Living With Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page A

apologies, I didn’t realize we had gentlemen present.” His tone was anything but apologetic.
    Valdarrien rose. “Come on, Thierry, let’s get out of here.”
    “Of course,” the lieutenant drawled from behind them, “you wouldn’t expect much better of a lady whose brother kept a barbarian whore for a mistress.”
    Valdarrien whirled on his heel and spat in the lieutenant’s face. There was a short silence. Then Valdarrien said, “You’ll give me satisfaction for that. I’ll prove the lie in your blood.”
    The lieutenant looked him up and down. “I’d be delighted. If you’re sure you want a lesson from a real fighter.” He fingered the pistol at his belt. “Shall we?”
    Valdarrien bowed with exaggerated politeness. “I’d be delighted.”
    Thiercelin said urgently, “Valdin, don’t . . .” But Valdarrien pushed him away and stalked out through the inn’s side door.
    In the yard ouside, it was cold. The cobbles underfoot were slippery with straw, and the place reeked of urine. One of the lieutenant’s friends provided a second pistol; Valdarrien barely looked at it before taking his place in front of the tumbledown stable. Nothing about this was regular.Why didn’t I stop him ? But no one had ever been able to stop Valdarrien in this mood, not Thiercelin, not Yvelliane, not even his beloved Iareth Yscoithi. In the dim light of the inn’s windows, the two men took aim. There was a moment’s stillness.
    “Fire.”
    Two shots echoed off the walls. For a moment, Valdarrien stood there, smiling faintly, as the lieutenant folded to the ground. Then he swayed, paled, dropped. The front of his shirt was dark with blood.
    When Thiercelin reached him, he was already dead.
    “Monseigneur.” That happened ,too, Iremember that voice . Hands had hold of Thiercelin, shaking him. “Monseigneur de Sannazar.” He looked down and found his gaze intercepted by the multifaceted eyes of a snake.
    He stepped back, shivering. The glittering eyes watched him dispassionately for a few seconds, then blinked out as their owner swept off his plumed hat and bowed.
    “Monseigneur de Sannazar.” Heavy auburn curls brushed along the serpent mask, perfumed as the voice which greeted him. Thiercelin swallowed, said nothing. Gracielis continued: “I owe you an apology.”
    Rather feebly, Thiercelin said, “You do?” None of this made any sense. Gracielis had been there in the inn yard when Valdarrien had been killed. But now . . . He swallowed. “I’m not sure I . . .”
    Gracielis looked down. “Indeed. I’m willing to help you.”
    I don’t need your help.I didn’t see anything.Only Valdin, at home, and here and now this . . . Gracielis had raised his eyes to watch him: it was impossible to read his expression behind the snake mask. What would he do,if I told him . . . Thiercelin could not think. He said stiffly, “I see.”
    “I sent you a note, but . . .” Gracielis hesitated, looking a little over Thiercelin’s shoulder. He seemed to be thinking. Then he drew in a breath and bowed again. “Good night, monseigneur.”
    “Yes,” Thiercelin said. “Good night, then.” Gracielis had already turned to go, offering an arm to a trim woman in dark red. Thiercelin straightened, tugged at his collar. He felt light-headed, confused. He should have asked Gracielis, right here, right now. He did not want to think about it, any of it. He wanted to go home and drink and forget everything. The rain was no longer light: he drew his cloak about him, deciding to abandon the quest for refreshments, and take Miraude home. The weather would quench the enthusiasm of the masqueraders. Strange that Gracielis had recognized him, masked . . .
    The park was lit up by a sudden lightning flash.

2
     
     
     
     
    I T WAS BEGINNING TO LOOK as though the rain would never let up. The cobbles were treacherous with mud; passing carts a hazard to vanity. The rain coated Merafi in gloom, dripping from carved eaves and roof posts,