expensive.”
“That’s why we have a whole table of used games that are more affordable,” the owner of the store, overhearing them, commented with a grin. “Thanks, Kilraven.”
The officer shrugged. “I spend so much time in here that I feel obliged to protect the merchandise,” he commented.
The store owner patted him on the back. “Good man. I might give you a discount on your next sale.”
Kilraven glared at him. “Attempting to bribe a police officer…”
The owner held up both hands. “I never!” he exclaimed. “I said ‘might’!”
Kilraven grinned. “Thanks, though. It was a nice thought. You wouldn’t have any games based on Scottish history?” he added.
The store owner, a tall, handsome young man, gave him a pitying look. “Listen, you’re the only customer I’ve ever had who likes sixteenth-century Scottish history. And I’ll tell you again that most historians think James Hepburn got what he deserved.”
“He did not,” Kilraven muttered. “Lord Bothwell was led astray by that French-thinking Queen. Her wiles did him in.”
“Wiles?” Cappie asked, wide-eyed. “What are wiles?”
“If you have to ask, you don’t have any,” Bentley said helpfully.
She laughed. “Okay. Fair enough.”
Kilraven shook his head. “Bothwell had admirable qualities,” he insisted, staring at the shop owner. “He was utterly fearless, could read and write and speakFrench, and even his worst enemies said that he was incapable of being bribed.”
“Which may be, but still doesn’t provide grounds for a video game,” the manager replied.
Kilraven pointed a finger at him. “Just because you’re a partisan of Mary, Queen of Scots, is no reason to take issue with her Lord High Admiral. And I should point out that there’s no video game about her, either!”
“Hooray,” the manager murmured dryly. “Oh, look, a customer!” He took the opportunity to vanish toward the counter.
Kilraven’s two companions were giving him odd looks.
“Entertainment should be educational,” he defended himself.
“It is,” Bentley pointed out. “In this game—” he held up a Star Trek one “—you can learn how to shoot down enemy ships. And in this one—” he held up a comical one about aliens “—you can learn to use a death ray and blow up buildings.”
“You have no appreciation of true history,” Kilraven sighed. “I should have taught it in grammar school.”
“I can see you now, standing in front of the school board, explaining why the kids were having nightmares about sixteenth-century interrogation techniques,” Bentley mused.
Kilraven pursed his lips. “I myself have been accused of using those,” he said. “Can you believe it? I mean, I’m such a law-abiding citizen and all.”
“I can think of at least one potential kidnapper who might disagree,” Bentley commented.
“Lies. Vicious lies,” he said defensively. “He got those bruises from trying to squeeze through a car window.”
“While it was going sixty miles an hour, I believe?” the other man queried.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he didn’t want to wait for the arraignment.”
“Good thing you noticed the window was cracked in time.”
“Yes,” Kilraven sighed. “Sad, though, that I didn’t realize he had a blackjack. He gave it to me very politely, though.”
Bentley glanced at Cappie. “Was it a sprained wrist or a fractured one?” he wondered.
Kilraven gave him a cold glare. “It was a figment.”
“A what?”
“Of his imagination,” Kilraven assured him. He chuckled. “Anyway, he’s going to be in jail for a long time. The resisting arrest charge, added to assault on a police officer, makes two felony charges in addition to the kidnapping ones.”
“I hope you never get mad at me,” Bentley said.
“I’d worry more about the chief,” Kilraven replied. “He fed a guy a soapy sponge in front of the whole neighborhood.”
“He was provoked, I hear,” Bentley said.
“A
“That’s why we have a whole table of used games that are more affordable,” the owner of the store, overhearing them, commented with a grin. “Thanks, Kilraven.”
The officer shrugged. “I spend so much time in here that I feel obliged to protect the merchandise,” he commented.
The store owner patted him on the back. “Good man. I might give you a discount on your next sale.”
Kilraven glared at him. “Attempting to bribe a police officer…”
The owner held up both hands. “I never!” he exclaimed. “I said ‘might’!”
Kilraven grinned. “Thanks, though. It was a nice thought. You wouldn’t have any games based on Scottish history?” he added.
The store owner, a tall, handsome young man, gave him a pitying look. “Listen, you’re the only customer I’ve ever had who likes sixteenth-century Scottish history. And I’ll tell you again that most historians think James Hepburn got what he deserved.”
“He did not,” Kilraven muttered. “Lord Bothwell was led astray by that French-thinking Queen. Her wiles did him in.”
“Wiles?” Cappie asked, wide-eyed. “What are wiles?”
“If you have to ask, you don’t have any,” Bentley said helpfully.
She laughed. “Okay. Fair enough.”
Kilraven shook his head. “Bothwell had admirable qualities,” he insisted, staring at the shop owner. “He was utterly fearless, could read and write and speakFrench, and even his worst enemies said that he was incapable of being bribed.”
“Which may be, but still doesn’t provide grounds for a video game,” the manager replied.
Kilraven pointed a finger at him. “Just because you’re a partisan of Mary, Queen of Scots, is no reason to take issue with her Lord High Admiral. And I should point out that there’s no video game about her, either!”
“Hooray,” the manager murmured dryly. “Oh, look, a customer!” He took the opportunity to vanish toward the counter.
Kilraven’s two companions were giving him odd looks.
“Entertainment should be educational,” he defended himself.
“It is,” Bentley pointed out. “In this game—” he held up a Star Trek one “—you can learn how to shoot down enemy ships. And in this one—” he held up a comical one about aliens “—you can learn to use a death ray and blow up buildings.”
“You have no appreciation of true history,” Kilraven sighed. “I should have taught it in grammar school.”
“I can see you now, standing in front of the school board, explaining why the kids were having nightmares about sixteenth-century interrogation techniques,” Bentley mused.
Kilraven pursed his lips. “I myself have been accused of using those,” he said. “Can you believe it? I mean, I’m such a law-abiding citizen and all.”
“I can think of at least one potential kidnapper who might disagree,” Bentley commented.
“Lies. Vicious lies,” he said defensively. “He got those bruises from trying to squeeze through a car window.”
“While it was going sixty miles an hour, I believe?” the other man queried.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he didn’t want to wait for the arraignment.”
“Good thing you noticed the window was cracked in time.”
“Yes,” Kilraven sighed. “Sad, though, that I didn’t realize he had a blackjack. He gave it to me very politely, though.”
Bentley glanced at Cappie. “Was it a sprained wrist or a fractured one?” he wondered.
Kilraven gave him a cold glare. “It was a figment.”
“A what?”
“Of his imagination,” Kilraven assured him. He chuckled. “Anyway, he’s going to be in jail for a long time. The resisting arrest charge, added to assault on a police officer, makes two felony charges in addition to the kidnapping ones.”
“I hope you never get mad at me,” Bentley said.
“I’d worry more about the chief,” Kilraven replied. “He fed a guy a soapy sponge in front of the whole neighborhood.”
“He was provoked, I hear,” Bentley said.
“A
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