And slept.
Seel woke him late. Presumably, Seel had slept deep and long too. ‘Flick, get up, there’s a problem,’ he said.
‘What?’ For a moment Flick couldn’t remember what had happened during the night. He thought he’d had a bad dream of some kind.
‘Cal’s room. It looks like an abattoir and he’s not in it.’
Flick could feel the colour drain from his face, which Seel would think was only natural under the circumstances.
‘We’d better organise a search,’ Seel said. ‘It’s possible… it’s possible he might have cut his wrists or something, although that’s not what I’d have ever expected of him.’ Seel’s expression was remarkably calm, but he kept swallowing hard. His olive skin looked sallow and damp.
Flick got out of bed.
‘There’s blood in the corridor, on the stairs, everywhere,’ Seel said. ‘You run over to Colt’s and Orien’s.’ He shook his head. ‘Fuck, what the hell has he done?’
Flick couldn’t speak. When Seel left the room, he went to the bathroom and washed his feet, without looking at the colour of the water that spiralled down the plug hole. Then, he returned to the bedroom and stripped down the bed. He didn’t look at the sheets, at the marks that might stain them where his feet had lain. He dressed himself with care and brushed out his hair, then plaited it slowly. Seel’s head reappeared round the bedroom door. ‘Get a move on! Flick! Snap out of it! We have to deal with this.’
Flick nodded and followed Seel to the stairs. He faltered at the top, seeing the glutinous trail of red that led to the bottom.
‘Don’t look at it,’ Seel said. ‘Just go and fetch Colt, Stringer and Orien. I’ll see to this later. Just go! I’ll start searching.’
Like an automaton, Flick walked to Colt and Stringer’s house. They were already up, and Stringer was working on some arcane-looking piece of machinery in the yard. ‘Can you come…?’ Flick said.
Stringer looked up. His face was smeared with grease. ‘Sure. What’s up?’
Flick saw the sun go red. Everything was red.
‘Flick?’
He felt hands upon him and he was sprawled on the ground, looking up at the sky. The sun burned into his eyes. He felt so cold.
‘What the hell’s happened?’ Stringer demanded.
Flick clawed himself into a sitting position, hanging onto Stringer’s shirt. ‘Something terrible,’ Flick said. ‘Sorry. Sorry… Just come, that’s all.’
‘Come where?’
‘Seel’s…’
Colt had come out of the house.
‘We have to go to Seel’s,’ Stringer said. ‘Something’s happened. Something bad.’
‘So much blood,’ Flick said. ‘Seel needs you.’
Colt and Stringer stared at him for a moment, then Colt growled, ‘that shit!’ and ran off.
Stringer lingered. ‘Go,’ Flick said. ‘I have to… I have to tell…’ He waved a hand in Stringer’s direction.
Alone, Flick sat in the yard, picking at weeds between his raised knees. He couldn’t face going to Orien’s, he just couldn’t, and yet he’d seen nothing with his own eyes. Cal could have slaughtered a horse and put it in the Nayati. ‘Slaughtered a horse in his bedroom,’ Flick said aloud to himself. ‘Yeah, that’s so possible. Idiot!’
He got to his feet. If he could only throw up, he might feel better, but the insides of his body felt like dust. Slowly, he walked towards the Nayati. Surely, somehar must have looked in there by now? And so they had. It must have been simple for Seel to follow the trail of blood.
Flick saw a crowd had gathered at the Nayati door. Colt stood at the threshold with his arms outspread, preventing hara from going inside. Numbly, Flick pushed his way through the crowd, and they parted to let him pass, because they thought he was close to Seel. At the door, a grey-faced Colt said, ‘You don’t want to go in there, Flick. Take my advice. Don’t.’
‘What have you found?’ Flick asked.
‘It’s not Cal,’ Colt said.
‘Then who?’
Colt
Seel woke him late. Presumably, Seel had slept deep and long too. ‘Flick, get up, there’s a problem,’ he said.
‘What?’ For a moment Flick couldn’t remember what had happened during the night. He thought he’d had a bad dream of some kind.
‘Cal’s room. It looks like an abattoir and he’s not in it.’
Flick could feel the colour drain from his face, which Seel would think was only natural under the circumstances.
‘We’d better organise a search,’ Seel said. ‘It’s possible… it’s possible he might have cut his wrists or something, although that’s not what I’d have ever expected of him.’ Seel’s expression was remarkably calm, but he kept swallowing hard. His olive skin looked sallow and damp.
Flick got out of bed.
‘There’s blood in the corridor, on the stairs, everywhere,’ Seel said. ‘You run over to Colt’s and Orien’s.’ He shook his head. ‘Fuck, what the hell has he done?’
Flick couldn’t speak. When Seel left the room, he went to the bathroom and washed his feet, without looking at the colour of the water that spiralled down the plug hole. Then, he returned to the bedroom and stripped down the bed. He didn’t look at the sheets, at the marks that might stain them where his feet had lain. He dressed himself with care and brushed out his hair, then plaited it slowly. Seel’s head reappeared round the bedroom door. ‘Get a move on! Flick! Snap out of it! We have to deal with this.’
Flick nodded and followed Seel to the stairs. He faltered at the top, seeing the glutinous trail of red that led to the bottom.
‘Don’t look at it,’ Seel said. ‘Just go and fetch Colt, Stringer and Orien. I’ll see to this later. Just go! I’ll start searching.’
Like an automaton, Flick walked to Colt and Stringer’s house. They were already up, and Stringer was working on some arcane-looking piece of machinery in the yard. ‘Can you come…?’ Flick said.
Stringer looked up. His face was smeared with grease. ‘Sure. What’s up?’
Flick saw the sun go red. Everything was red.
‘Flick?’
He felt hands upon him and he was sprawled on the ground, looking up at the sky. The sun burned into his eyes. He felt so cold.
‘What the hell’s happened?’ Stringer demanded.
Flick clawed himself into a sitting position, hanging onto Stringer’s shirt. ‘Something terrible,’ Flick said. ‘Sorry. Sorry… Just come, that’s all.’
‘Come where?’
‘Seel’s…’
Colt had come out of the house.
‘We have to go to Seel’s,’ Stringer said. ‘Something’s happened. Something bad.’
‘So much blood,’ Flick said. ‘Seel needs you.’
Colt and Stringer stared at him for a moment, then Colt growled, ‘that shit!’ and ran off.
Stringer lingered. ‘Go,’ Flick said. ‘I have to… I have to tell…’ He waved a hand in Stringer’s direction.
Alone, Flick sat in the yard, picking at weeds between his raised knees. He couldn’t face going to Orien’s, he just couldn’t, and yet he’d seen nothing with his own eyes. Cal could have slaughtered a horse and put it in the Nayati. ‘Slaughtered a horse in his bedroom,’ Flick said aloud to himself. ‘Yeah, that’s so possible. Idiot!’
He got to his feet. If he could only throw up, he might feel better, but the insides of his body felt like dust. Slowly, he walked towards the Nayati. Surely, somehar must have looked in there by now? And so they had. It must have been simple for Seel to follow the trail of blood.
Flick saw a crowd had gathered at the Nayati door. Colt stood at the threshold with his arms outspread, preventing hara from going inside. Numbly, Flick pushed his way through the crowd, and they parted to let him pass, because they thought he was close to Seel. At the door, a grey-faced Colt said, ‘You don’t want to go in there, Flick. Take my advice. Don’t.’
‘What have you found?’ Flick asked.
‘It’s not Cal,’ Colt said.
‘Then who?’
Colt
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