blood.”
“That did cross my mind. It’s supposed to be an acceptable substitute for your preferred diet. Is it?”
“It will do,” Illyria said after a pause for thought. “It certainly slakes the thirst and keeps the agonies at bay.”
“The agonies of having nothing to drink?”
“It’s a need, Redlaw. You must understand this. It isn’t just about filling our bellies. We suffer a compulsion. We must drink. If we do not... To go without blood for any length of time is to crawl through Hell with a thousand devils pricking you with their goads.”
“Good practice for the real thing.”
“Am I destined for Hell?” She seemed tickled by the idea. “Perhaps so. If one believes in such things.”
Redlaw decided he wouldn’t be drawn into that argument. Not with a Sunless, or even a shtriga.
“Cattle blood isn’t good enough, that’s what you’re saying. It doesn’t quite hit the spot.”
“It sends the pain away, but not entirely, not in the way human blood does. A gnawing ache remains even after one has had one’s fill. We accept the cow blood. Tolerate it. It’s given to us, on a plate as it were, sparing us the effort of having to hunt. We take it because it’s on offer. I cannot claim, however, that anyone truly relishes it.”
“Heroin addict forced onto methadone.”
“I have no experience of drugs, but I imagine that is a fair comparison.”
“So when a shipment comes in, ’Lesses fall on it, consume it, then get peeved because it isn’t human? That seems a little, well, feeble. They know it’s from cattle. So what are they expecting? That one day, magically, it won’t be?”
“I agree. It isn’t in itself a reason to go berserk. But perhaps there are other considerations. Dwelling in one of these places, for example.” Illyria waved, straight-armed, to indicate the SRA. “Confined in one area. No freedom. A city full of potential prey, and no liberty to go out and stalk and slay. Everything instinct demands is forbidden. It’s a recipe for insanity, eh what?”
“So we’ll let you all out.” Redlaw made an expansive gesture. “Why not? That’d be a great idea. Off you go. Have fun. Run rampant. Fill your boots.”
“Sarcasm, Redlaw,” Illyria said, “is as offensive to me as mockery. Watch your tongue, or I shall rip it clean out of your mouth.”
“I was aiming for irony.”
“Irony is simply sarcasm in formal dress, and no less deserving of contempt and punishment.”
Illyria Strakosha was, Redlaw thought, a very touchy individual. This being his first encounter with a shtriga, he wondered if all of them were so sensitive.
“I still have this feeling that it’s the blood that’s key to this,” he said. “The correlation seems too clear cut. Delivery, then riot.”
“And I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Illyria.
“In which case, would you help me?”
Those eyes—pitilessly, unfathomably dark—bored into his. “Help you? Why ever would I wish to help the Night Brigade? You people are our sworn enemy.”
“That’s putting it strongly. We have a responsibility to safeguard our kind from your kind. That doesn’t make us your enemy.”
“It hardly makes you our friend.”
“I’m not asking you to swap sides, Ms Strakosha. Nor am I after some form of alliance. You need to realise that the riots are causing widespread unease. Last night’s especially, with those two men dying. Having Sunless among us is a source of tension in itself. Having restless, angry Sunless among us is bound to make matters worse—for you.”
“You’re appealing to my own interests.”
“Absolutely I am. If I can get to the bottom of what’s going on, it could save you ’Lesses a whole heap of trouble. Because, mark my words, trouble is what’s coming your way if the situation continues to worsen. There’s going to be a backlash, a crackdown of some sort. You know this as surely as I do.” He was laying it on thick, exaggerating for effect,
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