Hector’s nerve-shattering whistling woke him up. It was full night outside.
“What are you so happy about?” Leoh groused as Hector popped into the office.
“Happy? Me?”
“You were whistling.”
Hector shrugged. “I always whistle, sir. Doesn’t mean I’m happy.”
“All right,” Leoh said, rubbing his eyes. “How did the girl take her father’s death?”
“Pretty hard. Cried a lot.”
Leoh looked at the younger man. “Does she blame ... me?”
“You? Why, no, sir. Why should she? Odal ... Kanus ... the Kerak Worlds. But not you.”
The old professor sighed, relieved. “Very well. Now then, we have much work to do, and little more than a day in which to finish it.”