"I see," Ippolit said, watching Viktor's antennae twitch. He wondered what he looked like as a grey blob. Probably, he not wryly, not much different.

"Opposite of black," he murmured optimistically, half to himself. "Well. That's something. Never look a gift informant in the mandible."

Gently, Rakitin lowered his hands. The hornet disembarked from his palm to the table's surface with insectoid grace, a small, black-and-yellow gentleman. It picked a few curious steps toward Nika, who appeared to be barely a wing's width from dozing.

"Thank you for your help, Viktor," Rakitin said.

It never hurt to be polite.