Cold Steel

I would not look away even though I did not want to hear what he was going to say next.

His voice emerged in a harsh whisper. “Promise me, Catherine. Promise me you will kill me cleanly rather than make me suffer that death.”

He did not flinch from my answering gaze, nor did his unwavering trust allow me to flinch.

“I promise you,” I said, each word a knife in my heart.

He gave a nod so final that my heart squeezed tight with love and terror.

“Now, Catherine, as I was about to say before that unfortunate but understandable venture into the salt mine, I have a plan.”

“A plan? What plan?”

“You don’t think I’ve been sitting here with dry maw waiting to die, do you?” He laid out the carpentry apron on the ground. His tools were stowed in pockets, and he removed each one, running his hands over it as if reintroducing himself to its qualities. By the stiffness in his movements and the occasional wince, he was hurting, but I doubted he would ever mention it and I would certainly never dare say a word to him about the shadows under his eyes or the way my sire had effortlessly taken him captive. “I’ve considered many possible paths, most of which involved your help and some of which involved you being clever enough to bring my carpentry tools.”

“They didn’t all involve me being clever enough to bring your carpentry tools?”

He smiled without looking at me. “Ghouls can’t climb, but you and I can.”

“There are ghouls on this side, too? I’ve not seen any.”

“They’re all ghouls, in their way. What you see as personages in elegant robes, I see as gaunt creatures clawing for my blood. They’re not solid on this side, not like the ones we just saw in the mine. Over here they can change their aspect, just as all spirit creatures can do.”

The way he set each tool down on the ground precisely in line next to the others told me more than words. He was calming himself through orderly action, methodical, precise, just as the cacica had observed. I could not help but watch his hands, the ones that knew exactly how to do the meticulous work he wanted them to do.

He glanced up as if I had made a noise, then raised an eyebrow in that way that made him look supercilious but that was also, I realized, just a way of showing he was puzzled or concerned. “Catherine?”

My lips parted but no words came out. No words I expected or meant to say.

“I love you so much, Vai.”

Had another voice and intelligence spoken through my mouth I would not have been more surprised. His eyes widened, as if I’d blurted out an embarrassing secret he knew he ought not to have heard. Yet the weary slump of his shoulders straightened with new determination as he turned the awl through his fingers and set it down beside the claw hammer. He unrolled the last fold in the heavy leather kit to reveal a set of chisels and a two-bitted hatchet.

“Catherine, can you trust me enough to step blindly off a cliff no matter how it looks to you?”

“Always, Vai. But what is your plan?”

He began to put the tools back. “I’ve had a lot of time to examine this pit. It is a maze, all connected to this central tower of rock. The maze walls are like low cliffs. If we stay on the walls, they can’t get to us.”

“They can walk on the bridges and balconies.”

“Those are paths within and above the pit. We should be able to climb sideways along the walls all the way to the edge without having to drop to the ground. I’ve been able to map out a route where it seems there will be plenty of foot- and handholds and a series of ledges where we can rest along the way.”

“Are you going to chip out handholds with a chisel and hammer?”

“I likely can’t get enough swing on a hammer but we do have them if we need them. We can easily smash stairs, if we need to. We’ll stay above and below the ghouls, climb out of the pit, find warded ground, and cross back to the mortal world. We have no money, but we can work our way wherever we need to go with my carpentry and your sewing. So you see, now that we are together, we have everything we need. Are you ready?”

I nodded. He ripped a scrap of cloth from one of the old pagnes and tied it around his neck like a buccaneer’s kerchief. Tying the apron back on, he rigged his sword and the hatchet so he could grab them easily. I bound up my skirts, binding my sword and the now-lightened pack across my back. We drained one flask of spring water and, thus fortified, set out.

Handing me a chisel, he said, “Don’t look at anything except me.”

For once, I had no teasing retort.