The Midnight Hotel had been in Syria when Erskine Ravel had finally walked in through the door, shaking off sand and complaining about the heat, the lack of booze, and the fact that chasing Anton hadn't left him enough time to pursue the lovely local ladies.
Anton had said nothing, hadn't even looked up, but his grip on the cabinet he was repairing had tightened. Saint Gabriel looked Middle-Eastern.
When the Hotel had moved less than five hours later Anton had sent it to Russia.
It meant that, in the process of repairing the downstairs rooms, they had been gifted with an eclectic range of furniture styles. Anton wasn't exactly nobility, but he did have a good enough eye to at least make them match somewhat. Even so, there was no doubting the fact that the furniture had come from all over the place.
Anton had taken his time in finding them, far more time than he usually spent on goods.
Erskine had chattered incessantly. It had been clear early on, because the Elemental had said so, that he knew nothing about whatever had put the bug in Anton's ear (as Erskine put it) and Erskine expected Anton to fill him in. Thus far, Anton hadn't.
Right now they were in Brazil. It was morning. And Anton was busy mopping up the rain that had come in through a window someone (Erskine) had left open, staunchly ignoring the other Dead Men sprawled in an armchair with his feet up on a table.
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Anton had said nothing, hadn't even looked up, but his grip on the cabinet he was repairing had tightened. Saint Gabriel looked Middle-Eastern.
When the Hotel had moved less than five hours later Anton had sent it to Russia.
It meant that, in the process of repairing the downstairs rooms, they had been gifted with an eclectic range of furniture styles. Anton wasn't exactly nobility, but he did have a good enough eye to at least make them match somewhat. Even so, there was no doubting the fact that the furniture had come from all over the place.
Anton had taken his time in finding them, far more time than he usually spent on goods.
Erskine had chattered incessantly. It had been clear early on, because the Elemental had said so, that he knew nothing about whatever had put the bug in Anton's ear (as Erskine put it) and Erskine expected Anton to fill him in. Thus far, Anton hadn't.
Right now they were in Brazil. It was morning. And Anton was busy mopping up the rain that had come in through a window someone (Erskine) had left open, staunchly ignoring the other Dead Men sprawled in an armchair with his feet up on a table.