the nights. A pleasant interlude. Nothing more, nothing less.
With a soft thud, the skiff grounded at the water stair nearest the boarding house. Still smiling a little, Erik dropped an extra coin in the skiffwoman’s calloused palm, despite Florien’s audible huff of disgust.
Keeping a big hand on the boy’s shoulder, he closed the door quietly behind them. “The bathhouse is just down the hall.”
“Nah, I tol’ ye, I—”
“ Florien .” Erik snagged the child’s dark gaze with his own. Held it. “ Go take a bath. With soap. Wash everywhere—hair included. Then come to my room and show me. ” He hadn’t spoken loudly, but the Voice echoed eerily off the walls.
Florien stared, his brow knitted. Then he blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. “Fook it. All right.”
He wandered off down the passage, casting Erik a final reproachful glance before he disappeared through the door at the far end.
Erik sagged against the wall.
You didn’t take it from me, Great Lady. Your blessing, my curse. Climbing the stairs to his room, he sank down full length on the too-short bed. Thanks—I think. He threw an arm over his eyes.
How long did it take to wash one skinny little body? By the time Florien stuck a wet, tousled head around the door, Erik had given up on the bed. He was pacing the floor—two long strides to the window, two strides back.
Without a word, the child held out his hands for inspection. “Kin I go t’ bed now?”
“Wait.” Erik cleared his throat. “Your hair’s wet. Come here.” With one hand, he grabbed a thin shoulder, with the other, he snatched the threadbare towel from the dresser.
“Hey! Mmpf!” The boy’s protest sounded muffled under the vigor of Erik’s rubbing.
Erik paused. “You all right?”
Florien emerged pink and rumpled, his hair standing up in soft spikes. He checked the condition of both ears with careful fingers, shooting Erik a look of frank dislike. “Yah.”
He slid out the door so rapidly Erik was left standing in the middle of the room, blinking, the towel clenched in his fists. He blew out a long breath. The gods be praised, the Voice hadn’t caused the lad any damage, changed him in any fundamental way. Florien had done exactly as he’d been told—and no more. Smiling, Erik bent to unbuckle a boot. The boy’s shirt and trews had been both familiar and filthy. He’d simply put them straight back on his clean body.
Well then.
The first boot hit the floor, then the second. Gratefully, Erik wiggled his toes and stretched until his shoulders creaked. His lips curved in a wicked grin. Tomorrow the real challenge.
Little Mistress Prue.
The Necromancer raised his brows. “I must stop what ?”
“Killing seelies,” said the Technomage. She clenched her hands together, her spine rigid with tension.
“And why is that?” asked the Necromancer, rather enjoying himself.
Her shoulders still tight, the Primus indicated her screen. “I’ve been collecting data, doing projections. They were rare to begin with, but over the years, you’ve reduced the population to below a viable level.”
“They’ve just learned to avoid the traps, that’s all. Clever little things.” The Necromancer glanced fondly at the swirl of blue fur in the tank. He could taste the terror. Luscious. “There are plenty more of them, I’m sure. Where did you put that bucket?”
The Scientist ignored him. She picked up a thick bundle of transplas sheets and thrust it in his general direction, her cheeks flushing pink with agitation. “No, no, you’re wrong,” she said. “Our research on Sybaris shows that such interference has unpredictable results. I need more data.” She took two steps closer to the tank. “Let me talk to the Primus in the Tower here. I can keep this one alive for—”
The Necromancer’s patience evaporated. He struck out, a whip-lash of power curling around the Technomage’s waist, jerking her off her feet. Her shoulder struck the tank with a
With a soft thud, the skiff grounded at the water stair nearest the boarding house. Still smiling a little, Erik dropped an extra coin in the skiffwoman’s calloused palm, despite Florien’s audible huff of disgust.
Keeping a big hand on the boy’s shoulder, he closed the door quietly behind them. “The bathhouse is just down the hall.”
“Nah, I tol’ ye, I—”
“ Florien .” Erik snagged the child’s dark gaze with his own. Held it. “ Go take a bath. With soap. Wash everywhere—hair included. Then come to my room and show me. ” He hadn’t spoken loudly, but the Voice echoed eerily off the walls.
Florien stared, his brow knitted. Then he blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. “Fook it. All right.”
He wandered off down the passage, casting Erik a final reproachful glance before he disappeared through the door at the far end.
Erik sagged against the wall.
You didn’t take it from me, Great Lady. Your blessing, my curse. Climbing the stairs to his room, he sank down full length on the too-short bed. Thanks—I think. He threw an arm over his eyes.
How long did it take to wash one skinny little body? By the time Florien stuck a wet, tousled head around the door, Erik had given up on the bed. He was pacing the floor—two long strides to the window, two strides back.
Without a word, the child held out his hands for inspection. “Kin I go t’ bed now?”
“Wait.” Erik cleared his throat. “Your hair’s wet. Come here.” With one hand, he grabbed a thin shoulder, with the other, he snatched the threadbare towel from the dresser.
“Hey! Mmpf!” The boy’s protest sounded muffled under the vigor of Erik’s rubbing.
Erik paused. “You all right?”
Florien emerged pink and rumpled, his hair standing up in soft spikes. He checked the condition of both ears with careful fingers, shooting Erik a look of frank dislike. “Yah.”
He slid out the door so rapidly Erik was left standing in the middle of the room, blinking, the towel clenched in his fists. He blew out a long breath. The gods be praised, the Voice hadn’t caused the lad any damage, changed him in any fundamental way. Florien had done exactly as he’d been told—and no more. Smiling, Erik bent to unbuckle a boot. The boy’s shirt and trews had been both familiar and filthy. He’d simply put them straight back on his clean body.
Well then.
The first boot hit the floor, then the second. Gratefully, Erik wiggled his toes and stretched until his shoulders creaked. His lips curved in a wicked grin. Tomorrow the real challenge.
Little Mistress Prue.
The Necromancer raised his brows. “I must stop what ?”
“Killing seelies,” said the Technomage. She clenched her hands together, her spine rigid with tension.
“And why is that?” asked the Necromancer, rather enjoying himself.
Her shoulders still tight, the Primus indicated her screen. “I’ve been collecting data, doing projections. They were rare to begin with, but over the years, you’ve reduced the population to below a viable level.”
“They’ve just learned to avoid the traps, that’s all. Clever little things.” The Necromancer glanced fondly at the swirl of blue fur in the tank. He could taste the terror. Luscious. “There are plenty more of them, I’m sure. Where did you put that bucket?”
The Scientist ignored him. She picked up a thick bundle of transplas sheets and thrust it in his general direction, her cheeks flushing pink with agitation. “No, no, you’re wrong,” she said. “Our research on Sybaris shows that such interference has unpredictable results. I need more data.” She took two steps closer to the tank. “Let me talk to the Primus in the Tower here. I can keep this one alive for—”
The Necromancer’s patience evaporated. He struck out, a whip-lash of power curling around the Technomage’s waist, jerking her off her feet. Her shoulder struck the tank with a
Similar Books
