Scar Night Page 0,113
the Poison Kitchens.”
“That place has been in chaos since Devon disappeared. No one else knows how to get anything done. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the armada set out with barrels of butter in their deck cages instead of lime-gas.”
“Perhaps I should go and check on the preparations myself.”
“Won’t do any good. He’ll be here soon enough, when it’s all set up. Aye, aye, the angel’s fumbling at his scabbard now. Might be he’s seen something.”
Fogwill moved to stand up. “Carnival?”
“Nope. Chill draught, probably.”
The priest slumped back into his chair.
Clay twisted the tube of the sightglass and breathed a curse. “Damn focusing,” he muttered. “Got him again, still heading south.”
The fire shifted, crackled. Fogwill placed another log on top and watched the flames curl around it. He plucked another square of linen from a box by the hearth and cleaned his hands again. “We ought to have trained him with the guard,” he said, “like we did with Gaine. But Sypes didn’t see the point. Not with the heathens scattered and our fleet growing in strength. He assumed the war would be over soon. An angel should become a symbol of peace, he told me, not war.”
“Never trusted Gaine,” Clay muttered. “Swear his eyes turned dark every time he looked at me.”
“That’s why we could trust him,” Fogwill said. “Archons can’t hide their emotions like ordinary men can.”
“Damn creepy if you ask me. What about Carnival—reckon her eyes change colour too?”
“She’s no angel. Well…no temple angel.”
“Was one once, or so I’ve heard.”
“That’s Warren gossip.”
Clay struggled again with the sightglass focusing ring. “The last archon to come from the abyss, they say. Her eyes have been black as pitch since she bloomed, and that was three thousand years past. Some folk think she takes the blood to replace—”
“Captain…”
“Just saying…”
Fogwill wrinkled his nose. Once Clay got started it was difficult to shut him up. “They say a lot of things in the alehouses of Deepgate. Like she’s seven feet tall with seven heads and seven tongues.”
“Seven tongues?” The captain turned, grinning.
Fogwill closed his eyes.
Clay returned his attention to the sightglass. “Soldiers on that airship saw her well enough. Navigator survived the crash with most of his skin intact. Nearly had her, he said. Hemmed in with swords, but she broke right through the roof and cut her way through the…” He waved a hand.
“The envelope. But she didn’t attack them directly.”
“Outnumbered,” Clay said. “Should have had her then. Navigator said she had teeth like a wildcat and unholy eyes.”
“She didn’t attack because it wasn’t Scar Night.”
“Tell that to the men lost in the crash.”
Fogwill stared into the fire and said nothing.
The sightglass tapped against the window frame. Clay turned away. “That one’s out of sight,” he murmured. “Round the other side of the temple.”
“Let’s close the window, then. It’s freezing in here.”
Clay stole another disapproving glance at the billows of silk pinned up to adorn the ceiling and the vases of flowers arranged around the study before he finally shut the window. He pulled up a chair and joined Fogwill by the fire. The study heated up quickly. They sat in silence for a while, warming their hands and listening to the crackling wood.
“I’ve been thinking,” Clay said.
Fogwill raised a sceptical eyebrow.
Clay grumbled something under his breath.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing. I’ve been thinking about what Devon wants with the Presbyter.”
“Yes?”
“What if the whole thing was a sham? What if they were in it together?”
Fogwill picked up another square of linen and wiped his hands, although this time they didn’t need cleaning. “Together?” he said in a high voice. If even Clay had stumbled on the truth, then what about the Spine? “Absurd. Sypes would never sanction such a thing. It contravenes Church law. Goes against the will of God. Really, that’s quite—”
“But what if God is dead?”
“Dead?” Fogwill stopped cleaning his hands. “You think God is dead?”
The captain shrugged.
“Are you a man of faith, Mr. Clay? Do you believe in the soul?”
“Of course,” the captain replied gruffly.
“I’ve seen them,” Fogwill said. “I’ve seen the soul-lights with my own eyes. Believe me, the ghosts are down there, and if they exist then Ulcis is very much alive. Sypes also watched the dead. He spent every hour of every night peering into the abyss, worrying what they were up to.”
“I can understand that,” Clay yawned. “Never trusted no ghosts either.”
“Have you ever seen a ghost, Mr. Clay?”
The captain shifted in his chair. “Not as such, but I heard this story once—”
Fogwill raised a hand. “This