But they're already singing our praises!"
"They are Americans. They toot their horns for anything.

Sprinkled across the black waters below were at least a hundred small boats set out to greet the Leviathan, their navigation lights like shifting stars. Among them loomed a glittering cruise liner, her fog horn bellowing in the night. The low groan grew into a chorus as the other great ships in the harbor joined in.

Perched on Volger's desk, Bovril attempted to imitate the horns, but wound up sounding like a badly blown tuba.

Alek smiled. "But they're already singing our praises!"

"They are Americans," Volger said. "They toot their horns for anything.

I spilled more times than a glass of milk on a roller coaster.

It's just been a long week, that's all."
"It's monday night, Jess."
"My point exactly.

You fiddle lucker!' she cried.

The Rusty Ruins were the remains of an old city, a hulking reminder of back when there'd been way too many people, and everyone was incredibly stupid. And ugly.