I relaxed. Maybe we were done.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed, as if remembering something. He reached under the collar of his shirt and produced a tiny knife no bigger than my index finger. He set it down.
The guard made a sound of pure defeat. ‘Mate.’
Ivan’s gaze remained calm. ‘You asked.’
Robbie’s jaw ticked, and he said, voice low and controlled, ‘Ivan, we need to get through reception before the universe ends. Stop dramatising the disarmament and hurry the fuck up.’
Ivan looked faintly affronted. ‘This is not dramatised, Your Excellence. I need to ensure I don’t miss one. This is efficient.’
‘It’s a fucking circus,’ Hanlon muttered.
Ivan turned his head to glare at Hanlon. ‘Do you want the High King to be less safe?’ The loaded question made it clear that Ivan would consider an affirmative answer treasonous.
Wisely, Hanlon clamped his mouth shut.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. ‘We’re all feeling very safe, Ivan. Very safe. We’re in the highest-security prison possibly in the entire world. We couldn’t be safer if we were wrapped in bubble wrap.’
‘Pocket,’ Maktel grunted to Ivan.
Ivan didn’t respond. He was already pulling open the aforesaid pocket.
A thin throwing blade emerged.
Then another.
And another.
The guard stared at the growing collection and looked about two seconds from calling in a priest or a firing squad. He pointed, trembling with frustration. ‘Right, that’s it, right? It’s going to take all night to log all of these. Then I’ll have to bloody well log them all back out again.’
‘Do you want me unarmed?’ Ivan shot back. ‘Or not?’
‘Unarmed,’ Robbie growled. ‘Those are the terms of our agreement with the warden. You’re holding us up, Ivan.’
Ivan’schin lifted. ‘I dislike being unarmed in hostile territory.’
‘It’s not hostile territory,’ the guard snapped. ‘It’sreception.’
Ivan stared at him, unimpressed. ‘Of a prison.’
The guard looked to me for support.
I offered him my best sympathetic look, which probably wasn’t much.
Robbie’s lip curled, hinting at something feral beneath the polish. ‘Ivan,’ he said quietly, the word carrying enough warning to tighten the air. ‘Remove the last weapon so we can enter.’
Ivan’s eyes narrowed. Then, with the wounded dignity of a man being forced to part with his favourite child, he reached into his boot, produced something small and sharp, and placed it on the tray.
The guard blinked at it. ‘Is that a…?’
‘A ceramic blade,’ Ivan confirmed with pride. ‘Metal detectors miss it.’
The guard’s face went slack. ‘Of course it is.’
Robbie’s gaze didn’t soften. ‘Done.’
Ivan straightened, his hands finally empty.
