(no subject)

A quiet evening at home is a lovely, decadent thing. Especially such a rainy one when inside it's snug and warm.

I've been working all week at sorting through the boxes from Aunt Prewett's, but I'm nearly finished. I've set the armour to stand guard beside my breakfast table lest anyone steal my toast of a morning.

Now I think of it, most of the items were actually Uncle's--a rather wicked-looking poignard, for instance, and a silver shaving set. (I've been pondering what might happen if its charms have gone wonky at all.) Best of all, there are a great load of books. Inspired Strategies of Death-dealing Duellists by Esme Meretriste seems the most entertaining of them, but there are some real gems in the lot--ancient, obscure, idiosyncratic and utterly ingenious books of history and spellcraft and theory. There's a bit of philosophy in the mix, a medieval navigational manual, and a set of Senecan tragedies with very fine bindings.

One of the boxes contained an interesting assortment of oddments that must have been left at the end of the divvying up:

item, one ball self-tying twine;
item, one murderous thimble that jabs poison into the wearer's finger;
item, one well-worn pack playing cards missing three of its four jacks;
item, one fruit bowl, unwashed;
item, one flask doxy venom;
item, one absinthe spoon inscribed 'Hotel Churn, Cirencester';
item, one long shoe lace (unless it's really a garrote);
item, one chipped desktop espial globe;
item, one bone or ivory cigarette holder etched with ivy design;
item, one lady's hat, chartreuse with peacock tail.

Oh, yes, and one silver button.

I believe I'll take Salazar's Sapience to bed with me; it's a page-turner so far.