***

Deniz had accompanied Egill to his cabin since the quartermaster had fainted under the effect of the very little rum ingested.

The captain returned to the deck, then to the stern castle. He looked at the sky and not even a cloud threatened them, rather a strong wind filled the sails well, making the winged wand symbolic of the Tuccarlar’s Merchants’ Guild beautiful and giant. He was happy because if they continued at that speed, they would arrive in Gwenaelleville within two days at the latest.

He felt a strong nostalgia.

Someone, along with Ethan, shared the warmth of his heart. He deeply missed Syradis, his wife. Syradis Worden, who died between the twenty-first and twenty-second day of December of the year 1294 from the Convention of Five.

The cursed Winter Solstice, Deniz thought, the day even the sun seems to recede. Syradis had been taken away from him by anthrax, a disease whose course deeply marked the captain. It had been excruciating both to meditate on the white body of his wife covered in black pustules in a short time, and to see her vomit blood as if with that gesture the abandonment, one retching at a time, of the soul from the body was sanctioned. ‘She breathes, but she’s no longer alive, he repeated to himself then, observing her. Worst of all, however, was knowing that she was carrying his firstborn.

Years of felling passed that even the sea could not relieve, but he decided to go on knowing that Syradis would have wanted this way. “Get a life worthy of your goodness, Deniz” she told him on the verge of dying. “I’ll respect you even when you’ll leave me to go to Aoibh Eilean to celebrate with the Divines, my love” he replied. And so, he did. From that day on, he promised himself that he would not lay hand on other women and, around thirty years later, the promise was kept.

The captain of the Tiburon was unable to quantify the exact number of times he found himself thanking Gwenaelle’s Compassion for allowing him to meet Ethan, who played an important role in his own recovery.

How many memories all at once. It seems that my dear, tired old mind likes to hurt me, Deniz thought sadly. Ah, how I’d like to go back. How I’d like to go back to those halcyon days, my beloved Syradis.

And so did Deniz of Al-Fedar. He went back to those halcyon days, but only with his memory.

-

35 years earlier

Having largely stocked up on bread, soup vegetables, and salted meat and fish, as well as filling freshwater barrels with lemon slices to prevent rotting and spreading scurvy, they had embarked on a long journey that, starting from Al-Fedar, would lead them to the other extreme of the Continent.

The young captain had left a profound piece of his soul to the city that had given him birth. There now resided the remains of his elder brother, Majnun. He had not had the heart to preside over her burial under the blessing of the Divines and, in a hurry, he had escaped through the seas. He had tried to find in the currents and winds the support necessary to overcome the mourning. A thing, this, in which he did not succeed.

Thanks to the good weather, it took eighteen days and the navigation in three of the Four Great Seas, before the majestic Dyvislande finally became visible to their eyes. It should have taken at least an extra week, but that season’s particularly potent etesian had saved him a great deal of time. Deniz, throughout the journey, had the impression of the presence of a titanic hand pushing the ship on the surface of the sea.

-

The hot afternoon sun burned on the captain’s skin, made sticky by the moisture, sweat and saltiness.

The ship was in turmoil but calmed down at the sight of the most impressive architectural construction of the Six Kingdoms of the Continent.

The sea on which they sailed was getting closer and closer as the Tiburon was about to enter the famous Holed Harbour, where the crystalline and foamy green water lapped. A majestic work that required over two centuries of work to be perfected and to appear as that day appeared to their eyes.

To the right and left of the Gairdean - the immense graft of the Western Great Sea, wide enough to allow without any difficulty the passage of fifteen merchant ships the size of the Tiburon, one next to the other -, stood imposing columns of grey stone of indefinite width, but high up to at least one thousand feet. The smooth rock walls, which connected the columns on each side, concealing part of their effective width, had countless large, vaulted windows and slits, each of which represented a dwelling.

The harbour was, in fact, itself both a residential and a commercial area. Over sixty thousand people lived right there, concentrated in that disproportionately large place.

At their top, the immense pillars curved until they joined in the open sky with their respective twins, forming abnormal arches. Beyond these, however, the sky was clear of the sight of other buildings, so that the absence of a single roof could allow sunlight to enter in large rectangular blocks. A single roof, full of holes geometrically identical to each other, had earned to that place, precisely, the name of Holed Harbour.

From the streets, sometimes pebbly and sometimes in carefully beaten sandy earth adjacent to the immense columns, Deniz heard the sound of the hooves of horses, donkeys and mules trotting or marching with the sole task of pulling large wagons of goods or transporting them by large pack bags. In addition, on the stone-grey or sand-yellow streets, benches in white masonry stood out, surrounded, two on each side, by fir trees on a lawn of well-tended grass. Every hundred feet a small oasis like that, of which you could notice the appreciation of merchants tired of their travels or of those who were simply looking for a place, albeit subjected to the chaotic port bustle, in which to observe the sea in peace.

There were even those who, clearly distinguished from the common people thanks to the crimson hats with attached peacock feather - typical of the Guild of Visual Art - were excellently positioned next to one of the many benches and, from under the shadow of the evergreens, painted the port, foreign sailors and Dyvislanders in the majestic architectural-human union. Besides these, there was obviously no lack of minstrels, also wearing specific hats, but blue and plumed with precious swan feathers. They sang and performed, bringing the attention of citizens or travellers to stories concerning Dyvislande itself, the landing in it of historical heroes or, more commonly, the establishment of the first human settlement in that place, made possible by the Divine of Dedication Dyvis, an untold number of millennia earlier.

Gift of Dyvis and King’s Treasure, the two main streets - one on each side of the Gairdean - then branched off into an infinity of smaller alleys from which the captain clearly heard the screams of the merchants of more intimate shops, but also of children who found safe places to play there.

Hundreds of ships were anchored or were about to land or, again, they were leaving from one of the eight long inlets that hooked each of the sides. The largest of them, the one closest to the open sea, housed the Ten Titans. These were immense frigates with a red hull - each with its own legendary proper name - on the tops of which from the masts the triangular flags waving proudly with the emblem of the capital: the smoking cruet and the sword, both orange on a black background. The theoretical task of the frigates was, through the enormous ballistae, the protection of the fifty smaller warships, necessary for the transport of the infantry and boarding.

In their totality, the sixty ships equipped for maritime warfare made up the naval army of the entire Kingdom of Vinnica. Imposing army but almost useless since between the Six Kingdoms, after the Convention of the Five, there had never been war, if not the civil war of the barbarians of Kaltheimr or those internal to the various independent territories, first of all the War of the Trust, which ended just twenty years earlier and led to the split in Southern Trust and Northern Trust.

The entire Continent, then, was fortunately protected from extracontinental attacks - although Deniz doubted that these would ever really happen - by its own natural defences.

The eternal frost of the Permavinter protected them from the north. The treacherous Visages Marshes from the northwest. The mammoth Evergeal mountain range to the west, extending for three thousand leagues in the territories of Waterby and Vinnica. The largest extant forest, the Whining Forest, to the southeast, stretched to reach the treacherous Kaltheimr marshes to the east and northeast. Finally, the Infinite Desert, the Lugvanvuur, to the south.

The world had granted to that little corner of itself the best defences that could exist, averting the possibility of an invasion from the outside. However, the opposite problem also arose, namely that it was almost impossible for the inhabitants of the Six Kingdoms to leave the Continent. It was from this strange mixture of resignation and security that was born and strongly spread the belief that the inhabitants of the Six Kingdoms had to live without interest in what was happening in the rest of the world, assuming that a rest of the world existed.

The only possible use of a fleet similar to the Vinnian one, therefore, could have been the exploration to discover what was beyond the Bakkin Rift, the only sea passage to the southeast to leave the Continent.

Only an idiot would do that, Deniz mused. No sensible ruler would have sent such massive frigates through such a dangerous gap of rock, debris and sharp rocks hidden just below the surface of the water. Given, above all, that there was no certain evidence of round-trip travel through it.

The Tiburon continued to sway on the Gairdean. At the end of the Holed Harbour canal stood, as if that were the true protagonist of the immensity of worked stone - and probably in the ideas of the planners who followed one another in decades of work it really was -, the castle in which the king resided.

The entire architectural construct of the Holed Harbour did nothing but frame the subject of that painting: the Palace of the King of the Kingdom of Vinnica. From it rose three towers. The central one was the place of residence of the Kronglich dynasty which, with Torghell II, had already been in charge from three generations. The one on the left was the Ayae’s Shrine obelisk, with his bell on the top. Some fools believed quite foolishly, blasphemously and without any rationale, that in it resided an eleventh Divine of which neither the name nor the aspect of life represented by it was known.

Finally, the third tower, the one on the right and the highest of the three, reinforced with external steel plates, was the pride of the entire city: the Tower of the Pharmacists of Dyvislande. Much of the uses of herbs, spices and minerals, sludge, skins, and animal organs or, again, docile fish poisons for the treatment of rapidly spreading diseases, had been discovered right there. Violet necrotic fever, fire sickness and the disease of oblivion were just some of the pathologies they had found a cure for inside that tower, effectively saving the Continent from spreading diseases that otherwise could have reaped thousands, or hundreds of thousands of victims. Almost everyone considered the Pharmacists as heroic as the kings and knights of the past. Saviours of good people who were sick, and scholars whom instead of the sword held between their hands their own ampoules.

Nobody, however, had ever seen the Pharmacists. The tower on the right, was in fact in itself a small fort-city and had no connections with the outside. Continuously from it, a disturbing and unnatural thin line of smoke, between the red and the orange, rose and coloured the skies, a sign that the Pharmacists were at work in their research.

It was rumoured among the various ports that those vapours were actually the result of the experiments that were carried out there, with the aim of being able to restore the heiress component that had been lost through the centuries to the bodies of the men and women of the Kingdom of Vinnica: the Magical Sparkle. The King’s intention, according to the talkers and travellers, was to create an army of wizards with which his realm could conquer the entire Continent, decreeing Vinnica’s technological supremacy over faith in the Divines of Waterby and the Trust, over the numbers of the imperial army of the Ish-Telir, on the tribal and arcane abilities that the One God of the Unified Kingdoms of Kaltheimr, Aonghas, bestowed on his warriors.

They were just rumours, of that Deniz was pretty sure.

Having chosen the clearest cove, the sailors of the Tiburon dropped anchor.

“How do you feel, Deniz?” asked the slender, slender, young boatswain Ilker. He had two black moustaches, accompanied by a long musket. Ears pierced with gold rings.

“It hurts like it did yesterday, like it did the day before yesterday, and like it does every day for twenty days now, Ilker. What’s the point of asking it all the time?”

“Ahrr! Sorry if I worry, captain. So, what have we come to do in Dyvislande?”

“Kidnapping girls and eating babies” Deniz said gravely.

Ilker looked at him puzzled.

“Are you touched in the head? For the Plagues! What do you think we have come to do if not what we do as a profession? Trade, Ilker. To trade!”

“And was there a need to come this far? We could have gone to Renport or Skipp, go further north to Aonghastad, or much further south to Mitoros, Aillte an Tine or Morven. Ahrr! Twenty days on these damp boards to eat chicory and drink water and lemon, may Aedan take you!”

Deniz went red. “I am the captain! I certainly don’t have to account to you where I lead my ship. Ah! Not even time to anchor that you’re already breathing down my neck, for Ayae sake! I’m leaving!” Deniz yelled first at Ilker and then turned to the crew who were intending to complete their final docking preparations. “Men!” he thundered with fury. “We will stay here for a while, do what you want for the next few days. The Capital is huge, have fun!” he concluded by placing a hand on the parapet and climbing over it, taking a leap from a height of a toise and half, height which did not seem to worry him in the least since his physique allowed him to do this and much more.

He started walk down the long, wide, cobbled boulevard, King’s Treasure, surrounded by the happy and favourable shouts of the seamen of the Tiburon.

-

The more he advanced, the more the captain became aware of the absurd size of the columns, of the buildings that connected them and the Palace of King Torghell Kronglich, Second of his name. He had been walking briskly for several minutes, and nevertheless, the Palace seemed not to have approached one meter, which discouraged him and caused him to slow down to a stop.

WIMENT WORDEN, he read by chance on a sign. Wiment? What devilry would a wiment be? A tavern? He wondered as he saw the handsome piece of wood, dyed blue and written in gold, slowly waving from a black iron plank firmly fixed to a smooth rock wall. An arrow, also painted in gold on the sign, pointed to an alley. He took it and saw an ebony handrail, finely worked, accompanying the stairs towards the bowels of the earth.

He liked the idea of ​​such a private tavern and started down the stairs. In front of him was a door made of solid wood and green blown glass. At the opening of this, corresponded the sound of a bell that caught him off guard making him jump.

What he faced left him stunned by the elegance, although it was completely depopulated and certainly could not be called a tavern. There were only three tables, accompanied by two finely crafted wooden chairs, and over them drapes of red silk. A polished ebony counter with four other stools stood at least ten feet in length. Too small for a tavern. The soft light came from several long candles, one per table plus others scattered in the corners of the hall in triform candlestick. Everywhere, floor and wall supports held long-necked black bottles. The bottles were hundreds, perhaps thousands.

Deniz started walking towards the counter. He could clearly smell the smell of cork and wet wood, accompanied at times by that of apple and pear wine. “Is anybody here? Can I come in?” he asked, moving his head from side to side to see the presence of a living soul.

The planks creaked and the captain of the Tiburon heard a bang against the counter followed by an indistinct scream. Quickly, two huge eyes, irises of a deep blue flecked with green, emerged above the shiny ebony. In an instant, the rest of her was also visible. She was a small woman. The flushed cheeks, the button nose, the thin but bloody lips. Her straw-blond hair was gathered at the nape of her neck in two ponytails thrown down her narrow shoulders. With one hand she held her forehead and massaged it. “For Ayae’s blessing! What pain!” he said looking at Deniz.

“Everything all right?” the man asked, approaching with his arms up, his hands beside his face as if to declare himself innocent. But in that moment, he felt anything but innocent. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from looking at the large breasts visible from the cleavage of the woman’s blue robe, whose dangling laces left it drooping in two folds up to the middle of her chest. He stared at them with almost depraved insistence.

“Yup, all right. Thank you, sir. It’s not opening time yet, I’m sorry” the woman replied without noticing his gaze. She took a bottle, placed it horizontally on a stand above the counter and started cleaning using a greyish cloth. With each movement of the arm, her breasts swayed in a hypnotic and sensual dance.

Oddly, a big, grown man who was in his thirties and a lover of women like Deniz was, felt embarrassed in that situation. He couldn’t help but watch and that made him feel guilty given the woman’s innocence. He looked down. “You have your robe undone…” he said almost whispering and pointing at it with an index finger.

The blondie stopped, looked at him, looked at herself and disappeared under the counter with an embarrassed scream. She emerged after a few moments, her face completely congested. “Have you seen?”

Deniz looked at her face this time and answered with a vague and confused affirmative moaning.

“I asked you if you have seen!” the woman screamed, clutching her robe.

“Just for a moment and I immediately told you…” he lied.

“You liar! And can I know what you want? I told you it’s still closed! Get out!” she screamed hysterically and visibly red. Was it out of anger or embarrassment? Deniz could not find an answer to this.

Tiburon’s captain looked at her, looked at the door, and then back at her. He shrugged and walked towards the exit, totally stunned by what had just happened, discussion and reactions.

“S-sorry… sir” the woman stammered this time more calmly but continuing to tighten her dress at her breasts. I should thank you for letting me know and instead I started acting crazy as usual.” Answer found: she was embarrassed, not angry.

Her voice in Deniz’s ears rang particularly melodious and the captain, now close to the door, smiled. He walked back to the woman, one hand resting on the golden pommel of his sabre, with the other he scratched the bristly nape. “No, I’m the one who must apologize. I suppose you hit your forehead against the wood because of me. Did I catch you off guard?”

“Yup, actually. I started the business recently and nobody came here when it’s open, let alone if I was expecting someone when it’s closed…” she said, turning around. She tightly tied her thin blue outfit, supported by a brown leather corset.

“What’s this place?” Deniz asked curiously, concentrating his weight on one leg, his arms crossed over his chest.

“This place?” she asked, returning to offer him her face and now exhibiting an enormous and luminous smile of white teeth. It was perfect for those rosy, plump cheeks with two almost childish dimples poking out. She spread her arms wide: “This is my Wiment!” She said it almost screaming and with eyes shining of joy.

She’s beautiful! But Deniz kept this for himself. “Oh, sure” he said rather, stifling the thought that had hit him like a spear to the heart and shifting his weight to the other leg. “And what would it be?”

He was happy to have asked, because on the woman’s beautiful face it was painted an even more dazzling smile than the previous one. It then turned into a sly grin, almost as if her wit was equal to that of the famous Pharmacists of the city. “A word of my invention. It’s halfway between a basement, because as you can see, we are underground, and a winery because I offer my customers wine, only wine. So, a Wi-ment! Huh? What are you saying? What a gimmick! I know you think I’m a genius!” she exclaimed proudly, waving her head.

Deniz’s arms lost strength and gradually fell limp to his sides. She remained a child in the head, he thought but once again he imprisoned the thought in his mind.

“I knew! It’s so brilliant that it amazed you” she continued, still very full of herself.

Deniz didn’t answer. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Are you fine?” asked the woman still smiling.

“Yeah. Yeah, forgive me. My throat is a bit dry. Can I ask you for a chalice of… Oh, well, not that I can choose. Let's make a chalice of wine, then?”

“A customer?” she said, losing all her pride. “A customer?” she had repeated, eyes wide open and so was her mouth.

Deniz didn’t answer. He looked at her and smiled. He undone the resonant saddlebag from his waist and pulled out a dozen of Vinnica’s florins with the sweet profile of the new-born Prince Kruniar, son of King Torghell Kronglich, second of his name, imprinted.

Her eyes sparkled, conspicuously moist. To Deniz she looked like she was going to cry, but she didn’t. “A customer!” the woman screamed and then, returning calm and proud as if in the throes of an uncontrollable metamorphosis, she resumed clearing her throat: “There are too many for a chalice. Just a florin is enough”.

“Then I’ll take a whole bottle that’s worth that much.”

“Immediately!” she said in a sharp tone, disappearing under the counter. She reappeared with a blood-red glass bottle. “Here it is, man… Sorry, sir… Yes, sir... Sir because you’re a customer! Be that as it may, here it is! A Vulkannara Ruby,” she exclaimed, stroking the bottle. She cleaned the counter once more, with particular emphasis on the area in front of Deniz’s elbows. She took out of the magical, and full of surprises, under-counter a red silk handkerchief, folded it in four and placed it on the shiny ebony. She took a blown glass goblet, cleaned it carefully, and placed it on top of the piece of cloth. She flew the cork from the bottle into a thin crystal container and, gently, began to pour it. She smiled like it was the best day of her life.

Deniz’s elbow lost support. He was absolutely flabbergasted. The woman’s movements had been graceful, accurate, beautiful like her. It seemed to him that he was looking at a celestial being related to the Divine of Love Ayae. The perfume of the Ruby blended with the perfume he could smell coming from her. She smells like honey, he thought. He took the goblet and emptied it in one fell swoop. He saw the girl who stood in front of him with her hands folded to her belly, her eyes half closed and a pure smile, her dimples distinct. She’s beautiful, he thought again. He couldn’t get a word out.

“Then? What do you think?” the woman then asked gently.

As if I understood fine wines. Wine is wine. If you offered me one worth fifty deniers a barrel, I could exchange it for the best of the Six Kingdoms if you handed it to me as you just did, he thought. “Great!” he answered instead, smiling in turn.

The woman jumped with her arms in the air and spun around on herself. “Yaaaay!” she exclaimed in joy at having satisfied him. “You’re my first customer ever. I’m glad I managed to make a good impression.”

Deniz smiled. What a type...

The woman, who seemed to have her face paralyzed by that smile, bowed with her hands gathered to her belly. “Name’s Syradis.”

“Syradis? What a bizarre name.”

She frowned, showing a pout that Deniz thought was adorable. “What’s wrong with it?”

“No, nothing! Absolutely! It’s just a name you don’t hear often. Bizarre doesn’t necessarily mean bad, Syradis. It’s a wonderful name, with a very delicate sound. Besides, I think it’s better to have a name that’s out of the ordinary. Each person is unique and such uniqueness should at least find a mirror in a completely inimitable name.”

The girl smiled again.

“My name is Deniz, Deniz of Al-Fedar” he said, bowing his head and pointing his thumbs at his chest.

“Deniz? This is a weird name! And not weird in a beautiful way. Weird in a weird way” she said, wrinkling her nose in a way that made the captain smile. She seemed to be eyeing him with his big blue eyes, but only superficially.

“Thank you, Syradis, very kind of a girl… A lady, I meant.”

“No, it’s okay with girl. And then yes, that is… Come on… What name is Deniz?” she asked bursting out laughing.

“Syradis?”

“Yup?”

“Do you want to take a chalice for yourself too?” he said pointing at the neck of the bottle, he could only smile in front of the naturalness of the woman.

She did not let it repeat twice and proceeded to the same previous ritual, this time for herself.

“So, does my name make you laugh?” Deniz asked once Syradis’ goblet was also filled. “I love it because I think it’s perfect for me. When I was a kid, my older brother Majnun explained its meaning to me. This name, apparently, comes from an old declension of the Ishtelirian language, prior to the standardization of the Convention of Five. It means Sea and I love the sea. It’s perfect for me!”

“Here’s another weird name! Of course he likes it since his is even worse than yours! What kind of name is Majnun? And then what nonsense are you saying? Sea is sea, Deniz means nothing. Certainly, Deniz doesn’t mean sea otherwise instead of calling the sea the sea, we’d call the sea Deniz. It doesn’t seem like that to me!” she said, wrinkling her little button nose once more. She sipped from the goblet and stared at him with her big blue eyes spotted with green, her elbows on the counter, her breasts well-hidden but evenly smeared on the shiny ebony. The tense laces of his robe begged for mercy. This did not escape to the Tiburon’s captain sight.

Deniz smiled despite being surprised at how Syradis could have avoided biting her tongue by stammering those words. He realized just then what kind of person the small woman with straw-blond pigtails was. She was one who let herself be commanded by her emotions, whatever they were, without hiding them and without concealing the words that went through her mind. At first glance this could made her seem odd, changeable in will, moody. But in reality, she was simply expressing herself in the purest way that could exist. She didn’t feel the need to hide behind a shield of fake emotions and big words of undeserved respect, as most people did.

What a type…

He decided, while maintaining an ironic tone, to behave in the same way as her. “Why, huh? Syradis what name would that be?”

The girl with plump cheeks marked by dimples that seemed to remain on her face even in the absence of a smile, crossed her arms over her chest, proudly but involuntarily lifting her large breasts. “Syradis? There’s no more beautiful name than Syradis for a woman! Syradis means beauty and love”, she replied proudly, with the corner of her mouth up and placing as much emphasis as she could on praiseworthy attributes.

Deniz couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

The girl frowned and once again wrinkled her nose funnily: “What are you laughing at?”.

It took a while for Deniz to stop himself. He had to fill his goblet once more and drink half of it to stifle the laughter almost definitively. “Nothing, nothing” he finally managed to say. The look was defiant, some residual laughter not entirely dissipated. “I thought the only way to say beauty and love was beauty and love, not Syradis. Syradis is an invented word, isn’t it? Just like you think Deniz is.”

“It’s not true!” she screamed at him, taking his wrist with her small hand. She noticed it and, blushing, immediately let him go. “Beauty and love, I said.”

Deniz drank. He stared into her blue eyes with his greys framed by thick brown brows. “Sea, I said.”

She looked back. “So be it. But only to make you happy. For me sea remains sea.” She turned but continued to look at him out of the corner of one eye.

“You know, in addition to loving the sea, I like to dominate its waves. I’m the captain of a freighter, the Tiburon. What better name for the captain of a sailing ship than Sea? It’s perfect, isn’t it? It’s good for me, as beauty and love are good for you…”

“Are you trying to bribe me with such flattering comments?” Syradis asked, showing the wonderful profile of her body.

“No, I ...”

“Because it works” she interrupted with red cheeks, bright smile, adorable dimples. The lace of her blue robe gave way again under the pressure of her prominent breast.

Deniz looked down and drank again until the goblet was empty. That woman, Syradis, for a handful of moments had made him forget what had happened less than a month earlier in the now damned Al-Fedar. This is a woman I would gladly say goodbye to the sea for. This is a woman I could fall in love with. She is a Divine like Ayae and Gwenaelle, he thought. “Listen, Syradis…”

“Huh?”

“Do you have a husband or a promised one…?”

The girl jumped at the hearing of those words and turned completely, leaving her neck and narrow smooth, white shoulders in view.

“Oh! Excuse me!” Deniz hastened to add. “I didn’t want to… Didn’t want… to be… be… rude?”

She showed her profile again. She stared at him with the tail of one eye, his face on fire and a sulky, childish expression. “I’ve nothing like that... And you?”

“No, I’ve nothing like that… For now.”

What a type…