A Knight Of The Word

Nest swallowed the dryness in her throat, “It’s all right, I wasn’t hurt. And you’re still here”.

She forced herself to look into the tatterdemalions opaque eyes. “Tell me, Ariel. What is it that bothers you about John Ross? Wily did you tell me to stay away from hint?”

“He is lost,” the tatterdemalion replied softly.

“Lost?” Nest shook her head. “Last how? I don’t understand.”

“You can’t save him. Nothing you can do can save him. It is too late.”

Nest stared in confusion. “Why would you say that? Why is it too late?”

The strange childlike face looked at her wonderingly. “Because he has demon stink all over him. He is already claimed.”

They stood facing each other in the shadow of the overhang that protected the pier walkway, eyes locked. Nest started to speak again and then stopped. There were people moving all around them, passing on their way to someplace else, talking, laughing, unaware. She did not want to draw attention to herself; she did not want them to hear.

The sun broke through the high clouds and blinded her. She turned away. Demon stink? On John Boss? She shook her head slowly. This wasn’t making sense.

“We have to go,” Ariel said suddenly, and she started to move away.

“Wait!” Nest called out to her, saying the word so loudly that head turned. She tried to look nonchalant as she detached herself from the pier railing and walked over to where Ariel hovered, glancing out at the boats as she did so. “Go where?” she whispered fiercely.

Ariel pointed north, down the trolley line, away from the direction they had come. “Someone is waiting to see you.”

“Who?”

“Someone you know. Hurry, we have to go.”

Ariel moved out to the sidewalk and blest followed reluctantly. They turned north along the waterfront, passing Elliott’s on Pier 56 and the shops an pier 57, The wind whipped off the bay, cold and sharp, and in spite of the sunshine, Nest hunched down into her windbreaker, wishing she had brought something warmer.

Her mind raved as her eves followed the movement of her feet. She spoke without looking up. “Ariel, were you in the building with me at Fresh Start, when I talked to John’s friends?”

The tatterdemalion nodded. “I was.”

“Was the demon stink there, too?”

“Yes, everywhere.”

“Was it as strong?”

“Yes, as strong.”

Nest tried to decide what this meant. Something had made her violently ill inside the rooms of Fresh Start. Could it be demon stink? If there was demon stink all over John Ross, wouldn’t she have felt sick around him, too? Besides, she hadn’t been able to detect demon stink five years ago, when her demon father had come back into her life, so why should she be able to detect it now?

Had something changed since then?

Maybe something about her?

She walked up Alaskan Way, keeping pace with Ariel, her head lowered against the bite of the October wind. The tatterdemalion seemed unaffected by the cold and wind, her ephemeral form a steady presence, her light silken coverings hanging limp and unruffled. Ariel did not look at her, but kept her gage directed ahead, toward wherever it was they were going.

The crossed Alaskan Way at Pier 59, which housed the Seattle Aquarium, passed under the viaduct, and moved toward the broad, concrete steps of a hillclimb that led up to the city. There was another possibility, she realized,. Still thinking about what Ariel had said. Maybe what had happened at Fresh Start had nothing to do with demon stink. Maybe it had to do with the demon itself. If there was demon stints all aver Fresh Start and John Ross, then it stood to reason the demon made its home close to both. So maybe the reason sloe became sick at Fresh Start was that the demon had been right there beside her.

One of Ross’s friends and co-workers.

One of the people he trusted.

It made sense. The Lady said that the Void would send someone to subvert Ross, that maybe it had already happened. Ariel seemed to think it had. Ross did not— But maybe Ross couldn’t see what was happening and that was the whole problem. Maybe her job in coming to find him was to make him take a loser look at himself.