“Right ho! Perhaps the dissonance—” he gestured at Clarissa “—could provide a description? Hey?”
My friend glanced at me and shook her head. The Yatsill all looked similar to us.
“Their masks were the same,” Clarissa said. “Plain and unadorned.”
“One of them lost his right hand,” I added, “and the other the lower part of one leg.”
“Ah!” Brittleback said. “Well done! That’ll teach ’em! Father Mordant, perhaps these individuals will visit a Magician for treatment.”
“I shall make enquiries, Prime Minister.”
Brittleback wriggled his fingers and flicked a hand toward the corpse. “Colonel, would you and your men dispose of this bloody thing, please? And I’d like a couple of your troops on permanent sentry duty outside Miss Stark’s house.”
Spearjab replied, “Humph! Yes! What! I say, Prime Minister, it occurs to me that Guardsman Fleischer has contributed enough to the training of the City Guard. In addition to placing two sentries in the square, I shall assign him permanently to Miss Stark. What! What!”
“Bloody good show!” Brittleback exclaimed.
Spearjab looked at me. “Never leave her side, is that understood, old thing?”
“Perfectly!” I replied, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from me.
“Well then,” Brittleback announced, “we each have our part to play, but you, Colonel, will coordinate the investigation. I’d particularly like to know whether this has any connection with the murder of Yarvis Thayne.”
“Absolutely! Absolutely! I’ll place guards with Yissil Froon, too. He might be in danger. Danger, I say!”
“Good thinking, Colonel! Do it at once, please!”
So saying, the prime minister mounted his vehicle, was followed aboard by his tall, silent aide, and they departed. Spearjab and his two subordinates loaded the dead Yatsill onto their autocarriage and went rattling away.
Father Reverie looked up at the sky. Its pale yellow had deepened, taking on an orange hue. The shadows were lengthening. Drops of rain were beginning to fall. “Rest for as long as you need, Miss Stark,” he murmured without looking down, “then attend to your various projects. Whatever of them can be completed in short order, I recommend you get them done.” He lowered his head and turned his crow mask to me. “And you, Guardsman Fleischer, keep your sword sharp. The Eyes will soon be closing.”
He crossed to his vehicle, clambered into it, and without a backward glance, drove off.
“Oddly enough,” I said, “I feel much happier.”
Clarissa pushed me toward the house. “Because your training is finished?”
We stepped in and walked across the vestibule.
“Because we won’t be separated any more.”
As we entered the kitchen, I was overcome by an impulse. Grabbing my friend’s elbow, I turned her to face me then pulled her into a tight embrace. “I nearly lost you!” I whispered, pressing my face into the crook of her neck. “Clarissa, I nearly lost you!”
She put her arms around me. “But thanks to your own bravery, you didn’t.”
I held her, perhaps longer than our close friendship warranted, but I couldn’t let her go and didn’t care about decorum. The thought of being without her was unbearable—and it struck me that it wasn’t being alone on Ptallaya I feared, but the possibility I might be without Clarissa Stark anywhere.
I released her and stepped back, my hands still on her upper arms. She was beautiful.
“I’ve never asked you,” I said, looking at the dark goggles. “What colour are your eyes?”
“Brown.” To my surprise, she reddened slightly and quickly changed the subject. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Aiden—sit down. Are you still hungry? I’ll prepare us something to eat.”
I laughed. “Do you remember when you first arrived at Theaston Vale? It feels like such a long time ago, but you said you couldn’t enjoy my hospitality with the odour of the road upon you. In the same vein, I cannot sit here after a bloodthirsty battle while you cook for me, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll go and wash while you work your magic at the stove.”
A little later, while splashing water over my face, I paused and, with my eyes closed, revisited again that horrible moment when the Yatsill had thrown itself upon my sword. I re-experienced the grating vibration running up my arm as the blade slid through its shell, the hot blood spurting across my fingers, the weight of the body impacting against me, and the final exhalation rattling in my ear.
What had I felt? Did an internal Jack the Ripper relish the kill? Had a monster risen from my shadows?
No, there was no monster.
I’d been aware only of overwhelming shock and repulsion, but, again, there was