Conversation · Evrart Claire

"Harry... " he says almost gently. "Honestly, I'm just relieved you didn't get a hernia. A man your age..."

"Enough wackiness. Let's get back to business."

He chuckles. "Things do always turn real wacky when you and I are in the same room, don't they, Harry?"

"Anyway, I assure you, I am a very well-informed man. Information reaches me before I even get the chance to request it."

Yes, but it's because his word usually sets things in motion.

"Let's talk about something else."

"But of course, Harry."

"Evrart, that's just giving orders."

"Oh, you're so clever, Harry. And technically you're right. Now... what else can I do for you?"

"My body's gonna break down any moment now. Probably pushed it to the limit."

"Rubbish, Harry, rubbish! I mean look at you!" He raises his hands towards you. "For your age you are obviously in peak physical condition. A real silverback!"

"Hmmm..." He inspects you over the rims of his glasses. "You did look like you were gonna collapse and die when I told you about your lost gun."

Say nothing.

The big man peers at you over the rims of his glasses for a moment, then interlaces his fingers and rests his chin on his hands.

"'A man my age'? What are you implying? I'm at the peak of my abilities."

"Yes, yes, Harry. You are obviously in peak physical condition and I salute both your initiative and your physical prowess. Very impressive, Harry. Very impressive."

"Hmmm..." He inspects you over the rims of his glasses. "You did look like you were gonna collapse and die when I told you about your lost gun."

"I too am surprised by the resilience and athleticism of this tool I've been provided with." (Tap your chest.)

"Am I going to ask? Hell, Harry -- you spin-kicked my strongest man in the face. I saw it from my window!"

"Would you ask a man like that how he got into your container yard?"

"I don't even know how I was able to do that."

"Don't worry, Harry." He leans in closer. "Between you and me, I'm not a huge fan of his race thing, but the Union did not get where we are today by frowning on eccentricity."

"I understand. I am a terrifying death machine."

"You don't have a window."

"It was a figure of speech, Harry. Of course I don't have a window. I'm in a container."

"Honestly, I didn't want to bring it up, Harry -- I heard you have become Measurehead's race pupil...?"

"I really believe in the race mystery and I'm glad I was given this chance. I hope to one day be able to contribute."

"Personally I'm not big on the whole race thing, but that's okay. It's alright to be a massive racist, Harry." He sinks deeper into his armchair.

"Let me assure you, I'm very glad you're comfortable sharing this with me. I run a big and quirky organisation. Everyone is welcome. Birds of all feathers."

"Yeah, I'm a big racist. It's basically like that in my head all the time."

"Unfortunately, I can confirm this. My partner has some decidedly outmoded views."

"It was a tactic, I needed to get in somehow. It's not like I'm a racist now."

"Of course, Harry, of course! You're not some kind of a fantastic racist now. And rest assured, no one's gonna hear about it." He winks at you.

"No one's gonna know what you did with race there, Harry. Your race-bonanza is safe with me. Word of how racy it got will never leave Martinaise."

You can see the map of Revachol in your head. Dozens of red arrows are pointing outwards from Martinaise. Moving all across the city.

"I'm not a race pupil, I just listened to some of the things he had to say."

"Harry, I assure you, I am a very well-informed man. Usually I have all the necessary information before I need to request it."