‘No more. Enough.’ Slickwalker’s lips are black with anger, even as he reels backwards against the wall, wincing in pain.
As the light of the weaving vanishes, Shipwright gutters, sputters, and drops. In an instant, Shroudweaver’s head clears. He lurches forwards, breaking her fall as best he can, before he turns back to Slickwalker.
He’s naked, a livid purple bruise circling his stomach, but the cold smile on his face is the same as ever. He waves a hand languidly. ‘Apologies, Shroud. You don’t catch me at my best.’Already pulling himself together. Composure returning as worms of shadow stitch the rents in his flesh. He tentatively feels the remnants of the fading scar around his midsection. ‘Everyone hits harder than I remembered,’ he mutters, and laughs.
Shroudweaver ignores him, runs a finger along Shipwright’s sweat-slick neck and finding a pulse, straightens. Fingerprints still red on his wrist, he looks down at Fallon’s curled body. ‘Declan?’
Slickwalker snorts. ‘It’ll take more than me to kill that old prick.’ As he talks, the shadows crawl over him like solicitous snakes, weaving clothes onto his body.
Slickwalker grins. ‘Of course, killing him was never on the agenda. I even told him that. As if I’d really do that to …’ His mouth twists awkwardly. A flicker of shadow nudges at his lips.
Shroudweaver makes a soft, sad noise. ‘Hard, isn’t it? When you want to call them by their names?’
Slickwalker flashes him a sharp look. ‘Preferable to the alternative. Although, I don’t think there’s much point us debating that right now.’
Shroudweaver nods. ‘So, why are you here?’
Slickwalker drums his fingers against his temples. ‘C’mon, old man. Kisser always talks about how you’re so damn smart. I’m not seeing it.’
Shroudweaver looks around the room, at the blood and the wreckage, and then at the people in it. ‘Oh.’
Slickwalker smiles like a lazy wolf. ‘Give the man a prize.’ He points. ‘It’s very simple. I needed to know if Fallon was hiding you two. But we can’t touch either of you without you’ – he sweeps an arm to encompass the room – ‘without you reacting as expected.’ The arm ends in a spear of shadow, which becomes the gun. ‘So, we tug on Declan. And, well, here you are.’
Shroudweaver bends to straighten Shipwright’s arms. ‘I didn’t think you’d force a confrontation so soon.’
Slickwalker laughs. ‘A confrontation? This isn’t a confrontation. This is my last attempt to make sure my wife doesn’t kill her father.’
Shroudweaver stops his fussing, and stares at the rise and fall of Shipwright’s chest. ‘I don’t want to hurt her.’
Slickwalker is behind him in an instant, his voice low and soft in his ear. ‘A bit late for that, I think. The only way you can hurt her now is by forcing her hand.’ Tight fingers on his shoulder. ‘I’m not going to let you do that. She’s been through enough.’
Ignoring the grip, Shroudweaver dips into his pockets and begins smearing salve on Shipwright’s lips and fingers. ‘What do you suggest?’
Slickwalker walks around Shipwright’s body, his toes nudging at her thick boots, her splayed legs. He crouches down opposite Shroudweaver and fixes him with a stare.
‘Turn yourselves in. I’ll give you a week.’ He twists his fingers into Shipwright’s hair and tugs thoughtfully. ‘If you don’t, then I take your head and hers back in a sack. And I leave that fat pig nailed to the gate for the crows.’ He taps Shroudweaver on the forehead. ‘Think about it.’
Shroudweaver closes his eyes. ‘I feel sorry for you, Slickwalker.’
Slickwalker snorts. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, old man. I won a long time ago.’ He stands, dusts himself off, ‘The sooner you both accept that, the sooner we can stop all this. But, I should go.’
Shroudweaver nods, ‘Yes, the guards will be here soon.’
Slickwalker turns as he walks away, shadow peeling his body into nothingness.
‘No, Shroud. They’ve been dead for hours. Like I said, the fight’s long over.’
He turns, points his index finger, and drops the thumb like a hammer.
‘Be seeing you.’
20
I will tuck you in like a wood dove
I will settle you down
kiss your hair
