sound. And Tempus’s eye picked out his partner standing in that group. “Get
Niko,” he said as a priest passed him, and the priest scuttled into the cloying
room where he had no personal wish to go. The stuff offended his nose, gave him
the closest thing to a headache he was wont to have. He stood there with the
pressure throbbing in his temples which might be rage at Niko or the whole
damned business of priests and mummery and a mage’s ill-smelling concoctions, or
just the world gone awry. He stood there while the priest snagged Niko and led
him into reach, Niko walking as if he would break, one eye running and filmed
with gelatinous stuff,
the other patched.
“Damn,” Tempus snarled at the priest, “does it need the smoke?” He took Niko by
the arm and led him out into clean air, closed the door. “I’m not asking this
time; get to bed.”
“Can’t sleep,” Niko said. The ashbrown hair fell loose across his brow, trailed
into Jinan’s unspeakable unguents. “No use-“
“You’re raving.” He took Niko’s arm willy-nilly, led him
on.
“I saw Janni,” Niko said, mumbled, in a sick man’s disjointed way. “I saw him
here-“
“You don’t see a damn thing, you’re not going to see a damned thing if you don’t
get out of that foolery and leave those brats to the priests.”
“Randal-“
“-can take care of it.” He reached Niko’s appointed bedchamber, opened the door
and led him as far as the rumpled bed. “Now stay there, or do I have to set a
guard?”
“Eyes aren’t that bad,” Niko murmured. But he felt of the bedside and sat down
like a man with too many bruises.