I’m not going into detail about the embarrassment that followed, the legs like wet noodles, the tongue that kept lolling out of my mouth like it wanted to escape, the march–well, pathetic wobble held up by two guards–across the dust-strewn plaza in front of hundreds of staring people. Most were still dazed from the explosion, and so was I, dazed and not quite right in the head.
The plaza kept swimming in and out of focus, but there were definitely bits of temple scattered across the stone. A gargoyle’s face leered drunkenly from in among the flowers, or what was left of them. The blooms appeared to have been lopped off neatly at the neck, scattering petals that blew around the space like orange and black snow. A dead Glow bird lay in a smashed cage, nothing now but dull bits of glass.
Feeling began to come back, just a bit, and I didn’t welcome it. I felt like I was in two places at once, here at Top of the World, in splendour that turned my stomach when I thought of the starvation below us and, at the same time, all was black around me, and I was light, and the voice was singing in my head, too sweetly, too much to resist. Only the grip of Pasha’s hand on my arm, a solid pressure, brought me back to me.
Other than that, let’s just say me and Pasha ended up in what Fat Cardinal probably thought of as a hellish and forbidding room but was in fact far plusher than any place I’ve ever lived. It had carpet and nice thick velvet curtains to keep out the chill. I’ve never had a carpet, and the only cheapjack curtains I ever managed to nail up were destroyed in the Paint Incident.
The room also had a Dench, which was stupid because he should have been protecting Perak. Why wasn’t he? He didn’t look too happy to see us–his moustache went from drooping and careworn to standing to attention as he shouted, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He pinned me with a glare. I tried an ingratiating grin, but, as all my nerves were numb, I suspected it didn’t turn out too well.
“That blast, that was you, wasn’t it? Well?”
I tried to get an excuse out, tell him that Perak had been shot, but all that came out were mangled noises so in the end I just nodded.
“I should have fucking well known it. Holy shit, man, are you trying to make a habit out of blowing up archdeacons? Even—” He pulled up short and glanced at the guard at the door, primed with more nasty jabs for when this one wore off. I hated that guard already. “Even Perak?”
Again, all I could manage were a few strangled grunts. Pasha tried, too, with pretty much the same result. In the end, I finally spat out an approximation of “Shot”, that only someone off their tits on Rapture or very, very determined and used to dealing with drunks, might have understood.
I don’t think Dench was on drugs, but he seemed to get it.
“Who was shot? You’re not bleeding and neither’s Pasha. Perak?”
Another nod sent Dench to a chair in the corner to think and stroke his moustache, looking us over all the while. By the time he hunkered down next to us and talked in low murmurs the guard couldn’t hear, I could move my tongue to form words, even if I couldn’t feel it.
“You were supposed to leave looking after Perak to me, not come dancing in here like you owned the place. You’re an embarrassment up here, especially with your own face on. Most of them get by pretending the pain-mages all got destroyed, that the Glow they’re getting is some genius replacement Dwarf or the alchemists dreamed up. The rest only want to see you thrown off the top of Home of the Goddess and splat in the Slump. You were supposed to be trying to find out who’s killing all those Downsiders and stopping any more riots, helping to calm things down. Not making things worse. Remember?”
“Not Downsiders.” Well, that’s what I meant to say, but I had a heck of a good slur going on. “Mages. Definitely. I told you. I know who’s doing it, too.” Had he forgotten? Maybe he’d had worse things to deal with.
Dench went very still, staring at me like I’d gone batshit. Maybe I had, it was hard to tell any more. He was still staring when more guards came and dragged me and Pasha off on wobbly legs. “To see the cardinal,” one said when Dench asked.
I really didn’t like the way that unflappable Dench flinched at that.