I made him stop and sit down on a flat, round stone that was set into the floor. It looked like a stone wheel, with a hole in the middle and carvings of skulls and glyphs around its outer edge. Not the most comfortable seat, but the floor was filthy and thus a distant second choice. I took a look at Gus’ hand. The cut was deep, but clean. Gus protested fiercely that he was fine, and by the time I’d talked him into letting me apply some pressure to the wound, the bleeding had already stopped.