The Lore isn’t just movies.
As the ambassador’s vehicle began to descend, I looked around. But there didn’t seem to be anybody else quite ready to say the words. That was fine: Shamuses are here to do the dirty jobs. So I began to recite.
My Old American is pretty good, but I know this one by heart. Every Shamus in New California does. Why not? It was one of us who ‘wrote’ it, after all. It’s amazing what you can find in the Lore, all nice and available and ready to have the serial numbers filed off.
How do we hate thee? Let us count the ways. We hate you for the slaves you find and catch, The lives you blight, the mages that you snatch For your ends so wicked, full of disgrace. We hate you for how you seek to take and raze All other realms, to build your land of fright. We hate you freely, for your noxious might. We hate you purely, with most righteous rage. We hate you with the taste of your abuse Fresh in our mouths; it tests our kingdom’s faith. We hate you with a strength we shall not lose As years go on. We hate with all our breaths, Words, deeds, for all our lives; and, if we might choose, We shall but hate you still past your realm's death.*
I timed it right; I got it all out before the ambassador even touched down. Dory gave me a side look. “What did I say about the umbrella, Shamus?” she said.
“Somebody’s got to tell them they ain’t welcome here, Dory,” I replied. “Even if it’s under his breath.” Then I plastered on a fake smile for the ambassador, just like everybody else.
(*Filk of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 43, of course)