Back at the shack, Kell pried free several planks using the tip of Ilanna's butterfly blade, whilst whispering an apology to the axe. She was a killing weapon. A weapon of death. To use her for simple carpentry was total sacrilege.
Myriam built a small fire, and with Nienna's help cooked thin soup. They used a little of the grain, and watched in amusement as Saark fought with the rope, the rusted knife, and even the whole shaking jetty. Despite his usual visual elegance, his elan and poise and balance, the minute he touched any form of menial task it was as if Saark's thumbs had been severed. He growled and cursed, and finally cut free a length of rope, arms waving for a moment as he fought not to fall into the river. Myriam leapt forward, grabbing the back of his shirt and hauling him back.
'Thanks,' he said.
'You dance a jig like a criminal in a noose.'
'The only crime here,' he said, smoothing his neat moustache, 'is having to perform basic peasant labour.' He stopped. He was close to Myriam, and her hand had slipped from a handful of shirt to the base of his spine. It was as if she held him. Close. Like a lover. He turned, into her, and breathed in her natural perfume. She was sweet like summer trees. Ripe like strawberries. As dangerous and tempting as any honeyed poison.
Myriam was as tall as him, and their eyes met only inches away, and their lips were close. Myriam licked hers, leaving a wetness that glistened. Saark stepped back, breathing out deeply, and saw that both Nienna and Kell were watching them.
'What's the matter?' he growled. 'Never seen an artist wrestle with a rope before?'
'A piss-artist, maybe. Let Myriam do it,' said Kell. 'That way you won't bloody drown.'
'The cheek of it!' But Saark handed Myriam the dagger, and retired to the fire. He watched her move elegantly, and climb out onto the jetty to the far end. It trembled and he felt his heart in his mouth. Swiftly, she made a cut and began uncoiling the old, blackened rope. To the left, Kell was gathering a formidable supply of planks, at the expense of the shack's rear-end wall where the wood was more sound.
Saark looked back to Nienna, and was surprised to find her glaring at him.
'Something the matter, little monkey?'
'I'm not your fucking little monkey,' she snarled, and Saark lifted his hands, palms out, and shook his head a little, face confused. Nienna calmed, and gazed into the fire. Then she snapped back to Saark. 'You enjoy touching her, did you?'
'You have nothing to worry about,' said Saark. 'You forget, easily, how this was the woman who stabbed a knife between my ribs. I do not forgive, nor forget. Not as easy as you, it would seem.'
'Back then she was dying, she was a husk,' snapped Nienna. 'Now she is… pretty. Beautiful! Her skin glows. She is strong, and the picture of health. And you are both now…'
'Vachine?' Saark laughed. 'I've yet to discover if that is a curse I will soon regret. Yes, it has healed me. Yes, my eyesight is a thousand times better, and I do not tire like once I did. But there is a price, I can feel it; there is always a price.'
'Bite me,' said Nienna.
'What?'
'Make me like you.'
'No.' Saark frowned. 'This is madness. If Kell heard you speak thus…'
'What would he do? He's a grumpy old man. A fucking has-been. Bite me, Saark, then take me with you. When we get out of the mountains, we can flee together!'
'Whoa!' Saark leant back, and saw that Nienna's eyes were gleaming, almost with fever. Gently, he leaned towards her and put his hand on her knee. 'What's going on inside your pretty head, Little One?'
'Stop treating me like a damn child!' she hissed. 'You know what I want!'
Saark laughed easily. 'Yes, I am predictable, am I not? But what you ask will get me killed. You know it, and I know it. If we are together, how long before Kell comes hunting us down? How long before sweet Ilanna cleaves through my skull? Where then your childish love?'
'Childish love? How dare you!'
'I dare much, little girl,' said Saark, and smiled easily, eyes glowing. 'If you simply want a quick session with your legs wide, any soldier in the barracks will accommodate you. I can arrange it, if you like. But if you want prime steak, if you want to feel Saark's superior touch and skill and expertise, well, you'll have to wait until you're a little older. I'm not the same as the perfumed absinthe drinkers in Vor who seek out little boys and girls for their fun. That is a practice I helped stamp out.'
Nienna, with eyes wide, stood and stalked off, just as Myriam arrived and dumped a large coil of rope beside the fire. She sat, and looked at Saark. 'You know I heard most of that?'
'I know.'
'Do you think it'll work?'
'I hope so. Much as I'd like to taste her youthful sweetness, I'm sure the price would be too high.' He glanced again at Kell. 'Far too high.'
'There is a price for everything in life,' said Myriam, giving him a dazzling smile.
'I'd noticed,' muttered Saark.
• • • •
They ate in a tired and weary silence, the gloom and cold getting to them despite their meagre fire. After three hours of grunting and hard work, stomping around in the shingle, Kell had finally fashioned a raft.
They stood, staring at the vessel, and Saark wore a frown like a deviated ballroom mask from the Black Plague Tribute, an illegal and anti-royal piece by one of Falanor's most twisted playwrights.
'So, what's that look mean, then?' said Kell, scowling.
'Nothing! Nothing. I mean, is it supposed to look like that?'
'Like what?'
'Like that. I mean, all twisted and uneven. I swear by all that's unholy, Kell, you're no bloody carpenter.'
'I know I'm not a carpenter,' snapped Kell. His eyes blazed with anger. 'That's the whole damn point! This is a life and death situation; we must make do with what we have; work with our limited tools. Which means none. This is about escape, Saark, not pissing carpentry.'
'Still.' He pursed his lips. 'She hardly looks seaworthy.'
' She is not a bloody galleon,' snarled Kell, hands on hips, his fury still rising.
'And I can bloody see that!' said Saark. 'To be honest, I think I might take my chances with the soldiers and demons. If we try and ride the river on that thing, we are sure to die.'
Kell stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. 'Suit yourself. You coming, Myriam?'
'I'm coming,' said Myriam, flashing Saark a weak smile. She grabbed one edge, and with Kell they dragged the makeshift raft down to the water's edge, where the water tugged eagerly.
Saark shuffled after them, and stopped, shifting from one foot to the other. 'This is starting to feel like a military training camp,' he muttered, as he watched Kell making last minute adjustments, pulling several of the binding ropes tight. The timber creaked in protest under Kell's exerted pressure.
'Meaning?'
'Well, we did all sorts of horse shit like this during training. Carry rocks and logs, build rafts, work as a team to get across the river, make stepping stones, swing from high trees, climb like monkeys up pointless walls of rock, run through the mountains, navigate blizzards, that sort of thing. Hah! What a chamber pot of rotting turds that whole thing turned out to be!'
'So, you've built a raft before?' Kell glanced up as he worked.
'Sort of.'
'How can you 'sort of' build a raft? You either do or you don't.'
'I directed their actions, like a good captain should.'
'You mean you let others do the real graft, whilst you sat on your arse thinking about women?'
'Of course,' smirked Saark, failing to grasp even the subtlest strand of sarcasm. 'That's the way it should be. Royalty and people of breeding doing the commanding, whilst, ahem, no offence meant, but peasants work their fingers to the bone.'
'So I'm a peasant, eh lad?' Kell straightened, and rubbed his hands on his jerkin. The skin of his hands was
