Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (47 page)

‘What troubles you
daughter?’

Tika spun, to see Kija
reclining further along the verandah, watching her with eyes that
whirred a buttery yellow. Tika joined her and sat leaning against
the house wall with a great sigh. She opened her mind and let Kija
see her confusion. Kija took it all in without comment.

‘Did you know?’ Tika
finally asked.

Kija’s long face
lowered and brushed gently against Tika’s, her breath ruffling the
dark unruly curls. ‘I was beginning to see it.’ Kija’s mind tone
offered endless comfort and affection. ‘It isn’t just the power you
have that frightens you though, is it small one?’

Tika drew her knees up
and rested her cheek on them. ‘Suppose I do something wrong? Kija,
healing seems too easy now. I don’t even get tired or hungry when I
use power, and I need to use so very little.’ She turned her head
to look into Kija’s face. ‘Suppose I was angry, as I have been
angry. Imagine what I could do, should I lose my
temper.’

Kija took her time
before she replied. ‘Do you remember, at Lady Emla’s house? How
many times did you break a tea pot before you learned control
enough to just move it? When Farn knocked the chimneys off the
roof? He had to learn to control his fire. I think you must learn
that when your anger rises, you must find a way to separate it
completely from the part of you that reaches for power.’

‘I suspect that will
not be easy,’ Tika said ruefully. ‘Do you think Iska knew all this
about me?’

Kija’s forearm moved,
scooping Tika close against her great chest. She curled her bulk
around her, almost hiding Tika from sight.

‘I’m sure she did, dear
one. I’m sure she did.’

Tika slowly began to
relax and Kija crooned softly to comfort her daughter.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

The creature who now
occupied the body of the anatomist Tomin, smiled at the many who
asked after his health. He assured one and all that he was fully
fit, indeed, he’d never felt better. He took some time to get out
of the infirmary because of those concerned enquiries, but
eventually he strode down through the galleries to the yard
encircling the Citadel.

He was fully aware of
the man who followed him. He laughed to himself when he stopped
suddenly, half turning back as if he’d forgotten something. His
follower very nearly collided with him. Then, flustered, he stooped
to retie a bootlace as excuse for delaying until Tomin chose which
route he was taking. Tomin took a direct path into the City,
towards the rooms he rented above a baker’s shop.

The baker was setting
out a fresh selection of loaves in the front of his shop and he
waved as Tomin passed. Tomin swung down the side alley, ran up the
wooden stairs and unlocked the door at the top. From the corner of
his eye, he saw the man who’d followed him idle past the end of the
alley. Tomin chuckled. Inside, he went to the small window
overlooking the street. The man was now talking to another, seated
on a bench outside a tavern. Both were facing the baker’s shop,
their gaze flicking up briefly when Tomin moved at the
window.

Tomin went through to
the back room. A much smaller window gave a view of the baker’s
back yard which seemed to hold only stack upon stack of fuel for
his ovens. Tomin sat on the narrow bed. He spread his hands out in
front of him, watching the knuckles move under the skin as he
clenched and unclenched his fingers. He frowned and plucked at the
green gown he wore. He hooked a finger in the neck and
tugged.

The gown split, tearing
down to the wide leather belt at his waist. He pulled at the
buckle, snarling when his fingers were unable to work out the
fastening. He pulled a little harder, and the buckle broke away
from the leather. Looking round the tiny room, he saw a wardrobe
squeezed into the corner by the window. He rummaged through its
contents, throwing three more green gowns on the floor behind him
with growls of disgust.

Then he found a tunic
of plain brown wool. Two pairs of trousers, of the same brown
material, were folded on a narrow shelf. Tomin yanked away the
remnants of his gown and struggled to get the tunic over his head.
It took him a while to realise his boots had to come off before the
trousers could go on and he was surprised to feel suddenly
exhausted by these efforts.

He sat on the bed and
looked at his hands again. They seemed to blur, the fingers curving
into hooks tipped with thick horny nails. He blinked, and they were
human fingers again. He thumped one hand against his knee. He must
concentrate, stay in this body as long as he could. When he’d found
her, he could become himself again. He stared unseeing at the wall,
unaware of the drool slathering down his chin.

Tomin sat thus, as if
entranced, until the sound from the shop below ceased and the room
in which he sat grew dark. He stirred and rose, moving silently to
the window at the front. A few lanterns burned along the street,
distantly apart, but the shops were all closed. The landlord of the
tavern across the way was collecting mugs from the deserted tables.
Tomin watched him retreat into the tavern, the door close and heavy
bars slam into place.

He went to the outer
door and closed his eyes, his hand on the latch. On the wooden
stairs beyond, the air seemed to thicken and become almost like
fog. Beslow’s agent was hunched beneath the stairs, hands tucked in
his armpits for warmth, and wondering where his replacement had got
to. He vaguely noted that a sea fog had drifted in with full night,
but paid no particular heed to it.

He had one heartbeat to
see the impossible shape bending towards him. A clawed hand grasped
the front of his jacket, snatching him up out of the shelter of the
stairs. His next heartbeat was his last. He had a glimpse of small
dark eyes, fangs and tusks. He felt unbelievable pain as the hand
dug through his clothes, through his skin, his ribs, to clutch his
heart. The hideous mouth came closer, to rip out his
throat.

Tomin held the body
until he’d drained it of blood, saving the heart for last. Then he
went to the entrance to the alley and sniffed the air. There was
someone, not far away, who might have information he could use. He
was halfway down the street before he remembered to contract
himself within Tomin’s human form. The effort tired him but he
didn’t notice.

The ghost leaning over
the edge of the roof was frozen with horror. When he’d lived, and
since he’d died, he had seen too many examples of what men could do
to their fellows. But he had never seen anything like this. He
drifted after the creature, staying at roof height. He watched it
take on the shape of a man and walk, rather than shamble, on into
the lower City.

The ghost hovered in
indecision. Should he follow, or go back to Gossamer’s house?
Hesitantly, the ghost followed, but he sent out the odd call used
among the community of ghosts, to summon each other, and hoped that
his call might be answered, and swiftly. The ghost soon realised
that the creature didn’t appear to know where he was going. Twice
he retraced his route, the second time very nearly back to where
he’d started from.

The ghost continued to
call at intervals and eventually a group of seven others joined
him. He explained what he’d seen and four of them shot off the roof
to investigate the alley where the corpse lay. They all watched the
creature standing beneath one of the street lanterns, turning in a
slow circle, sniffing audibly. They drew closer to each other when
the man shape blurred again and clawed hands reached skywards and a
bellow of fury came from the tusked mouth.

It was obvious he was
seeking someone or something, but the ghosts couldn’t begin to
guess who or what that might be. The first ghost was desperately
agitated. Having met the woman, Tika, and discovered she could
speak to him and hear him so easily, her absence meant that once
more he was excluded from communicating with the living. He asked
the seven ghosts to continue their watch whilst he sped to
Gossamer’s house.

How could he make that
idiot, Drengle List, understand? He came to an abrupt halt. He
stared at the streets below him. He was in the Guilds’ Precinct.
The ghost knew of Snail the Embalmer: he knew that Gossamer and
Drengle both visited her regularly, along with quite a few others
who were in the same unfortunate position. There were a surprising
number of people murdered in Kelshan who found themselves cursed to
live on in a strange kind of existence. For a while the ghost
dithered, flittering down to street level and studying the discreet
signs displayed above doors and windows.

He found Snail’s
establishment but it was closed up tight, not a chink between door
and frame, or around the small windows. While ghosts could pass
through solid objects, many of them found it an unpleasantly
disorientating experience. He whisked back up to the roof, to the
chimney from which rose a thin thread of smoke. The ghost floated
slowly down until he came to a fireplace. His substance thinned as
he entered a room.

A plump woman lay on a
couch, her hands folded on her stomach. As the ghost moved towards
her, she glanced in his direction. Her eyes rounded and she pushed
herself up into a sitting position. The ghost was cautious. He’d
discovered that quite a lot of people, and animals, were aware of
his presence. Some could even discern the outline of his form.
Perhaps Snail was one of these. He moved to the right and Snail’s
eyes tracked his movement. Very slowly, he lowered himself onto the
end of the couch. Snail drew her feet tighter beneath her, but her
eyes remained steadily fixed on his.

‘Who are you?’ she
whispered. ‘Why are you here? I can do nothing for you.’

The ghost was
astonished, then he remembered her reputation for compassion
towards those such as Gossamer Tewk.

‘Can you hear my
words?’ The ghost spoke loudly.

Snail frowned and
leaned forward. ‘Did you speak?’ she asked.

Simert’s Blessing,
she’d heard him! He whisked round the couch and hovered close to
her face. ‘Can you really hear me?’ he yelled.

Snail smiled, a little
nervously. ‘Could you speak up a bit, you don’t need to whisper.
There’s no one else in the house.’

The ghost regarded her.
This might take a while.

In fact, it was close
to dawn by the time Snail had grasped all that the ghost had to
relate. They had argued because the ghost had been urgently adamant
that she pack a bag and go to stay at Gossamer’s house. He could
give no good reason for this demand but finally Snail was persuaded
by his desperation. He’d argued that her establishment was closed
for business anyway, and for a reason he could not articulate, he
felt she’d be safer further from the Citadel.

Snail let herself out
of her house and hurried through alleys and even narrower passages,
avoiding the still empty streets. The ghost floated ahead of her, a
pearly outline in the crepuscular light. Snail had never been to
the house before and was thankful for the ghost’s guidance.
Although she’d been dubious about leaving her own home, she
couldn’t deny a strong sense of relief when she reached the open
back door of Gossamer’s house. Drengle List was seated at the
kitchen table. He leaped to his feet in astonishment and then
beamed at her.

Snail immediately noted
the purple and yellow smears over Drengle’s face and body, and
thought the colours were very familiar.

‘Snail! Snail! How nice
of you to visit!’ Drengle observed Snail’s narrowing eyes and
spread his hand inadequately over his chest. ‘I’ll put the kettle
on.’ He waved at one of the cupboards. ‘There’s lots of different
teas to choose from. Excuse me a moment, won’t you.’

He stumped hurriedly
away, Snail guessed to remove the evidence of his theft of her
cosmetics. She looked around the kitchen, her lips pursing in
disapproval. The place was filthy. She looked out of the door and
saw many ghostly shapes clustered in an ancient overgrown orchard.
First things first. She put her bag on the table and rolled up her
sleeves.

Despite his grumbles,
Drengle quite enjoyed scrubbing the floor. He liked being told to
do straightforward things. Difficult things upset him. By midday
the kitchen was up to Snail’s standards of cleanliness. She hadn’t
yet dared to look elsewhere in the house. She sat on the broad step
outside the back door, enjoying a bowl of tea Drengle had made her.
A breeze riffled the air behind them and Drengle was on his feet at
once.

Snail looked back into
the kitchen to see an amazingly beautiful woman standing beside the
table. The woman stroked a hand over the wooden surface, then
inspected her palm.

‘Astonishing.’ She
beamed at Snail. ‘I didn’t think cleaning was actually done
here.’

Snail got to her feet.
She stared at the woman hard.

‘You aren’t dead,’ she
said. ‘But there is something wrong with you.’

Dark red hair began to
curl and writhe about the woman’s shoulders and the skirts of her
fine black dress lifted and fluttered like lacy cobwebs.

‘There is absolutely
nothing wrong with me woman,’ she said haughtily. ‘Do you not know
who I am?’