covered. Still, I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I undid my boots as quickly as possible and sought the protection of the bed’s covers. It was chillier in Sang than I was accustomed to.
Part of me didn’t trust him, didn’t want to let him into the room. The other part knew that there were worse things than Criminy Stain in the world and that he was better protection than two wooden doors and four locks.
“You can come in now,” I called, and the door opened just enough to show me his face, which was carefully blank. Reserved.
“Well, you look cozy,” he said politely. “Are you ready for a bedtime story?”
“I think so,” I said. I felt very much like a child, small and fragile, with the nightgown’s bow tied innocently under my neck. “Am I going to like it?”
“Probably not,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t change anything.”
“Where does it start?”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “A long time ago, I had my heart broken by a Bludwoman in the caravan. Her namewas Merissa, and she did tricks on the backs of a pair of white bludmares. She was a wicked lass, and she used me and left me for a necromancer. I was just a simple magician then, nothing more, and I was distraught. The caravan was parked near a heavy wood, and I ran away to find solace in the wilderness.”
His eyes were far away, and I reached out a hand to him. He picked it up absentmindedly and held it in his glove, not noticing that the skin was bare.
“One morning, I woke up to the sound of screaming, and I found a man, naked, being attacked by a bludstag. I chased it off, of course, and nearly made a meal out of him myself, but I was too curious. He had the most peculiar haircut. We got to talking, and he told me that he was under the care of a sort of chirurgeon in his world, and they put him to sleep, and then he found himself here, in Sang. I was fascinated. I had heard of Strangers before, but I thought it was just a trick by the Coppers, an excuse to drag in anyone suspicious.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, maybe fifty years ago. Strangers were more rare then. He started to tell me about his world, but then he vanished mid-sentence. I always supposed they woke him back up. Is that normal?”
“Yes, surgeons put people to sleep and wake them back up every day at the hospital. I wonder how many of them end up here for a little while. And do they never remember it or just assume it was a dream?”
And then I had to wonder about all the people who died mysteriously during surgery, their pulses dropping for no good reason. Had they found their own bludstags on the lonely moors of Sang?
“Anyway, I had no idea what had happened. But I was very curious, so I went about making inquiries, doing research. I finally found a witch who wanted to be a Bludwoman, and we made an exchange. I gave her what she wanted, and she gave me a spell called the Drawing. I won’t bore you with all the details, but I enchanted the locket and sent it away to find you in whatever world you waited.”
“Me?”
“Part of the spell involved describing exactly what I wanted, but a measure of mystery is involved, too. The Drawing is supposed to draw the other half of your soul, wherever it is. But it’s tricky. You could have arrived at any time and in any place. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, you see.”
“How do you know it’s me? That there’s not some other Stranger out there, working her way toward you?” I asked. “What if I was meant for . . . someone else?”
“That’s not possible,” he said darkly, and I knew that he knew what I was thinking. He sneered at the door, showing fangs. We could both hear the delicate strains of a harpsichord coming from outside. Only I knew it was a nocturne by Debussy, the notes filled with longing, a lullaby just for me.
“But what if—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Look into my eyes again.”
I didn’t want to, because I knew what would happen. But I did
Part of me didn’t trust him, didn’t want to let him into the room. The other part knew that there were worse things than Criminy Stain in the world and that he was better protection than two wooden doors and four locks.
“You can come in now,” I called, and the door opened just enough to show me his face, which was carefully blank. Reserved.
“Well, you look cozy,” he said politely. “Are you ready for a bedtime story?”
“I think so,” I said. I felt very much like a child, small and fragile, with the nightgown’s bow tied innocently under my neck. “Am I going to like it?”
“Probably not,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t change anything.”
“Where does it start?”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “A long time ago, I had my heart broken by a Bludwoman in the caravan. Her namewas Merissa, and she did tricks on the backs of a pair of white bludmares. She was a wicked lass, and she used me and left me for a necromancer. I was just a simple magician then, nothing more, and I was distraught. The caravan was parked near a heavy wood, and I ran away to find solace in the wilderness.”
His eyes were far away, and I reached out a hand to him. He picked it up absentmindedly and held it in his glove, not noticing that the skin was bare.
“One morning, I woke up to the sound of screaming, and I found a man, naked, being attacked by a bludstag. I chased it off, of course, and nearly made a meal out of him myself, but I was too curious. He had the most peculiar haircut. We got to talking, and he told me that he was under the care of a sort of chirurgeon in his world, and they put him to sleep, and then he found himself here, in Sang. I was fascinated. I had heard of Strangers before, but I thought it was just a trick by the Coppers, an excuse to drag in anyone suspicious.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, maybe fifty years ago. Strangers were more rare then. He started to tell me about his world, but then he vanished mid-sentence. I always supposed they woke him back up. Is that normal?”
“Yes, surgeons put people to sleep and wake them back up every day at the hospital. I wonder how many of them end up here for a little while. And do they never remember it or just assume it was a dream?”
And then I had to wonder about all the people who died mysteriously during surgery, their pulses dropping for no good reason. Had they found their own bludstags on the lonely moors of Sang?
“Anyway, I had no idea what had happened. But I was very curious, so I went about making inquiries, doing research. I finally found a witch who wanted to be a Bludwoman, and we made an exchange. I gave her what she wanted, and she gave me a spell called the Drawing. I won’t bore you with all the details, but I enchanted the locket and sent it away to find you in whatever world you waited.”
“Me?”
“Part of the spell involved describing exactly what I wanted, but a measure of mystery is involved, too. The Drawing is supposed to draw the other half of your soul, wherever it is. But it’s tricky. You could have arrived at any time and in any place. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, you see.”
“How do you know it’s me? That there’s not some other Stranger out there, working her way toward you?” I asked. “What if I was meant for . . . someone else?”
“That’s not possible,” he said darkly, and I knew that he knew what I was thinking. He sneered at the door, showing fangs. We could both hear the delicate strains of a harpsichord coming from outside. Only I knew it was a nocturne by Debussy, the notes filled with longing, a lullaby just for me.
“But what if—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Look into my eyes again.”
I didn’t want to, because I knew what would happen. But I did
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