The Alchemy of Stone - By Ekaterina Sedia Page 0,26
gargoyles, from the Alchemists to the Mechanics. The machinery in her head made small insect clicks, a familiar and comforting sound, and if she listened closely, she could hear the whisper of the undulating membrane, which, as Loharri had told her, imprinted her thoughts in her memory.
Ilmarekh sat up and smelled the air, his narrow nostrils flaring. “Who’s here?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“It’s Mattie. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
He wrapped himself in the blanket but did not shiver. “Thank you,” he said. “You did not have to do that. And thank you for your medicine—it is wonderful.”
“Are the souls bothering you now?” she asked.
He cocked his head, listening. “I hear naught but whispers,” he said. “Thank you. I can rarely afford such a break.”
“Why not?”
He grimaced. “It is painful. Besides, the souls need a link to the world. If I sever this link and refuse to open my mind to them with opium, they will go insane. And insane souls are not a pretty sight.”
Mattie thought a bit. “How long do they stay with you?”
“Until I die,” he said. “Every blessed one of them. When I die, my original soul leads them to their rest, and we all are free.” He smiled a little. “My predecessor died old, very old, but the one before him was quite young. They say, he went mad from being unable to contain the multitudes. They killed him then; I only hope that I manage longer than he.”
“I’m sorry.” Mattie couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He reached out and she moved closer, to let his spatulate fingers touch hers. “Don’t be. You’ve been kind to me. Kinder than anyone else. I’d like to help you.”
“Just ask Beresta of the whereabouts of her son,” she said. “I mean, when they . . . the souls are talking to you again.”
“I know where he is,” Ilmarekh said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I didn’t think it was my place.”
Mattie squeezed his hand. “Where is he?”
“Where you wouldn’t look for an exile,” he answered with a smile. “In the heart of the city. I saw him at the temple—Beresta recognized him. She didn’t tell me but I felt it.”
Mattie shook her head. “The Temple? But . . . why didn’t anyone recognize him?”
“Because people don’t pay attention to those who are covered with mud and carry buckets with gravel for the gargoyles’ feeders,” Ilmarekh said, and sneezed forcefully.
“Thank you,” Mattie said and stood. “I have cleaned the house, and now you can just rest. If you wish, I can bring you food from the market tomorrow morning.”
He shook his head. “No, dear girl. Leave me be—food does not agree with me in this state. But rest assured, I welcome your visits.”
“There has to be something else I could do,” Mattie said.
He shook his head, mournful. “There’s nothing to be done. Just go, leave me to my silence.”
Mattie walked out of the door, feeling no joy that the object of her search was so near. She tried to imagine what it was like for the Soul-Smoker, to be finally free of the torments of the multitude of whispering residual lives and yet to be too ill to enjoy the silence. If his one true happiness was just to lie on a ratty, straw-filled mattress, his eyes open, drinking in the silence like a desert wanderer drinks in water, what was it to her?
And yet, she couldn’t shake her anger as she walked downhill. Not at Ilmarekh but at those who chose that life for him —just like the anger she felt when the soldier on the metal mount called her a clunker. There were these people—she wasn’t sure exactly who they were—who kept telling them what they could and could not be. And Mattie was quite certain that she did not request her emancipation just so she could obey others besides Loharri. She prayed for Iolanda’s protection and help, yet she hoped that there would never be a day she would need either.
In the night, Mattie’s heels clacked ever so loudly on the gray stone by the ducal palace. The enforcers were gone for the night, and only chains stretched between the black and glistening lampposts; their light was weak that night, as if its energy was sapped by the recent disaster. And not even the gargoyles stirred in the darkness. She was alone, as alone as Ilmarekh currently was in his skull. She shrugged off fear the best she could.