The more he pushed, the more they pushed back? Ohhh, that reminded him of someone. But, Zechariah chewed his words before speaking.

“Those kids looked like little jerks, Uriel. Rotten little jerks, the whole lot of them.”

Was there fondness in his voice? Maybe.

“And there is a place for rotten little jerks.” Law, for example. “As there are places better suited for gentler souls.”

He hoped to God Uriel did not venture to ask where those were. He had yet to find them.

Zechariah’s eyes cut suspiciously to Uriel at the offer of food. A brow quirked at the assurance, but the reluctance eased some.

“Yes, thank you. It is so damned hard to find a rabbi in these parts,” Zechariah sighed. “Half the reason I keep going back to London is the kosher brisket.”

He was stalling.

… He was probably going to keep stalling.