Trials and tribulations. Physical ordeals. The love of beautiful women. Tragedy and betrayal. Victory and vindication. Heroic joy, heroic pain, heroic life, heroic death.
"I'm here," I told Annah, "because I'm an ass. There's a dead woman at my feet, killed in an ugly ignoble way… and I'm still not as afraid of dying as I am of being ordinary."
She took my hand — my blood-smeared hand — and pressed it to her lips. "Me too," she whispered. "No more being ordinary. I will drink life to the lees." She paused. "Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 'Ulysses.' " She paused again. "I've been a teacher way too long."
Impervia and Pelinor set off toward the central square, supposedly to scout the town and make sure there were no more Ring thugs waiting in ambush. In truth, Impervia was just too keyed up to stay in one place; Myoko couldn't be moved in her current condition and Impervia couldn't bear watching helplessly while our friend looked so pallid and frail. There was nothing anyone could do except keep Myoko warm and hope her blood would soon start circulating normally. That wasn't enough for Impervia: she went off on the prowl, and Pelinor tagged along to keep her out of trouble.
I too was feeling keyed up. I trotted down to the lake to fill a canteen so we could splash Myoko's face… then I couldn't decide if splashing would help or just add to the level of shock. Every teacher at the academy had been trained in first-aid; but our textbooks had been OldTech ones. That meant we learned the best temporizing techniques OldTech experts knew, but most of the write-ups ended with OBTAIN PROFESSIONAL MEDICAL HELP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
We were four hundred years too late for that.
"She's waking up," the Caryatid said. Annah and I knelt beside her; we all saw Myoko's eyelids flicker. As soon as her eyes opened they closed again, squinting against the sun. We'd laid her in the brightest spot we could find in an effort to keep her warm.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Like shit." Her voice was a thready whisper. "Who's…" She couldn't finish the question.
The Caryatid said, "Oberon died but took Xavier with him. Everyone else is alive — thanks to you."
"Okay… good…"
"Rest," Annah said. "Don't waste your strength."
"Too late," Myoko whispered. "Way too late."
"Don't say that!" the Caryatid told her. "You'll be fine."
"I am fine," Myoko said. "Did my bit. What I was… here for…"
"Myoko!" The Caryatid's voice had gone steely. "Goddamn it, don't you dare surrender. It's stupid. People don't just die when it suits them. Don't give up. Myoko! Myoko!"
The Caryatid shook Myoko by the shoulders. Myoko's head flopped limply in response. A little more blood trickled from her mouth. Then a bit from one ear.
When the Caryatid let go, Myoko slumped to the sand. Bright sun. A spring breeze. And death.
Impervia and Pelinor returned. With them came a wagon driven by two sullen teenagers: one boy, one girl, both about sixteen, both with flaming red hair and freckles, both glaring resentfully at Impervia. The wagon held a single coffin.
"I found an undertaker," Impervia announced, jogging up ahead of the cart. "It was—"
"You only brought one coffin," the Caryatid said. Her voice was flat and lifeless.
"For Gretchen," Impervia said. "There was nothing big enough for Oberon, and Xavier can lie where he is. Let the crows pick at his…"
She stopped. She'd seen Myoko.
"We need another coffin," the Caryatid said.
Impervia closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. When she knelt beside Myoko, she needed almost a full minute before she could speak the first words of a prayer.
The grumpy teenagers were named Vickie and Victor: twin children of the local undertaker. Pelinor prattled on about the whole family having bright red hair, mother, father, all the children who'd been hanging about the shop. No one listened to what he was saying, least of all Pelinor himself — he was just filling the silence, trying not to break down in tears.
Myoko was dead. Gretchen was dead. Oberon was dead.
Only ten minutes had passed since we left Dainty Dinghy.
The red-haired teenagers lumpishly hauled the coffin off the wagon and dragged it to the jolly-boat. They set down the coffin beside Gretchen; I suppose they thought Gretchen looked more dead than Myoko. Impervia immediately broke off her prayers. "This one," she said, pointing at Myoko. "This one first. Then the other."
"You want them in the same casket?" Victor asked.
"Of course not!"
"We only got the one casket," Vickie said. "Either we double up or somebody goes without."
"You'll get another casket." Impervia's voice was the hissing fuse on a bomb. "You'll put this woman in the casket you have and you'll get another casket for that woman there. You'll be quick about it and you'll handle them with respect."
"Here," I said, stepping forward. I had my trusty purse out and enough cash in hand that I hoped Vickie and Victor would shut their mouths. "This will cover your expenses. Just do what needs doing."
Vickie and Victor stared at the money a moment, then both reached to grab it. They had a three-second shoving match over which of them would take possession of the gold.
Under other circumstances, it might have been funny.
Impervia stomped away to the edge of the lake and stared out over the water. She kept her back turned as the teenagers picked up Myoko's body.
Pelinor drew me aside. "While Impervia was speaking with the undertaker," he said, "I arranged for a coach to Niagara Falls. There's no regular run scheduled, so, uhh, we'll have to pay extra."
I nodded; whatever the price was, I could cover it. Didn't I always pay for everything? I could afford the coach and the coffins as easily as I bought the first round of drinks whenever we went to a tavern.
(It occurred to me, we'd probably never go bar-crawling again. With Myoko gone, we couldn't bear the hollowness. We might even start avoiding each other.
(Nothing would ever be the same.)
Annah went with Vickie and Victor back to their wagon. She spoke with them quietly for several minutes. When she returned, she said, "The undertaker will hold all the bodies while we're in Niagara."
"And if we don't come back?"
"If we don't return in three days, they'll take the corpses to Gretchen's ship."
At which point, Zunctweed might throw Gretchen into the lake — or worse. The spells that made slaves obey their owners didn't apply once the owner was dead… and I'd seen slaves commit gross atrocities on their late owners' bodies. Even slaves who seemed resigned to their lot might take posthumous vengeance for years of indignity. Kicking, mutilating, attacking the corpse with any weapon they could find. Then, after the savagery was over, they'd docilely report to their owner's heir. Slavery spells didn't end with one owner's death; they just took a brief holiday, then reasserted themselves with a new master.
I wondered whom Zunctweed would go to once he learned Gretchen was dead. Maybe me. Sometimes when Gretchen got into a huff, she'd threaten to leave me Zunctweed in her will.
As if I didn't have enough problems.