The cold wind howled as two men, one after the other, stepped into snow deep enough to swallow their knees, carrying fishing rods and buckets. They wore heavy fur cloaks that had gone out of fashion who knew how many years ago, looking like two tourists with a death wish trying to have fun in the depths of winter.
Half an hour later, they arrived at the bank of a river sealed beneath a thick sheet of ice.
The one in the pale gray cloak gave a low chuckle, then bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, squeezing it in his hand.
A teeth-grating crunch flashed past. Then, with a casual toss, he smashed a modest crater into the ice with the snowball.
"All right, here it is, brother," he said eagerly. "This is a prime fishing spot. I haven't told anyone but you."
"Not even Jaghatai?"
"Why would I tell him?" the man in gray asked, baffled. "I'd rather he stayed so busy in that repair shop that his feet never touched the ground. Otherwise, when would I get the chance to steal his liquor?"
The other man, wearing a black-green cloak, slowly sighed.
"You can't keep stealing," he said. "It's not right, Russ."
"If he didn't want me stealing it, he'd lock it up. But he doesn't lock it, and he doesn't say anything outright either. Isn't that obviously his way of hinting that I should keep taking drinks? All right, enough talking. Scatter the bait already. Let's draw the fish over first."
"Fine," the other man said. "But we'd better actually catch some fish. Otherwise, we'll be having roast meat again tonight."
"What's wrong with roast meat, Lion?" Russ asked, baffled.
"Roast meat is fine..." Lion El'Jonson began slowly. "I just don't want to eat