Autor bristles and takes another bite. "If we were in the library, I would have told you to shut up a long time ago," he says loftily. "And there's a difference between reading words and speaking them: one wears on me and the other doesn't."

Thanks for suddenly reminding him of how tired he is, Rabastan. Gosh.

At the otter-man's inquiry into the quality of Autor's food, the boy smiles. Its wistful, almost fond. "They're better than I thought they'd be," he says shyly, thinking of bakers that rise with the sun and magical princesses on a hunt.

Then he snaps to focus. "I'd ask you how your food is, but you haven't eaten any of it."