And then Susan slumped forward, fell in a heap at Shadow’s feet and lay still.
“Die, then,” Shadow said.
Amy sobbed, a deep, bone-shaking sob.
“I don’t understand,” Pel said hopelessly.
Shadow turned to face him, and glared directly down at him from her throne.
“Dost thou not, then?” she asked. “’Tis plain enough. This wench tried to slay me, with that device from your world, whilst I was distracted and had set aside much of my power; and this other hoped the attempt might succeed. Thus I’ve stopped the heart of the assassin, and would slay the other-but I think thou’dst have it otherwise, and thus I restrain myself.”
Pel blinked.
“Me?” he said.
“Look about you, sir,” Shadow replied. “See my choices. A corpse, a madman, and two women, the one who longed for my death, the other a trickster who can hear thoughts-and you, who called out in outrage when that weapon spat its pellets at me. Who, then, shall stand in for me, shall hold the matrix in my stead while I venture forth?”
Pel swallowed hard.
He was no hero. He was just a spear-carrier, someone along to help fill out the party.
But then, this wasn’t really a story at all. This was real life. He was being offered his chance. If everything was as Shadow said, it was a chance-his only chance-to have everything he really wanted.
He glanced at Prossie, who lay on the stone floor, drawing deep, gasping breaths and shivering with cold.
The telepath looked up at Pel, swallowed, and spoke.
“She isn’t lying,” Prossie whispered, but the expression on her face was a clear warning.
A warning of what, Pel couldn’t guess, and without further thought he ignored it.
“All right,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pel had somehow thought that it would all be over in a matter of minutes, that Shadow would transfer the matrix to him then and there, with Susan lying dead on the floor and Amy weeping and Ted giggling and Prossie trying to stop shivering as she brushed the ice from her uniform. He had thought that he could send Shadow through to the Galactic Empire, and then she would come back in a few moments, and he could collect on her promises.
That was nonsense, of course. Shadow, whose appearance was blurring weirdly as she let her suppression of the matrix’s appearance continue to slip, explained the situation.
Before Pel could even begin to hold the matrix, he had to become an actual wizard, rather than a potential one; before he could send her through to the Galactic Empire, he would have to learn the portal spell. Shadow would teach him, of course, but it would hardly be instantaneous.
Pel began to wonder if it might have been quicker if Susan had succeeded in killing Shadow after all, and they’d had to track Taillefer down, instead of going through this abbreviated apprenticeship.
“How long will it take?” he asked.
“That depends upon thine own talents,” Shadow answered from somewhere inside a halo of shifting colors. “With only a little good luck, three or four days; if thou hast the true talent, as many hours; but if thou’rt such a fool as thou sometimes seemest, then perhaps ’twill be years.”
“Are you planning to feed us?” Pel asked.
Shadow flickered, and Pel saw her face glowering through the colors.
* * * *
Amy had to admit that the food was good, and the service, provided by odd-smelling black-clad people who never said a word, never opened their mouths at all, was impeccable.
Much of the decor was ghastly, though; she took professional affront at it. She would never have allowed one of her customers to decorate a room the way Shadow’s dining hall-if that’s what it was-was done; she’d have walked off the job first, and to hell with the customer always being right. Punk was all very well, but to line an entire wall with human skulls, several hundred of them…
She almost giggled at the absurdity of her aesthetic concerns. Shadow didn’t care what the place looked like; she probably had some reason for the skulls. Maybe they were from old enemies, all lined up there as a reminder that she’d killed them all. Maybe they were from servants who’d messed up, to encourage the current crew not to spill anything.
There was no question that they were all genuine human skulls, though; these were not fakes. These were dead people; when Amy thought about it, she had to conclude that to all intents and purposes they were eating in a tomb.
But the heavy, chewy brown bread was rich and filling; the roast beef was tender and had been cooked with onions and some sort of spice that gave it an exotic tang; the wine reminded Amy of the Chianti she and Stan had drunk at that little restaurant they’d gone to when they were dating. She skipped the boiled cabbage-she had never liked cabbage. There were oranges for dessert, and nuts and cheese afterward.
Despite the skulls and the gloomy servants, it was unquestionably the best meal she had had since I.S.S. Ruthless almost fell on her in her own back yard. She hoped she’d be able to keep it all down.
Ted and Prossie ate well, too.
She didn’t know about Pel, though; he was off with Shadow somewhere, starting his training. She saw servants carrying plates past the table on their way to the workshop, for Pel-and Shadow? Amy didn’t know whether Shadow ate, or whether she got all the energy she needed from her magic.
And she wondered about the servants-were they ordinary people, or were they monsters Shadow had made in the shape of humans, homunculi, or whatever they were called?
Or were they something else-zombies, maybe? Shadow had talked about raising the dead at one point, and there was that odd odor.
These people didn’t smell bad, though, and they weren’t black-all of Shadow’s monsters, from the stovepipe things to the dragon that had chased them up the stairs, seemed to be black, and none of the servants were any darker-skinned than Raven had been, let alone black black. Amy preferred to think that the servants were local people who had found themselves in Shadow’s service in perfectly natural ways.
She didn’t look at them too closely as she ate, though.
* * * *
Prossie worried about what Pel was really going to do. He had ignored her warning-he must have seen it.
Maybe, she thought as she wiped her mouth and winced at the friction on her frostbitten lips, she would be able to warn him once he held the matrix, while Shadow was making her first venture into Imperial space.
She wondered if Pel had thought this through; did he really think that Shadow would ever let him go, alive? She would want to go back to the Empire again and again, she had almost said so-every time she went, every second she was away, she would need someone trustworthy back here in Faerie, holding her matrix together and keeping the space-warp open. She would want Pel here forever, and if he ever refused she would kill him and fetch someone new. After all, once she knew that her idea would work, what would stop her from sending her homunculi to kidnap people from Earth or the Empire?
And there was no question at all about Shadow’s callousness or ruthlessness. Susan’s cooling corpse had still lain on the floor of the throne room when they were all led away to be fed, and the skin was peeling from Prossie’s own ears and mouth and fingers from the cold of that asteroid Shadow had sent her to; no one could expect generosity or kindness from Shadow.
Maybe Pel had some scheme of his own, but Prossie did not entirely trust him to outthink Shadow.
She rose cautiously from the table, cast a final glance at the wall of skulls, and followed a beckoning servant.
* * * *