I had three days to screw over Nicodemus Archleone and his crew and get this thing out of my head, without getting myself or my friend killed while I did it.

A deadline is a finish line. Don't stop 'til the door shuts in your face!

We are not going to die."

Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. "We're not?"

"No. And do you know why?" He shook his head. "Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I'm too stubborn to die." I hauled on the shirt even harder. "And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die.

There are old swordsmen and bold swordsmen. But few old, bold swordsmen.

Coz," he said. "You really must learn to shut your mouth from time to time. You'll taste less shoe letter.

Come with me if you want to live.