Read Online Greatshadow by James Maxey - Free Book Online
Authors: James Maxey
Tags: Fantasy
Ads: Link
pondered this, shook her head, then kept walking.
“After Tower slays the dragon, your job will be to kill the knight.”
Infidel spun on her heels. She eyed Bigsby, who’d uncurled sufficiently from his fetal ball to stare at her. “Go fix me a tub of boiling water,” she said. “And find me soap. Lots and lots of soap.”
Bigsby nodded as he stood, then scampered off.
Infidel leaned against the wall. She spat a gob of pink spittle into the middle of the floor.
“I’m not promising anything,” she said. “But let’s hear your plan.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GOONS
F OR THE THIRD time since I croaked, I watched Infidel strip off her ruined clothes, dropping the tar-black rags into a growing pile of goop. The candle-lit tub of steaming water before her filled the air with a pale haze. I was intrigued that Bigsby had such fancy private quarters. The fishmonger may not have flashed his wealth around in public, but his bathroom was opulent to the point of stupidity. Did a bath brush with a gilded handle scrub his back better than a plain wooden one? Even his toothbrush was studded with gems. And why did he need all these bejeweled bottles of perfumes and ointments? As Infidel moved around the room, my consciousness floated through a black lacquer cabinet decorated with inlaid mother of pearl. Even though it was dark in there, I thought I spotted an ivory wig stand sporting a curly blonde wig. What a very odd thing for a bachelor like Bigsby to have spent money on.
I did, however, admire his bathtub, a long, deep vessel carved from a single block of polished black marble. It was large enough that I, with my lanky frame, could have stretched out comfortably. Bigsby must be able to swim in it. Infidel sank beneath the surface, resting there a moment as the muck that still clung to her hands, face, and hair began to dissolve. She reached for a bar of bright white lye soap and the bath brush. The steamy air grew foul with the low-tide stench, cut through with the burning fumes of the lye. The bathwater quickly turned dark gray; I could no longer see her clearly through the haze.
Perhaps I’ve never seen her clearly. The truth is, while I’ve known Infidel all these years, I know so little about her. I’ve kept few secrets from her. I’ve talked about growing up in the monastery, and about my convoluted family history. I’ve freely shared my innermost thoughts on politics, religion, and the human condition. She, in return, has revealed that her favorite color is black (despite my insistence that black isn’t a color), that she likes dogs more than cats, and that she hates carrots. Everything else I know about her, I’ve learned by observation. She’s obviously from the Silver City; her speech has become much rougher and more colloquial over the years, but she still has traces of the accent and a vocabulary that hints of good breeding. It’s not unusual to meet young men from wealthy families visiting Commonground, seeking vices they can’t find at home. But most women in Commonground are usually coming from the other end of the economic scale. It’s hard to imagine what she was looking for when she came here — or what she was running from.
After Infidel finished her bath, she spent time examining her wounds in the foggy mirror. It wasn’t just her face that had taken a beating from Patch; her whole body was mottled with dark blue bruises, fading to yellow. I wondered how long it would take her to heal. The few times I’d seen her injured, she recovered much faster than a normal person. Why? She made no secret she’d been enchanted, but by whom, and for what purpose? Why hadn’t I pried deeper about these things when I’d had the chance? I’d always hoped that, one day, she’d open up to me, and tell me of her life before Commonground.
“It’s not the role of the dead to be inquisitive,” Relic had said.
I felt like proving him wrong. I’d messed up my chance to learn Infidel’s secrets
“After Tower slays the dragon, your job will be to kill the knight.”
Infidel spun on her heels. She eyed Bigsby, who’d uncurled sufficiently from his fetal ball to stare at her. “Go fix me a tub of boiling water,” she said. “And find me soap. Lots and lots of soap.”
Bigsby nodded as he stood, then scampered off.
Infidel leaned against the wall. She spat a gob of pink spittle into the middle of the floor.
“I’m not promising anything,” she said. “But let’s hear your plan.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GOONS
F OR THE THIRD time since I croaked, I watched Infidel strip off her ruined clothes, dropping the tar-black rags into a growing pile of goop. The candle-lit tub of steaming water before her filled the air with a pale haze. I was intrigued that Bigsby had such fancy private quarters. The fishmonger may not have flashed his wealth around in public, but his bathroom was opulent to the point of stupidity. Did a bath brush with a gilded handle scrub his back better than a plain wooden one? Even his toothbrush was studded with gems. And why did he need all these bejeweled bottles of perfumes and ointments? As Infidel moved around the room, my consciousness floated through a black lacquer cabinet decorated with inlaid mother of pearl. Even though it was dark in there, I thought I spotted an ivory wig stand sporting a curly blonde wig. What a very odd thing for a bachelor like Bigsby to have spent money on.
I did, however, admire his bathtub, a long, deep vessel carved from a single block of polished black marble. It was large enough that I, with my lanky frame, could have stretched out comfortably. Bigsby must be able to swim in it. Infidel sank beneath the surface, resting there a moment as the muck that still clung to her hands, face, and hair began to dissolve. She reached for a bar of bright white lye soap and the bath brush. The steamy air grew foul with the low-tide stench, cut through with the burning fumes of the lye. The bathwater quickly turned dark gray; I could no longer see her clearly through the haze.
Perhaps I’ve never seen her clearly. The truth is, while I’ve known Infidel all these years, I know so little about her. I’ve kept few secrets from her. I’ve talked about growing up in the monastery, and about my convoluted family history. I’ve freely shared my innermost thoughts on politics, religion, and the human condition. She, in return, has revealed that her favorite color is black (despite my insistence that black isn’t a color), that she likes dogs more than cats, and that she hates carrots. Everything else I know about her, I’ve learned by observation. She’s obviously from the Silver City; her speech has become much rougher and more colloquial over the years, but she still has traces of the accent and a vocabulary that hints of good breeding. It’s not unusual to meet young men from wealthy families visiting Commonground, seeking vices they can’t find at home. But most women in Commonground are usually coming from the other end of the economic scale. It’s hard to imagine what she was looking for when she came here — or what she was running from.
After Infidel finished her bath, she spent time examining her wounds in the foggy mirror. It wasn’t just her face that had taken a beating from Patch; her whole body was mottled with dark blue bruises, fading to yellow. I wondered how long it would take her to heal. The few times I’d seen her injured, she recovered much faster than a normal person. Why? She made no secret she’d been enchanted, but by whom, and for what purpose? Why hadn’t I pried deeper about these things when I’d had the chance? I’d always hoped that, one day, she’d open up to me, and tell me of her life before Commonground.
“It’s not the role of the dead to be inquisitive,” Relic had said.
I felt like proving him wrong. I’d messed up my chance to learn Infidel’s secrets
Similar Books
