Tanith Lee - Paradys 03 by The Book of the Dead

Author:The Book of the Dead
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-12-12T02:16:41+00:00

“Haven’t you had proof enough?” grated monsieur, recharged with brandy fire. “Morcara herself. The man who broke in the door. And bloody Grisvold.”

“Yes, I’ve heard what you’ve said,” murmured Rendart, “but it seems to me the first man who rushed into the chamber by accident rushed out again in horror, missed his footing, and fell quite naturally, if unfortunately, to. his death. Poor Grisvold, from what you say, was subject to undiagnosed fevers, which may have been linked to an inflammation of the brain. He had also been recently and savagely beaten in a manner, dare I say, the awful beatings given monsieur perhaps did not approach. Add to that a superstitious and overwhelming terror, and I must suppose his latent disease erupted and carried him off.

As for Morcara,” added Rendart determinedly, as alcoholic waves and pale flappings threatened from the fire, “I rather think she took her own life. From what’s been said of her she would brook no denials.

To live her life without a man she genuinely had come to desire would have seemed to her dramatic spirit an imposition. Neither man nor God should tell her what to do. So she shut herself up and concluded her existence with poison.”

“Ridiculous!” roared monsieur.

“Not at all,” said Rendart. “Mademoiselle has herself assured me the garden abounded in dangerous and venomous plants; I myself spotted three or four. You picture Morcara in her ball gown, with flowers in her hand. Probably they were one of the deadlier species, and she ate them to effect a swift dispatch.”

A space of wordlessness followed this statement, during which the fire and some clocks ticked away the minutes. Seeming to understand what they did, it was Mademoiselle de Venne who quickly if hoarsely broke the silence.

“But remember the words, Monsieur Rendart. They are scratched to this day on the door.”

“I do indeed remember them, perfectly. All you who dare to enter here will die.” Rendart paused, and let his pity for them both, even his pity of their nastiness, their evil, come back to him. He would spare them, he must. “Suffice it to say, mademoiselle, if you wish me to undertake the commission, I’ll see to it the tower is unbricked, the upper room entered, and the bones removed to holy ground. For myself and those I hire for the work, I haven’t any fears. I guarantee their safety—and their wages—and if you like, I’ll furnish proof of their survival for, say, a year after the reburial. I’ll even go so far,” said Rendart, with a sudden smile, “as to set up a tomb for Morcara Venka, at my own expense. Out of respect for her romance.”

They sat dumbfounded, glaring at him. They loathed his interference and yes, they would like him to perish of the curse of Morcara’s room; they would give their permission.

Rendart regretted his smile all night as he lay dozing in the fearful dank white bedroom. He was sorry he had lapsed, for it had been the smile of

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