Scar Night by Alan Campbell

Author:Alan Campbell [Campbell, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: SteamPunk, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780553589313
Publisher: New York : Bantam Books, 2007.
Published: 2007-05-04T08:31:49+00:00

17

Angelwine

The poisoner did not rush his preparations. This procedure was too important for mistakes. He cleaned the collection flasks and tubes carefully, reverently, then steeped the distillation cylinder in alcohol and rinsed it four times before he dried its woozy yellow glass inside and out with compressed air. The syringes were disinfected next in the same manner, and then laid out in sharply glinting lines on a steel tray. He even took the opportunity to give a quick polish to the metal stand he used to support the draining tubes. Everything must be perfect. If a priest had been to hand, he’d have had the equipment blessed, perhaps.

When everything was ready, he poured himself a large glass of Rhak and raised it in a solitary toast.

“Presbyter Sypes,” he said, and knocked back the contents in one gulp.

There was an enigma. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that the old priest had deliberately helped him, and that the Spine assassin he’d killed had been the Adjunct’s instrument.

The fat man went behind your back, didn’t he? And now that I’ve been forced to flee, you fear the angelwine is lost to you. Did you plan to take it from me? What did you hope to gain with it? Power? Immortality?

Devon had to know the truth. And for that he needed the assistance of a temple guard.

There was also the issue of the city-wide search for him. Soon the two guards would be reported missing. It was time to acquire some leverage.

But first, he had work to do. He began to gather his flasks, cylinders, tubes, and syringes into a deep, sterile trencher.

Just then he heard a distant boom.

Devon snuffed the lamp, drew back the heavy drape he’d placed over the window. Nothing to be seen. He climbed the drunken stairwell to the tower battlements.

Airships were converging on a blazing fire far to the east, possibly in Merrygate. Devon counted the searchlights and smiled.

One less of them for me to worry about.

Anything might have brought that airship down: aeronautical incompetence; an arrow from some disgruntled commoner; a Heshette saboteur. Or was Carnival finally tiring of the search? The Poisoner didn’t care right now. He had a man’s soul to steal.

When he reached the basement, Devon saw at once who the final soul in his elixir would be.

Angus glared at him from a sweat-soaked face, his eyes red and brimming with pain. Evidently he had been trying to struggle free, for the chains around his chest had scratched and dented his breastplate. He flinched at each of Devon’s approaching footsteps. Behind him, Lars slumped in his chains, unconscious. Fitzgerald still snuffled around the dark corners of the room.

Devon squatted before Angus. “Your companion appears to have passed out. Did you manage to come to an agreement in my absence?”

Angus spoke slowly, clearly desperate to keep a measure of conviction in his voice. “Lars was in too much pain. He agreed…” He lowered his eyes. “We both agreed, I’ll help you.

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