Worked memory, as he crossed the deserted cobbles of Limley Square. His imaginings carried him up the steps of Arkady’s manor and through the front door—he no longer bothered to sneak out of the gate—and only when he met Vertus in the hall, and the servingman scowled and said, “What’s got you so bloody happy?” did Nate realize he was smiling.
“Nothing.” Quickly, he wiped the smile away, and nodded at the covered chamber pot Vertus carried. “How is he tonight?”
“Leaking blood from every hole.” Vertus lifted the lid and showed him.
Nate waved the pot away, recoiling a bit from the smell. “I’ll give him something to put him to sleep.”
“Please. Just our luck the old lizard didn’t get one of the wasting-quietly-away diseases, huh? Something that takes the lungs out first?”
“Healthy people shouldn’t complain about their luck.”
“Whatever he’s got, it’s not wasting any time. Ever seen a cure for someone as far gone as he is?”
Nate shook his head.
“I have,” Vertus said. “It’s called death.”
He took the pot out into the back to empty. Nate followed him as far as the lab, where he mixed a sleeping draught. It was one of the first things Caterina had taught him to make as a child. He made this one strong, and added a few extra things. They were the same extra things he added to almost everything Arkady ate or drank now. After smelling what was in the tonic the old man had fed the heir’s unsuspecting brother the previous week, Nate had found his own qualms about poison significantly eased.
Upstairs, in the front bedroom, a fire blazed on the hearth and the room was prickly with heat. Arkady lay on top of the bedclothes, wearing only a thin nightgown, his limbs covered in slack flesh and the sheet beneath him brown with sweat. His eyes rolled toward Nate when he heard the door open. “Freezing to death,” he said, his voice dry and cracked. “More wood.”
“No more wood. You can have a blanket.” Nate crossed to the table and checked the pitcher. There was just enough water in it to dilute the draught.
Arkady called him a foul name. Nate took a dirty glass from the table, poured the rest of the water into it, and added the draught. Arkady eyed it suspiciously. “What is that?” His voice was thin and querulous.
“Valerian, mostly. A lot of it. So you’ll sleep.”
Arkady snatched at the glass with a palsied hand. “Paltry kindness.”
“It’s self-serving. If you sleep, we sleep.” Nate watched as the old man greedily sucked down the draught. Then he picked up Arkady’s wrist and felt for a pulse.
“More water,” Arkady said, but he didn’t show any actual signs of dehydration, so Nate shook his head.
“In the morning. Unless you want to wake up in your own piss again.” He went to the chest at the foot of the bed and took out a blanket. “I’ll leave this here for when the fire burns down. But I’d put it on now, if I were you. That draught will work quickly.”
Arkady pulled the blanket over himself. Nate helped him, pulling it down to cover the knobbed, yellowing toes. The old man complained, said it was too heavy and too rough, but left it where it was. “You’re a shitty nurse, boy,” he said, “but you make good sleeping draughts.” His words were slurred and his eyes unfocused. Nate wondered how much he could still see.
“Glad you approve,” Nate said coldly.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Arkady sounded as if his failing health were an intellectual puzzle that only vaguely interested him. “My mind feels wet. Like paper. Falling apart in my fingers.” The old head rolled toward Nate like a fruit about to fall. “You’re good, boy. You figure it out.”
But Nate didn’t have to figure it out. Nate knew. There were rotting black holes burning their way through Arkady: his stomach, his bowels, his lungs, his brain. His blood was separating inside his veins and his heart was struggling to pump the resulting sludge. He would not last much longer. Nate no longer felt even remotely bad about it. “I’ll bring water in the morning,” he said.
* * *
He didn’t exactly forget the water, but neither did he go out of his way to remember. When Arkady’s cracked shouts began to drift downstairs, Vertus knocked at the open door of the lab. “Should I bring him water?” he said.
Nate glanced at him. There had been a subtle change between them since