"No wonder you were hungry," he murmurs, thankful that there isn't a rhyme for the word. Striking a match (he disdains modern lighters), Holmes gets his pipe going to his satisfaction. "The council members are the targets?" he writes, pipe stem clamped between his teeth. He raises an eyebrow. "Stearns wasn't on the council," he adds. "Only thinking of running." Smokes drifts around his face.