“It’s what happens when you shoot someone,” Wayne pointed out. “At least, usually someone has the good sense to get dead when you go to all the trouble to shoot them.”

“So,” Marasi said, “you traded a dead man’s scarf for another dead man’s gun. But…the gun itself belonged to someone dead, so by the same logic—”“Don’t try,” Waxillium said. “Logic doesn’t work on Wayne.”“I bought a ward against it off a traveling fortune-teller,” Wayne explained. “It lets me add two ’n’ two and get a pickle.”

“So, Wax,” Wayne butted in. “Where did you say that bloke was who had my hat?”“I told you that he got away after I shot him.”“I was hoping he’d dropped my hat, you know. Getting shot makes people drop stuff.”Waxillium sighed. “He still had it on when he left, I’m afraid.”Wayne started cursing.“Wayne,” Marasi said. “It’s only a hat.”“Only a hat?” he asked, aghast.“Wayne’s a little attached to that hat,” Waxillium said. “He thinks it’s lucky.”“It is lucky. I ain’t never died while wearing that hat.”

“You want to be a better person? Go listen to someone you disagree with. don't argue with them just listen. It's remarkable what interesting things people will say if you take the time to not be a jerk.”

“I really am impressed that you have been shot so often. Really.”“Getting hit’s not really that impressive,” Wayne noted. “It don’t take much skill to get shot. It’s avoiding the bullets that’s tough.”

“I point out truths when I see them, Brightlord Sadeas. Each man has his place. Mine is to make insults. Yours is to be in-sluts.”

“Wayne: You wanna know why I really came to find you?Waxilliam: Why?Wayne: I thought of you happy in a comfy bed, resting and relaxing, spending the rest of your life sipping tea and reading papers while people bring you food and maids rub your toes and stuff.Waxilliam: And?Wayne: And I just couldn't leave you to a fate like that...I'm too good a friend to let a mate of mine die in such a terrible situation.Waxilliam: Comfortable?Wayne: No. Boring.”