‘Feel better?’ asked Angel. The boy stiffened, his eyes flaring with shock. Angel grinned and tapped his own ear. ‘You can hear now.’ A woman moved past them, behind the child. He swivelled and stared at her feet as they padded across the stone floor. Angel touched the boy on the arm, gaining his attention, then began to rhythmically tap at the table at which they sat, making small drumming sounds. The child scrambled from his lap and ran from the hall.
‘What a great teacher you are,’ muttered Angel. Weariness flooded him and he rose and walked through the hall, finding a small unoccupied room in a corridor beyond it. There was no furniture here, but Angel lay down on the stone floor, his head pillowed on his arm.
And he slept without dreams.
Miriel woke him and he sat up. She had brought him a bowl of weak broth and a chunk of bread. ‘How are your hands?’ she asked him.
‘Healed,’ he told her, turning them palms upwards. ‘By one of the priests – Ekodas. He has a rare Talent.’
She nodded. ‘I have just met him.’ He took the soup and began to eat. Miriel sat silently beside him. She seemed preoccupied, and continually tugged at a long lock of hair by her temple.
‘What is wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Lying doesn’t suit you, Miriel. Are we not friends?’
She nodded, but did not meet his eyes. ‘I feel ashamed,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘People are dying here. Every day. And yet I have never been happier. Even on the wall, when the Gothir were advancing I felt alive in a way I have never known before. I could smell the air – so sweet and cold. And with Senta …’ She blushed and looked away.
‘I know,’ he told her. ‘I have been in love.’
‘It seems so stupid, but a part of me doesn’t want this to end. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Everything ends,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘In a curious way it is what makes life so beautiful. I knew an artist once, who could craft flowers from glass – fabulous items. But one night, as we were drinking in a small tavern, he told me he had never once fashioned anything with the beauty of a genuine rose. And he knew he never would. For the secret of its beauty is that it must die.’
‘I don’t want it to die. Ever.’
He laughed. ‘I know that feeling, girl. But Shemak’s balls! You’re young – not yet twenty. Draw every ounce of pleasure you can from life, savour it, hold it on your tongue. But don’t waste time with thoughts of loss. My first wife was a harridan. I adored her, and we fought like tigers. When she died I was bereft but, given the chance, I would not go back and live differently. The years with her were golden.’
She smiled at him sheepishly. ‘I don’t want the pain my father suffered. I know that sounds pathetic.’
There’s nothing pathetic about it. Where is the man himself?’
‘Gathering torches.’
‘For what?’
‘Kesa Khan has asked me to lead Ekodas through the lower levels. We are to seek out a crystal.’
Til come with you.’
‘No,’ she said firmly as he started to rise. ‘Ekodas says you are more tired than you will admit. You don’t need a walk in the dark.’
There could be danger,’ he objected.
‘Kesa Khan says not. Now you rest. We’ll be back within a couple of hours.’
*
For the merchant, Matze Chai, sleep was a joy to be treasured. Each night, no matter what pressures his ventures loaded upon him, he would sleep undisturbed for exactly four hours. It was Matze Chai’s belief that it was this blissful rest that kept his mind sharp while dealing with treacherous Gothir tradesmen and wily nobles.
So it was with some surprise that when he was awakened by his manservant, Luo, he noticed the dawn was still some way off, and that the night stars could still be seen through the balcony window.
‘I am sorry, master,’ whispered Luo, bobbing and bowing in the moonlight, ‘but there is a man to see you.’