‘Oh,’ the child said. ‘I understand now. It died.’
‘Yes,’ Shurq said, nodding. ‘It died.’
After Mother had left, thousands of ghosts following, Kettle walked to the tower’s entrance. She studied the flagstones set before the door, then selected one and knelt before it. Her fingernails broke prying it loose, and she was surprised at the sting of pain and the welling of blood.
She had not told Shurq how hard it had been speaking to those ghosts. Their endless voices had been fading the last day or two, as if she was becoming deaf. Although other sounds – the wind, the dead leaves scurrying about, the crunch and munch of the insects in the yard, and the sounds of the city itself – all were as clear as ever. Something was happening to her. That beating vibration in her chest had quickened. Five, six eights a day, now. The places where her skin had broken long ago were closing up with new, pink skin, and earlier today she had been thirsty. It had taken some time to realize – to remember, perhaps – what thirst was, what it signified, but the stagnant water she had found at the base of one of the pits in the yard had tasted wonderful. So many things were changing, it seemed, confusing her.
She dragged the flagstone to one side, then sat beside it. She wiped the dust from its blank, polished surface. There were funny patterns in it. Shells, the imprint of plants – reeds with their onion-like root-balls – and the pebbled impressions of coral. Tiny bones. Someone had done a lot of carving to make such a pretty scene of dead things.
She looked down the path, through the gate and onto the street. Strange, to see it so empty now. But, she knew, it wouldn’t be for long.
And so she waited.
The bleeding from her fingertips had stopped by the time she heard the footfalls approaching. She looked up, then smiled upon seeing Uncle Brys and the old man with the glass eyes – the one she had never seen before yet knew anyway.
They saw her, and Brys strode through the gate, the old man following behind with nervous, tentative steps.
‘Hello, Uncle,’ Kettle said.
‘Kettle. You are looking… better. I have brought a guest, Ceda Kuru
Qan.’
‘Yes, the one who’s always looking at me but not seeing me, but looking anyway.’
‘I wasn’t aware of that,’ the Ceda said.
‘Not like you’re doing now,’ Kettle said. ‘Not when you have those things in front of your eyes.’
‘You mean, when I look upon the Cedance? Is that when I see you without seeing you?’