In her bleaker moments, Slate wondered if her talent for smelling rosemary had been balanced out by a curse that prevented her from staying in possession of anything to blow her nose on.
“Ah…ah…ACHOOAAAUGH!”
There are many sensations worse than waking up in the night with your nose overflowing and your sinuses walled up like brick, but she couldn’t think of any at the moment. Slate clutched at her traitorous nose and moaned.
There was a rustle at the foot of the bed.
“Sneerrggghhhk!”
Something hit her in the face.
It was lightweight, and bounced off her hands. Slate flailed, dropped it, found it again, unfolded it, and discovered it was a small square of cotton fabric.
He’d thrown a handkerchief at her head.
“Thangghks,” she muttered. He grunted.
Well, it’s an odd sort of chivalry, I suppose, but maybe it’s not completely dead at that.
At some point a few hours afterthat,when the night was bleakest and blackest, Slate woke up because something by her feet was gibbering in demonic tongues.
I’m dead,she thought, staring at the ceiling.I’m dead and in hell.
“Ngha, ha, ngh’aa, halikalihali, kalaak-ngha…”
Oh my god, he reallywasn’tkidding.
She sat up, feeling her hip bones grate in their sockets, and crawled to the edge of the bed.
It was Caliban, all right, or his decaying demon. She didn’t know why she was surprised.
He was lying on his side, head pillowed on his arm, muttering into his elbow. His voice was low and guttural and had a nasty bite to it.
“Nghaa…Kai! Kai! Kalaak-ghaa…”
“Hey. Err. Wake up, man.”
“Nghaaaa?”
“You’re speaking in tongues in your sleep.”
“Gha, kamama…”
“It’s really creepy.”
He didn’t stop. She looked around for something to poke him with.
The only thing close at hand was his sword, which he’d hung over the foot of the bed, in easy reach. Slate grabbed the scabbard in both hands and nudged him with it awkwardly.
He twitched a bit.“Nghaa! Kalikalikaliha!”
Oh god, I hope I’m not making it mad.
“Come on, wake up!” She gave him a good whack in the elbow with the side of the scabbard.
He opened his eyes, caught the sword in both hands and shoved upward, hard. Only the fact that she was marginally more awake than he was, and already jumpy from the demon’s voice, let her jerk back out of the way. The pommel shot past her chin.
As it was, her hands stung from the leather ripping through them. She yelped, fell backward, and blew on them.
