Fanuilh Daniel Hood (classic literature books TXT) 📖

"That would be good," Liam said thickly, trying forcefully to regain control of his reluctant legs. Their talk of Coeccias's father had brought to mind his own, and he felt inexpressibly sad beneath the numbness of the cider.

"On the morrow, then," the Aedile said, as Liam went out the door.

"Yes, tomorrow," he muttered, waving a hand over his shoulder.

There was a cold breeze in the street, and it thinned the haze enough for him to realize that trying to ride out to Tarquin's would be pointless, if not dangerous. With that muddled thought, he forced himself to start for his garret.

The stairs seemed to stretch interminably ahead of him, but eventually he reached the top, bumping from wall to wall. Sad, fuzzy thoughts of his father and muddled curses for Coeccias's wickedly spiked cider echoed in his head. Fully clothed, he collapsed onto his pallet and into sleep.

Chapter 12

AS USUAL WHEN he was even slightly drunk, Liam slept poorly, plagued by nightmares.

In Tarquin's house, which the dream meant for his father's keep, a wild revel was going on, and he, as a crippled jester, was being baited like a bear. Hounds snapped savagely at him, biting his legs and hands. Blood streamed down his legs, but he could not move to defend himself. This greatly displeased the revelers who circled him. The wizard himself, Donoé at his side, his face a demon-mask with the flickering orange candlelight, laughed disdainfully at Liam's pitiful gestures. Coeccias tossed a seemingly endless supply of lutes at his head and growled encouragement to the dogs. Lons and Lady Necquer, lying together on the same couch, shrieked with delight as a particularly large bite was tom from his leg. Others he had met—Viyescu and Marcius, Kansallus and his actors, even Mother Japh the ghost witch-gorged themselves on wine and roasted meat, screaming for the dogs to dispatch him.

Weaker and weaker, Liam tried to avoid the pack, but the laughter and the hatred of the revelers discouraged him, and he allowed himself to fall.

The dogs pounced on him from all sides, rolling him over with the pressure of their attack, and he gazed up into Fanuilh's eyes. The dragon was hovering high above him, gazing imperturbably down on the dog's feast. Suddenly, it flapped its wings gently, and at each downstroke a sound like thunder echoed through the suddenly silent chamber. The revelers stopped indulging themselves, and looked in awe at the dragon as more peals of thunder rang out. Liam looked helplessly into the creature's eyes, searching for something he could understand.

Knocking at his door, subtly like thunder, woke him up, and be left the dream with a muffled gasp. He. jumped to his feet, disentangling himself from his blanket with difficulty. He could not have slept very long; it was still dark out, his candle was still burning, and he was still slightly drunk. There was another knock and he jumped, . then took a deep breath to steady himself and hurried to the door.

Rora stood there, a concerned look on her flawless face. Liam recoiled in surprise and her concerned look grew troubled.

Must be a dream, Liam thought; where are the dogs?

"Master?" she said, taking his sweating palm in her own cool one. "Is all well? Your face's a fright." Her voice was a wellspring of good intentions and honest worry, and her hand felt wonderfully cool and smooth, but he pulled away roughly and turned into the room, soddenly aware that it was wrong for her to be there.

"Nothing. Just a dream." He scrubbed at his hot face and swiped his hair back, knowing enough to know his wits were not with him. He did not hear her come up behind him, and jumped again when she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Master, is all well?"

He saw his chair by the window and, convinced it was a refuge, threw himself into it.

Rora followed, dropping her heavy cloak on the bed, and knelt by him. Her skirts ballooned out from above her waist in a black mushroom, and he focused on them, sternly forcing himself to ignore the low cut of her bodice. She laid a light hand on his knee.

"Master Rhenford, y'are not well, I fear." Her hair was held away from her face by a simple clasp, and rippled down her back. A sweet perfume crept like a thief behind what was left of the cider's haze, and he stirred and shoved at her hand.

"I'm fine, fine. What do you want?"

She took his bluntness in stride.

"Faith, Master," she said, rising smoothly and pacing a few steps away, "I must beg a boon." She turned on him, her eyes sparkling with tears, pressing her hands tightly palm to palm.

I'm not up to this, Liam thought, feeling very stupid.

"You'll clap my sweet brother in for a crime he had no hand in, Master, and I must plead his innocence! On my body I swear his soul's free of taint!"

Oh, gods, why did she swear on her body? I'm going to regret this.

"Plead to the Aedile," he snapped, shaking his head in wide arcs he almost could not control. "I can't do anything for you."

"The Aedile! Even I can see y'are his genius! I pray you, Master, speak with him! Plead my brother's half, bespeak his innocence, I pray you!"

She knelt again squarely in front of him, claiming his wandering attention. He could not look at her for longer than a few seconds; the only thoughts that came to mind were dangerous.

If only she'd go away, he thought vainly, I could stop worrying about looking at her breasts.

Two tears welled up, and then traced perfect courses down her fair cheeks, and he knew he was going to make a mistake.

"I'm only a common player, I know, Master, but I've as much honesty as a gentle! Lons is guiltless in this, I swear! By Uris I swear, Master!"

"Don't call me that; I'm not your Master," he protested feebly,