Roland had a feeling that Alistair was good at bullshitting his way through just about anything. A man who could sell ten pounds of steak to a vegan was a dangerous man, but a resourceful one. The gunslinger remained silent for a moment, his gaze steady, blue eyes unreadable, his expression unaffected.
Finally, the gunslinger stood and crossed to the front of his desk, guns tapping lightly against his narrow hips. He leaned back against his desk, arms folded. "Aye, then let him rot," he said. "But are his friends rotting there with him? Does he know how to use a pen and paper?"