Free The Fatal Child by John Dickinson

the one carved in the shape of the dragon. He gripped it, hard. The philosopher is not slave to passion. The just man keeps his eyes on the Path. As the way darkens he keeps them on it still.
    Atti was in the wilderness somewhere, alone, searching. He
must
find her.
    He pushed himself away from the wall. Still with his fingers on his sign, he turned to face the man of blood.
    ‘I will stay – and eat with you.’
    ‘I am glad that Talifer’s labour is not in vain. Is it ready, Highness?’
    ‘It will serve,’ said the doorman.
    It was the poorest meal that Padry had ever tasted in such a setting: a watery gruel –
very
watery indeed. It seemed that the doorman had simply added a pail to the pot when he realized that there would be seven to supper. There were lumps of vegetables in it, some of which had barely cooked. There was bread but not much of it. There was cheese and salted meat, which were more welcome. Raymonde diLackmere neither apologized nor asked for thanks for what he had put before them. He sat at the head of the table. Out of rank, Padry was obliged to sit at his right. Lex satopposite. The three men-at-arms took the lower places. No one spoke.
    The doorman served them all. Padry felt himself shrink involuntarily as the man came behind him to reach a skinny arm past his ear. He wondered what facial disfigurement was hidden inside that helm. And what was the fellow called? Talifer! What a princely label for such an unpleasing creature! A name of legend from the first founding of the Kingdom. Perhaps that was why his sour master nicknamed him ‘Highness’. In this place all natural order seemed to be upside down.
    At length Talifer left the room by the outer door, no doubt to see to the horses. The men-at-arms stared after him. One let out a long breath. Still no one said anything.
    Padry stole a glance at the man on his left, at that wolfish face brooding over a bowl at the head of the table. So much evil was there, behind those slanting brows. What good could ever come of him? The man was making no effort to entertain his guests as a host should. The quiet did not seem to trouble him. Did he eat like this in silence, every night? But in a way Padry was glad. He did not think he could have brought himself to converse with this murderer. Let him only learn what he needed, and then he would be gone.
    ‘Sir,’ said Lex suddenly.
    The knight looked up. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Are there no other men in your house?’
    ‘None. No women either, or children. There are men-at-arms quartered in the village, if I need them.’
    ‘Strange that you surround yourself with so few, and but one servant.’
    ‘Talifer is no servant,’ said Raymonde. ‘But of course, it is because of Talifer that – for the present – I do not keep others in the house. They find it hard to endure him.’
    ‘And is he a man?’ asked Lex.
    Padry looked up sharply. He knew that he had had the same thought, and yet had stifled it. He had stifled it because he had feared what the answer might be.
    ‘Oh yes. He is, mostly. And much more so than he was.’
    Lex was watching him. They were all watching him, trying to guess his meaning. The knight grinned as though he were enjoying himself.
    ‘If this is a riddle, I do not understand it,’ said Lex.
    ‘He has lived a long while, in another way,’ said Raymonde. ‘He forgot much, and was changed much. But he did not altogether lose himself. No man will do that this side of death. Now the more that he lives as a man, in the house of a man, and eats men’s food, the more he becomes again what he once was. Mind you, he does not
need
to eat. Such a one eats only because it helps him to remember. Although … you will have noticed that he prefers not to let you see him at his meal.’
    ‘But what—’ began Lex again. Then he broke off. They heard Talifer’s long step on the stair outside.
    Step, step, step
, coming up to the door. Bones of Angels – was he climbing them three at a