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| − | [ST] It is after midnight when Lynx and Laughing Jek depart from the Tomb. Behind them, torches flutter uneasily in a pair of deep alcoves. A pair of Once Dead from the Fifth Scale huddle around a fire, faces shrouded in strips of cloth. It's a bitter night. Biting snowflies scribe complex patterns in the air, glowing from time to time, completely oblivious to the chill.
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| − | [ST] "So you ever been to this place? The Blue Queen?" Jek scratches absently at his side with the hook that sprouts from his left wrist. "They say it's full of Quiet Girls. Me, I prefer the screamers. What about you, huh?" He jogs Lynx's elbow lightly.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx walks quietly a step to the side and behind Jek, ignoring the man's banter. He itched to be out of the center of the street, but the man would just tease him for it, making even more noise.
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| − | [Lynx] "I like quiet," he says, quietly, missing what the man was saying.
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| − | [ST] Behind the pair, a trio of city watchmen follow distressingly close on Lynx's heels, occasionally bumping into him if he stops to listen to something. They are young, their faces a mixture of fright and excitement, identities lost under their kettle helms.
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| − | [ST] "Yeah, you would." Jek raises an eyebrow. "Don't mind this one, boys," he calls back to the following watchmen. "He's a bit touched. His first love is this hood. He never takes the damn thing off. What about you lot? You look like the sort who don't mind a Kneeler long as they're kneeling in the right place."
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| − | [ST] The watchmen, little more than boys, really, redden. It might just be the cold. "Aren't they supposed to be sick?"
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| − | [Lynx] Even time one bumped him, he physically drew into himself and hurried a few steps, catching up to Jek, pushed forward by his unwillingness to be next to the ones behind. And then soon enough he was a step or so behind. He didn't like walking next to Jek.
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| − | [ST] "I heard something else is happening. Some riot or something in the Quiet town," another one offers. "I didn't think they rioted. The watch has been sent in there to find out what is happening."
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| − | [Lynx] Under the hood, Lynx's eyes were jerking about, wishing for the safety of a ceiling or something over his head, rather than these mocking buildings, roofs high enough up, with large enough eaves, that he couldn't see what was on them at all.
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| − | [ST] Though it is late, a few merchants still ply the streets, some from local tribes, others from the Guild. One of the latter shouts out as Lynx passes, tugging on his arm. She is swaddled in cloth and metal, only a strip of coppery skin and almond-shaped dark eyes visible. The buff jacket she wears, however, has been artfully painted to display the nude form of a woman. The paint is flaking a
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| − | [ST] bit, making her look like she has a mild skin disease.
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| − | [ST] "Charms, sir? For your health? Against the cholera, green rot, singing sickness. New charms from out of Great Forks. Good quality!"
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| − | [Lynx] He tries to dodge her hand as soon as he sees it, which is too late. He'd been staring at the skyline of the roofs, half expecting things to leap out at him. Everyone kept telling him he was a scared little pissant, but things like that kept happening every time they told him to leave the tomb.
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| − | [Lynx] "R-rot?" he asks, not nervous about the concept, but sounding it because he was nervous about speaking to the stranger.
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| − | [ST] "And anything you might imagine. These charms aren't the false trinkets you'll get from a Cherak talespinner. They-"
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| − | [ST] "The only rot around here's between her legs," Jek interrupts with a glare. "Let's get this over with."
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| − | [Lynx] He nodded, because Jek kept telling him that people wanted him to nod when they talked to him. Jek knew people, Jek said, and Lynx mostly believed him. If he didn't know how to talk right to people, he'd have been knifed over half of what he said.
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| − | [ST] The merchant woman glowers after Jek for only a moment before turning to a new group. She shivers. This stupid coat didn't draw nearly the attention Cadda had told her it would...
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| − | [ST] Finally, as toes and fingers are beginning to numb, the Once Dead arrive at the Blue Queen.
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| − | [ST] A pair of watchmen stand at the door, and lights are still burning in many of the two-story building's windows. Drifts of snow blow past, and its painted sign, a crowned woman smiling invitingly, rocks and creaks in the wind.
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| − | [ST] "All right," Jek says, clapping two of the watchmen on the shoulders. The one hit with the blunt edge of his hook winces slightly.
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| − | [ST] "You two, with me, inside. Lynx, take the other and have a look around the perimeter. We don't have nearly enough men here to cover this place. I hope none of them thought to go out the back."
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx nodded, because he thought he was meant to. He waited impassively as Jek entered the brothel, ignoring the guardsman next to him.
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| − | [ST] The man stirs uneasily at Lynx's side. The others got to go in and look at all the pretty Kneelers, and he has to stand out here with this guy. "They're probably sick anyway," he mumbles. Then: "Uh, where to, sir?" Once Dead. Couldn't trust them. Crazy, every godsdamned one. His mother had clouted him in the face for just playing at one as a child.
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| − | [Lynx] When he had had time to think, time to look around the outside of the building, unconsciously careful to not move anything but his eyes so that he would be still, he reached out to touch the guardsman's shoulder hesitantly, and then pointed one way along the street. When the man didn't move, he added "You go that way. I'll meet you on the other side." That way looked worse - less shadows, more space. He'd taken an alley
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| − | [Lynx] He'd taken an alley for himself.
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| − | [ST] The youth nods, trotting off around the corner of the building. He seems quite eager to be away.
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| − | [Lynx] He doesn't wait to see what the guard does. He sets off quick and hunched, eyes wide and unblinking behind the hood, darting around him. The alley mouth opened narrowly infront of him, a welcome haven. It smelled of shit, piss, and slightly of blood, which was also comforting. Things smelled too open here, like there was all this space for scents to inhabit. He liked it when all that got crowded out by offal. Other things smelled better than him, but he saw better than them.
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| − | [ST] As Lynx creeps around the perimeter of the building, he gets a nagging feeling. There are eyes out there. Somewhere. Watching him. There must be. Yet he sees nothing, even with the hood's magic aiding his sight. Gradually, he works his way down the alley, disturbing nothing but a few shaggy rats that quickly squeal and dart out of sight.
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| − | [Lynx] He freezes for a moment with each squeek, the spear jerking in his grasp, close to his chest and slanted down at the same angle as his torso, so it wouldn't get caught on the buildings or the low eaves crowding into the alleyway.
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| − | [ST] Eventually, he reaches the corner of the brothel and turns. Something catches his eye. At the rear of the outbuilding behind the brothel, the body of a watchman lies face down in a puddle of red slush.
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| − | [Lynx] He slowly, slowly settles down to the ground, keeping his head just high enough that he can see the body. He waits, watching, trying not to blink. He'd taken off the hood once, because they'd done things to him because they wanted him to, and his eyes had dried out when he watched things. It hurt. He didn't like air moving over his eyes.
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| − | [ST] The body doesn't move, but Lynx does notice steam rising from it. It couldn't have been here very long, or the cold would have robbed it of all warmth. The snow around it is disturbed, with a trail of footprints winding around the building to the door of the first apartment on the end.
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| − | [Lynx] He waits longer. The guard had moved fast to get there long enough to die before he got out of the alley. Eventually, he starts to worm his way forward through the pungent slush. He keeps his head down when he moves, then pauses and brings it slowly up every few feet. He falt naked without a ceiling above his back.
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| − | [ST] A curse suddenly rings out, and the door at the end of the row opens. A man staggers out, cradling his injured arm to his body, then races away, his feet kicking up clumps of snow as he flees down the length of the outbuilding.
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| − | [Iscal] A few seconds later, Iscal emerges, half-dragging a woman behind him. He glares about wildly. His hair is even less kempt than usual, and his face is red with exertion.
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| − | [Lynx] He freezes until, more concerned about keeping hidden than thinking about maintaining the quaranteen. That instinct keeps him from making any decision while he meaningfully could about the screaming man. He recognizes Iscal, and that starts another thoughtful decision process.
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| − | [ST] Tansy looks wildly back and forth, struggling against Iscal's grip almost as if she intends to run back inside.
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| − | [ST] "They're gonna kill me. They're gonna KILL me!"
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| − | [Iscal] "I'm going to kill you if you don't shut up," Iscal corrects her, his thin facade quite cracked by this time. "You'll be safe in the Tomb."
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| − | [ST] "They'll find me there!"
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| − | [Lynx] He stands up silently. "Iscal" he says quietly in greeting, not bothering to brush the brown snow-mush off his front. He flicks his spear viper quick to clear the excess weight off it, though. Snow splashes with a quiet plop onto the ground, and the spear is unmoving where it had been in an eyeblink.
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| − | [Iscal] "They won't." Iscal looks around and licks his lips. The boy watchmen was dead,certainly. "How about this. If you cooperate, I'll give you all the opiates you want. I have vials and vials of the stuff..." He tralis off.
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| − | [ST] Tansy gives a yelp and shrinks back against Iscal as Lynx appears. She's shivering wildly now, and smells.. less than pleasant.
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| − | [Iscal] The survivalist. Iscal looks at him over for a moment, a line on his brow. He was something, anyway- and the man had proven himself a valuable tool before. "Lynx," he says quietly. She would be bosom-buddies with Lynx, he could tell. They could compare odors.
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| − | [Iscal] "I am glad to see you. Other reinforcements?" Iscal still holds a naked blade in the hand not gripping the woman's arm.
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| − | [Lynx] "Jek, inside. Some guards." He stares at the woman, which for him means he spends about a third of his time looking at her. Not that she could tell. If she was smart, or knew him, she could figure out the centerline of his face from the slight in-out sucking his breath produced on teh hood. Otherwise, it was featureless.
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| − | [ST] "Y-you- you know this guy?" Tansy sways and almost sits down in the snow.
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| − | [Iscal] "He's from the Tomb. Where you're going, just as soon as we collect Jek and the guards to escort us." Iscal wanted a wall of meat between him and any other assassins. His arms ached.
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| − | [ST] The guardsman that Lynx dispatched stumbles around the corner of the outbuilding, staggering heavily. As he takes another step, raising a hand in greeting, he bends almost double, and the onlookers can see a pair of arrows sprouting from his back.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal hesitates a bare instant to see which way Lynx runs.
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| − | [ST] Flaming projectiles streak out of the night, shattering the windows of the Blue Queen, clattering across the tiles on the roof. Most snuff themselves out harmlessly, but a few catch, burning drapes merrily, igniting fine aged wood, spreading conflagaration. A rough yell echoes from the surrounding street.
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| − | [Lynx] He darts to the wall to his right, and then starts to creep slowly backwards to the alley, eyes scanning around where the guard had fallen, trying to see or intuit where the arrows had come from.
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| − | [Iscal] Lynx wouldn't be useful as a distraction, alas. "This way," Iscal says, and drags Tansy to the alley Lynx was creeping down.
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| − | [Lynx] When the fire arrows atart raining in, he darts fully back into the alley, the desire for walls close to either side of him outweighing the instinct to move slow.
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| − | [ST] The brothel is ringed on several sides by buildings of four stories or five stories, their tops lost in the growing darkness of the night. Each story is ringed with a network of summer streets, and figures can be seen darting back and forth atop them, pulling back bows.
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| − | [Iscal] "Lynx, I need to borrow your cloak," Iscal says.
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| − | [Iscal] He flinches as an arrow buries itself in the wood beside his head.
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| − | [ST] A rain of arrows falls hissing from the sky. The majority fall among those who suddenly burst out of the burning brothel, dropping them, but a few thud into the snow around Lynx and Iscal. Tansy shudders on Iscal's arm.
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| − | [ST] "Oh." She says. "Oh." A foot of arrow sprouts from her chest.
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| − | [Lynx] He ducks quickly under her slumping form, letting her land accross his narrow shoulders. Proper cover.
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| − | [ST] A figure appears at the mouth of the alley, shouting out. "It's her! Here! Here!"
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| − | [Lynx] He tries to slump to the ground naturally, like she was still falling. Hopefully they wouldn't notice him under her in the dim light, or at least think he was dead too. Well, dying. She was weakly trying to scream her pain on top of him.
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| − | [Iscal] "Fuck!" Iscal runs his hands through his hair, weighing the benefits of just leaving her. He had the middleman's name; that was almost enough to go on. But maybe she could un-summon the spirit. And she was still his patient; perhaps that meant something. "Let me think- let me think- Lynx, provide cover."
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| − | [Iscal] He pulls the empty needle from his pocket, fills it with a green substance from a vial in his pocket, and then jabs her with it. It was a coagulent; it might help to slow the bleeding. The rest would have to be emergency surgery. He could do better when they got her to the Tomb. Fuck!
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| − | [Iscal] She'd get gutwrack from him, doubtless. He finds the other head of the arrow behind her. "Tansy, I'm going to count to three," Iscal says calmly, just as if arrows weren't hailing down around them. "One...." He breaks the arrowhead off and yanks; it comes out as neat as can be. A gout of blood follows. Now all he had to do was stop her from bleeding out.
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| − | [ST] The figure at the mouth of the alley begins to advance as Iscal works feverishly, still crying out for help.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx is still under her, in some respects a perfect operating table. He watched the alley mouth, waiting for people to come pouring down the alley's throat to kill him.
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| − | [Iscal] Tansy's mouth opens and closes like a fish as he works, pulling the wound closed with big ugly stitches. He'd have to do better at the Tomb.
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| − | [Iscal] He resists the urge to stab Lynx with the needle once he's done. Barely.
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| − | [ST] "There's only one of 'em still standing!" the figure shouts, drawing closer. A pair of others round the corner behind him.
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| − | [Iscal] "The woman's dead, you fools!" Iscal rages at them. "She bled out upstairs. You risk death for nothing." He draws his sword.
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| − | [Iscal] "JEK!" he screams at the top of his lungs.
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| − | [ST] "Never hurts to make sure." the figure says, chuckling softly as he draws closer.
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| − | [ST] Jek does not answer. A brief glance behind shows a pitched battle, or slaughter, as armed figures fall upon those fleeing the burning building.
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| − | [Iscal] "So go upstairs and look." Iscal's smile is wintry. "I'll wait."
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| − | [ST] "You're not the one paying me. You don't have the silver for it."
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx lies on the cold ground, feeling the woman shift slightly, writhing in pain in as much as she could, and bleeding warmly on him. People died so easily. He'd seen it watching from the vents. THye didn't watch behind themselves properly, panicked and got separated from allies. And when you stabbed them, they died, they didn't claw your head off.
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| − | [Iscal] "I'm paid in gold, fool." Fucking useless backup. Iscal hated not being the most craven. He slices at the man with a yell.
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| − | [Lynx] He licks his lips tentatively. He'd learned from the monsters. Surprise weighed more than thought.
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| − | [ST] The man springs for Iscal in the same moment, stepping over the gasping Tansy. His booted foot comes down on her shin, making her scream in pain. His sword flickers for Iscal's face.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal slams the blade aside. His sword comes down heavily on the man's arm, cutting open a gash.
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| − | [ST] The man pulls back, breathing heavily, and steps upon Lynx's outflung hand.
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| − | [ST] More arrows fall among the struggling men. One finds the back of Iscal's calf, quivering.
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| − | [Lynx] He doesn't move, calmly accepting the pain, feeling the flesh moving over his finger bones as the boot crushes his hand.
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| − | [ST] The two other assassins begin to race down the length of the alley. They will soon arrive.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal licks his lips. His sword is held loosely in his sweaty hands. He glances at the moaning Tansy, calculation on his face. How much use was she now?
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| − | [Iscal] He grunts in agony as the shaft hits home. Now he couldn't even run.
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| − | [Iscal] An strange smile stretches over his face, to hide his whimpers. "I used to run with Ragged Red, the meanest bitch in the north. You think you can kill me? YOU?"
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| − | [Iscal] One foot dragging behind him, he lunges forward again, bludgeoning at the other man with his sword as though it were a club.
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| − | [ST] Something uncertain flickers over the man's face as Iscal lunges for the attack. His own blade strikes low, burrowing for Iscal's guts.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal's sword strikes the man's shoulders, and adrenaline or some hidden muscle comes through, because it doesn't stop there...but continues cutting its way down, half-severing his arm. The man's fingers twitch, and he screams, dropping the blade. He falls to the snow, holding his mangled limb. "Red would have called that music," Iscal whispers to him, and kicks him in the face.
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| − | [Lynx] The fight had moved past him, Iscal being driven back before his victory. The two assassins rushed at him, ignoring the corpses like fools. The dead could be as dangerous as the living. The ship had drilled that into him.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx waits absolutely still until the second is just running past him, before jumping up, shedding Tansy's wimpering body into the snow. His spear drives up from below, still covered in filthy snow.
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| − | [Lynx] He times his move slightly wrong, cutting a deep slice up the assassin's back rather than spitting him. Lynx darts back, his back to one sidewall now. They were still surrounding the two at least.
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| − | [ST] The man that Lynx cut gives a shout of alarm, rounding on him, pressing his back together with his fellow. Arrows continue to rain down, but thinly now, as the assassins try to avoid hitting their own.
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| − | [ST] The one Lynx has cut is heavyset, eyes narrowed behind a gauzy veil. "Who the hell are you?" He growls, leaping for Lynx, sword swiping at his neck.
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| − | [Lynx] His position next to the wall gives him as much cover as one could get in the alley. Well, outside the safety he'd left. A happy accident caused by instinct. Even if he wasn't in the center of the alley, his spear let him control its width.
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| − | [ST] The other advances on Iscal recklessly, mist and spittle flying from his craggy face. His teeth are broken splinters. "You'll be sorry you ever fucked with the Spiders."
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| − | [Lynx] He slaps the sword aside, sendign small quick jabs at him to occupy him with defense. He never fully extends his arms, never puts his weight behind his attacks, never comitting himself to anything but defense.
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| − | [Iscal] "You started it," Iscal says, as the other's sword scrapes against his breastplate.
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| − | [ST] "You got in the way!" the one of the others screams. The heavily wounded man staggers upright, pulling a knife from his belt. His blood stains the snow. He will probably die soon.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal starts to give ground; the craggy Spider's murky yellow eyes-- too much gin and drugs, Iscal thinks dispassionately-- remain locked on him. Iscal takes him a third of the way across the yard, when he suddenly feints to the side. The craggy-faced man lunges after him, and slips in the pile of slops spilling from a barrel. Iscal darts in as he falls heavily to the ground, looking for an opening.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal, panting heavily, jabs at weak joints in the man's primitive armor; armpits and elbows and knees. He squeals, Iscal thinks, rather like a pig when he sticks him, rolling this way and that in the pile of muck trying to avoid the blows.
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| − | [ST] The wounded man half walks, half crawls towards Tansy, blade rising as he prepares to strike. Desperately, Tansy fumbles for the arrow at her side, her fingers curling around it, bringing it up uselessly to defend herself. The dying man gives a laugh, lunges - and slips in the bloody slush, sliding in his blood or Tansy's.
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| − | [ST] The knife falls from suddenly nerveless fingers as his momentum carries him downward. Tansy screams as the point of the arrow plunges into his eye, sending blood spurting across her fingers.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal jabs at the muck-man again,so preoccupied with his own opponent he hardly notices Tansy's screams.
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| − | [Iscal] He stabs him again, finds an artery; blood gushes out and the man shrieks. Just like a pig.
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| − | [Iscal] He leaves the man bleeidng to death and squealing and advances on the last of them. There's a slight smile on his face.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx bats away the person's sword again. He was panting, more from generalized fear that he was in the open, moving about, than any fear of his opponent. The thug was yelling loudly, and pressing at Lynx futilely, but he was certainly a disconcerting presence. The next wild swing, Lynx catches the blade with the haft of the spear instead of knocking it off course, then twists and pushes, running the spear's blade up the
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| − | [Lynx] The next wild swing, Lynx catches the blade with the haft of the spear instead of knocking it off course, then twists and pushes, running the spear's blade up the inside of the man's arm. He steps back quickly, slashing the spear accross, trying to catch teh man's throat as he leaves his vicinity.
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| − | [ST] At the same time, the man lunges for Lynx, blade swiping for his eyes.
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| − | [Lynx] He cathces the man's arm properly, slicing half of his forearm's muscle away, leaving it hanging by the tendon's at the elbow, flapping obscenely. He pulls back faster than the man's attempt to catch him, the sword passing a few inches in front of his face, but having to dodge backwards pulled the spear away from the man's throat, producing a superficial cut along the jaw rather than a blade through the jugular.
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| − | [ST] The man cries out as his forearm seems to unravel, as he sees his friend fall and the madman advance. He staggers back, sword dropping. "Who ARE you people?" He cries, then turns to flee. "Help! Help! HERE!"
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| − | [Iscal] He spent too much time yelling. Iscal limps forward, grabs a heavy bit of wood stacked by a door, and brains him with it.
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| − | [Iscal] He turns to Lynx as the man falls, gurgling. "We've got to through the windows there, then through the buildings. We're too exposed out here." He wipes his hand across his sweaty forehead, unconcsious of the bloody smear he leaves behind.
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| − | [ST] The man collapses, flopping limply on the ground for a moment before lying still. An arrow whispers past Iscal's cheek and quivers in a wooden fence.
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| − | [ST] Shouts come from the end of the alley. Jek stumbles into sight, sword-fighting with another one of the Spiders.
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| − | [Lynx] He nods, and darts for the window. Act fast when they were coming. Hide when they were there.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal stabs the Spider from behind. "Through the window," he repeats to Jek. He yanks Tansy to her feet, half-drapping her over his shoulders.
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| − | [ST] The shutters give way with a crash as Jek slams his hooked hand into the side of the Spider's face, dropping him. He squeezes in after, almost bowling the ailing Tansy over. "Now that's a waste of a lot of good Kneelers," he grumbles. "Who are these people?"
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| − | [ST] The group has crashed into what seems to be a storehouse. Crates smelling of spices rise on either side and stretch into the distance. The roof is a good fifteen feet above them.
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| − | [Iscal] "Assassins. Tansy here summoned the plague; trying to shut her up." Plenty of places to hide, at least. Iscal reaches down absently and yanks the arrow from his calf. He hisses in pain. "Half. To get her. To the Tomb. End this."
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| − | [Lynx] He ducks slightly. Too much room. Worse than sky, since someone could be in the rafters. He darts down the isles between crates, keeping the spear flat and straight to avoid it catching on anything/
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Jek nods shortly. "I thought she looked even worse than your usual type of girl." Is that a jab? Outside, shouts ring out, and the sound of booted feet striking cobbles. They are coming.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks at him placidly. He could defend himself against Jek, if he had to; and if Jek kept to words, he wouldn't have to. "Help me," he says to Jek, putting his shoulder against a large crate full of something heavy. If they blocked the door, it would slow them down somewhat. "Lynx, find a safer way out."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Tansy's eyes are rolled back in her head, her breath coming shallowly. She doesn't look capable of summoning a heartbeat for too much longer. Obligingly, Jek throws his weight into shifting some crates in front of the door, wincing when his hook cuts deep gouges in the wood.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] As he sprints to the other end of the warehous, he is searching for a way out. A door on the far side, but they'd be expecting that. Up near the rafters there was a slight flickering of shadows - fire's light from the riots was coming in somewhere, and throwing shadows against the roof.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He reached the wall and started right up a vertical support beam, hands gripping to either side and pushing upwards with his feet. He sunk a knif in at eye level as a marker for the others. If they weren't idiots, they'd collect it before following - no evidence left then as bad repair as the warehouse was in.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal keeps an eye on him even as he pushes. Lynx was a canary in a coal mine.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] When he gets closer he can see what it is - the boards of the wall near the ceiling were rotting. Some had already fallen away, letting light through. They could break through there, and gain the roof.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He gets to the rafters, and carefully eases up to thr decayed boards, trying to see if anyone outside was paying attention. No one than he could see. He started breaking boards away, sawing with a dagger when he needed to, but mostly just breaking some away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Once he and Jek have made the path to follow a little more difficult, Iscal half-drags Tansy toward the wall. He and Jek have to manhandle the woman up through the skylight Lynx had made; at one point Iscal stands on Jek's shoulders to push Tansy through, as the man groans and complains and makes off-color jokes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The old band would have taken his tongue, Iscal thinks.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He made a narrow opening, just enough for him to squeeze through, trying to keep it small enough and in the lee of the rafters than it wouldn't be noticed from the floor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He works quickly, and is out on the roof before the others make the rafters, lying along the roofbeams carefully looking down at their pursuit without outlining himself against the sky.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] As the Once Dead squeeze through the hole, emerging into windswept summer streets, the crates below splinter at last. Tansy has turned blue and is barely conscious. Jek looks down at her with barely concealed distaste. "This one's done for."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Below, the Spiders are talking hurriedly amongst themselves.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't see 'em."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Well they didn't bloody fly away. Maybe we should just burn this one, too."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal, like someone who is not a fool, doesn't draw attention to himself by replying.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "We can't burn down half the city. This was supposed to be a simple job. Did you see the way that one looked when he killed Jeph? And that one that played dead? No amount of scrip's worth this. You can tell Londo to shove it. I'm not doing this shit any more for all the silver in Nexus."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I guess she'll probably bleed to death anyway..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Lynx can see that despite the casual banter, both men are looking around with hawkish focus and moving almost silently. Perhaps this is just an act.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He doesn't move. He watches, blinking every once and a while and breathing shallowly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] At length, the men look at each other, flash a quick shrug, and withdraw. The warehouse lies silent once more. On the other side of the building there is still the occasional shout and the crackle of the flames that are consuming the Blue Queen.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Shit," Jek says, exhaling heavily. And quietly. "Let's get out of here."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes," Iscal says distantly, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "Lets."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] The words behind him startle him. He had forgotten about them, relaxing into the familiar of being unseen, unknown, and above. He pushes himself back from the edge of the roof before he moves to a crouch, so that he couldn't be seen from below at any time in the movement.
| |
| − | | |
| − | -----
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Two hours later, a white, shivering Tansy finishes inscribing the complex runes on the cold stone floor of the tomb. The winding, arcane sigil covers nearly twenty square feet of floor, and most of it is written in her blood. Jonah the Lad holds her steady as she makes the complex patterns, his shoulders bowed from supporting her leaden weight. Sweat beads on her waxy skin.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Soldas watches the prodeedings, gnawing uncertainly at his lips. He drums his fingers on the wall.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "How do we know this will work? Will banishing the spirit cure the stricken? I've never heard of such a thing."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Lynx sits against a cool stone wall away from most of the people. The blood on the floor made it feel like a room full of people had been dragged away dying, leaving clawed trails of blood behind them. Except that it was all too orderly. Still, it seemed odd that so many people were standing around it. She couldn't have much blood left.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I agree with Soldas," Jek says, with a tone that says this doesn't happen often. "Besides, she doesn't look up to summoning much of anything." Tansy, involved in her work, hands shaking wildly, continues.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] At last, she kneels at the apex of the sigil, lowering her forehead to the floor, chanting softly and steadily, working the magic of the summoning backwards, casting a ritual of banishment. Two hooded figures, thaumaturges in the Ears of the North, kneel beside her, also chanting. The air begins to get warm and somehow thick as essence buzzes and reforms invisibly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal watches with absent attention. If she couldn't do it, all the Quiet at the Blue Queen would have died for nothing. But he supposed their profession was risky.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] A flash races across the sigil, and the blood becomes liquid, flows together into a mass in the center of the room. A figure rises there, writhing, screaming, a larger version of the disease spirit Iscal and Kekkonen fought in the darknes. It bends nearly double to fit in the room, hissing, raking the air with dripping talons, its jaws splitting wide in a hateful grin.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Sssssummoned.... again..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Soldas flattens himself against the wall, turning paler than usual as he fumbles for his sword.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal shifts subtlety so that he's between Soldas and the spirit.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The thing hisses, tottering forward, dripping diseased blood as it advances towards Iscal and Lynx. Iscal feels his fever burning hotter, sicker, the diease springing to life inside him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He coughs, and covers his mouth with his hand. He draws his sword.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Lynx crams himself farther back into the crook of the wall and floor. It reminded him of the mothers. A mother who had seen him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He is panting short quick breaths throught he hood.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Then there is a scream, and a flare of bright light, and the thing is gone. The sigil of blood smokes thickly, burned into a black pattern on the floor. The stench is horrendous.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal breathes deeply, as his glassy eyes suddenly brighten. He wipes his sweaty forehead with his shirt sleeve. "All better, sir."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He spits yellowish phlem discretely onto a dirty handkerchief, and deposits it back in his pocket. A nearby medic devoutly hopes that he doesn't keep any medical instruments in that pocket.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He curls in on himself, clutching his spear, remembering.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Soldas blinks, takes a step, and vomits on the floor, gasping.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Tansy slumps across the sigil, smiling slightly, her eyes closed. She is no longer breathing. Neither is one of the hooded figures.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The strain of banishment is not borne lightly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Had the scalelord been stricken with the disease all along? Iscal hurries to Soldas's side, muttering soothing things and fishing out a sweet-smelling cordial to settle his stomach.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Soldas starts to wave Iscal off, but at the last moment takes the cordial and swigs it firmly. "Thank... thank you."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Jek wanders over to the sigil's perimeter, reaching out to nudge Tansy's corpse with a boot. "Show some respect," The remaining thaumaturge says, voice frosty.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Of course sir," Iscal murmurs, folding his hands into the ends of his coat and taking a place next to him. He looks at the burned pattern on the floor without seeming to notice Tansy laying still beside it. "Satisfactory completion, I think, sir," Iscal ventures.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "The disease will not be completely gone, but it should be weakened," the remaining thaumaturge says. "Medical treatment and quarantine should prevent its spread from now."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Soldas nods. "Good... good job. All of you. I just wonder why it happened. Who w-would summon such a thing?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "We have the name of a middleman, sir. And another possible contact. Ravens can be set on the matter, if that is your wish."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yes," Soldas says, standing. "Yes. Find him, and we find the perpetrators."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Just in case his noble commander had missed the implied 'but not me,' Iscal adds: "I will be busy assisting in the recovery of the sickened, but I can suggest names..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Those he particularly disliked, perhaps.
| |
| − | | |
| − | -----
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal wears a smock stained with brown. It's probably best not to inquire into the source. He stands almost straight as he approaches the Tomb and the furtive look is gone out of his eyes. There were only a handful of of tribesmen left sick from the gutwrack, and they were on the mend. And he knows without exaggeration that for many of them, it was his medicine that made the difference.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He exchanges a nod with the guard at the Tomb, exhilerated and already planning how to tell Soldas the news. He would change his clothes, he decides, and have a meal first, so that he could meet the commander with dignity intact.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Iscal enters the Tomb still in high spirits. The Tomb's dining hall is about as appetizing one would think, but the food is hot, close, and free. Many of the Once Dead have found that their newfound wealth only encourages parsimony. And of course, those on duty have few other choices. As Iscal enters the room, he notices there are a fair number of people there. Some scowl into their bowls
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] of heavy porridge. Others laugh, shout, and drink.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He recognizes most of the faces from seeing them around the Tomb, but not the names. A few members of his scale are strewn here and there. Chokes on Mirth and the one called Savage Bear Daughter eat across from each other in companionable silence. Jonah the Lad eats alongside Startled Rabbit, whose face is a mass of scars and ruin since the last time Iscal saw her. The bald one called
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Fervent John is loudly telling a disinterested Morta how he was expelled from the Immaculate Order. The story gets larger each time he tells it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal takes a bowl from a server with a smile, and the server is so startled he drops his spoon into the soup. He slides onto a bench near Jonah and Rabbit, though he smirks as Fervent John's voice rises at the climax of his story. When last he heard John's story, there had not been half so many damsels, nor any mention of the Voice of Peace.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Iscal!" Jonah says with a nod. He extends a slim hand in greeting. "Is that a smile I see? If you are not careful, your face will stick that way."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Behind him, Rabbit grimaces. Strange scars swirl up her face in clumsy whorls. One of her eyes is missing, covered by a small, neat patch.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "No fear of that," he says, returning the gesture. He does not pretend at modesty. "The Frost Bears are all but done with the disease, and the Rabbit are cured entirely."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Rabbit grunts what might be a mild congratulations. Jonah pats her on the arm absently. "What Rabbit means to say is: excellent work. I understand you faced down a Disease Spirit?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes. Though any fool with a strong arm could have done the same; there are only a handful of physicians in all the North who could have preserved nearly so many patients." Annar happened to be another one of those; Iscal does not begrudge the man that today.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Kekkonen has spoken quite highly of his own participation," Jonah says, reaching up to brush a stray blond hair out of his eyes. "He also tells me that Snow Peacock did not survive the encounter."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] That dims Iscal, though only for a moment. "That was earlier. She slipped and fell..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Jonah clucks his tongue, leaning back. "A real shame. She was cold, and bitter. But lovely to look upon." Rabbit's hand tightens visibly around her spoon, but she says nothing. "We seem to be losing people left and right these days. First the entire Third Scale, a number of us on that mission, Peacock..." Jonah shrugs.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Not a problem for the bosses; they keep the fresh meat rolling in." Iscal says it lightly, but it's a common complaint among the Once Dead. Iscal didn't quite see it, himself: they were expendable, here to die. That was the point.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] His chest tightens, and Iscal wonders again what curse that god layed on him. It had been Iscal or the creature, damn him, and she had been Red in the bud.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yeah, but have you seen the quality of the recruits?" Jonah doesn't seem inclined to let it go, tilting his round chin sharply to indicate Savage Bear Daughter. "That one is as quiet as she is terrifying." He nods at Morta "And she's the prettiest of them. Let me repeat that: SHE is the PRETTIEST. That makes Snow Peacock all the more a tragedy."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Jonah is wound up now, his already high voice rising even higher, becoming almost shrill. "I hear one of the Quiet has joined. The Quiet! I don't have it in for them like the Haslanti, but do you really want to fight alongside a man that won't raise a blade to guard your back?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal shrugs. "The problem will fix itself. He'll learn, or he'll die." He glances at Rabbit, and doesn't voice his next thought: and they didn't exactly stay pretty. "You were on a mission with him, weren't you? What did you think of the Quiet boy?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Rabbit takes a moment to answer. Iscal wonders if she even heard him. Then, she says: "He held up, well enough. Miruna beat him near senseless. The Wolf Queen cut off his ear. He struggled admirably. He came out of it prettier than I did." She gives a short, harsh laugh. "He did draw the attention of that Red woman. I suppose she'll either kill him or make a warrior of him, if she's not all talk."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal stares at his soup for a moment. He raises his spoon preciesly to his mouth and sets it down. He must have misheard, he tells himself. "Red woman? Some mutant?" he says with careful, strained casualness. He tries to raise his spoon again, but it clatters against his bowl, so he drops it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Rabbit has not noticed his discomfort. "Ragged Red, I believe she is called. Some bandit. I think the scale clashed with her a year or so ago. I wasn't in the operation. Soldas's first, I think it was said." She smirks. It is an ugly, hideous thing. "I'm surprised he survived it."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Ragged Red had been a mutant, of course. A monster. She had giggled as he stitched her up, caressed the side of his neck. He had told himself it was his physician's oath that kept him from murdering her, but it had been fear. Only fear.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "She might be pretty if she put some weight on," Jonah offers. "Got a body like a bundle of sticks. Plus, I hear she's got a mean streak a mile wide. Fine with me, as long as it's directed elsewhere." Jonah raises a thin, arched eyebrow at Iscal, as if mulling something over.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal is white beneath his tan, his face frozen. "Like that Quiet boy?" he says automatically.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yeah." Jonah keeps looking at Iscal, speaking as if to himself. "No... really? Her? Was she the one?" Below the table, Iscal hears Rabbit kick him sharply.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] His stomach clenches, revolting. He stands abruptly. "Excuse me- I- the soup does not agree with me."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Useless pretense. He knew. Rabbit knew. Everyone would know, and he couldn't kill them all.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The pair of them don't say anything as Iscal moves to leave. He bumps a tall, gangly woman from the second scale who is sitting behind him, and she shouts in protest as her bowl upends.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Hey! Watch it!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He moves blindly for the door. He runs into a server, and there's a crash as the tray spills, spilling noodles and red sauce across the floor. The murmur of conversation in the room goes silent. "Excuse me," Iscal says again as he rushes for the door.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The rush of frozen air clears his head as he empties the contents of his stomach at the door to the mess, under the eyes of the bemused guard. Appropriate, he thinks, as he sinks down beside it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] It would worn any hopeful recruits what kind of food they'd be getting there. Gods. Gods, what could he do?
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Within, the babble of conversation resumes, most of it about him, he is certain. The guard only looks at him, amusement across his harsh features. He's short, with a wiry tangle of hair atop his head and an eye that doesn't precisely look in the right direction. One of the Fifth Scale. They call him Walleye.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't worry," he says, barely restraining laughter. "One of the Quiet girls will clean that up."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal nods, stretching his lips into a grimace in answer. He looks at the snow-encrusted hulk of the Tomb with new alertness. Danger lurked there; he had been a fool not to see it before. He would have to be watching, now, creeping always- like that creature Lynx they had pulled out of the wrecked ship. His first impulse is to run, and put the Tomb and Ragged Red far behind him. It only takes a moment's
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] reflection to shelve this idea. They'd only send her after him. Better to end it now, then end as a hunted, starved animal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] No. Better to end her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The thought is not new. He examines it carefully for flaws. She didn't know he was here, surely- she was a beast and would not have left him alone. She didn't yet have enemies- he would have heard of her making enemies. She would be off-guard. If he came at her while she was sleeping...He could end her, as he should have done before. Surely he could do that.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] And there was the Quiet boy to think of. What Ragged Red had done to Iscal, she would do to the boy. He nods, to himself. Yes. Better to end her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Walleye," Iscal says outloud with a fair assumption of casualness. "Do you know where that red-headed woman bunks? The new recruit?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Nevermind," he follows up. "Nevermind." He stands, shakes his cloak out and wanders off, shoulders hunched, toward the central office.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Ah, er. I don't. Know. Anyway." Walleye looks after him curiously, scratching the side of his face before he turns away. He doesn't like the Fourth Scale, ever since they questioned him about Sparrow's disappearance. Strange, vicious. Let the man do his own work. He wants to stay away from the red woman.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Soldas's office is empty, dark, and viciously cold. When Soldas isn't it it, the fireplace isn't lit, and the cold creeps in through the chinks. Iscal can nearly see his breath within, and the basin in the corner has crusted over with ice.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal goes through the personnel records. If she had been on a mission with Rabbit, she would be in his scale. His scale! She would be new. His fingers are stiff with cold as he flips through the papers. He tells himself it is only the cold that makes them shake.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He finds a list of the Last Rite operation that Rabbit referred to at last, signed with Soldas's shaky hand.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He scans the list.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] LAST RITE - Part. OD: Miruna, Startled Rabbit, Jekko, Avir Recruits: Slow Ember (Gem - Paup.), Little Adder (Has. - Prin), Obligatory Sunshine (Has.* - Paup), Savage Bear Daughter (Has. - Prin), Radiant Sunbeam (Has. - Prin), Selza (Has. - Paup)
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Radiant Sunbeam. That had to be the name she signed up under. He knew the others, had even gotten Adder ready for interrogation. Except for Slow Ember, but Red couldn't pass for a southerner. He moves slowly to the cabinet of personnel files. They would have her address. It takes him two tries to fit the key in the lock.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He finds her file. The address seems to swim under his eyes. When he is able to focus, he discovers where she lives. Near the docks, in one of the oldest and most rundown neighborhoods in the city. A place no one much cared about, with almost enough violence to satiate even her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He doesn't bother to read her biographical history. It would all be lies. He replaces the folder carefully among the others, then tidies up the office so it would be neat when Soldas returned. He runs his fingers through the coat and tossed carelessly over a chair, and hangs it neatly on the hook. Just one more stop to make.
| |
| − | | |
| − | -----
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal walks through the one of the most hopeless, wretched, and despised areas of the city. His eyes shoulders are hunched and eyes low as he walks under the summer streets, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks like another impoverished laborer.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Something rolls under Iscal's foot as he moves through errant drifts of snow. The corpse of a beggar, stiff with the cold, rolls over and free of the snow, eyes cloudy and sightless. Illegal streetfires burn on every side as he draws near the hovel where Red is registered. The huddled pockets of humanity around them eye him suspiciously.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] In one pocket is an ampule full of morphine. In the other is a knife. If an overdose didn't kill, a slit throat surely would. Red's house is one more dark, narrow buildling; almost seems to lean against its neighboring hovels. An open midden is outside her door, smelling foul; doubtless she didn't care. He had always cleaned up after her, or else she lived in filth.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] If Iscal expected a response upon approaching, he doesn't get one. Only a few high lanterns burn faintly and distantly here. The door of the hovel leans drunkenly, its boundaries stuffed with sacking and rags.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He creeps closer. It seems to him to loom at him. He pushes at the door.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] It creaks open, and Iscal almost runs. She would be asleep, he tells himself as he enters, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom inside. She would be asleep and he would kill her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] As he rushes within, Iscal realizes that the place is dark, cold, and filthy. He staggers over old clothes, hearing the squeaking of startled rats. A series of lines have been strung across the room - stockings and clothing dangle from them, striking him in the face in his rush.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The air is heavy with the stink of the tobacco she always smoked, as if she liked its rank, evil burn. She could certainly afford better now. A wood stove gives out flickering, faint warmth in one corner, where Iscal spots a ragged, crumpled mattress. The covers rest over a massive lump that must be Red.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal slows his breathing. This is it. This is when he would kill her and be free. He slides closer, avoiding the clothes hanging by ducking his head to the side. Why couldn't she hire a launderer like anyone else? He draws the long needle from his pocket. The tip of it glints an evil red, reflecting the faint light from the fire.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The lump does not stir. A wind kicks up, sending an errant breeze through the chinks of the house. The clothing sways.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He is beside her now. His hands shake wildly with eagerness and with fear. He raises the needle, pulls the covers back with a jerk and sends the needle plunging down into the lump.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The needle sinks deep into pink flesh, and for a moment Iscal sees Red there, the needle jutting from her eye. Then, his vision clears, and he has only a moment to realize he's stabbed the massive carcass of a dead pig before the weight strikes him in the back, driving him to the floor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Been waiting, Iscal. Been waiting a long time." Her voice, hissing in his ear as a knee grinds into his spine.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's scrambled scream turns to whimper. He claws at the ground, trying to turn over, before realizing the futility. "R-Red." If he could have chewed off his legs to escape, he would have.
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| − | [ST] "Walleye saw me. Told me I'd be having a visitor. I hurried back while you were digging around in your files. Walleye's stupid, but he's not that stupid. Not stupid enough to cross me. Not like you."
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| − | [ST] The stink of tobacco hangs heavy about her. Iscal feels a mild, burning pain as she puts her cigarillo out on the back of his head.
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| − | [ST] "What were you going to do?"
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| − | [Iscal] Walleye would die. "I- nothing. N-nothing. Just wanted to see you again." A transparent lie, but they had served him before.
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| − | [ST] "Oh, I don't think that's true." She shifts her knee, his spine giving a creak of warning. "I don't think you ever wanted to see me again. I bet you thought I was done. You thought they had taken me away to a dark, black place, and cut me to pieces, worn me down to nothing. They tried. But I don't hurt. You know that. Maybe that's why I don't mind doing... such things... to everyone else."
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| − | [Iscal] "Are you going to do that to me?" Useless to beg for mercy. She had none.
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| − | [Iscal] "Walleye knew I was coming." Maybe she would care about that.
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| − | [ST] "No. I won't. Not now. Maybe." He feels the bite of cold steel - a knife is at his throat. "I kept thinking of you, in the dark. I might have died there, if one of them hadn't let slip that you had escaped me. Almost like a joke, he said. I was lower than my dog used to be. But when I heard that, I was determined."
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| − | [ST] "I couldn't just let you get away, could I?"
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal trembles. Just like she wanted him too. His nails dig into the filthy floor beneath him. "I'm Soldas's a-assistant. I have access to records. Staffing. What can I give- what can I do- for you. A bargain. To make you stay away?"
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| − | [ST] "Oh, I know about you and Soldas. Don't think I won't make use of that." The knife traces a line up the side of his face, behind his ear, shearing off a few curls. "I don't plan to kill you yet. I'm not going to leave you alone."
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| − | [Iscal] "S-soldas?"
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| − | [Iscal] "Why not? I could help you, I could-"
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| − | [ST] "You came here to kill me. Now you say you wish to help me? I'm not a fool, Iscal. Not even if I took this deal. You'll live, if you make yourself useful. That's all you have to worry about." She pats his cheek almost casually
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| − | [Iscal] He flinches. He should have run. "Why are you even here?" he asks softly. "With the Once Dead?"
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| − | [ST] "Better here than prison. Pay's good. Better than I ever got as an outlaw." She pats his cheek again. "Company's nicer, too. Isn't that enough?"
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| − | [ST] "I can't be hurt. They need me. I can get chopped up, burned, shredded like that Rabbit, and keep going. Why wouldn't the Haslanti want me? I'm sure they would choose me over you, if it came to it."
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| − | [Iscal] He was sure they would too. They all disliked him already. Mocked him. Annar was almost as skilled a surgeon. But nobody was as crazy as Red.
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| − | [ST] "I wouldn't run, either. You know what Raven Hunts are. I would volunteer. And who would stop me? No one else likes them. They might make an exception for you. You don't have many friends. Just the one, really."
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| − | [Iscal] He had thought he was safe, and all the time she was lurking. Learning. He would ever be safe again. "You won't hurt him," he says, trying to keep his voice from trembling.
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| − | [ST] "So long as you behave. And provide all that useful information you mentioned. I might even call off that assassin I sicced on you."
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| − | [Iscal] He twitches. His voice is thick with bitterness. "Don't bother."
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| − | [ST] "Oh Iscal, that's no way to act. You didn't even miss me? You're not even grateful for your life?"
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| − | [Iscal] It's almost instinctive, knowing the thing to say that would please her. "It's hardly my life anymore. Is it?"
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| − | [ST] She laughs. The sound is as crazed as ever. "Most of the time. I'm too busy these days to hold you to the fire at every moment, you little louse. Just so long as you know I can." Her weight shifts as she stands up, moving off him.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal turns to keep her in view, scrabbling back away from her, until he's almost in the corner. "I can go?" he says cautiously. The future stretched before him like a long nightmare, but now being rid of her for even a moment would be a gift, a dream.
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| − | [ST] "In a minute." She tosses him the knife she held to his throat.
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| − | [Iscal] He catches it automatically. A thought flashes across his mind: sticking in her throat. He doesn't move. He never does.
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| − | [ST] "Walleye said you got sick when you heard about me. Excitement, no doubt."
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| − | [Iscal] "Yes, Red."
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| − | [ST] "Well, then. You must be hungry." She giggles a little, nodding at the raw carcass behind him. "Go on. Eat up."
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| − | [Iscal] He stares at her. At the carcasse. He would kill Walleye. Red would not mind if he killed him. He kneels by the pig's corpse and begins mechanically sawing off a slice. He puts the cold raw meat in his mouth and begins to chew as she watches him. He swallows, fighting a gag reflex.
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| − | [Iscal] Minor rebellion: he offers her a slice.
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| − | [ST] She takes it, putting it in her mouth, chewing with relish. She can't taste a thing, of course, no more than she can feel, but there's always the hope that one of the gods of livestock will punish her impudence with a curse.
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| − | [Iscal] He hopes she takes sick and dies.
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