“Technically it is possible for Weequay,” Ben muses. He doesn’t look over at the group, even when the young man who yelled at Ibani goes to sit down and somehow misses his chair, sitting hard on the floor, spilling his drink and somehow kicking the table over at the same time.

“And some Cathar males, but I don’t know if that’s genetic or they take special training.”

He turns towards the bar. “What’re you drinking?”