He shuddered, then gently reached out and closed the eyes, muttering something Eleal could not understand. She brought him sandals and Sister Ahn's staff and pointed urgently to the north. He nodded, and began the ordeal of rising to his feet.
Leaning heavily on the walking stick and the child's shoulder, Edward moved his feet one at a time in the direction she had suggested.
The night was a blur of nightmare for him. He knew he was in deep shock and should not try to make sense of anything until he had recovered. Creighton had warned him, but he had not expected so much pain, so much confusion and weakness. Half his muscles were useless and he did not know how much he could trust his senses. Was that really Creighton lying there? Who were the others? Reapers, Creighton had said, but all the clothes had seemed black. The moon was pure hallucination—three or four times the size a moon ought to be and a lurid green. The markings on it looked like a hammer. Its light drowned out the stars.
The building was a vague echo of some ruined Greek temple, with remains of a circle of pillars on a paved plinth. Beyond that lay jungle. It had a humid, tropical smell. There were mosquitoes, although any attempt to swat them—any sudden movement at all—brought on the terrible muscle cramps. Even resting, his whole body ached from them.
His tongue had found two gaping holes in his teeth. They felt enormously larger than they would look, of course, but again Creighton's prediction had been correct. The fillings were back on Earth, in the grass of Wiltshire. So were his stitches and sticking plaster; his face was caked with blood from the reopened wound on his temple. It drew insects.
Bodies all over the place, five of them. Expect friends or enemies, Creighton had said, but obviously both had been waiting. There had been an ambush and a battle. Had Edward crossed over at the same time as Creighton, would he also now be stiffening in that charnel house? He might as well be—for what did a man do in a strange world when he could not speak the language, had no friends, no money, nor even any concept of who his friends and enemies were? Why had Bloody Idiot Creighton been so secretive about what Edward was to expect?
And the girl—who had brought her here and why? Was one of these dead men her father, perhaps? She was understandably terrified, of course, shaking almost as much as he was. Every few minutes she would jump at some shadow, but for her age she was doing amazingly well. She had a pronounced limp, which made her an unsteady support. Every lurch, every effort to lift the staff, threatened to make his muscles cramp up in knots.
She seemed pathetically eager to help and please. And since she showed no signs of wanting to add Edward's corpse to the collection, he must assume that she was a friend. Her impatience suggested that she had some associates waiting, or a safe refuge. Transportation, perhaps. At the very least she would know how to get word to the Service that Cameron Exeter's son had arrived on Nextdoor.
48
THINKING MONEY, ELEAL AWOKE AT FIRST LIGHT, HAVING slept very little, and poorly. The bed she had chosen was gravelly, but the only reasonably flat area near the shelter. D'ward had suffered even in his sleep. His moans and cries had disturbed her often and she had gone to inspect him several times.
She threw off her rug and went to take another look. He was sleeping peacefully. She had washed the blood from his face, but the pad of moss she had bound to his head was caked. She had also bathed as many of his scrapes as she could without being indecent, although by the time she and Porith had brought him in, he had been more or less unconscious.
She glanced around the shadowy gully. Where was the mad old hermit? Very likely he was curled up under a bush somewhere nearby, but she did not know where. With any luck he was already out hunting breakfast, three breakfasts. Well, she would enlist his aid later. Right now she had some pillage to attend to.
She clambered up the bank and set off back to the Sacrarium. The bodies would have to be buried, or disposed of in some other way if Porith had no spade, and she had seen no signs of one. T'lin's friends or more of Zath's reapers might investigate the ruin soon, and there was always the chance of a stray pilgrim. Whoever found those five corpses would surely raise a hue and cry. She did not want that, so she would have Porith remove them. First they should be looted. Almost certainly there would be money on some of those dead men and she did not see why she should share it with Porith Molecatcher. He had no use for silver and she did.
She would also collect Sister Ahn's magic sword and present it to the Liberator. Anyone with so many enemies should be armed, and tall, lean men like D'ward always looked good with swords dangling at their belts. It would certainly look better on him than it had on Sister Ahn.
The walk seemed much shorter than it had the night before, especially when she had been half-carrying D'ward. Grown men were heavy, even young, skinny ones. From that point of view, a baby would have been much easier to manage.
The sun rose while she was working her way along the cliff top. It warmed her and revived her. Birds sang cheerfully. She saw the pillars and turned away from the cliff, moving with more care amid the trees. Soon she passed the spot where D'ward had collapsed. She had left him there while she went and fetched Porith. He had been very unwilling—she had almost had to punch him to make him come back and help her. Stupid, crazy old man!
She reached the Sacrarium steps...
The bodies had gone.
She stood like a tree, staring in disbelief. Nothing stirred. Eventually she crept forward and took a closer look. There were dried bloodstains on the stone, nothing more.
She soon discovered a trampled trail through the woods, leading to the cliff. Someone had dragged the corpses along there—probably just one man, she thought, or the weeds would not be so crushed. She found a fragment of black cloth snagged on a thorn.
At the edge she lay on her tummy and peered over. Far below her, Susswater was a slowly roiling yellow snake. She could guess that it would be a deafening torrent if she were down there, but from up here its motion was barely detectable, just a hint of life, like muscle moving below skin. Specks of birds were circling about halfway up the cliff, so some of the bodies might have caught on rocks.
Who could have done this? Certainly no stray pilgrim would have chanced by in the middle of the night. Old Porith Mole-catcher was too frightened of the reapers. There might be more reapers about, and she reminded herself that she could not recognize a reaper unless he was wearing his work clothes. T'lin Dragontrader might have escaped and returned. Or the Service he had mentioned might have sent more agents. The reapers she did not want. The Service blasphemed, so she thought she probably did not want that either. In any case, she had no idea who the Service was, or where it could be found. D'ward must know, and he could decide.
She found Porith drinking at a pool some distance upstream from his shelter. She knelt down on the edge of the gully and remarked cheerfully, “Good morning!"
He jumped like a frog and then scowled up at her.
"Did you move the dead bodies from the Sacrarium?” she demanded.
He shook his head, mad eyes wide.
"What's for breakfast?"
He scowled even more at that, and shook his head. Then he pointed in the general direction of the cave and made a “Git!” motion.