(eng) Patricia A. McKillip by Ombria in Shadow

Author:Ombria in Shadow [Shadow, Ombria in]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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fifteen

Charcoal and Wax

Ducon dreamed, and woke remembering. In his dream he followed a tall white-haired man through the crowded streets of Ombria, whom he always seemed about to overtake, and who always eluded him. Shop doors opened; people pushed between them; street urchins being chased by an irate confectioner for the sweets in their hands careened wildly across his path. A duel fought with sudden, savage intensity in front of him forced him to stop. He watched the pale head move farther and farther away from him with never a backward glance while the duellers whipped mercilessly, relentlessly at each other, their rapiers weaving patterns of silver that froze in the air across his path into a shimmering wall of blades. He cried out desperately to the distant figure, “Wait!” He found himself alone, walking the maze of hidden rooms within the palace toward the place where, he knew with absolute certainty, the stranger who wore his face waited.

He woke before he reached it.

He remembered, before he opened his eyes, the face that had formed unexpectedly on his paper, as if it had come out of the charcoal instead of him. The face had been one of many unpredictable sketches. Where was it now, this charcoal that glowed in the dark?

Where, for that matter, was he?

He opened his eyes finally. Lydea, whom he had last seen lying beside him in a hideous cap and a beer-stained apron, was sitting in a chair beside his bed. Apparently, her clothes had also offended the eye of the mistress of the mansion; she now wore a gown of rich green velvet, of a stark simplicity that hadn’t been fashionable for a hundred years or so. Only her face and fingers were visible. She seemed to be in the midst of contemplating her fate, but she turned quickly as though she had felt him wake.

She touched his face, then lifted his head a little and held a cup of water to his lips. His mouth tasted of charcoal, he thought as he drank; he wondered if he had swallowed it.

“Explain to me again,” he begged, “why we are here.”

She had told him once before; it had been like listening to a vivid, improbable dream. This time, he kept his attention on the path the charcoal took from the sorceress’s cauldron to Lord Sozon’s servant, and somehow into the box he carried with him when he drew.

“The poison was in the charcoal,” Lydea said. “It seeped into your skin.”

He nodded. “I’m told I get it everywhere. I never notice.” The simple movement, the few words, took their toll. The pain, a drowsing beast, began to stir in his head. He tried to ignore it. “Where is it now?”

“Where is what?”

“The charcoal.”

She looked bewildered. “I don’t know.”

“There was a wooden box. In my coat pocket.” He formed words with infinite care, trying not to disturb the beast.

She opened her mouth, then rose without asking why. He saw his torn, bloody clothes lying across a chest.

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