blade. He dug at random until the shovel was full. Then, grunting, he allowed his muscles and instinct to propel him backwards, away from the hatch. The shovel load came with him. As soon as it was clear, he tipped the contents onto the floor. Glowing nuggets hissed and tumbled, turning black and white around the edges almost instantly. He didn’t stop to study them. While his will remained strong, fuelled by anger, he went back for another shovel load, and another.
The air was soon full of the smell of smoke. With each hurried thrust and lurch his strength halved, until he was gasping despite the heat searing his lungs. He branded his arm on the hatch and barely felt it. A coal touched the sleeve of his discarded shirt and he kicked it away before fire blossomed. His toe registered the burn but it didn’t slow him down.
Eleven shovel loads were all he could manage. He almost tipped the last one on his feet, and he knew then that he was pushing his luck. He dropped the coals with the rest and staggered away, wiping his face.
Seth’s skull had tipped onto its back. The ground was littered with cooling fragments — some of it innocent coal, some clearly belonging to the skeleton he had found: vertebrae, anklebones, a gracefully curved rib. They were black, not the white he had expected.
From a distance, he peered into the furnace. There was no companion that he could see.
My brother, he thought, still breathing heavily. Seth’s name meant ‘the chosen one’. Hadrian’s was supposed to mean ‘the little dark one’. How had it come to this — this utter reversal of fate?
He looked around for a bucket and half-filled it with water from a tap. Some he drank. The rest he tipped on the coals. Steam hissed noisily in the stifling room, making him nervous. Lascowicz’s voice had ceased, and the absence of it was worse than its presence.
I dare you ...
Hadrian’s instincts were groaning like hot steam through the boiler’s pipes. He had what he needed, for now. Once he was safe, he could contact the local authorities — whoever they were — and see about finding Ellis and sorting things out. While he was on his own, he was vulnerable, and getting caught in the basement wasn’t going to do Ellis any good. He needed to get out of the hospital — the faster, the better — and find an Australian embassy. He would be safe there. He could start to put the jagged pieces of his life back together.
By the light of the furnace, he reached down with a rag and selected one finger bone from the ashes. It was still hot, and he wrapped it carefully before putting it into his pocket. Stepping over the rest, he draped the shirt across his shoulders and sought another way out of the basement.
* * * *
‘The predator/prey relationship is not a passive
one, nor one entered into lightly. Both roles
demand equal amounts of inspiration and
perseverance.’
THE BOOK OF TOWERS, EXEGESIS 8:11
H
e crouched by a door, listening to hushed voices he knew he shouldn’t be overhearing. He didn’t want to listen to them, but he couldn’t move away.
It had started earlier in the evening, with a schoolyard game. If two people by accident said the same word or phrase simultaneously, the quickest to call ‘Jinx’ earned the right to punish the other. Until the victor said the vanquished’s name in full, the vanquished was forbidden to speak. Ellis had won the right off Hadrian fair and square. The words they’d said at the same time were ‘without honour’, regarding prophets in their own countries.
So he’d sat in silence as Ellis and Seth had talked and laughed around him. They asked him questions and put on a show of forgetfulness when he didn’t answer. He never did. The game was stupid. It was childish and idiotic. He would show them just how pointless it was by sticking to the rules to the bitter end, whenever that would be. Cunctando regitur mundis, he’d read in a book once. Waiting, one conquers
The air was soon full of the smell of smoke. With each hurried thrust and lurch his strength halved, until he was gasping despite the heat searing his lungs. He branded his arm on the hatch and barely felt it. A coal touched the sleeve of his discarded shirt and he kicked it away before fire blossomed. His toe registered the burn but it didn’t slow him down.
Eleven shovel loads were all he could manage. He almost tipped the last one on his feet, and he knew then that he was pushing his luck. He dropped the coals with the rest and staggered away, wiping his face.
Seth’s skull had tipped onto its back. The ground was littered with cooling fragments — some of it innocent coal, some clearly belonging to the skeleton he had found: vertebrae, anklebones, a gracefully curved rib. They were black, not the white he had expected.
From a distance, he peered into the furnace. There was no companion that he could see.
My brother, he thought, still breathing heavily. Seth’s name meant ‘the chosen one’. Hadrian’s was supposed to mean ‘the little dark one’. How had it come to this — this utter reversal of fate?
He looked around for a bucket and half-filled it with water from a tap. Some he drank. The rest he tipped on the coals. Steam hissed noisily in the stifling room, making him nervous. Lascowicz’s voice had ceased, and the absence of it was worse than its presence.
I dare you ...
Hadrian’s instincts were groaning like hot steam through the boiler’s pipes. He had what he needed, for now. Once he was safe, he could contact the local authorities — whoever they were — and see about finding Ellis and sorting things out. While he was on his own, he was vulnerable, and getting caught in the basement wasn’t going to do Ellis any good. He needed to get out of the hospital — the faster, the better — and find an Australian embassy. He would be safe there. He could start to put the jagged pieces of his life back together.
By the light of the furnace, he reached down with a rag and selected one finger bone from the ashes. It was still hot, and he wrapped it carefully before putting it into his pocket. Stepping over the rest, he draped the shirt across his shoulders and sought another way out of the basement.
* * * *
‘The predator/prey relationship is not a passive
one, nor one entered into lightly. Both roles
demand equal amounts of inspiration and
perseverance.’
THE BOOK OF TOWERS, EXEGESIS 8:11
H
e crouched by a door, listening to hushed voices he knew he shouldn’t be overhearing. He didn’t want to listen to them, but he couldn’t move away.
It had started earlier in the evening, with a schoolyard game. If two people by accident said the same word or phrase simultaneously, the quickest to call ‘Jinx’ earned the right to punish the other. Until the victor said the vanquished’s name in full, the vanquished was forbidden to speak. Ellis had won the right off Hadrian fair and square. The words they’d said at the same time were ‘without honour’, regarding prophets in their own countries.
So he’d sat in silence as Ellis and Seth had talked and laughed around him. They asked him questions and put on a show of forgetfulness when he didn’t answer. He never did. The game was stupid. It was childish and idiotic. He would show them just how pointless it was by sticking to the rules to the bitter end, whenever that would be. Cunctando regitur mundis, he’d read in a book once. Waiting, one conquers
Similar Books
