The bones were pearly and clean, and a tracery of blue lines veined them, glowing briefly before vanishing. Curls of cobalt flame licked the interior of its orbital sockets.
A long sigh escaped from somewhere in the neighborhood of its jaw. It examined its left hand, which was missing a finger, and massaged the air where its right ulna should have been.
Viv’s sword arm remained tense, but this creature was half the height of the wights she’d battled, and delicate. More than anything else, though, it didn’t smell the same. The room was filled with the scent of lightning strikes and burnt dust, but that cold odor of winter blood was nowhere to be found.
“What the shit?” breathed Gallina.
The homunculus stared at each of them in turn before settling on Viv. It tilted its head in a gesture of curiosity, then bowed. “M’lady.”
Its voice was hollow, like it was speaking down a chimney, and wholly, inexpressibly sad.
“I exist to serve.”
“I fucking knew it!” cried Fern.
22
“What are you?” asked Viv, although he was clearly no wight, so small and weaponless. Still, she didn’t lower her blade an inch.
He stared back at her with the unreadable blue flames in his sockets. “I am the Lady’s homunculus.” He invested the word with something like reverence. Or maybe fear?
“The Lady? You mean … Varine?”
The creature dropped abruptly to one knee and snapped the bony knuckles of one hand to his forehead. “The Lady,” he hissed in an eerie, echoing whisper.
“Guess that answers that,” muttered Gallina. Then, louder, “You gonna jump us or somethin’?”
The homunculus unfolded. “I … exist to serve,” he repeated hesitantly.
“Serve who?” Gallina waggled her dagger meaningfully in his direction, although Viv couldn’t imagine it would be much use against a bunch of bones with no blood to draw. Her saber at least might smash him to pieces if he decided to turn threatening. Somehow, though, she didn’t think he was going to.
He extended a hand toward Viv. “The one who wakes me,” he replied.
Fern stepped boldly toward the homunculus, and Viv held up a hand to try to stop her. “Hang on! Wait until—”
The rattkin waved her off. “He’s not going to hurt anyone, can’t you tell?” Then to the skeletal creature, “You aren’t, are you? Going to hurt us?”
He shook his head and clasped his bony fingers before him. He really didn’t seem threatening. The sepulchral voice and genteel tone sounded incredibly ancient, but something about his behavior was almost … innocent.
“What do we call you?” asked Fern, studying him with keen interest.
“The Lady calls me only Satchel.”
“She named you after the gods-damned bag?” cried Gallina, slapping her dagger into a loop on her bandolier. Her righteous indignation signaled a shift in the atmosphere.
Viv sheathed her blade as well and looked the poor creature over. “You serve me then? But also the Lady?”
Satchel’s fingers vibrated together—in nervousness? “I shall endeavor to do both, m’lady, to the very limits of my ability.”
“You have to do what I say?” asked Viv.
Fern’s expression clouded at that, and she glanced sharply at Viv.
“Yes. And also … no,” said Satchel. His nervousness increased.
“What do you mean by that?” Fern asked.
Satchel pointed at the bottle of dust which Viv still held in her off hand. “Without the dust, I do not exist. To defy the one who wakes me is to cease to be. It is the truth that binds me, and thus binds my will.”
“So, you can disobey, but if you do, you won’t wake again?” Viv examined the bottle’s contents.
The homunculus nodded.
“That’s awful,” said Fern, and the lack of colorful language spoke to the depth of her revulsion.
“Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Varine?” pressed Viv.
“I was taken.” Satchel acquired a hunted look. “Balthus stole me away from the Lady, and I was not all he stole. She will be most angry when she finds him.”
“Balthus?” asked Gallina. “Wears gray, real pale? Somebody already saved her the trouble.” She drew a finger across her neck and stuck her tongue out. “He ain’t breathin’ anymore.”
“Dead?” asked Satchel—hopefully, Viv thought. “I don’t doubt she sent a thrall to apprehend him.”
“Oh, whatever it was apprehended the hells out of him,” said Gallina.
Something nagged at Viv. “You’ve seen us before, haven’t you?”
“I have, m’lady. I did not imagine I would again.”
“You must have let the guy—Balthus—out of the cell. This explains a hells of a lot,” she mused aloud. “Still, why was he here in the first place?”
“Fleeing the Lady. Hiding. He spoke of the sea,” replied the homunculus.
“He should’ve been quicker about catching a ship, then. If he hadn’t wasted time browsing bookstores, he might still be breathing. Feels off.”
Satchel remained mum.
Viv shook her head. “Here’s what we really need to find out, though. She sent someone after Balthus. Does Varine know where you are? Is she coming here?”
Satchel raised both hands in a distinctly human gesture of helplessness. “I cannot say, m’lady.”
She frowned. “You don’t know … or you can’t say?”
“I cannot say,” he repeated miserably. “I must keep the Lady’s secrets.”
“Did she bind you in some way?” whispered Fern.
His skull turned to regard her. The glow of the hurricane lamp turned it the color of ruined cream. “Fear is binding enough,” he replied.
* * *
After that, Viv wanted to speak more privately with her friends. “So … can you go back to sleep, then? Just for now?” she asked Satchel. “I promise, we’ll wake you again later.”
“At your command, m’lady,” he replied resignedly. He carefully placed his skull into the bag before a waterfall of bones followed. The sides of the satchel didn’t even bulge at the skeletal inrush.
Viv couldn’t convince herself he wasn’t listening. She folded the flap over and latched the bag shut, then handed it to Fern. “Maybe tuck this away in the back? Just in case?”
Fern opened the door in the rear to do so, and Potroast burst from his confinement, paws scrabbling on the bare wood as he snuffled and hooted around the room while Gallina and Viv put the chairs and carpet in their original positions.
Viv leaned against a bookshelf while the other two took the chairs. They sat quietly while rain chattered against the east-facing window. The entire building creaked in the breath of the storm.
“Well,” said Fern, breaking the silence. “What now?”
“What can we do?” asked Viv. “You heard him. He serves Varine and keeps her secrets. We don’t know anything about him or what he might do. It’s a risk to have him out and about. Maybe even to have him here at all.”
“So we just leave him?” Fern was aghast.
Gallina chewed her lip. “I dunno. I feel bad for him.”
Viv tossed up her hands in exasperation. “I guess I do, too. He’s like a slave. It’s terrible. But also, he’s something she created. How much can we trust him? How much is he like us, really?”
“Enough to be frightened,” Fern said sharply.
That was hard to argue with, so Viv didn’t even try. “Okay, you’re probably right, but still. Do we want to chance him running to Varine in the night? Or sending her a message or … I don’t know.” She made a vague gesture. “Doing something … untoward?”
“Could hand him over to Iridia,” mumbled Gallina. When they both looked at her, she shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe he should be her problem?”
Viv was surprised at how vehemently she rejected the notion. But not as strongly as Fern, apparently.
“We will fucking not.” The rattkin’s voice was firm. “You don’t pass people around like … like luggage. Even if they’re inside luggage.”
Sighing, Viv stepped away from the bookcase. “Well, we don’t have to figure it out tonight. Let’s sleep on it.”