The Fall of Ventaris (The Grey City) by Neil McGarry & Daniel Ravipinto

Author:Neil McGarry & Daniel Ravipinto [McGarry, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Peccable Productions
Published: 2013-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen: Practical matters

The first thing she thought was that Lysander was taking far too long with the mask. How long had she been lying beside the fire, waiting for the clay to dry? And even with the heat from the hearth she was far too cold for a summer day. There were voices, too, murmuring back and forth through a haze. Darley and Finn, she thought blearily, but no, both were male. The thought of Darley brought everything back: the tunnels, the bones, the screams, and the fleshless foes beneath the city. She bolted upright, feeling pain at the sudden motion, clawing for her dagger, but found only nakedness under the blanket from Lysander’s bed.

Lysander was there, brow furrowed. “Stay still,” he said, his hands easing her back to the bed. More pain. “I patched up that wound of yours, but let’s not reopen it.” She felt along her side where the skeleton had slashed her and found tightly wrapped cloth. She was in the garret, in the Shallows, and Lysander had taken care of her, she thought, shaky with relief. As always.

“It was a nasty wound,” came another voice from across the room, and she looked to see Castor standing near the window, which shone with morning light. “But it’s been patched up well enough.”

“It’s not exactly the first time I’ve handled a bandage,” Lysander replied shortly, giving the former White a long look. “We can get Midwife Marna to check for infection later. But what I’d still like to know,” he went on in a tone sharp with suspicion, “is just how you came by this nasty wound. I tried getting it out of this one, but he said I should ask you.” Castor did not reply, but his eyes flicked to hers, and she read the question clearly enough.

She tried to smile. “You’re right, of course. You two haven’t been introduced. Lysander, this is Castor, who is new to my service.” Lysander’s look went from suspicion to surprise as he realized just who Castor was. “Do you have wine? I can’t tell this story sober.” Part of her lectured that she’d caused Lysander enough trouble, but she knew that the days of keeping secrets from him were over.

Lysander rummaged around for a bottle. “Stephan bribed me with this a few nights ago, when he wanted me to—” he broke off, glancing uneasily at Castor. He poured them each a cup and then, after a moment, one for Castor. The soldier took it without a word and sipped.

After half a cup she felt strong enough to recount the trek through the tunnels, and Darley and Finn, and the living dead and their attack. After the other half, her hands no longer trembled as she spoke. She was glad Castor was there for the telling, for otherwise she would have sounded like a madwoman. Every detail of that dreadful encounter was impressed luridly on her memory: the sound of the bones scraping across stone, the eyeless gaze of a skull, the fiery slash of a bony claw tearing at her flesh.

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