"Gloves." Harper began peeling his off. "They worked for my sister and stepfather for years; there's no reason they shouldn't work for you."
"Just a minute." Belimai pulled a jack knife out of his boot and flipped the blade open. Instinctively, Harper flinched. It had nothing to do with Belimai; only the speed of his movement and the razor edge of the knife blade.
Belimai sliced through the curve of his thumbnail and then continued cutting the rest of his nails down to the tips of his fingers. The knife only slipped once when a tremor passed through Belimai's hand. The blade sank down into the side of his finger and bright red blood welled up.
"Fuck," Belimai snarled.
"Is it bad?" Harper caught Belimai's hand to inspect the cut.
"No," Belimai replied. "I'm just starting to get the shakes."
"You should've had me do it." Harper squeezed the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. Belimai hissed at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Stopping the bleeding. You apply pressure," Harper said.
"What kind of cretin are you? Haven't you ever heard of kissing it and making it better?"
"You have to be joking," Harper replied.
"No, it works. You put it in your mouth and suck on it."
"I thought only children did that." Harper started to laugh, then noticed Belimai's narrowed eyes. "All right then, I'll do it if you'd like."
He pressed his lips against Belimai's finger and then gently kissed the small cut. A little of Belimai's blood slipped between his lips.
It was hot and tasted sharp, as if it had been mixed with wine. As he swallowed, Harper felt a burning trail slide down his throat. Heat flooded his stomach and sank deep into his groin. It washed outward through the muscles of his arms and legs.
Harper drew in a breath of the cold air. The scents offish and cats, of machine grease and his own pungent sweat, rolled through his lungs. He felt currents of wind twist and flow over him as if they were ribbons that he could catch in his hands.
He stepped back from Belimai, but already the sensation was fading. A moment later all that remained was a slight warmth in the pit of his stomach.
"Is something wrong?" Belimai asked.
"No." Harper should have known better than to taste Belimai's blood.
"Just put these on." Harper handed Belimai his gloves.
"You're sure—"
"Your eyes are still too easy to see." Harper pulled the cap lower over Belimai's face. The shadow of the brim fell well below Belimai's eyes. "There. Perfect."
"So, now what?" Belimai asked.
"We walk down to the Green-Hill carriage house and take the last carriage out to St. Bennet's."
"Are you insane?" Belimai stared at him. "If there's been a murder, the Inquisition will have men staking out every carriage house, dock, and city gate."
"They will be looking for Prodigals, not other Inquisitors. When they ask your name, you tell them William J. Harper—"
"I'm going to claim to be you? That will never work."
"It will work just fine. Trust me."
"What if they ask me what the 'J' stands for?" Belimai asked.
"They aren't going to ask—"
"I think I ought to know," Belimai snapped. "If I'm claiming to be William J. Harper, then I want to know what the 'J' stands for."
"Jubal," Harper said at last.
"Jubal?" Belimai cocked his head slightly. "What kind of name is that?"
"Jubal, son of Lamech and Adah. 'Father of all such as handle the harp and organ.' Genesis 4:21."
"So, they knew when you were born that you'd be an organ handler?" Belimai smirked.
"And aren't you glad they were right?" Harper replied. He was relieved to see Belimai smile slightly in response.
"Don't you think that they'll know I'm not you?" Belimai asked.
"They won't know if we go to Archer's Green. I've never been there, and none of their courthouses overlap with ours in Brighton. Someone might recognize my name, but that's all," Harper said. "We'll wait until the carriage has pulled up, then we'll walk in and give our names and destinations. We'll pay and get in the carriage, and that will be that. There won't be time for any small talk with the other Inquisitors. All right?"
Belimai took in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. Harper noticed the slight tremors that passed through Belimai's body. For the first time in their acquaintance, Harper wished that he had a few grams of ophorium to offer Belimai, just to still his shaking. Belimai shoved his trembling hands into his coat pockets.
"I suppose that I'll just pretend that all this shaking is from the cold. You think they'll believe that at the carriage house?"
"No one will even ask," Harper replied.
"What if they do? What if they take one look at me and know I'm not you?"
"Then we'll just run like hell." Harper gripped Belimai's shoulder and stepped back out into the rain with him. "Come on. Everything will be fine."
"Oh, yes. How could we fail with such a foolproof plan? You're really wasting your talents in the Inquisition, you know. You ought to work for the war department." Despite his sarcasm, Belimai seemed to relax.
Harper felt an unwarranted ease. Perhaps he was simply too tired to be afraid anymore. He was glad to be walking through the passing seconds, not chasing them in desperation. This once, he thought, he might have arrived in time.
They walked side by side as the rain poured down over them and the gas lamps flickered in the darkness.
Chapter Four
Fever
Harper had hoped, he and Belimai boarded the Green- Hill carriage without trouble. As other passengers pushed inside the dark shell of the carriage, Harper was crushed up against Belimai. Steadily both of the seats in the carriage filled. Harper tensed against the weight of the man on his left as the last passenger squeezed into the carriage. Belimai sat silently on Harper's right, pressed between Harper and the carriage wall.
Harper felt each wave of heat and every shudder that wracked Belimai's body. He wished he could see Belimai's face, but the carriage was too dark. When the light from the gas lamps outside flashed through the window, Harper would catch brief glances at Belimai. He saw little more than a stretch of ashen skin and the thin line of Belimai's pale mouth before the carriage plunged forward again into darkness.
Belimai's silence gnawed at Harper. He brushed his hand against Belimai's shoulder. He tried to make more room for Belimai, but he could only move a little before he unintentionally elbowed the man on his left. Belimai slumped against Harper. His skin was burning hot.
"I think I may vomit," Belimai whispered.
The man on Harper's left squirmed back from the two of them.
"You'll be fine," Harper said. "Just try to relax."
"I can't," Belimai groaned. "I really am going to vomit."
"Try to hang on." Harper knew that his words would change nothing, but they were all he could offer.
He wasn't surprised when the man on his left as well as two other travelers evacuated the carriage at the next stop. Waiting in the rain wasn't such a bad thing when compared to riding in a carriage next to a violently ill passenger. To Harper's relief, the rest of the passengers disembarked shortly after the carriage was checked and waved through the city gates. Only he and Belimai were traveling the full distance of the route.
Harper started to move to the other seat to give Belimai more room, but Belimai caught hold of him.
"Stay," Belimai said. "You're warm."
"Are you sure you don't want more space?" Harper asked.
"Not now. Maybe later," Belimai whispered.
He sank down and rested his head on Harper's leg. Belimai's entire body trembled. The skin of his cheek felt fevered even through the thick cotton of Harper's pants.
"I wish it were always this dark," Belimai said. "If only I had just a little..."
"A little what?" Harper asked after Belimai trailed off into silence.
"Ophorium." Belimai jerked upright
suddenly. "I'm going to throw up."
He rocked forward and then collapsed down to the carriage floor. Harper reached to catch him, but it was too dark for him to see where Belimai was. Then Harper heard the latch of the carriage door click. Light from the rider's lamps at the front of the carriage poured in. Belimai hung out of the carriage, gripping the door handle for support as he retched.
Harper jumped forward, reaching under Belimai's chest to support his convulsing body as he leaned out of the carriage. Wind and icy pellets of rain slashed in through the open door. Belimai shook and coughed violently, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. Harper pulled him back in and slammed the carriage door shut. With a quick practiced flick of his hand, he snapped the lock into place.
"How long has it been since you've had any?"
"Too long, obviously." Belimai's voice was alarmingly soft. He could hardly pull himself back up to the seat cushions. Harper waited in the darkness while Belimai resettled himself, laying his head in Harper's lap again.
Belimai sighed. "Almost three days now."
"Why?" Harper asked.
"I didn't think you'd disapprove—"
"I don't." Harper cut in quickly before Belimai could elude the question. "I just wondered what could get you to do it."
"You don't want to know," Belimai said softly.
"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't ask." Harper touched Belimai's forehead and then slowly brushed his fingers over the damp kinky mass of his hair. Belimai was silent. Harper knew he couldn't force Belimai to answer.
Perhaps Belimai was even right. Maybe he didn't want to know the answer. If Belimai had at last found another lover who inspired him to change, then it was not news that Harper would relish. What he wanted to hear was his own name.
Harper knew it was contemptible to wish that Belimai's salvation would come through him. It was a deeply selfish need to be a savior, if only for this one man. Still, it was what Harper wanted. He longed for it and at the same time knew that it was not likely to happen.
Only one man meant that much to Belimai; he had ruined himself for Sariel. Harper never forgot that. When he had first read Belimai's legal record, he had been horrified and deeply moved by Belimai's devotion to Sariel. He had read the record over and over, staring at the photograph of Belimai and wishing that he could have saved him.
The silence between them stretched on. Harper stroked Belimai's hair. Belimai's skin radiated a fevered heat, but his breathing was slow and even. Harper wondered if he might be sleeping at last.
Suddenly Belimai jerked as if he had grasped a live electric wire. Choking, inarticulate noises gurgled out of Belimai's throat as the spasms rocked through his chest and stomach. Harper caught Belimai's shuddering body before he crashed to the carriage floor. As suddenly as they had come on, the tremors stopped. Belimai sagged back down against Harper's legs, sweating and limp.
"You weren't supposed to see this," Belimai murmured.
"I'm not seeing much of anything," Harper said. "It's too dark."
"You're not missing anything, trust me." Belimai shifted to his side. "I would have gotten it all over with by the time you came back from your vacation," Belimai said.
"I've seen people in worse shape. It's all right." Harper pushed the sweat-soaked curls back from Belimai's forehead. Belimai's sweat smelled sweetly acrid, like scorched pineapple. It was an unnatural scent, even for a Prodigal.
"I'm so glad to be grouped with the men you've seen in rotten shape. My hope is that someday I will reach the pinnacle of that appalling list. Give me a day or two, and who knows? I think I'm going to vomit again."
Belimai weakly pulled himself upright. He rocked with the motions of the carriage. Harper felt Belimai's body bump against his shoulder. He reached out to steady Belimai, but Belimai shoved his hand away.
"No, it's passed now." Belimai sank back down onto the seat and resettled his head on Harper's leg. "Fucking wretched."
"I can't believe that you were going to go to the Crone in this state." Harper shook his head.
"I didn't know what else to do," Belimai answered. His voice was soft. "I didn't want to get you involved."
"I know." Harper continued stroking Belimai's hair. "But I'm the one who got myself involved. There's nothing you could do about that."
"No, I suppose not. You're really annoying that way, you know."
"Am I?" Harper asked, but Belimai said nothing.
Silence filled the dark emptiness of the carriage. Harper couldn't even hear the rain anymore. They had driven out of the storm. Only the steady rhythm of the horses' hooves beating against the dirt road interrupted the silence of the night. Harper closed his eyes. Sleep seemed very appealing.
"What's it like?" Belimai's voice surprised him. He hadn't thought Belimai was still awake.
"What?" Harper asked.
"Where we're going..." Belimai's voice was slow and groggy.
"What's it like?"
"The Foster Estate? It's big, empty...quite beautiful, really. There are orchards, mostly apple and hazelnut. There's a summer staff there, but that's all. My grandmother stays with my aunt's family at Redcliff. We'll have the place to ourselves."
"Sounds nice. I wish that I wasn't so messed up for my one chance to see the world outside the capital."
"You'll get better. It's not as if I'm going to haul you back to the city after you recover."
"No. Guess not. God, I'm cold." Belimai shuddered.
"You're burning up," Harper whispered.
"Do you think hell will be worse than this?" Belimai murmured, curling his arms in around himself.
"I don't know." Harper closed his eyes again. Belimai's fevered body trembled, and Harper continued stroking his hair. He wished Belimai would fall asleep. It would be easier on both of them.
"Tell me something," Belimai whispered.
"What?" Harper asked.
"Do you ever think about hell?"
"Not if I can help it."
"I used to think about it all the time. I wondered what it was like, now that all the demons had left it."
"A vast, abandoned kingdom of endless silence, if you believe the scriptures," Harper replied easily.
"And do you believe the scriptures, Captain Harper?"
Harper imagined, from Belimai's tone of voice, that Belimai was watching him with that sidelong smirk. It wasn't an odd expression for Belimai; in fact, it suited his features. He often used the expression to mask his own earnestness.
"I imagine we'll discover what's there for ourselves soon enough," Harper said.
"I'll write you about it if I get there before you. I bet it's warm." Belimai's words were garbled under a long yawn. He shivered and then resettled himself.
"Do you want me to cover you with my coat?" Harper asked.
"Harper." Belimai was quiet for a long moment. "You can't keep giving your own things up for other people. You need to be a little selfish sometimes."
"It's no trouble. I'm not cold."
"We're both cold..." Belimai drifted into silence. He lay limp against Harper and, at last, fell asleep.
Harper had known he would. Only in the few minutes before he passed out did Belimai completely lose his tones of sarcasm and cynicism. Some nights, if Harper kept him talking, Belimai could almost sound sweet.
Harper relaxed back against the cushions of the seat. He closed his eyes and slept.
Steadily the night gave way to morning, and bright light poured in through the carriage window. Belimai rolled over so that his face pressed into the shadows of the seat cushions. Harper woke and gazed out at the passing rows of apple trees. The air was sweet with the perfume of wildflowers and fallen rain. He was nearly home.
Chapter Five
Angel
The estate house was as Harper remembered. The dark building rose above the outer walls and towered over the oak trees lining the drive. The huge walls were first erected when the estate served as a church garrison. They stood, as they had fo
r generations, awaiting a last assault of ancient heretics. From the narrow windows high in the walls to the vast stables, the estate remained in a warring past. Instead of gas lamps, iron torch-holders hung over the massive stone entry.
Though the grounds and building were immaculate and clearly kept up, the quiet made the estate house seem abandoned. It felt deeply isolated. Not just separated from the rest of civilization by distance, but lost in another age.
Each time Harper returned, he recalled thinking that the torch-holders should be refitted for new gas fixtures. But then he always forgot and ended up leaving them until the next time he came. He wondered if his father had perhaps done the same thing. Perhaps generations of his ancestors had done so, and slowly the estate house had been left further and further in the past, until it at last became this towering relic.
Harper rapped at the carved double doors. The sound wasn't much, but it carried through the stillness. A moment later a slot in one of the doors opened and a young man, dressed in the estate colors of blue and white, grinned out at Harper.
His name was Giles and he was the eldest son of Mrs. Kately, the housekeeper. Harper's annual visits always afforded him a glimpse of the progress of Giles' maturity. This year Giles sported a wispy brown mustache that looked like something he might have bought in a costume shop rather than grown. The way he stroked his chin told Harper that he was rather proud of the thing. Giles pulled aside the heavy bolt and heaved at the door.
"Good morning, Master William. It's a pleasure to see you back at the estate, sir." Giles inclined his head and then noticed Belimai.
In the bright morning sun, it was obvious that Belimai's clothes were mismatched and the wrong sizes. His skin looked waxy and his hair was a wild, black mass. He clenched his eyes closed against the light.
Giles stared at him.
"Good morning to you also, sir," Giles said after a moment.
Belimai groaned slightly in response.
"Giles." Harper called the young man's attention away from Belimai. "Will you inform Mrs. Kately that I have a guest with me and that he is ill? We'll be taking meals upstairs."
"Yes, sir." Giles bowed and then quietly left the entry hall.
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