It was a strange sort of camaraderie between he and Crane. The closest equivalent he could think of was of that between he and his father and sister, back when they still had the general store. Rosy nostalgia painted it as warm and untroubled, though he wondered in hindsight about all those women who went on in their lives without so much as requesting a reference. Had they all just married off?

“Consider it done,” Aslan said.

Hopefully he caught a nap … what, in the park? In one of the brothels again? He didn’t really have any questions for the girls there at the moment, so it felt like a waste.

Aslan found the stash of rags and cleaned up the tea in Crane’s absence. He liked to think he used the rest of the time before he returned looking into those cases, but in truth his neck was slumped awkwardly over the back of the chair in a way that pinched all the wrong things. He jerked back to alertness at the approaching humming, fingers flipping to the next document before he even quite recalled what he was pretending to be doing.

Aslan saw what he immediately mistook for tea and took it.

“Thank you, thank you.”

Then sipped it. Swished it around in his mouth, searching for flavor – any flavor. Looked down mystified, and sipped it once again. Was this weird tea or …?

“Perfect. Thank you, thank you.”

It smelled like coffee. It offered all the promises of coffee with none of the deliverance.

“Thank you,” he said again, staring deeply into the bottom of the cup … which he could see with disturbing, lake water clearness.