promise what that power that racketed about her skull could do.
That and disgust for her soiling. Haught was always fastidious.
Dead man and damned drab. Wait for me.
She sobbed. It was different than a voice. It got into her soul and she had
never felt so dirty and so small and so worthless to the world.
Stilcho hugged her head against his chest, hard. She heard his heart beating,
which, through all her pain and her confusion, confounded her further; she had
not thought it beat at all.
The door to Molin’s office slammed wide, hit the wall and started a cascade of
books and papers about the feet of the apparition which staggered into the room
half-naked and wild and going straight for him, his desk, his life. And the
pottery globe which was/was not there. Molin flung himself in a dive which
intercepted Niko in mid-lunge as they both skidded over the desktop and off it.
The sick man rolled and twisted and it was Molin who hit the ground on the
bottom, Molin who had the wind half knocked from him and his skull cracked on
the rebound of his neck as he tried to curl and save himself. Sparks exploded
across his vision; Niko was trying to rip free, sweating, naked skin offering
precious little purchase as he surged to his feet.
Molin grabbed Niko’s leg with both arms, rolled and brought the Stepson down in
another scrape and clatter of furniture. The chair this time. As shouting closed
in on the room and he had hope of help if he could only hang on to the madman
who was trying to scrabble and twist round to get at him. He bent the leg and