For a moment, I felt hope as Cleft lowered Brindle.
That’s right! Let me at him! I could feast on stringy old paladin if required.
But Sir Sorken had been ready. As Cleft lowered my doggy friend, he put his great stone hand over Brindle’s muzzle, and lightning-quick, Sir Sorken tied Brindle’s mouth with rope and cinched the rope to his belt, which he fitted around the dog’s neck. Together, they laid Brindle on the altar and tied him in place.
I make a terrible sacrifice. You need to tell them! Tell them that killing dogs is a crime no one will forgive. Not even the prince of demons himself.
I thought the prince of demons didn’t forgive, Sir Branson said curiously.
Now was not the time to argue theological technicalities.
I cleared my throat. I couldn’t tell if that got anyone’s attention. It was Suture who determined which way I faced, not me.
“Brothers,” I spoke loudly, carrying. I’m no orator. In fact, addressing them all made me as nervous as dangling over this library hole. I persevered. “We are not finding a holy cup in this place. It is not making us Saints. Surely, you see that. A murderer walks among us and this place is made for an unholy purpose.”
There was a silence and then Sir Owalan said a little awkwardly, “You’re spinning something out of nothing, Beggar. The Seer died at the hands of nefarious forces — a demon that the High Saint tells me you refused to cast out. Sir Kodelai died trying to rectify that, and the Inquisitor was a nasty accident. You have to expect that any quest worth performing would be rife with trial and difficulty. We cannot all be Saints. Only the worthy.”
“And those of us not worthy?” I asked but there was no answer.
I felt like cursing.
Go ahead. Who’s stopping you?
I rather hope she’s holding back for my sake.
You won’t be here forever, wretched corpse. One day she’ll be free to be exactly as loose as she likes.
“Let us pray,” Sir Sorken intoned, and as Suture carried me roughly to my platform, they spoke together, “For what we are about to receive, we thank you, oh God.”
I felt like I was being readied for dinner. Dog and Beggar. What a treat.
If only you knew, snackling, how I’ve craved you, how sweet your soul would be upon my lips. It would go down like aged wine.
Because that wasn’t at all creepy.
The platform rocked as Suture’s feet hit it and I got a nice up-close look at my altar. I tried to read the words on it, but I didn’t have to — Sir Coriand was already calling them out as the platform trembled beneath me. If it broke, would the golem drop me? Would I be able to catch the edge in time?
“Your altars read, ‘A worthy price you’ll pay, and on this altar lay, or your soul to us you’ll lose, in punishment for your ruse.’”
Wait. Hold on now.
“You put my dog on your altar!” I called out, but inside I was more offended by all this terrible poetry than I was by that fact.
You think my imprisonment and possible slaughter is less offensive than bad rhymes?
I wasn’t the one who had rhymed “pay” with “lay.”
“Everyone ready, then?” Sir Sorken asked calmly, ignoring my accusation. “Ready yourself, Suture. You’ll drop the girl and retreat the moment I throw the switch. There’s a good construct.”
And then there was a squealing sound and I screwed up my face against it, as if that did anything beyond blurring the spines of the books in front of my nose.
The golem dropped me and I managed to angle my shoulder enough to roll with the drop rather than damaging my face a second time. I felt the platform sway wildly as he leapt from it, and then lurch to one side.
I clawed my way to stand, keeping my sword braced in both hands, and when I was able to find my feet, my island platform was already shuttling down its track around the curve of the cylindrical room. It bore me upward in a spiral. The central pillar was to one side of me and a whirl of books to the other.
All of the platforms were moving at once, some of them spiraling upward slowly, like Sir Sorken’s and mine, others dipping quickly downward or ranging in a roughly flat line.
Sir Adalbrand’s platform was one of those moving in roughly a straight path, which meant that even though he’d started behind me, my upward trajectory was negating my head start. If I timed things just right and had nerves of steel, I could drop down to his platform when our paths crossed.
