about this space—but anyone coming to me could change the parameters, and you’ve brought something with you that’s changing them. Go.”
Both of you froze as you heard shuffling steps outside the door, a low, asthmatic wheezing from the apparatus. Then you shoved your pathetic necro bodies more forcefully against the door. You said, “Don’t be a fool.”
“Go and go now, Nonagesimus!”
“I’m not about to leave you alone with something I have done, Master Warden!”
“That’s more like the old Harrowhark—but I mean it, get out! I’m banking on it going with you. I’ll be fine. Just tell me, what’s Cam got of my bones?”
“Three inches of right-hand parietal, full right-hand frontal, leading down to—”
“That’s enough. Just so I know what to focus on— Can you change that into something more useful?”
You said arctically, “I am a Lyctor, Palamedes Sextus.”
“And I’m so sorry about it,” he said. “Point taken though. Anything that articulates, okay?”
“But—”
The crash against the door rattled you all the way down to your toes. You had no magic in that River bubble; it might as well have been the vacuum of space, before you had built the furnace within yourself. Your necromancy was as still and dead as the room itself. It was surprising, how badly it frightened you. It was only you, and your mind’s outline of your body, and the ghost of a dead man, and the thing that followed you inside.
The door held as both of you strained against it. The next rattle made the hinges squeal in agony. Palamedes looked at you and opened his mouth to say something as a third rattle flung you both back a little; your heads knocked together, and then you heard the deliberate steel rasp of a trigger being cocked.
Sextus was rubbing his temple and looking at you, awestruck, as though he had seen some stupefying glimpse of the beyond; you did not remotely understand the sharp smile that suddenly crossed his face.
“Kill us twice, shame on God,” he said, and he leaned forward, and much to your intense distress he swiftly kissed your brow. Then he said: “Harrowhark, for pity’s sake, go!”
You dropped back under, and you did not hear the gunshot; you were, not for the first time, overwhelmed with the suspicion that you were standing in the middle of what you had thought to be scenery, only to reach out and discover that it was all so much flimsy. You were not a central lever within a mystery, but a bystander watching a charlatan display a trick. Your eyes had followed a bright light or colour, and you realised with a start that you ought to have been watching the other hand. You were standing in a darkened corridor, and you could not turn around: and then a brief explosion of light revealed to you that it wasn’t a corridor at all, and it had never been dark.
But you were always too quick to mourn your own ignorance. You never could have guessed that he had seen me.
34
WHEN YOU SAT UP, struggling for breaths you did not need to take—wet only with the sweat trickling under the dormant bones of your exoskeleton—you saw not the canopy of trees overhead, but a filmy white length of sheeting. You had been moved. You were lying down flat, not bent in the curved posture that you had been taught to adopt, and your sword was tucked beneath your arm, and you had been upended onto a thin blanket that nonetheless let you feel each blade of grass and uneven mound of turf beneath, and feel the beating sun overhead and hear the shrill host of outside creatures.
Camilla Hect sat beside you, and she did not flinch when you sat up all at once. You were in a larger clearing, with a huge mess of crushed boughs beside you, some of which had been pressed into service to hold up the tent you lay beneath; beyond the tent curved the great metal belly of a shuttle.
Your mind idiotically focused upon its bizarre shape and style: it was not a Cohort shuttle, nor any kind of shuttle of the Nine Houses, and not only because it had not been adorned with even a single bone. It was made of very shiny silver steel, and its heat treatment made it sizzle, with a sort of wobbling radiance sitting just above the hull. It was also thoroughly battered and singed: you would not have flown it ten feet above the ground, let alone