Chapter 19: Amelian

"Abandon your Captain?" Amelian asked, as the stony faced shadow in the mechanic's coat nodded grimly, as she lead the march across the deck, towards the controls. Around them, most of the crew stared down at the shrinking Causeway, the two figures difficult to make out in the distance.

Beside them, Valen nodded emphatically. "I don't like it, but we might have to," he said, pointing below as the space between the Captain and the Rider exploded into a swirling mass of fire. The old Sergeant looked grief-stricken as he spoke. "I've seen Crafters scourged from less."

Amelian blinked in confusion. "Scourged?" She asked.

"It's when a Crafter's will is consumed by the desire to use the flame. They go berserk, and start using their power on anything they can reach," Lucille explained, as they gathered around the helm. The stately engineer at the helm nodded to them, politely, without letting his hands leave the wheel.

The ship was drifting in a wide circle around the battle below, as the Captain and the Rider shattered the battlements and carved chunks out of the causeway they fought on.

"Are you suggesting the Captain is already beyond salvage?" Amelain asked.

"Not yet," The shadow insisted, and her voice broke in a visceral hiss of disgust as she spoke. "But every second he's still down there increases his risk. That being said, either of them could casually rip the Songbird apart."

"Which means we can't get close," Amelain said. She stared down at the swirling maelstrom below, and shook her head. "I would never have believed it."

"We have to get close to pick him up," Valen insisted. "Close, and slow enough that he can actually grab the rope. That's impossible as long as the Rider is still fighting."

"So we need a way to give the Captain the upper hand," Amelian finished, turning back to her Sergeant. The old man smiled and nodded once, in obvious approval. She was relieved to see him agree with her. As reluctant as he seemed to step into the fight below, he seemed to have no desire to simply quit the field.

"We have nineteen soldiers, nine engineers, enough Salamanders for everyone, and a single Shadow," Lucille counted out loud. "What you're talking about would require Valkyries, or other Crafters."

"Or a bomb," the Helmsman said, without turning around. "Why not use the ammo chest?"

Amelian reeled, and was slightly relieved to see Valen as surprised as she was. Having a civilian suggest battlefield strategy in the field was almost as surprising as the ship he rode in on.

"I like it," the shadow said, with a grin Amelian wanted to describe as feral. "Maxwell, can you turn the ship sideways without sacrificing forward momentum?"

"Aye, ma'am," he replied, with a chuckle in his voice. He cracked his knuckles, and flexed his fingers over the wheel. "Is your plan to have us pass over its head at full speed, have the soldiers shoot salamanders off the port side to distract it, and drop the bomb starboard?"

"Yes, but you said it first, so you get credit. Get us in motion. We'll be ready," Lucille ordered, stepping away.

Amelain followed closely behind, with Valen only a couple of steps away. "Did you catch the essence of that, Lieutenant?" Lucille asked.

"Aye, Commander," she replied. Official rank wasn't clear, especially with how ship ranks would fit into the official chain of command. Chances are, she would outrank the shadow in most circumstances, but she deferred to military courtesy, and acknowledged her rank on what was now, with the Captain below, her ship.

Lucille glanced back towards her, confused for a moment, but nodded respectfully. "Maxwell is going to take us to the Rider. We will pass directly over its head, but we will pass with the ship turned sideways. The port side of the ship," she explained, gesturing with her left hand, "will be pointed to the Rider as we pass over it. I want every available hand shooting a Salamander at it, except for the special detail that will throw and detonate the ammo chest."

"Who do we need for this special detail, ma'am?" Amelian asked. She was grinning as she walked, impressed with the professionalism the young shadow displayed.

"Tyler Emery, the engineer on lookout. I want him to determine when to throw. The chest needs four people to lift. And a half-dozen people to make sure we detonate the chest. We're only getting one chance at this, so I don't want to take chances."

"We only need one shooter, ma'am. And two to throw it," Amelian insisted. "Steeple and Barn once picked up a cable-car between them. Mia can do surgery with Canister shot at two hundred yards. That leaves us twenty-two on the port-side of the ship."

The shadow nodded. "Make it work. We're not getting a second chance," she said, and surprisingly, took a Salamander. She looked up at the engineer at the winch, and called out, "Tyler Emery! Come on down! I have some math for you."

Amelian watched the nervous looking young engineer step down off the tether line, and step forward. None of the engineering crew seemed inclined to salute, but he nodded respectfully as she approached, and asked, "What is it, ma'am?"

"We're going to drop the ammo chest on the Rider," Lucille explained, without preamble. "I need you to tell us exactly when to throw it."

"It's fifty seven yards from your feet, if we were directly above it. It accelerates to the ground at eleven yards a second. That makes three seconds of air-time, with the chest hitting the ground about eight yards behind us, give or take a foot and a half," the engineer said, thinking out loud. "I'm going to give exactly one second to throw the chest off the side."

"That will do," the Shadow said, as she turned back to her. "This is Lieutenant Rustov. She'll be directing the drop. Go where you need to be, and prepare to signal when it's time," she ordered quickly, before stepping away and joining the firing line on the far side of the ship.

She watched for a moment, bemused, before she introduced herself to the Engineer. "Lieutenant Amelian Rustov. Ninth Company, Fourth Brigade. That was some swift calculations you managed."

"Tyler Emery, ma'am. And it was nothing special. Elementary physics."

She grinned, and shook her head. "Thing is, we all get stupid under duress. If that was your stupid, then you have a good head on your shoulders. So when I tell you the signals I want you to use, they'll stick the first time. Am I right, engineer Tyler Emery?" she asked, her voice taking on that rise in volume she had practiced over the years.

"Aye, ma'am," he replied. She had to refrain from cuffing him over the head when he didn't salute, and reflected that she really needed to spend more time with a few civilians.

"Excellent. Then I have five signals for you," she said. She showed them in sequence and explained what each of them meant. She then asked him to repeat them back to her, which he did sullenly but properly.

She sent him to take his position, and called out "Mia! Samuel! Rodriguez! Over here!" She shouted, and found the three of them were already standing near the ammo chest. She smiled as she found Mia telling them to practice the lift as she checked the sights on her Salamander.

"Valen briefed you, already?" she asked, as she joined them.

"The short version, ma'am," Mia said. "He said we were chucking the chest off the side at the Rider."

"That's the plan. Steepleton and Barnes, the two of you are going to drop the chest off the side of the ship, once I tell you to. Mia, your job is to make sure it detonates. We blow that thing up in the Rider's face, grab the Captain, and book it out of here," Amelian explained.

"Are we really taking the fight to that thing?" Rodriguez asked. He looked worried, but smiled as he and Samuel lifted the ammo chest. "Not complaining, ma'am. But I don't like our odds."

"Well, it's either this or Redgrave has us drop the entire ship on it," Samuel replied. Amelian grinned, barely keeping herself from laughing. Little did they know, but Valen probably would insist on trying it. Quieter, Samuels added, "He seems angrier than usual."

Amelian decided to cut this line of thought off before it carried on. To herself, she was willing to admit to some misgivings about the old sergeant's disposition, but she wasn't willing to let them second guess the best soldier in the City. "He's angry because a Crafter has to stand where we should be!" she snapped, harshly. "We are the walls! We are the torches against the dark night! And we are not meant to be sheltered!"

She felt some degree of vindication as Samuel and Rodriguez nearly dropped the chest, and Mia hung her head in shame. "Aye, ma'am," all of them uttered.

"So get that damned chest to the rails. Mia, check the fit, sights and the range on your weapon again." She turned away then, and joined Tyler Emery at his lookout post.

Whatever she might have said was lost as she stared down at the battle below, even as the ship drew close. The Rider had lost its horse somehow, and was wielding a second firebrand that it was just thrusting forward. As it pierced the air, the shock of the sudden eruption of nearly solid fire blew apart the still swirling mass of flame, and tore through the air for another hundred yards down the causeway.

She hissed aloud as the fire tore across the Causeway, and held her breath until it vanished into the air, and she could see the Captain again.

He lived, she was relieved to see. The Captain was pushing himself to his feet, clutching his sword with his left hand. He looked shaken, but stood quickly and readied himself for the next blow.

Which to her surprise, didn't appear right away. Instead, the Rider held its swords lazily at its sides, its gaze fixed towards the Captain and its posture composed. Confident.

Arrogant, even. A taunt.

"It thinks it has him." She said to the engineer.

"It probably does, ma'am. Why are you smiling?" The engineer asked.

Amelian was surprised to find a wide smile across her lips, despite the circumstances. Another thing to thank Valen for. "Because we have it. Is the chest in a good position?"

Tyler glanced back, and took a moment to assess its location. "Aye, ma'am," he replied.

She nodded, pleased. "Double-check as we turn."

She strode back to the others, and as she passed the middle of the deck, she glanced up at the stately looking engineer serving as the ship's helmsman. He noticed her gaze, smiled, and shouted, "We're starting the turn! All hands, positions!"

"Aye!" she hollered back. She turned to the soldiers and the few engineers holding guns, and nodded to Valen, who saluted.

"Pull firing chamber latches shut!" Valen shouted, as she turned away to return to the ammo chest. "Make sure the safety pins are out! Level barrels at your target and do not fire until I damn well say so!"

She dashed back to her position.

"Ready?" she asked the three of them, and smiled when she saw them attentive and alert. Her question was almost rhetorical.

"Aye, ma'am. Steeple and Barnes were just practicing their lift," Mia replied. Barnes and Steepleton both nodded, their hands resting on the handles of the chest.

"Good," she said. She glanced back towards Tyler Emery, who waved with his thumb pointed straight in the air. They were in a good position.

She glanced up at the helm, where the helmsman had just begun to spin the wheels, whirling both at the same time while he pulled nearby levers back. As the wheels spun, the mounted propellers along the side of the ship turned gently, even as they spun.

"Aft propellers are off!" Maxwell shouted, from the helm. "Brace for a hard turn!"

Nervously, Amelian grabbed onto the railing, and was nearly thrown to the deck as the entire ship began to spin, its bow swinging hard as it was dragged along after the bag. Across the deck, soldiers were nearly thrown off, and one of them dropped a Salamander off the side.

"Flaming hell!" Mia exclaimed, as she picked up the Salamander she dropped. "This thing shouldn't be able to turn like that!"

Amelian grinned as she watched Emery hold up his hand, palm towards her, with all of his fingers outstretched. "Ten seconds!" she barked, and the three others beside her took their positions.

Across the deck, Salamander fire erupted from nearly two dozen guns as Valen ordered them to fire. After the first two volleys, they staggered their fire, half of the troops on deck holding their fire until Valen, or Reeves gave them an order.

She glanced back to Emery, who had turned his hand, with his fingers still outstretched. "Five seconds!" she shouted, and watched as Mia set her weapon against the rails. Barnes and Steepleton tested their grip, and stared intently at the rope handle in front of them.

"Three" Amelian shouted, as another volley thundered.

"Two!" she said, barely hearing herself over an explosion she could barely see below, a bloom of flame that rattled the entire ship.

"Now!" she hollered, and was relieved when Samuel and Barnes launched into action. They barely seemed to move as they flexed their shoulders, flung out their arms, and the ammo chest sailed off the side.

All of them leaned over the rails, watching without blinking as the chest fell, and the fires of the Rider swept into their sight. Mia tracked the falling chest with her Salamander, and fired just before it would have struck the ground beside it.

The blast hit her like a blow, knocking her off the rails and sending her skidding on the deck. She rolled, threw herself to her feet before she even stopped skidding, and forced herself back to the railing to see what had happened.

As she reached the edge, she was immediately struck by how dark it looked below, as if some light source were missing. It took a moment to realize she couldn't see the Rider. Where it once stood, the causeway was shattered, a section was missing entirely, and the ends were broken into pieces barely held together by their reinforcing iron.

"I wasn't expecting..." she began, as Mia stepped beside her.

"Quite that much boom?" Mia asked, ruefully. She pointed down below. "I think he did something."

Ahead, the Captain waved to them, with dancing flames flickering between his fingers. She was surprised to hear Lucille from right beside her call out to the Helmsman, "All ahead, half speed! Gradual turn to the port side! Emery, get on that winch!"

Maxwell nodded, and the ship surged ahead. Her spotter, Tyler Emery, returned to his original task and lowered the rope to the Captain, who was jogging away from the ship to make sure he caught the rope.

She glanced away, warily, and scanned the farmlands on the far side of the causeway wall, and groaned aloud at what she saw.

The Rider lay sprawled on the ground, in a small crater that burned slowly around it. Its fires seemed dim, quieter than when it rode into battle, but the brands of flame were still firmly in its grasp, and the mass of yellow fire where its eyes should have been stared straight at her, as if it recognized her.

She turned away, and waved Valen over, who was busy making sure the crew was returning their weapons. He stepped over swiftly, and saluted. She interrupted his question, and said, "Tell the Captain the Rider isn't dead. He is needed here."

"Aye, ma'am," he replied, before following her gaze and cursing. To her dismay, the creature seemed to be rising to its feet, and even as the ship surged ahead, they were still far too close.

She dashed to the back of the ship, following Lucille, who had already drawn a pair of knives. They both stopped at the rails, in time to watch the Rider's horse reach its master, stopping and standing attentively as its master regained its focus.

As the Rider stood, its fires flared out, the shockwave beating at the burning brush for dozens of yards in every direction. Its gaze rested on the ship, and its yellow eyes burned with a renewed, terrible intensity as it extended its arms.

She could hear the cracking in the air as the creature formed two brands of fire in its hands, as flame seemed to congeal into the form of a sword. The brands burned bright red, and seemed to shimmer, as if their power was only barely contained.

She shivered as she watched, and gripped the hilt of her sword until her hand went bone-white. She was acutely aware, as she knew the shadow beside her was, of how little protection they had from the Rider. The ship's impressive speed seemed an agonizing crawl.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the Captain stepped beside her, and glanced down the railing to the Rider. Her relief vanished as she heard him curse under his breath, before he turned to shout back at the helm. "Maxwell! Aft propellers to overrun speed! Left turn, twenty degrees!"

She saw him turn his head and glance at Lucille, then her. "Stand back," he said, quietly, gesturing with his head towards the helm.

She nodded, following what the commander felt was a safe distance. Several feet back, she could still see the Rider, wielding two brands of fire in its hands, and drawing them both back to its right side menacingly. It swung both swords in a wicked arc that caused both blades to blow apart, their fires spewing out in a terrifying onslaught that grew into an immense size as it rushed towards the ship.

The Captain pointed his arms out towards the oncoming fire, and she was surprised to hear him shout. "Howl, rage, and let your fury ignite the sky!" he cried, as fire lanced out from his hands.

The flash of firelight drowned her eyes in light, and rocked the ship forward with the force of the blast. Amelian stumbled and let herself fall to her hands and knees, foregoing the vanity of attempting to ride out the swaying ship as it was buffeted by the violent explosions behind her.

She looked back to the swirling mass of fire to see the strangest sight she had seen, on a night of strange things. Gerald's blast had blown a hole through the oncoming torrent of flame, and what was left was pouring into the void, forming a massive ring as the fire collapsed in on itself. After a few seconds, the flames dissipated into the air, and she could see the Rider, mounting its horse and preparing to ride after them.

But to her surprise, it turned around and rode away, towards the gap in the wall.

Relieved, she turned away to find Valen stepping past her, his hand on his sword. "Sergeant?" she asked.

Valen gestured with his free hand towards Commander Lucille, and Amelian immediately understood. The shadow in the mechanic's coat, despite the hard-fought safety they now enjoyed, still had her knives in her hands, and stared at the Captain with flint-hard, dead eyes.

"Sergeant, stand down," she insisted, deliberately stepping in front of Valen. Ahead of her, the Captain was staring at his hands, breathing hard, with a feral, even manic smile on his face. His hands shook, she noticed, and more frightening still, his hair still glowed, like embers.

"Howl, rage and let your fury ignite the sky," she recited, remembering the words from a play she had seen, years ago. "Burn fierce and bright, set darkness alight. Fires below to make safe a home."

The Captain turned, and when he smiled at her, he seemed startlingly young. Too young to be wielding such power. "To live is to burn; should our candle go out, an empty world will not regard our shout," he finished, and the struggle vanished from his face. His eyes were focused, his hands stopped shaking, and he laughed a little.

"The play you were quoting, was it Gloamtaken?" he asked.

She nodded, relieved, and even let herself smile a little. "I remember that scene. The City's founding, when the Crafters created the Bore. It's a good sentiment for a Crafter defending the City."

She saw him nod to her in response, and looked to his Shadow. She followed his gaze, and was both surprised and disturbed to see that Lucille had not relaxed, or sheathed her knives. She glanced to Valen, who's hand still rested on the hilt of his sword.

But the Captain turned away from them, to the stairway, where Amelain was surprised to see a young corporal, not one from her platoon, holding a bucket of water in her hands. "Miss Lancet, there's no-" the Captain started to say, before the corporal swung the bucket towards him.

The entirety of its contents hit the Captain directly in his face and chest, causing him to stumble backwards a step and shield his face with his hands.

Amelain sputtered, indignantly, and glared hard at the corporal, who seemed to have stopped and was now gauging her Captain's reaction, waiting for something.

Surprisingly, the Captain laughed, as if someone had told him a joke while he brushed the water from his face. The noise seemed to finally relieve the tension in his shadow, as Lucille put away her knives. Following her example, Valen leaned against one of the railings and made a show of crossing his legs and whistling.

"Once again, Corporal, thank you. You're surprisingly adept at putting out tense situations," the Captain said as he tugged at the collar of his coat, trying to keep as much of it dry as he could. "Have your squad take watch, and let me know when you see the next wall. And see if you can make a plan for installing Valkyries on the deck. We're going to need more firepower."

"Aye, sir," she responded, saluting smartly, and departed.

Amelian watched the young corporal depart. "She's a Corporal commanding her own squad?"

"Her Sergeant is below. He didn't take well to flying," Lucille explained. Amelian was surprised to see how quickly the Shadow fell back into her role as Lieutenant, when moments ago she was fully prepared to kill her Captain.

"I'll see if I can't foist him on whoever commands the next wall," Gerald added. "But in the meantime, I have some questions I'd like answered. First, there's a giant hole in the wall, but no Golem. And even this far from the Spire, a Golem would cast a shadow hundreds of yards long. What happened?"

Amelian raised her hand, lamely. "We did, sir. We capped off the outflow for the fire, to create a pipe-rupture. Our hope was to create an unstable pipe burst where the Golem was striking the wall. It's been an hour since then, and the Golem still lies where it first fell."

Lucille whisled in appreciation, as they heard Maxwell swear from the helm. "Fires below," the old engineer said, shaking his head.

She saw that even the Captain was taken aback. When he spoke, his tone had a measure of awe in it. "You may have eclipsed my creation, Lieutenant," he said.

She could only nod in response, unsure of how to respond.

"Sergeant, you are something of a curiosity," Gerald said, as he turned his head and his attention to Valen. "I was under the impression that only commissioned officers carried cold-stone swords."

Amelian rounded on Valen, her eyes growing wide as she stared at the old sergeant, who looked as if he had just been cornered. "Sergeant? I want to hear this one," she said, with more vitriol than she had ever heard in her voice.

Valen swore under his breath, but responded firmly when he said, "I can't say, sir. Orders."

Amelian grinned and turned to the Captain. "You can invoke 'Privilege of the field', sir. The senior field officer may unseal any secret during an invasion," she explained.

"The exception still applies, ma'am," Valen answered, sadly.

"The exception is any direct order given by the current Lord Captain of the Wall," Amelian added. "I've already run into this problem tonight."

"It's revealing," Gerald said. "The 'Sergeant' has an officer's sword, and is under a direct order from the highest authority in the military to not reveal why." He stared at Valen's sword for a moment, then snapped his fingers and said, "I'm too damned distracted to play detective properly. Sergeant, is that tin on the pommel of your sword?"

"Damn," Valen said.

"Of course it is. Low melting point. Assuming the actual pommel is steel, taking the tin off wouldn't even warp whatever is beneath," Gerald muttered. "Sergeant, hand me your sword."

Wordlessly, Valen drew his sword, and handed it hilt first to the Captain. As Gerald took it, he wrapped his left hand around the pommel, and twisted it off.

"Tin will melt at a much lower temperature than most metals. Which makes it useful for coating something," He explained, as light burst from between his fingers. "Like the pommel of an officer's sword."

Amelian nodded, watching carefully as the Captain pulled his hand away, holding a ball of metal in his hand. With his other hand, he held the detached pommel up, so that they could all see.

The pommel, like the one on her own sword, was a metal hoop about as large as an eye socket, with metal bands that denoted rank. One band for a Lieutenant. Two for a Captain. Three or four bands were for a Major or a Colonel. The Lord Captain's sword bore a unique design, redone with every holder of the office.

Only one other symbol existed in the Military. It depicted a sword, set through the middle of the hoop, stabbing into an open book. Like the sword for the Lord Captain, the design was unique to the bearer, and could only be carried while the bearer held that office.

"Secretary to the Lord Captain?" Amelian asked, dumbfounded. She reached out and touched the hilt of the sword, feeling the unnatural frost from the cold-stone core, struggling to believe what she saw.

Secretary to the Lord Captain was the second highest rank in the Military. The rank was the closest thing the City had to a General. It was also common knowledge the current Lord Captain had never raised up anyone to that rank.

Yet the sword could not be a forgery.

She saluted, instantly snapping to attention. "Sir!" she said, loudly, for the benefit of the other two.

Lucille stood straighter, not saluting, but straightened to stand at rigid attention, nodding respectfully to the old soldier.

To Amelian's surprise, and immediate displeasure, Gerald made no move to acknowledge Valen's revealed rank. Instead, he held the now cool ball of tin in his other hand to Valen, and asked, "Is this to remain a secret, for now? Or are you asserting the rank of your sword?"

"It should remain a secret, until the Lord Captain commands otherwise. I will request your discretion, sir, until I have to take up that mantle," Valen said. He laughed, ruefully, and added "I've never actually spent more than three days as Secretary to the Lord Captain."

"How is that possible?" Amelian asked. "Your service record was heavily redacted, but Reeves knows the names of every Secretary to every Lord Captain in the history of the City. And you couldn't have kept that sword if you were demoted."

Valen signed. "I suppose it's a pointless secret now. When Benden first took office, he was concerned about the quality of the soldiers in the military. He felt they were not prepared for a war. He couldn't fix the entire army at once, so he took a small core and used them to train a new generation of warriors. His best soldiers were demoted and sent to the furthest walls to train the recruits."

"That explains a lot." Amelian said. "Recruitment dropped by a third a year after our present Lord Captain took over. Training became, according to older soldiers, unusually brutal. And deployment to the last wall is widely considered to be some kind of punishment."

"The furthest thing, ma'am," Valen insisted. "The last wall is where we groom our best. The soldiers we want to hand the military to." Amelian swallowed and nodded, balked by the implications.

"I'd say it worked," Gerald added. Glancing back at the distant wall, he added, "So far, you have a Golem and hundreds of Gloamtaken on your tally. And you quite literally pulled my ass out of the fire. This ship needs you, especially with things like that Rider out there."

He fixed her with a fierce stare, and she was surprised to find it uncomfortable. She had spent too long with soldiers, if the admiration of some young man bothered her. "I'm formally requesting that you and your platoon transfer to my ship. You'll serve as Second Officer, after Lucille."

Gerald turned his head to the engineer at the helm. "You're being bumped a peg, Maxwell. Sorry."

"Outranked by the woman who stopped a Golem at the last wall? I'm okay with that," Maxwell said, unable to keep from chuckling as he spoke.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Amelian asked.

The Captain turned back to her, and smiled apologetically. "Of course. I prefer volunteers. Do you have any reservations?"

"Reservations about following a Crafter on a metal boat tied to a giant fireball? Into war? Why would I have reservations?" she asked. Half a second later she added, "Sir."

Lucille smirked, and tilted her head towards the Captain. "She would feel better if you could tell her the ship's been tested, and this wasn't the first time you've flown her. Pity."

Amelian groaned aloud, and turned to Valen, who was smiling as if he had only a vague understanding of what a smile should look like. When he caught her gaze, he shrugged, and said, "Unusual is underselling it, but..."

"They're good. And they're now as much veterans of the Sixth Invasion as anyone in the City," she said, before turning back to Captain Raeth. "I accept your offer. My platoon and I are yours."

"Glad to hear it. We'll need you in the hours to come," he said, holding out his hand. She shook it, and shook Lucille's hand after, as the shadow said, "Welcome aboard" with surprising warmth.

"You should introduce yourself to the crew, and make sure Corporal Lancet is aware of the change in command," Gerald said, and both she and Valen saluted. "Oh, and you should consider promoting Lancet to Sergeant. She has a good head on her shoulders."

"Why don't you do it?" Amelian asked, grinning. She already knew the answer.

"Besides the dubious legality of my current rank?" Gerald asked, as he fanned out his shirt and pressed his hands on the damp spots. "Because if word gets around that dumping water on me could get someone promoted, I'll never be dry again."