Projections by S. E. Porter EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: S. E. Porter
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Fantasy
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Catherine Suspended
If only Gus Farrow had not fled so precipitously on murdering me, or
indeed if he had fled to any refuge but this one, I might have found peace.
There my body lay on the riverbank, cooling like so much stale porridge,
mud-smeared from my struggle. And there he stood above with his darting
eyes, his mouth still befouled by proclamations of what he had called love.
Had I been in any condition to speak, I might have disputed that the
sentiments of my murderer deserved such a name. But I could not form
words.
Please do not infer from this that death had left me voiceless. On the
contrary. I knew that I was dead; I have never been disposed to avert my
mind from facts, however disagreeable. With a certain stunned detachment I
noted the body so lately mine: now silent, limp, and filthy, its petticoats
mingling with the muck. Nonetheless I was still screaming and found I
could not stop.
Gus jerked his head and clapped his hands to his ears, so I supposed I
was in some manner audible, if only to him. With his movement I realized
where I was.
His hands were cottony with my ghost, though I do not think that Gus
perceived me wound about his fingers. For my part, I assure you I had no
desire to cling to him. Ugh, how had I become so entangled? The result was
that in covering his ears my scream drove through his head, and he yanked
his hands away and gaped with hounded eyes.
Then he began running.
Had I not been in a state of shock, I would have guessed at once where
he was going. But even then I could not have known what it would mean
for me to be carried, poor shredded ectoplasm that I was, to the city of
sorcerers.
To Nautilus.
If he had stayed on the green earth, then in time I might have
disentangled myself and floated free, released into the sweet blue sky and
sparkling river that I have always regarded as my truest home. Or I might
have come loose without any effort on my part, and dissolved into serene
unbeing. But Gus allowed no interval for that. Like some unholy rabbit, he
reached a burrow or gap he knew in the fabric of our dear world, and down
he went. There was a wild spinning-about of which I was but dimly
sensible, and after some time a landing.
And then I, who had always regarded magic as the most noxious
presumption, who had certainly never felt the slightest desire to see this city
so imbued with it, found myself in Nautilus. I could see why Gus had
grown infatuated with the place, all pearly grandiosity and unsettled forms.
There was hardly a straight line to be seen anywhere, nor a surface that did
not warp and scroll, as if, in their arrogance, these sorcerers had petrified
the wind itself. If I had still been possessed of my body I would have been
seasick simply from looking at the architecture, and even bodiless I felt a
fierce distaste.
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