It took Gansey a long time to convince Whelk not to shoot him where he stood.
And even now, Whelk was still not convinced, but the promise of the secret riches that the wandering Persians and Gypsies through the underground secret tunnels and had to leave behind due to widespread famine was too tempting to ignore. All lies, of course, but Gansey sounded quite sure about what he was waxing poetic about and Whelk was intrigued by riches beyond his imagination that could restore his former wealth and status.
Plus, Whelk still had the gun. Shooting Gansey in some underground tunnels was even less work than shooting him in his room. Which Gansey was painfully aware of.
He chose the ways that he imagined were along the outermost edges of the Phantom's lair. He didn't want Whelk anywhere near the Phantom, and didn't want to put the Phantom in any danger. There had been trust in what he'd shown Gansey and Gansey did not want to destroy that. Besides—Whelk knew nothing of the Phantom. For whatever reason, he despised Gansey for being what he once was and no longer had. Bringing the Phantom into this seemed unfair. Yet he could think of nothing else but of leading Whelk into a trap; hopefully one that would merely disable him, as Gansey would feel guilt for... probably forever, if he were the cause of another man's death. Even if that man kept staring at him eerily with the desire to murder him.
"It's, ah... not much farther, I promise," Gansey said as Whelk made a comment about how far they had gone down. "The Persians loved being as underground as possible. It was written in their scriptures during 200 BC that—"
"I don't give a damn," Whelk said, "about your history lessons. Keep it up and I'll shoot you right now." The gun clicked.
Even at gunpoint, Gansey was offended. "Honestly, some people... all right, keep your temper. This way." He wandered a bit aimlessly, wondering when they'd spring a trap. Even if it ended up killing him as well.... at least Whelk would be stopped. Hand along the wall, he chewed on his lip, trying to decide which way would lead him away from where the Phantom dwelled. It was difficult, navigating, even when the Phantom had shown him. The darkness didn't help. So he was never one hundred percent sure as to where he was going. Not really.
"You're lying," Whelk finally decided, and Gansey stilled. "There's no mummy or Persian rugs, is there? Trying to buy time? Haha... so pretty, loved, and clever... aren't you?" Whelk held the gun up, and Gansey took a few more steps back in the door, desperately searching for some sort of switch to trigger—something. Anything.
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And even now, Whelk was still not convinced, but the promise of the secret riches that the wandering Persians and Gypsies through the underground secret tunnels and had to leave behind due to widespread famine was too tempting to ignore. All lies, of course, but Gansey sounded quite sure about what he was waxing poetic about and Whelk was intrigued by riches beyond his imagination that could restore his former wealth and status.
Plus, Whelk still had the gun. Shooting Gansey in some underground tunnels was even less work than shooting him in his room. Which Gansey was painfully aware of.
He chose the ways that he imagined were along the outermost edges of the Phantom's lair. He didn't want Whelk anywhere near the Phantom, and didn't want to put the Phantom in any danger. There had been trust in what he'd shown Gansey and Gansey did not want to destroy that. Besides—Whelk knew nothing of the Phantom. For whatever reason, he despised Gansey for being what he once was and no longer had. Bringing the Phantom into this seemed unfair. Yet he could think of nothing else but of leading Whelk into a trap; hopefully one that would merely disable him, as Gansey would feel guilt for... probably forever, if he were the cause of another man's death. Even if that man kept staring at him eerily with the desire to murder him.
"It's, ah... not much farther, I promise," Gansey said as Whelk made a comment about how far they had gone down. "The Persians loved being as underground as possible. It was written in their scriptures during 200 BC that—"
"I don't give a damn," Whelk said, "about your history lessons. Keep it up and I'll shoot you right now." The gun clicked.
Even at gunpoint, Gansey was offended. "Honestly, some people... all right, keep your temper. This way." He wandered a bit aimlessly, wondering when they'd spring a trap. Even if it ended up killing him as well.... at least Whelk would be stopped. Hand along the wall, he chewed on his lip, trying to decide which way would lead him away from where the Phantom dwelled. It was difficult, navigating, even when the Phantom had shown him. The darkness didn't help. So he was never one hundred percent sure as to where he was going. Not really.
"You're lying," Whelk finally decided, and Gansey stilled. "There's no mummy or Persian rugs, is there? Trying to buy time? Haha... so pretty, loved, and clever... aren't you?" Whelk held the gun up, and Gansey took a few more steps back in the door, desperately searching for some sort of switch to trigger—something. Anything.