The pain was still there, but dimmer, when he opened his eyes. He could see a few little flames, so he guessed that either someone had come in to light the lamps, or hell was a lot less ferocious than he'd been led to believe.
The flames blurred in his lashes and then resolved themselves into bright candle-wicks in clay pots. They were diya lamps. And there was moonlight too – not leaf-patterned as it had been at the Academy, but filtered through intricate lattice-work windows.
"This is the second time you've stumbled in here covered in blood," said a voice. "I had the measure of you the first time we met, didn't I? Your blood doesn't like to stay in your veins. It likes to get out and see the world."
Ohyesohyesohyesohyes.
He looked up, too impatient to wait for his vision to clear, and saw a smudge of darkness and golden brown that was wonderful enough without focus. He had often woken up like this – just with the blurred impression of her skin and hair – and had settled back down to sleep knowing he was exactly where he ought to be.
She was seated at the jigsaw table, wearing a fashionable coat and hat, as if she was just on her way out and couldn't stop for long. The same was probably true of him.
He got up, clumsy with eagerness, and sat down opposite her while she scrutinized the puzzle in front of them. There were lots of things he wanted to say – things he should probably take the opportunity to say before it was too late – but he was frightened she would run and leave him to face his last few minutes in here alone.
"So I haven't been entirely honest with you," she said, keeping her eyes on the jigsaw-table. She seemed determined not to sound apologetic, even as she apologized, because there was a tense, businesslike edge to her voice. "I told you I couldn't put the pieces together in your absence, do you remember? Well, that's not true. I just didn't want you to see the finished picture."
Jack looked down and realized for the first time that the jigsaw puzzle on the table was nearly complete. It was the familiar image of her dead body on the steps of the Turl Street Music Rooms, the red sweep of her skirts flowing down the marble and pooling with her blood on the pavement below. Red and white and a little glimpse of blue from the forget-me-not posy pinned to her bodice – it echoed the flag in the forecourt above her. But there was a gap at the top of the stairs where the pieces hadn't been assembled, and there were no loose pieces hanging about on the tabletop. Were they missing, or had she hidden them?
He shrugged, and felt the distant ache of his cuts begin to stir. "It's all right," he said. "I was lying too, when I said I couldn't keep my progress. It looks as though neither of us wanted the puzzle finished. I thought you'd have no reason to come back if it was complete."
She gave a stiff nod, but she probably wasn't listening, because he was telling her how much he'd wanted her to stay, and she wasn't bolting for the door.
She motioned down at the puzzle and said, "It's from your memory. At first, I thought it was just here to torment you – or both of us – but now I think your memory was trying to tell you something. So I have to tell you before it does, if that makes sense."
Suddenly, Jack leaned forwards and had to fight hard to keep himself from folding up over the table, as another throb of pain went through him. He was running out of time. He didn't care what was at the top of the steps. He only cared about what had been at the bottom of them.
"I'm sorry, can I go first?" he said, with an aborted grab for her hand. "I'm fairly sure I'm dying, and I don't know how much time I have left."
Her mouth became that perfect little 'o' he had first seen on the hills of Edinburgh, the last time he'd been dying. "What?"
YOU ARE READING
A Thousand and One English Nights (Book Three of The Powder Trail)
FantasyAfter spending the past month as a cheerful amnesiac, drinking gin and making jokes while his world disintegrated, Jack Cade finally has his memories back. That means he knows exactly who Ellini Syal is, and how he feels about her. Unfortunately, he...