Kill the Dead by Tanith Lee (beach read book txt) 📕

Hefolded his hands in his sleeves, afraid their work-a-day calluses and gesturesrevealed too much.

“I’mcertain you’d be better riding than walking about.”

“Surelynot inside the inn,” said Dro.

Hebegan to walk away, and the priest clicked his tongue at the limp. Dro stopped,turned and looked around at him. The priest involuntarily retreated a step andhis hands fell back out of his sleeves.

Drowalked out of the compound and across the stepping stones in the water course,to the other side of the street. But striding past the open front of a leatherworker’s shop, he found the priest almost at his elbow again.

“Myson, we must part as friends.”

“Idon’t think it’s obligatory, is it?”

“Accordingto holy writ, it is,” said the priest smugly. “All that meet as strangersshould part as friends.”

“Pityit’s never caught on.”

Awoman leaned gracefully over a kiln where pots baked. Her hair was the colourof the clay. She watched Dro intensely, lovingly. She touched a chord of memoryhe did not want, but the priest plucked his sleeve, distracting him.

“Whenyou think about walking on, remember the horse. We can arrange it privately, ifyou wish. That way I can get you a reduction. Don’t forget.”

“Myapologies,” said Dro, “I seem to have forgotten.”

Hewent through the door of the first inn.

Thepriest stood outside with his mouth drooping. When he turned, the red-hairedwoman had vanished from sight.

Twentyminutes later she came into the inn, voluptuous in a different dress, withcopper leaves pendant from her ears. The room was all but empty save for a cator two and Parl Dro drinking the local wine in a corner.

Shelifted a cup from the counter, crossed over to him and sat down facing him. Helooked back at her silently.

“Aren’tyou going to offer me a drink?” she inquired.

“I’mnot going to offer you a drink, but you can have a drink.” He moved the flasktoward her.

Shefilled the cup and drained it. Her skin was softly flushed by the sun. Her eyeswere a foxy summer shade, catching flame from the metal leaves in her ears.

Shesaid quietly: “My man’s away.” Dro sat and looked at her. “I mean,” she said,“the house is empty. The bed’s empty.”

“No,”he said. “Thank you.”

“Youdon’t like the look of me.”

“Thelook of you is very appealing.”

“Butnot to you.”

“I’mthe one who said it.”

“Butthe one who doesn’t want it. Or do I only remind you of someone else?” Shesmiled at him. “I’d like,” she said, “to sail a boat across the black pools ofyour eyes. You’re beautiful. Even better than they say. And much younger. Iknow who you are, you see. Maybe it’s true, the other story.” She waited forhim to ask her what other story. Of course, he did not. She said, “The story noghost-killer ever sleeps with anyone. That unspent sex builds up a reservoir ofpower. Like the proverbial virgin being able to snare a unicorn. Not that I’msaying you’re a virgin. Or that there’re unicorns, for that matter.”

Therewas a silken dappling on the street. Silver strings tautened past the opendoor. The woman glanced at the rain.

“Ithink I know where you’ll be going. If it exists. When you get there, you mightwish you’d been nicer to me.”

“Why?”

“Oh,you’re interested now, are you? ‘Why?’ Because when I said my man was away, Iwas simplifying things. He left me two years ago, to try your business. He wasn’tso clever, and didn’t get so famous as you. I don’t think he lived as long asyou have, either. He left me to look for the old town, the one they call theGhyste Mortua. He never came back. I never thought he would. Maybe he foundsome woman he liked better, and that’s why he stayed away. Or maybe he foundthe town, on the side of the hill, or in the lake, where the landslide left it.The ghost town. And it killed him. He could never make me understand. He saidthe Ghyste was in this world, and not in it. That you could only find it atcertain times of year, when particular stars were here, or there. But he wasone for the lusts of the flesh, my man. Perhaps that’s why he was no good at yourvocation. Parl Dro.” She got up, turning her face to the rain flicker.

“Thismorning,” she said, “awhile before sunrise, I saw a girl go up the street.There was no one else about. She went right by under my window. I didn’trecognise her, but it was dark still. Then I saw something shining. She wasleaving wet footprints on the street. She went toward the priests’ hostelry.When she got close to the wall of the compound, the first light started tocome, and I could see the brickwork right through her back.” The woman stoodlooking at the rain.

Presentlyhe spoke.

“Maybeyou should alter your trade.”

“MaybeI have. I played the riddle-blocks later. I cast the King of Swords, that’syou. And in the Zodiac, the water sign of the Two Fish, and the air sign of theHarp–that’d be your sick friend, probably–the sign of the weakling and thegenius. She was there, too. The Virgin, riding on the unicorn, gripping thechain around his neck. Watch out, handsome hero.”

“Allright,” he said. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Ifyou want me,” she said, “for anything, it’s the house behind the potter’s shop.I’m called Cinnabar.”

“I’llremember.”

“Seeyou do.”

Duringthe afternoon, when smooth rain shadows slicked the hostel, Myal’s fever hadlifted him on firework wings. He had chattered at great length, and one by onethe priests had stolen in to listen. They heard quite a few unusual things as,under the pretence of stoking the brazier, bringing fresh coals, blankets,aromatics and wet cloths to moisten the storyteller’s burning lips, theyclustered at the bedside.

Theyheard of strange predilections of the Cold Earl’s, of moonlight falling onnaked maidens astride the backs of stallions. They learned of the Gray Duke’sdaughter, and a certain sequence in a wood. They learned of court orgies andromps. And sad seasons when leaves ran yellow in the streams and money came inthe shape of other men’s pockets. They learned of Myal’s drunken father,bloody-eyed and strap in fist, and of all the bullies who had assumed thatfather’s shape in later years, dukes, innkeepers, stewards and jailers. Thepriests clotted