a lot more to kill me than this.” He swallowed, and then he suddenly laughed. It sounded slightly delirious. “Do…Do you remember it, Sancia?”
“Remember what?”
“You jumping through the window, and darting those men? In the Greens, I mean…And then you hauled me out to the gutters, and…and we spoke for the first time.”
“Yeah. Sure. I remember, Gregor.”
His smile faded and he stared into space, glassy-eyed. “How odd, to feel nostalgic for such a time. It seems so long ago now.”
They watched him. He began to lean in the chair, and his face grew dead and dull and oddly pained, like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but he knew he did not like it.
“Knocking…Knocking me out,” he said, his words slurred. Then: “Another.”
“What?” said Sancia.
“Another…Another dart. Not enough.”
Berenice hesitated.
Gregor’s head lolled back. “Another!” he cried. “Get it over with! Please!”
“Ber—another!” hissed Sancia.
Cursing quietly, Berenice snatched up another dolorspina dart and stabbed him in the leg again.
Gregor’s head had rolled to the side, and he was staring into space with an expression that was both miserable and despairing. “Okay,” he said. He was breathing hard now. “All right. Here it comes.”
Sancia almost asked if he was feeling all right, or if it hurt, but then she realized the awful pointlessness of such a question.
“I thought”—he grunted slightly—“that I would remember a little more of what this was like. Dying, I mean.” His voice trembled. “I thought it would feel a bit old-hat. But…I mean, I know I shouldn’t be afraid…”
Berenice turned away, now weeping freely.
“Going out now,” whispered Gregor. He looked up at Sancia. “Am I…Am I bad for hoping, a little, that it sticks?”
“Sticks?” said Sancia. “What do you mean?”
But then his neck went limp, and his face slackened. She knew he was not dead yet, but he was very clearly dying. She had seen many people die in her life, many in ways far more horrible than this, but for some reason this seemed worse than all the others. And as she watched him leaning sideways in the chair, his face aggrieved as if he’d been holding vigil all night mourning the loss of a loved one and could not stay awake a moment longer, she realized why.
Does he want this? Does he welcome this? Does he hope to die?
said Berenice.
Then Gregor closed his eyes and went still.
Everyone stared at him for a moment, slack and leaning in the chair, his face pinched in pain and sorrow, his chest still and devoid of breath.
Orso hobbled up and felt the side of his neck. “He’s still alive. His pulse is slowing, but he’s still alive.” He blinked for a moment and said in a very strangled voice, “Berenice—I think you need to do another dart.”
“No!” she said, sniffing.
“Yes!” he snapped. “You’re going to have to!”
“I don’t want to!” she said. “It’s too horrible!”
“It’s going to happen anyway!” he said. “We just need it to happen faster, all right?”
“Orso, you…you rotten bastard!” she cried.
Orso looked a little surprised and hurt at those words.
“Ber,” said Sancia sharply.
she said.
Sobbing, she picked up yet another dolorspina dart and jabbed it into his leg.
Orso felt Gregor’s pulse again, his own face convulsing with anguish. “It’s…It’s still slowing,” he rasped. “It should be enough…”
They stared at Gregor, limp in the chair, lying in a way that would have been terribly painful for him had he been conscious. Sancia was suddenly struck