“Worshipful Master Doctor，” came a thin， whining voice. “So please you， I’m only a poor old woman， I am， and very obliged to his Worshipful Dwarfship for his friendship， I‘m sure. His Majesty， bless his handsome face， has no need to be afraid of an old woman that’s nearly doubled up with the rheumatics and hasn‘t two sticks to put under her kettle. I have some poor little skill.not like yours， Master Doctor， of course.in small spells and cantrips that I’d be glad to use against our enemies if it was agreeable to all concerned. For I hate ‘em. Oh yes. No one hates better than me.”
“That is all most interesting and.er.satisfactory，” said Doctor Cornelius. “I think I now know what you are，Madam. Perhaps your other friend， Nikabrik， would give some account of himself ？”
A dull， grey voice at which Peter’s flesh crept replied， “I‘m hunger. I’m thirst. Where I bite， I hold till I die， and even after death they must cut out my mouthful from my enemy‘s body and bury it with me. I can fast a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood and not burst. Show me your enemies.”
