment to restart the conversation about where Kim had learned to use a knife? Thank God they were British. He took a deep breath. “Cup of tea?

I volunteered to go kill men who I’d have had a drink with if I’d met them in a pub, and that wasn’t courage, just a twist in the head that went the other way round to shellshock. Calling it honour is putting ribbons on a pile of shit. It might look good, but it still stinks.

In the meantime—and this is not a threat but a warning—I strongly suggest you stop playing with fire. You are swimming in deep waters, Mr. Darling." "Wouldn’t that put the fire out?

What do you want to talk about?" "I don't know. The football results? Politics. The pictures. Why the blazes you're called Kim when your name is Arthur." "My name, since you raise the topic, is Arthur Aloysius Kimberley de Brabazon Secretan. What would you do in my place?" "Leave the country," Will said wholeheartedly. "You poor bastard, you never stood a chance.

He looked smart and well groomed and rich, and his eyes were as raw and lonely and full of wishes as Will felt.

You’re a bit of a mess, aren’t you?” “My friend, you have no idea.

I might just be nervy.” “You are a terribly delicate flower.” “It’s the waiting,” Will said. “At least in the trenches, when they tapped you for a raid, you know it was happening and you got on with it.” “Scheduled mayhem is more convenient? I suppose you can put it in your diary. Work around it.” “‘Sorry, I’ve no time for a knife fight in the street on Thursday, could you make it Friday?

I think you’re rather lovely,” he said, startling himself. “I know I am,” Phoebe assured him. “But it’s always nice to be told so.

It’s impossible to eat onion soup with dignity, so please don’t try,” she remarked, which was embarrassing because he hadn’t been trying.

My grateful nation wasn’t grateful enough to give me a job. I pawned my medals to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly, and I’ll tell you what, the Military Cross doesn’t fetch a great deal, no matter how many bars you have on it. The pawnbroker told me I should have tried for a Victoria Cross. That would be worth something, he said.

Kim shut the door behind Norris at last, and Will heard the bolt go. He came back through the shop to where Will stood, face unreadable, eyes watchful, incongruous and beautiful in his scuffed black-and-white finery. Will stepped forward and shoved him against a bookcase.

Who the hell came armed to rob a bookshop?

He'd been apprenticed to a joiner before the war, but that felt like decades ago: all he was good at now was killing people, which was discouraged.

Suffice to say I love Kim dearly, but ‘love’ means an awful lot of things. I think more people should understand that.

I know I had to do it: that was why I did it. I don’t stab people by accident.

Will shrugged. “I’ll be voting Labour if this election comes about, and higher taxes and redistribution of wealth sound like good things to me. But I don’t like bombs, or blowing up civilians.

[...] honour was the lie they told to get us out there. Nobody should have gone.

And here he was now in his own bookshop, well fed, usefully busy, and enjoyably partnered. It made the violent assault and threat of torture seem quite worthwhile.

It could be the start of a story or the end of one, Will thought, as they headed out together into the cold, dark street. It could be a farewell, or the foundation of a friendship. It could be an awkward drink in a crowded pub with an upper-class man wound tighter than a neurasthenic’s pocket watch, or just possibly something else entirely, something precious and fragile that Will didn’t want to look at straight on in case he jinxed it. It could be anything. He might as well find out what.

It would help if you were more reliably unreliable. At least I’d know where I stood.

Kim rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You know who you are, and you wear it well. I really don’t know why you listen to me.” “Nor do I, you corkscrew-tongued bastard. Jesus wept. You could open wine bottles with that.

If you’d listened to a word I’d said at any point in the last weeks, it would now be held securely,” Kim snapped. “It’s a pity you’re constitutionally incapable of that.

Don’t be a shit,” Kim said, and the worst part of that was he sounded entirely resigned, as though he expected Will to be a shit. “I’m not that bad, and you’re not that stupid.