Part 41 (2/2)

He lost his grip at the top and fell to the soft turf below, missing the sharp edge of a broken tombstone by inches. Using the stone as a crutch, he pulled himself up, then wove and wheeled among the graves.

It was only when he came upon the small headstone that he realized he had been looking for it, that this was why he had come here. Unlike the timeworn grave markers all around, the writing on this stone was sharp and legible in the faint starlight: VANDIMEER GARRITT.

An urge came over Eldyn to kick the headstone, as he himself had been kicked so many times. He tried, but his boot caught the ground, and he fell atop the grave on his hands and knees.

”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” he said. ”You sodding b.a.s.t.a.r.d, this is all your fault! You stole everything from me. Everything I ever had and ever could have. Even dead, you couldn't leave me alone.”

His shoulders heaved, and he vomited on the grave.

At last the clenching of his gut ceased. For a moment Eldyn stayed on his hands and knees, panting, catching his breath. The act of spilling his guts had cleared his head a bit. Finally, he felt steady enough to slowly stand.

”You called me a coward,” he said, wiping his mouth as he looked down at the tombstone. ”Well, you were the one who took the coward's way out. You killed yourself as sure as if you'd put a bullet in your brain. The whiskey just took a little longer, that's all. So now you're dead, and what do I have?” His hands clenched into fists. ”You said I was weak. Well, if you were here now, I would knock out what few teeth you had left. Come, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, let me prove it to you. Show yourself!”

Even as he spoke, it seemed to him a livid mist rose up from the grave. The mist coiled upon itself, thickening as it floated higher, forming wraithlike into a shape. The shape was dim, its edges indistinct, as if seen through a greenish mist, but there was no mistaking it. It was the figure of Vandimeer Garritt, hulking and scowling in death even as in life. The apparition raised a hand, not in greeting but as if to strike.

A gurgling scream sounded behind Eldyn.

Eldyn staggered around. Not five paces behind him stood a man in patched clothes and a ragged cloak, a small knife bared in his hand. The whites of the man's eyes shone in the starlight, and his mouth was a dark, toothless circle amid a scraggly beard.

”Who are you?” Eldyn said, astonished.

The other gazed not at Eldyn but past him. The knife dropped from his hand, and with another cry he turned and fled, vanis.h.i.+ng in the gloom among the gravestones.

Shock sobered Eldyn. He stared after the man, then he bent and picked up the knife. The hilt was worn, but the short blade had been honed to a wicked point. Eldyn had no doubt it had been intended for him, only something had frightened off the would-be robber.

He turned back toward his father's grave, but the dark air was empty. The specter of his father was gone-a hallucination brought on by anger and memory and too much drink.

Yet if that was the case, why had the robber fled? He recalled how the man's eyes had widened, gazing past him toward the grave, as if he had seen something there....

”But that's impossible,” Eldyn murmured. ”Another man can't see a figment of my own imagination.”

His skull throbbed; he could not think. He needed to rest his head, just for a minute, then he would go back to the apartment. Eldyn sat on a marble bench in front of a crypt, then lay down on it, pressing his cheek to the cool, mossy stone.

H E WOKE TO the tolling of the bells of St. Galmuth's.

Eldyn sat up, then groaned as he held a hand to his aching temples. Gradually the pain subsided, though it did not disappear. He brushed his cheek, and bits of moss came off. Above, the sky was a honey color.

The umbral was over. He must have been lying on the bench for hours. That no one had molested him during the time seemed inconceivable. Duskfellow's after dark was a known refuge for thieves and murderers. Yet, aside from the aftereffects of too much punch, he was well, and a quick check confirmed that his wallet (and its scant contents) was still in his coat pocket.

Not wis.h.i.+ng to press his luck, Eldyn hurried from the graveyard. By the time he reached the street, sun slanted among the buildings. At first he started back toward the shoemaker's shop, then he realized there was no time. After a middle umbral, all clerks were expected at the trading company a half hour after dawn. The bells had already stopped tolling. Eldyn changed direction, then broke into a run.

He stopped for only a minute to wet his handkerchief at a public well and bathe his face. He brushed off his coat with a hand and made a mirror of a window to arrange his hair. It would have to do.

By the time he turned a corner onto Marble Street, he saw the line of clerks already filing through the doors of Sadent, Mornden, & Bayle. He reached the trading house just in time to join the tail end of the line and slipped in with the others.

”Cutting it a bit fine this morning, aren't you, Garritt?” Tems Chumsferd whispered as Eldyn took his seat.

He was already scribbling away at the paper before him. Eldyn picked up a quill and did likewise, continuing the row of sums where he had left off the night before.

”You know me, Chubbs,” Eldyn whispered back. ”I never make a mistake.” He gave his pen a flourish.

”I won't deny you've better penmans.h.i.+p than just about anybody, but if Whackskuller ever catches you late...”

”He won't,” Eldyn said. ”Because I won't be.”

Chubbs started to respond, but hisses sounded to either side. A moment later came the clump-CLOMP of Mr. Waxler approaching. Both Eldyn and Chubbs bent their heads over their work.

The s.h.i.+ft crept by. The only noise was the scratching of pens and the buzz of flies. The hall grew stuffy, and Eldyn sweated in his coat. As the hours pa.s.sed, he never had another opportunity to speak with Chubbs, for Mr. Waxler seemed particularly interested in him that day. Often he heard the head clerk pause behind him. Eldyn ignored the throbbing in his head and wrote in precise, economical strokes. Despite Whackskuller's attentions, the s.h.i.+ft ended without the head clerk's baton striking either Eldyn's work or his head.

Most of the clerks rose from their stools. Uncharacteristically, Chubbs was staying for the extra half s.h.i.+ft, but Eldyn knew he was far too weary after last night. He would have to make up the money another time. He stood and stretched, forcing his shoulders out of their hunch.

”Good night, Chubbs.” He gave the other clerk a wink. ”Remember, ink is the lifeblood of Altania. Don't waste it.”

Chubbs scowled at him. Eldyn grinned back, then was out the door and into the warmth of a long afternoon.

There were still a few pennies in his pocket, so he stopped by a bakery to pick out something for Sas.h.i.+e. He imagined she would be vexed at him for his long absence, and hopefully a sweet would appease her.

Soon he was walking home, a sack of almond and anise biscuits in hand. He fell into a jaunty cadence, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. Free from the trading house and bathed in the warm light, his weariness was forgotten, as were the shadows and specters of last night. His free day was coming soon; he would take Sas.h.i.+e to Gauldren's Heights and then see if Rafferdy would meet him for a drink. In the meantime, he could work an extra s.h.i.+ft or two and save up enough to attend another play on Durrow Street. Perhaps he would go to the Theater of the Moon again. Only this time he would avoid Duskfellow's on the way home!

Whistling a bright tune, he turned onto the little lane where the shoemaker's shop stood. The shop was quiet; the city had paused in the midst of the drowsy afternoon, waiting for the coolness of twilight to wake it again. He walked up the steps and entered the apartment, bracing himself for the full brunt of Sas.h.i.+e's displeasure.

She turned from the window and smiled at him. ”h.e.l.lo, dear brother!”

He was so astonished he could only stare. She tucked something into her dress pocket, then came over to kiss his cheek. He received no rebuke for not coming back last night, no spiteful glance. She returned to her seat by the window. Gold light bathed her face, coloring her pale skin and catching in her eyelashes. She looked very pretty.

Bemused, he set the sack on the table. ”I brought you biscuits. The almond ones are your favorites, aren't they?”

”Yes, how lovely,” she said. ”Thank you.” She did not rise from her seat but kept gazing out the window, humming a gentle song.

To that agreeable accompaniment, Eldyn took off his coat, brushed it, and hung it on a chair, then sat at the table. He had discovered a copy of yesterday's edition of The Swift Arrow abandoned on the street and now spread it out and read as he nibbled an anise biscuit (which was his favorite). All the while Sas.h.i.+e hummed her little song, and a pleasant breeze wafted through the open window.

”You seem very happy,” he said at last, looking up.

”I'm happy you're home.” She turned in her seat to smile again at him. ”Do you think we could go shopping soon? I would very much like a new hat. That is...if it isn't too awfully expensive.”

”Of course you shall have a new hat!” he said, delighted at once by her eagerness and concern. ”You deserve it. We shall go as soon as the best shops open on my free day.”

She treated him again to a smile-a fond reward he had won rarely of late-and turned again to gaze out the window. Eldyn read a bit more. Then, motivated by his affection, he picked out the nicest-looking almond biscuit and-stealthily, so as to surprise her-crossed the room and leaned over her shoulder to present it to her.

”Oh!” she gasped, and something fell from her hands onto the windowsill.

Hastily she s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, then hid it in her lap.

Eldyn sucked in a breath. ”What's that you were holding, Sas.h.i.+e?”

”Nothing important.” Her hand started to move to her pocket, but he was swifter. He reached out and s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her. The almond sweet fell to the floor.

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