"She's trying to kill you," he shouted at the merchant, afraid to let her speak. What would she say? He felt guilty, terribly guilty, as though he had used. her. It never occurred to him to think of it the other way around. So he shouted, trying to drown out denunciations she did not try to make. "Santhract in your cup. She killed Tarquin Tanaquil, because he would not help her, and would have told you about it."
He went on, shouting disconnected facts at Necquer, who hauled the hysterical dancer to him. The merchant held her roughly by the shoulders, trying to see her face, and she suddenly spat furiously at him. Her nails flashed up towards his eyes. Liam and Boult both started toward the struggling couple.
The large window shattered, and a dark shape hurtled towards Rora in a shower of broken glass and wood. It lit on her back, water gleaming on the scales, and a single beat of the wings drove Necquer back. Blood fountained from Rora's neck, where the wedgelike head had buried itself. She screamed.
Fanuilh rose off her back and darted in the air around in front of her to plunge at her face. Shouting now, she flailed her arms at the creature, but it came at her like a whirlwind, biting and scratching and pushing, silent except for the flap of its wings. It pulled back for a moment and then leapt again, forcing her back against the windowpane with its remnants of glass and wood, and then over.
She fell, and the dragon disengaged itself, hovering in the window. It turned its head over one shoulder, between the lazily sweeping wings, and fixed its gaze on Liam.
Done, Master.
Then it dove out the window after Rora.
For long seconds, the three men remaining in the attic room stared at the shattered window. Gusts of rain blew in, spraying successive patterns of moisture on the rug, darkening it.
Numb, Liam could only think of Fanuilh's weakness, its constant protestations of soon, soon.But the dragon had killed her.
Silenced her, he thought, and stirred to drive the idea away.
Boult moved as well, and the spell that held them was broken. "Questor," the Guardsman said shakily, his voice uncertain.
Liam shook himself, like a dog shedding water, and looked at Necquer. The merchant's face was white, his eyes bulging and his lips moving without producing any sound. Even when he slipped bonelessly to his knees in the broken glass, Liam took it for shock, but when the merchant heaved convulsively and clasped his stomach, Liam rushed to his side.
"Go get Coeccias," he barked at Boult. "Get him and make him bring Viyescu. Tell him to tell Viyescu that the Hierarch said he needed an antidote to santhract. He'll understand." He knelt by the contorted merchant, and found the Guardsman at his side. "Go now," he shouted angrily. "Tell him it's santhract—he'll understand. Go!"
After a secorid's gawking, Boult shrugged—his all purpose reaction—and darted out the door.
The merchant was feverish, his skin slick and gritty and radiating unnatural heat. He crouched on his knees, one hand splayed out on the ground while the other clutched at his stomach. He took in great lungfuls of air with croaking sobs, as if he was desperate to breathe. His head swung in wide arcs, like a frightened cow.
Glass was digging into Liam's knees and stockinged toes, and he could see trickles of blood run, mingled with rainwater, from beneath the merchant's outflung hand. Grimacing, he put one hand around Necquer's waist and took hold of his chin with the other, probing a long finger between the clenched teeth.
"Stop fussing," he muttered as Necquer tried to roll his head away, and managed to shove his finger down the merchant's throat. Necquer's teeth closed momentarily, and then his mouth and throat opened, and vomit gushed out, lukewarm and thick on Liam's hand and arm.
As he held the spewing merchant, mechanically urging him to get rid of the contents of his stomach, he looked vacantly out the window.
Fanuilh killed her. No recriminations, no heaping on of guilt. She could never reveal what he had done, what he had allowed to happen.
He could not decide how he should feel, and, for safety's sake, felt guilty.
Chapter 15
BOULT RETURNED QUICKER than Liam had expected, but without the Aedile. Coeccias, he explained, had gone to get Viyescu, and sent him back to help, if he could.
There was little for him to do. Necquer had gotten rid of everything in his stomach but was wracked by dry heaves, and his breathing was still labored. Liam held him around the waist and shrugged at the Guardsman, who set himself to brushing the broken glass and wood into a pile with his foot. The window had no shutters, and the rain still blew in.
Taking the lantern, Boult edged towards the windowsill, and risked a soaking by leaning far out. He dangled the lantern below him, turning his head this way and that. When he ducked back in, Liam was looking at him.
"She lit not on the ground," the Guardsman said in simple explanation, with yet another shrug.
The idea horrified Liam, but he did not let it show. What would Fanuilh do with her?
Coeccias arrived then, followed by Viyescu, who was carrying a bulging satchel. He did not seem in the least surprised when he saw Necquer's state, but darted ahead of the Aedile and took charge of the situation. They laid Necquer out on the bed at his orders, and then Liam stood aside as the druggist removed several flasks and twists of paper from his satchel.
Concentrating on Necquer, Viyescu kept his head down, as though unwilling to recognize the others around him. Liam kept his eyes and thoughts on the merchant as well, though he spoke a little to Coeccias.
"Boult explained?" he asked without turning his head.
"Some, not all. The
