Sapten

Thank God the only name Sapten and Co. knew me by was Thomas Arnold -- they were welcome to call at _his_ tombstone if they felt like it, and ask for their money back.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

"Waiting increases the risks, though," went on Sapten, as though I hadn't spoken.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

"Aye, it sounds like the real thing," says Sapten, smiling a grim little smile.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

"Probably not," says Sapten, whom I was liking less and less.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

I hadn't asked to be embroiled in the politics of their tin-pot little duchy, but I had been bloody near killed more times than I could count, cut and wounded and half-drowned, scared out of my wits -- and all I was getting at the end of it was the sneers of Sapten and the handshake of his blasted highness.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

"It offers us time," repeated Sapten slowly, "but what could we do with it, eh?"

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

It would be possible to arrange a warm reception for them -- warm enough to ensure that Grundvig and Sapten never got off that causeway alive, anyhow.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

I could think of Grundvig and Sapten for certain; their peasant followers I wasn't sure of, but Rudi brushed them aside as unimportant.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

"Try him in Danish," says Sapten, his single grey eye fixed on me.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970

"You were married to her for more than a week," says Sapten significantly.

Royal Flash Fraser, George MacDonald, 1925- 1970