Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir Page 0,91

danced in her vision. She fell to the side and became disjointedly aware of Dulcinea, her head on Dulcinea’s thin thigh, the glasses slipping off her nose and rattling down onto the next step. She watched Harrow walk as though against a wind, blurred with particles of black—then she found herself snorting out big hideous fountains of blood. Her vision blurred again greyly, and her breath stuttered in her throat.

“No,” said Dulcinea. “Oh, no no no. Stay awake.”

Gideon couldn’t say anything but blearrghhh, mainly because blood was coming enthusiastically out of every hole in her face. Then all of a sudden it wasn’t—drying up, parching, leaving her with a waterless and arid tongue. The pain moved down to her heart and massaged it, electrifying her left arm and her left fingers, her left leg and her left toes. It was beyond pain. It was as though her insides were being sucked out through a gigantic straw. In her dimming vision she saw Harrowhark, walking away; no longer haloed by fragments but limned with a great yellow light that flickered and ate at her heels and her shoulders. Tears filled Gideon’s eyes unbidden, and then they gummed away. It all blurred grey and gold, then just grey.

“Oh, Gideon,” someone was saying, “you poor baby.”

The pain went down her right leg, and to her right toes, and then up her spine in zigzags. She dry-heaved. There was still that pressure—the pressure of Harrow—and the sense that if she pushed at it, if she just went and fucking knocked at it, it would go away. She was sorely tempted. Gideon was in the type of pain where consciousness disappeared and only the animal remained: bucking, yelping an idiot yelp, butting and bleating. Throw Harrowhark off, or slip into sleep, anything for release. If there had been any sense that she had to try to hold the connection, she would have lost it already; Gideon was just overwhelmed with how badly she wanted to shove against it, not huddle in a corner and scream. Was she screaming? Oh, shit, she was screaming.

“It’s all right,” someone was saying, over the noise. “You’re all right. Gideon, Gideon … you’re so young. Don’t give yourself away. Do you know, it’s not worth it … none of this is worth it, at all. It’s cruel. It’s so cruel. You are so young—and vital—and alive. Gideon, you’re all right … remember this, and don’t let anyone do it to you ever again. I’m sorry. We take so much. I’m so sorry.”

She would remember each word later, loud and clear.

Her forehead and face were being mopped. Touch did not register. She had lost control of her limbs, and each was flailing independently of the others, a roiling mass of nerves and panic. Her hair was being stroked—softly—and she did not want to be touched, but she was terribly afraid that if it stopped she would roll away into the field and dissolve just to get away. She held on to the sound of talking, so that she didn’t go mad.

“She’s all the way across,” said the voice. “She’s made it to the box … can you see the trick of it, Reverend Daughter? There is a trick, isn’t there? Gideon, I am going to put my hand over your mouth. She needs to think.” A hand went over her mouth, and Gideon bit it. “Ow, you feral. There she goes … perhaps they thought that if it was easy to obtain, someone could finish the demonstration some other way. It’s got to be foolproof, Gideon … I know that. I wish it were me. I wish I were up there. She’s got the box open … I wonder … yes, she’s worked it out! I was afraid she’d break the key…”

Clutched in the thin lap, Gideon could make no response that was not retching, gurgling or clamouring, silenced only by one rather skinny hand. “Good girl,” the voice was saying. “Oh, good girl. She’s got it, Gideon! And I’ve got you … Gideon of the golden eyes. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault … I’m so sorry. Stay with me,” the voice said more urgently, “stay with me.”

Gideon was suddenly aware that she was very cold. Something had changed. It was getting harder to suck in each breath. “She’s stumbled,” said the voice, detached, and Gideon heaved: not against the connection, but into it. The consequent pain was so intense that she was afraid she might wet herself,

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024