had made the mistake, he had let Janni into his mind. And the spot that was
Janni got wider. His dead-alive heart lurched against his ribs as the river-wind
skirled up at him. “No,” Janni said. “You want to know the difference in what
you are and what I was? / was better than you. I was stronger. I still am. You
want me to show you, Stilcho?”
Stilcho’s legs trembled. His left foot scraped backward, against Stilcho’s every
effort to stand firm on the brink.
“A step-a small step, Stilcho,” Janni said. “I’ll only grow stronger. If the
witch does send me back I’ll be in hell every time she sends you down after
souls-and some night you won’t come out of hell, Stilcho-lad. And not all your
dead dog-lovers will save you. Or you listen to me now, you get him out-“
“Bluff.”
The foot dragged backward, knees shook beneath him. “Try me. How much have I got
to lose?”
“Stop-stop it.”
The foot stayed. A feeling of oily cold settled into Stilcho’s gut. “There are
advantages to being wholly dead. But few.” Janni’s voice faded. “I see the dead
walking patrol in hell and in the streets. No way out. I see the past and the
future and I can’t sort them out-I see Niko-I see two ways from here-and I can’t
sort them out. Two ways for Ranke-for the corps-for him-Niko’s got to be free,
no priest’s pawn-free-Has to be-the god-the god-“
“Shut up!”
The feeling went, just-went. Stilcho stood shivering and leaned on the fence,
staring out over the gulf. He had no illusions that the ghost was gone. It was
revenge-bound and bound to the living and bound to hang about.