Chapter 125: Hot

Rook loosened the outer turn. The dressing beneath it had hardened against the wound. He peeled it away slowly, stopping when the cloth pulled at the skin.

Mara reached for the loose end before it could trail onto the floor.

He let her hold it.

She gathered the strip into her palm while he pushed his sleeve above the elbow and continued unwinding. The black marking covered his forearm without a break. It extended beneath the rolled cloth, leaving no clear skin above it.

Gascoigne’s hand stopped on the lid of his tin.

“What is that?”

Mara looked up.

He was staring at Rook’s arm.

Rook glanced at him, then returned his attention to the bandage.

“A Brand.”

The man’s eyes changed.

“Let me see.”

Rook stopped unwrapping it.

“You’re seeing it.”

Gascoigne set the tin down. The lid remained open.

“How far does it go?”

“What does it matter? You’ve seen a Brand before.”

“I’ve seen plenty. Got one of my own.” He said as he raised his arm up, the Gascoigne’s brand was barely a strand around his wrist.

His eyes followed the darkness to where it vanished beneath the sleeve. He leaned slightly to one side, trying to see higher without coming closer.

“Nothing like that.”

Mara held the loose bandage between both hands. The part resting against her palm was damp.

Only a moment ago, Gascoigne had been offering them directions and clean linen. Now his cigar burned forgotten between his fingers.

“You don’t know anything about him,” she said.

Gascoigne turned toward her.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“And you know what that marking means?”

Rook pulled his sleeve down over the unfinished dressing.

“Mara. Don’t bother.”

“He’s looking at you as though…”

“I can see how he’s looking at me.”

Gascoigne’s gaze remained on her.

“How long have you been bound to him?”

“Long enough to know he isn’t what you think.”

“That marking records what he’s done.”

“Then stop looking at me as if I need to be rescued. It’s rude.”

Gascoigne glanced toward the cave entrance, then back at Rook.

“How many people?”

Rook picked up his cigar.

“We’re leaving.”

“I asked you a question.”

“I heard it.”

Mara began gathering the bandage more quickly. She wanted to stand, but Rook’s arm was still attached to the other end of the cloth, and Gascoigne had not stopped watching him.

Their host turned back to her.

“You should release the contract.”

“No.”

“A man with a Brand like that…”

“Has heard enough.”

Rook threw the cigar at him.

It struck the front of Gascoigne’s coat and dropped between his boots. A few red flecks scattered over the stone. He looked down, brushing one from the cloth.

Rook took the bandage from Mara and tucked the loose end beneath his sleeve. He rose, shouldered the coffin and began tightening its straps.

Mara pushed herself upright beside him. The ache in her leg returned at once.

Rook reached for their lantern.

She picked it up first. “I have it.”

He nodded toward the entrance and collected his scythe.

Gascoigne rose while Rook secured the last buckle. He took the axe-shovel and stepped into the narrow space leading outside.

The light behind him showed the edge of his coat against both walls.

“You aren’t taking her.”

Rook finished with the strap.

“Get out of the way.”

“Mara, stay where you are.”

“I’m going with him.”

Gascoigne did not look at her.

Rook approached slowly, keeping the scythe low beside his leg. There was a little space between Gascoigne and the wall. Enough for someone to turn sideways and pass, if the man allowed it.

Rook shifted toward it.

The axe-shovel swung.

He pulled his head back as the iron edge cut past his face. It struck the cave wall, knocking loose a chip of stone that bounced against Mara’s boot.

She backed into the coffin’s former place, lifting the lantern away from the weapons. “STOP IT!” Mara shouted.

“He’s a monster.”

“You know nothing! And it’s none of your business!”

Gascoigne drew the shaft back. Rook caught it against the curve of his scythe, forced it aside and stepped in before the longer weapon could swing again.

Gascoigne turned his shoulder away from the counter.

The scythe passed across the front of his coat. Rook followed, closing the distance, his injured leg dragging half a step behind the other.

Gascoigne’s free hand came out from beneath his coat.

Mara saw the short, flared barrel pressed toward Rook’s chest.

The flash filled the cave.

The report struck so hard that she flinched against the wall. Rook hit the stone opposite her, the coffin cracking against it. His scythe fell and rang against the floor.

He dropped beside it.

For a moment, Mara could hear nothing except a high, steady ringing.

Smoke rolled through the space between them. Dust fell from above the entrance, passing through the lantern light. Gascoigne stood with the axe-shovel in one hand and the other weapon held close to his body.

It had a thick wooden grip and a wide metal mouth. White smoke curled from the barrel.

A gun. No, not the modern looking ones, this one looked like a shotgun, but far larger, bigger. A Blunderbuss.

Mara put down the lantern and dropped beside Rook.

His head rested against the coffin behind him. His coat had torn open across the chest, exposing a broad patch of small, ragged holes. Blood welled through them, filling the torn cloth before she could work out where to put her hands.

Pieces of metal glinted inside several wounds.

The rest had gone deeper.

“Rook. You son of a bitch!”

His eyes found hers.

She grabbed the loose bandage beneath his sleeve and pressed it against the worst of the bleeding.

“Put your hand here. Help me hold it.”

His hand lay beside his hip.

It did not move.

Mara caught his wrist and brought it toward the cloth. His fingers rested loosely against the back of her hand, without enough tension to stay where she placed them.

“Rook?”

His lips moved.

She bent closer.

“Can’t.”

The word barely reached her through the ringing.

Mara let his hand rest against his thigh and pressed down with both of hers. Blood soaked through the old dressing. When she shifted pressure toward one side, more seeped through the other.

“Can you move your legs?”

His eyes remained on her.

Nothing else moved.

A boot scraped across the cave floor.

Mara turned toward Gascoigne and reached for the dagger at her belt.

The axe-shovel lowered beside Rook’s neck.

Her hand stopped.

The iron edge was close enough to touch him with the smallest movement of the shaft. She would have to draw her dagger, reach Gascoigne and strike before he could move either hand.

“Leave it,” he said.

Mara looked up at him.

“You shot him.”

“Move away from him.”

“You fucking shot him.”

Gascoigne’s eyes flicked toward the blood between her fingers, then returned to her face.

“The contract, Mara. You need to end it.”

“He was leaving.”

“With you.”

“Because I was going with him.”

Her voice sounded wrong inside her head, muffled beneath the ringing. She could not tell how loudly she was speaking.

Gascoigne looked at the wrist she held against Rook’s chest.

“Then release him.”

Rook’s lips parted. A little blood gathered at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t.”

Mara bent closer. His breathing lifted the soaked cloth beneath her palms in short, shallow movements. His eyes followed the weapon near his neck, but his arms remained exactly where they had fallen.

She looked toward Gascoigne’s bag.

He had clean linen in there. He had offered it freely only minutes ago.

Something cried outside.

The sound came faintly through the ringing, stretched thin by distance. Another answered farther down the slope. Mara knew that cry, it was the abominations. They heard the Blunderbuss.

Her gaze snapped toward the entrance.

Gascoigne heard it too. He lowered the firearm to his side and adjusted his stance, keeping the axe-shovel close to Rook.

“We haven’t much time.”

“You brought them here.”

“And I can get you away from them.”

“Then help me.”

She pressed harder against the dressing. The cloth had become slippery enough that she had to catch its edge beneath her thumb to keep it in place.

“Look at him. He can’t move.”

Gascoigne looked.

Mara waited for him to lower the other weapon. To put it aside and take the clean bandages from his bag. He had seen their injuries when they entered. He had moved his things to make room for them.

“He can still hold you to that contract.”

“He’s never made me stay.”

“You saw his arm.”

“I know what happened to him.”

“Whatever he told you…”

“He didn’t tell me anything. I saw it.”

For a moment, Gascoigne said nothing.

Smoke still hung beneath the low roof. The tobacco smell had been swallowed by the bitter stink of the gun. Mara could taste it whenever she breathed through her mouth.

She leaned toward him, keeping both hands against Rook’s chest.

“Those wounds he came in with? He got them keeping me alive. On the bridge. Before the bridge. You have no idea what he’s done for me.”

“And the people who put that darkness on his skin?”

“It wasn’t…”

“They didn’t get the kindness you did.”

Mara stared at him.

Rook’s blood was warm against her palms. She could feel another small rise of his chest, followed by a pause that lasted long enough for her to look down.

He drew another breath.

A stone rolled outside the cave.

Gascoigne turned his head toward the sound. Mara heard claws scrape over another surface, followed by a pause.

Whatever was out there had stopped moving.

The entrance looked smaller with Gascoigne standing in it. Beyond his coat, she could see only a strip of rock and the darkness above the path they had climbed.

“Let me stop the bleeding,” she said.

“Release him.”

“I’m trying to keep him alive.”

“And I’m trying to get you out of here.”

She looked at the open tin on the floor. At the rolled blanket. At the bag with the clean linen inside.

Nothing in the cave had changed except where they were sitting and how much blood lay between them.

“Will you leave him alone if I do?”

Gascoigne looked down at Rook.

Mara followed his gaze. Rook was watching her, his face losing color beneath the dirt. His fingers remained loose beside his thigh. She wanted him to reach for her wrist, pull her closer, do anything that would let her believe he could get up once Gascoigne moved away.

The contract still rested around her wrist.

“Mara,” he whispered. “Don’t.”

Gascoigne shifted the iron edge beneath Rook’s jaw.

“End the contract, and I spare him.”

Mara’s hands tightened against the dressing.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I kill him here.”

At the cave mouth, pale fingers curled around the stone.