“You have no idea,” muttered Fenris.
* * *
They slept as late as they could, and then got up and stared at the walls. They ate. Marra threw the nettle cloak over her clothes, watching the owlcloth break up the outlines. Fenris went out for an hour and came back with his pack full of food. “God knows how long it’ll take us down there,” he said. “I’d rather we didn’t starve.”
Marra had been doing frantic math in her head. If the child had been born before midnight, they had two days to the christening. If the child had been born after midnight, they had three days. Neither of these options were good.
The only kindness was that darkness fell early. The moment the shadows began to stretch, she was up and pacing.
“For the love of the gods,” said the dust-wife. “Let’s go. I’d rather fight with the dead than watch Marra wear holes in the floor.”
“Will we have to fight the dead?”
“Anything’s possible.”
Marra paused. “There are stories about graverobbers having their souls ripped out and haunting the catacombs.”
“These things happen.” The dust-wife stood up, held out her staff, and let the chicken settle herself. Agnes tucked Finder under her scarf.
They made their way down the stairs in a grand procession, only to encounter the innkeeper in the hallway.
“Miss Margaret,” said the dust-wife. “We thank you for your hospitality.” Her words rolled out with the air of a dread pronouncement, as if she were sentencing the innkeeper to be thanked, perhaps for all eternity.
Miss Margaret looked bewildered, then dropped a curtsy. The puppet glared from her shoulder.
Quick as a striking snake, the dust-wife reached out and grabbed the puppet’s head. As soon as her fingers locked around it, it went limp. The cord at the woman’s throat went slack and she gasped, clutching at her neck. Raw furrows had been etched against the sides of her throat, the skin abraded so many times that it had left patches as red and scaled as a dragon.
“It cannot hurt you now,” said the dust-wife.
“Don’t hurt him!” cried Miss Margaret, voice suddenly loud. “Don’t!”
“I have not hurt … him. If I release him, everything will be exactly as it was. But you have been kind to us, so I offer you a choice.” She loomed over the innkeeper, a tall, rattle-bone creature of deserts and dust, shockingly out of place in the little hallway. “Say the word and you can be free. He will be destroyed and never trouble you again.”
The choice was so obvious that Marra never doubted, and so the innkeeper’s words were doubly shocking.
“Put him back!” she shrieked, tugging on the dust-wife’s wrist. “Let him go! He never hurt you; he never hurt anybody!”
… What?
“You are certain?” asked the dust-wife, implacable as death.
“Let him go! Don’t hurt him!”
“Very well.” The dust-wife released the puppet and stepped back.
The gnarled wooden face gave her a savage glare, and then the innkeeper gathered the puppet to her like a child, holding him against her breast. “It’s all right,” she crooned. “It’s all right.” And to the dust-wife, furious, “You’d better go.”
“Very well,” said the dust-wife again, and the four of them walked out of the boardinghouse forever, with Bonedog hushed and silent at their heels.
* * *
“What just happened?” hissed Marra. “What— Why didn’t she— Was it still controlling her?”
The dust-wife shrugged. “She didn’t want to lose it. People get to choose.”
“But she’s choosing wrong! I don’t understand! And … and…” Marra ran out of words and waved her hands.
“I know,” said the dust-wife. “I know.”
“She can’t have realized—she must not have understood!”
“She understood.”
“Was she scared? Did she not believe us?”
“Maybe,” said the dust-wife. “But more likely she simply did not want him destroyed.”
“You cannot help people who do not want help,” rumbled Fenris. “You can’t force someone to do what you think is best for them.” He paused, then added, somewhat reluctantly, “Well, you can. But they don’t appreciate it and most of the time it turns out that you were wrong.”
“But—”
“We can only save people who want to be saved,” said the dust-wife. “If it’s still bothering you, we’ll come back afterward, assuming any of us are alive to do so. But we are out of time.”