Scar Night Page 0,22

hmmm? Hiding, sulking, plotting, scheming in their pit.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And up here I’m fading all the time. Like old ink on parchment. I’ll join them soon.” He punctuated this last word with a tap of his finger. “And I think they know it.”

Looking at him sitting there, with his stained skin and trembling fingers, Fogwill thought the old man was probably right.

“Nonsense,” he said instead. “You’re as strong as a courser.”

“The marriage,” Sypes said, “I’ll leave it in your hands. I’ve no stomach for such matters.” He picked up his blue-inked quill and plunked it in a bottle of red ink.

“A message, Your Grace.” A boy had appeared in the doorway, fidgeting with his scuffed cuffs.

“Gods,” Sypes said, “does no one knock?”

The boy grinned, handed the Presbyter a scroll, bowed briefly, and bolted, fast as a rat.

Sypes unrolled the message, held it out at arm’s length, squinting. “Good, good,” he said. “The Adraki has docked. Edward Hael’s body is here.”

“Wonderful news,” Fogwill said. Sypes had been worried about the general for days. “His son and daughter will be relieved.”

The Presbyter was still reading, frowning.

“The body?” Fogwill ventured.

Sypes ignored him. Finally, he set down the message and rose from his chair. He grabbed his walking stick and said, “Come with me.”

They left the observatory and plodded up the stairs that wound around the inside of the Acolyte’s Spiral. A gaggle of priests on their way to the missionary halls stood aside to let them pass. As they climbed, the floor disappeared far below. Sypes grumbled constantly, complaining about his heart, about dust, about everything. Halfway up, Fogwill unlocked a grate and they set off through the dim, aether-lit corridors in the direction of the dock.

Mark Hael was waiting for them in the dock anteroom. The aeronaut commander’s face was pinched but lean, with desert skin, mud-brown against the white of his uniform. Three stripes of gold braid looped each cuff. “We left the body outside,” he explained. “The smell.”

A faint, meaty odour hung in the air. Fogwill held his breath, then opened the doors leading out to the dock.

Weathered and overgrown with weeds, the basalt wharf extended some fifty paces out from the temple wall. It was wide enough not to require handrails, but high up enough to make Fogwill miss their presence. Moored to gantries at the far end was the Adraki . Trapped by a web of cables, its silver envelope towered over them, flashing violently in the sun. Portholes and brass fittings gleamed in the gondola. Deepgate sprawled dizzily far below, slumped in its chains under the blue sky.

“Good lord,” Fogwill gasped, pinching his nose. His perfume stood no chance against this.

“We came in from Sandport overnight,” Mark Hael said. “Ran our tanks dry to get here in time.”

But Fogwill wasn’t listening; he was looking at the corpse.

The thing that had once been General Edward Hael lay on its back, with blackened fingers curled at its chest. Dry blood and ash-caked scraps of uniform matted the cracked skin, and there were charred, empty sockets where eyes should have been. The naked soles of the feet reminded Fogwill of burnt hams.

Sypes coughed. “Are you certain it’s him?” he asked.

Mark Hael nodded. He reached into his pocket and handed something to the Presbyter. “Heshette savages brought the Skylark down near Dalamoor. She must have landed heavily, ruptured a gas tank. Took us a while to clear the area and get down to the wreckage. No survivors—the crew were all…like this.”

Sypes was looking at what he held in his hand. “Nasty business,” he said.

“He’s dry as leather,” Fogwill said.

“We’ll send the soul down today,” Sypes said.

“But—”

Sypes raised a hand, and Fogwill saw that he was clutching a fistful of medals. “Clearly some blood was lost, Adjunct. Some. Little enough for Edward, he’s full of it, brimming.” He gave the body an uneasy glance. “He was devout, a good soldier, a good man. I think it fair to say his soul survives intact.”

Mark Hael had his head bowed. “Presbyter…,” he said.

“You may leave us, Commander,” Sypes said. “The Adjunct and I will attend to this.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Hael turned to go.

“Commander.”

“Your Grace?”

“I haven’t informed your sister yet.”

Mark Hael nodded and went back into the temple.

As soon as he was gone, Fogwill threw up his hands. “Look at this body, it’s a husk! There’s not a drop of blood left in its veins. The soul is already in Iril.”

“Mark Hael’s a fine lad,” Sypes murmured, almost to