It was nuts. It wash nuts. The shituation wash nutsh. What kind of maniac would lose their cool over nuts? Gum do Mugu, a well-centred holyman, burdened as the sole representative of a distant nation, would not be so rash. The nauseating soup of psychospheric pressure and warm, moist air—sucked into too many lungs, too many times—would not soften his resolution.

A calculated move, on the other hand, came under reflection. After all, Gum do Mugu, the Xangu shaman, was in the company of two forceful souls, each stacked with corporeal importance (political and military). Those two characters, they held the kind of influence Gum had sought out for years. Though, unfortunately for the Castigars, Gum's cashewed hand was haunted by Shin and Storm's counterbalance, i.e. what was left of the Imperials.

But, condemning a soul to the Underworld seemed impossible. At least, that was, while the Ai’Brone rewove flesh, bone, and spirit with the utmost of ease. So, the murdering of murderers was useless. The currying of favour was impossible. Unless, perhaps, the brawl could be dragged outside the bounds of the Citadel. In the absence of goody-goody monks, the death gods could take their grim toll.

Intending to scorch the egos of his companions, the shaman spoke. "It would be foolish," he suggested, etching his words into the growing hush, "to allow your drink to be spoiled by a supposed friend." Do Mugu dipped his fingers into Osiris's ale, dragging the creamy nut to lip of the vessel before flicking it at old Douglas, the barkeep. Of course, Douglas snarled. Douglas huffed. And Douglas smashed his fat hand on the bar. Everybody's drink bounced, then toppled sideways. Vital alcohol cascaded down onto the tiled floor and settled where the grout had worn thin.

The drunken racket ceased, and silence sharpened the tension.

In the delicate quiet, the pious one continued with his manipulative intent. "The Brotherhood is well-known all over the world. Its leaders, of course, respected," he said, hoping to build on their twin towers of vanity. Then, it was time to knock one tower down. "It seems as though now, only one is worthy of respect."

All of a sudden, cashews, macadamias and pistachios were the last thing to worry about.