Scar Night Page 0,66
a short time. We caught this fellow making nightly excursions around the room, until we sealed him in. He had a taste for the hammer shrimp over in the feeding tanks.”
Dill glanced nervously at the floor around him, wondering what else might have escaped its tank.
They walked the length of the chamber with Devon stopping at each aquarium to explain its contents. Dill learned of the vicious blisters caused by creepfish spines, and the slow, painful deaths endured by fishermen bitten by widow eels caught in their nets. He marvelled at the pale, globular jellyfish with their ghostly showers of tendrils. There were huge slugs with mottled blue skin, various anemones, brightly coloured gelatinous things of indeterminable shape, and armoured creatures like centipedes bristling with spikes.
At the end of the room, Devon lifted a curtain and they ducked through to yet another area packed with glass tanks. This chamber was brighter, but smelt musty; the air choked with sawdust. Pillars of sunlight dropped from high skylights, revealing dark shapes hunched behind the glass. In one corner of the room, a shelved alcove held bolts of fine cloth, one of which lay spread over a nearby table.
“Arthropods,” Devon explained. “Most of the poisons we extract here are less potent. However, they have their uses. A lingering death is sometimes more desirable than a swift one.” He glanced at Rachel. “The incident with Captain Mooreshank on the Towerbrack Peninsula springs to mind.”
She nodded.
Devon went on. “We are just learning to infuse spider poison into the silk of its cousin. Garments made from such fine material are beautiful but deadly.” He smiled. “Profitable too, we hope.”
Another curtain led to the third poison room. Damp heat fell on them as they pushed through to a vast conservatory. Green light filtered down through towering ferns, and a light mist sprayed from pipes in the roof. The air was dense with rich, tropical smells.
“Flora,” Devon said. “Touch nothing. Some thorns can pierce the protective gloves. Be careful of your wings.”
They edged through lilting orchids with waxy leaves, past creepers twisted around weeping trunks, vines spotted with pale flowers which hung like rope. Sweat trickled down Dill’s neck.
“These plants come from the Fringes: Loom and the Volcanic Isles beyond the Yellow Sea,” Devon said. “Some very rare specimens among them—very fragile.”
Something rustled amid a clump of leaves. Rachel reached for her sword, but Devon stopped her. “A catrap,” he said. “The plant senses our presence. They entice their prey near by shaking, to simulate the sound of a small creature moving through the undergrowth. Poisonous thorns around the base of the plant ensure that whatever predators come to inspect the noise do not leave. Dead creatures enrich the soil around catraps, and the smell of rotting flesh attracts yet more prey.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Rachel murmured.
Devon tilted his head and regarded her through the top of his spectacles. “In nature, deceit is a common method of ensuring one’s food supply.”
Beyond this conservatory, he led them into the cool interior of a high thin tower. A spiral of narrow steps protruded from the circular walls, rising to dizzy heights. Shelves cut into the stone followed the stairway upwards, each one packed with hundreds of murky bottles. To one side, a huge workbench brimmed with beakers, tubes, and flasks of coloured liquids and powders. There were also mortars and pestles of various sizes, brass burners, and clamps beside a stack of metal cages in which rats scratched and scampered.
“Here we combine and test our poisons,” Devon said.
“You use rats?” Rachel asked.
“Initially.”
Dill’s eyes followed the staircase up and up. It seemed to have no end.
“How many poisons are kept here?” he asked.
“Why, all of them,” Devon replied, dismissing the shelves with a wave of his hand. “Now, my friends, I must conclude our tour, sadly. I have an important experiment to finish this afternoon.” He gave them a warm, red smile. “But please, do not hesitate to return, should you wish to gain more intimate knowledge of my work.”
* * * *
Some time later, Dill and Rachel sat on the platform overlooking the Poison Kitchens and watched the ash from its chimneys drift into the abyss. A faint, rhythmic clanking sounded over the divide. Rachel’s legs dangled between the bars of the balustrade. She peeled large flakes of rust from its iron rails and sent them spinning into darkness. “What do you think is down there?” she asked suddenly.
Dill gave her a puzzled look. “Ulcis, of course,”