“Are you . . . lost?” “Not really,” she told him. “We just don’t know where we’re going.”

“Are you . . . lost?” “Not really,” she told him. “We just don’t know where we’re going.”

“Did you just call me ‘sweetie’?” I asked. She shoved my shoulder. “No.”

“...Loretta threatened to beat him to death with a wooden spoon...”

“We’re alive!” Swedish told her. “I did not see that coming.”

“Now you’re listening to Swedish ?” I asked her. “He thinks I’m the Compass because every time I see ticktocks, I happen to be there!”

“You know what to do?” “Wander around,” I said. “Until I spot a self-assembled whangdoodle from the Foggy depths.”

“Keep moving!” “Bea’s arguing with the floor.”

“What are you doing?” I asked Loretta. “Stabbing a cushion,” she told me.”

“Well, the bad news,” Swedish said from the wheel, “is that Chess still thinks he’s funny.” “What’s the good news?” Loretta asked, leaning on our little copper-tubed harpoon. “That Kodoc dropped a bomb on the city?”

“Did Cap’n Vidious leave that? He is such a cuddlebunny.” “Yeah,” I said, “that’s exactly how I’d describe him.”