Ring. Sister. Piano (Book 4 of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Fifty Nine: Arduous

He climbed the steps very slowly, mindful of Sita's injured leg. She was too tired for her usual chattering, but she would say something every few steps, to reassure him that she was still there. 

He didn't know if he was imagining it, but her voice seemed to get a little fainter and more slurred every time she spoke, as though she was falling behind, or falling asleep. He slowed his pace even more, half-hoping she would walk into the back of him – but then, that would be bad, wouldn't it? The Queen had said he mustn't touch her.

Because he didn't want his eyes to wander – he was terrified of looking back by accident, just in a moment of forgetfulness – he watched his hand on the smooth stone balustrade, white-on-black, until he could still see it when he closed his eyes. It left a spider-print across his vision. But each time he passed one of the statues, he couldn't help looking up at them. He hadn't realized before how frozen they seemed – not as if they were posing, but as if they'd been caught in the middle of a snarl, or a leap, or a yawn. As if the wind had suddenly changed.

Everything was still apart from him. He could see dust-motes hanging in the air – not drifting, but hanging – even swaying from time to time, like poor Lily Hamilton must have done.

And then there was a sound. It probably wasn't very loud, but it sounded loud in the stillness. A catch of breath, a soft, dull thud, as of somebody falling but not crying out. He could only think that Sita had collapsed, or tripped over, and he wasn't allowed to go to her. He wasn't even allowed to stop. For half a second, he paused, his toe on the next step.

"Sita?"

Another catch of breath. Another soft slither. And then he heard her, half-whispering. "Oh no, no, no, nooooo."

"What's happening?" said Jack, forcing himself to raise his other foot onto the step. It was a trick, it had to be. They wanted to make him look round. She would have told him if she'd fallen down. There was no way to shut her up when she was conscious, and she must have been conscious, because she was whispering.

Jack screwed up his eyes very tight, and took another step. That was when she screamed. The sound crackled along his nerves like physical pain. The closest thing he'd ever felt was an electric shock.

He couldn't stop, he couldn't turn back, he couldn't even reach out a hand behind him to comfort her.

"What is it?" he said, raising his voice above the screams. "Tell me what it is."

She didn't respond. She probably couldn't hear him. But it had to be a trick. The Queen had said this road was arduous, and this was what she'd meant. He had to endure the thought that Sita was being tortured. Not just the thought, but the sound...

As soon as he'd worked this out, he wanted to run. He wanted to get the ordeal over as quickly as possible, and leave those screams far behind him. But the real Sita, who – please God – wasn't really screaming but couldn't make him hear her, she was presumably still following. And she had to struggle up the staircase with an injured leg. If he ran, he might really lose her. She wouldn't be able to keep up.

Taking the next step was the hardest thing he'd ever done. A thousand images crowded in on him, a thousand horrible things that could have been happening to her behind his back. He couldn't help it. He had to fight the instincts of every tired, terrified muscle in his body just to keep going – there was no time to fight his imagination as well.

Sometimes she screamed, and sometimes she sobbed. Sometimes, it was just that drawn-out, half-whispering moan, like someone lamenting over a broken tea-set. "Oh no, no, no, noooo."