The Bone Season: A Novel by Samantha Shannon

Author:Samantha Shannon [Shannon, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2013-08-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The Good Morrow

There are certain things in life that you never forget. Things that dig deep, things that nest in the hadal zone. I slept like a top, waiting for my brain to block the terror of the woods.

Real sleep was my salvation, the quiet interval between waking and walking. Jax and the others had never understood it, why I loved to sleep so much. When I wanted to rest after hours in the æther, Nadine would always laugh. “You’re crazy, Mahoney,” she would say. “You’ve been snoring away for hours, and now you want more sleep? Not a dog’s chance in the Island. Not for the money you’re on.”

Nadine Arnett, the essence of sympathy. She was the only member of the gang I didn’t miss.

When I came around, it was night. My wrist was clamped with a spiderlike metal frame. Above me was a velvet canopy.

I was in Warden’s bed. Why was I in his bed?

The thoughts dragged. I couldn’t quite remember what had happened before this. I felt just like I had when Jaxon had let me try real wine. I glanced down at my hand. The frame prevented me from moving my wrist. I wanted to get up—to get out of this bed—but I was too warm and heavy to move. Sedative, I thought. And that was fine. It was all fine.

When my eyes opened again, I was more alert. I could hear a familiar voice. Warden had returned—and he had company. I crept toward the drapes and parted them.

A fire roared in the hearth. Warden stood with his back to me, speaking in an unfamiliar language. The words were a low-pitched glissade, resonant as music in a hall. Standing in front of him was Terebell Sheratan. She held a chalice in one hand. She kept motioning toward the bed—toward me. Warden shook his head. I listened.

What was that language?

I tuned into the nearest spirits: ghosts that had once lived here. They were almost dancing to the beat of Warden and Terebell’s conversation. It was exactly what happened when Nadine played the piano, or when a julker sang a lay on the streets. Julkers—polyglots, to use the proper word—could speak and understand a language known only to spirits, but Warden and Terebell weren’t julkers. Neither of them had a polyglot aura.

They put their heads together, examining something. When I looked closer, I froze.

My phone.

Terebell turned it over in her hand, ran her thumb over the keys. The battery was long since dead.

If they had my phone and the backpack, they must have the pamphlet. Were they trying to see whose numbers I had? They must suspect I knew the pamphlet’s author. If they found Jaxon’s number, they could track him back to Seven Dials—and suddenly, Carl’s vision would make sense.

I had to get that phone.

Terebell stowed it in her shirt. Warden said something to her. She touched her forehead to his before she exited the room, locking the heavy door behind her. Warden remained where he was for a moment, looking at the window, before then his attention shifted to the bed.

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