The record spanning centuries of difficult commissions belonged to this little man, who was still trying to persuade a wet lock of hair to stay off his forehead.
He offered his hand. Quinlan clasped it carefully, finding a firm grip beneath fingers marked by old burns and tiny cuts.
"A pleasure."
"Mine as well. Hilda, Helda, and Hulda, my lovely companions."
He indicated the women in turn. Hilda rested her free hand on her hip. Helda gave Quinlan a welcoming nod over her shield, while Hulda smiled from her seat, folding the remaining bread into its cloth.
"Hilda," Quinlan repeated, looking at the axe wielder.
"Yes."
His helmet turned toward the shield.
"Helda."
"Correct."
"And Hulda."
The woman with the hammer nodded to him.
"Very good," Bim said approvingly. "Trouble with that, some people have. Quite baffling."
"Utterly," Ayame agreed, her expression solemn.
