"It is mutiny, then?" The Master stroked his chin with one finger.
"Mutiny? Rebellion! We're taking our land back!"
"So." He stood, his eyes shadowed. He smiled thinly. "I think it only fair, then, that I reclaim what is mine. I have paid you well for your services. A salary, they call it. From the Latin salus, for salt, in which their soldiers were paid." He clenched his fist, and the leader of the rebellion grew pale. He stammered a few incoherent syllables and collapsed.
The Master opened his fist and watched the white grains sift down. "Get back to work."
Tools of the Trade: The Perpetua Pencil
1 day ago