A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [144]
“I’m sorry.”
His eyelids drooped. “If anything I should feel sorry for you and your kind. You only live once. Most of the guests here are drowning in gluttony having hardly lived. Shed no tears for me. I have experienced plenty. I brought this doom on myself, poisoning my system through pleasurable excess. I do not ascribe my condition to chance.”
Jason watched as Drake settled back on the divan. “Don’t you want to make something of your last life?”
“Let’s not dwell on me. Look to yourself. What are you doing here? Spying? Fishing for information? Planning to redeem some forgotten hero? A word of caution. If you do not mean to stay, you need to leave now, and you need to leave quietly. Whatever your intentions might be, this place will get a hold of you.”
“I won’t be here long.”
Drake smirked. “Nearly every person here but me has told themselves the same thing. Be careful what you eat. Lumba berries are not the only perilous delicacies here. Many of the foods and seasonings are deliberately addictive, including wizatch livers.”
Jason nodded. “I know another seed person.”
“Who would that be?”
“His name is Jasher.”
For the first time Drake looked truly interested. “I know him mostly by reputation. I traveled with his brother for a time.”
“His brother is dead.”
“Radolso?”
“Yeah, that was his name.”
“In the ground, you mean?”
“His seed was destroyed.”
Drake leaned forward, distressed. “How?”
“I don’t know details. But Maldor did it.”
“Are the Amar Kabal seeking vengeance?”
“There was no hard evidence. Maldor claimed the killer was acting alone, and he delivered some displacer to them. A source who Jasher trusts knew the killer was acting under orders, but his people wouldn’t believe him. Your people have a treaty with Maldor. Jasher chose exile, and he’s out for revenge on his own.”
Drake leaned back and closed his eyes. His voice became mellow again. “The things one misses when one wallows in ecstasy. Are you working with Jasher now?”
“I better not say.”
“Understood, understood. Pleased to meet you. I need to sleep.”
“Have a good nap.”
Drake smiled faintly.
Jason suddenly recalled a detail Rachel had related about her visit to the middle of Whitelake. “Wait a minute. Drake. Did you know a displacer named Malar?”
Drake raised his eyebrows, but his eyes remained closed. “Sure, sure, the traitor, I knew him.” His voice was dreamy and distant. “Found him, did you? Clever lad. A regular Dinsrel. I need to rest.” His head sagged, and his breathing became regular.
Jason left the room feeling disgusted.
The next morning, after a light breakfast followed by a delicious massage, Jason headed for the bathhouse, determined to stay there until Kimp showed up. He had confirmed by talking to other guests that the large man seated near Duke Conrad at the welcoming feast had indeed been Kimp. Jason carried some fruit in a basket in preparation for his stakeout.
On his way to the facility he noticed Tark sitting on a stone bench beside a row of blossoming rosebushes. It was the first time Jason had seen Tark since the musician had walked out of the welcoming feast.
“Hello, Tark,” Jason said, coming alongside the bench.
Tark glanced at him with bloodshot eyes. He grunted a greeting.
“Mind if I sit here?” Jason asked.
The short, stocky man shrugged indifferently, then bowed his head, placing his face in his meaty hands.
“When did you get invited here?” Jason asked.
Tark looked up. “I suppose I need to face this,” he grumbled in his raspy voice. “I arrived just over a week ago. The temptation overcame me. I figured that since I had caused enough harm to Maldor to get invited to Harthenham, I would quit fighting and spend the rest of my miserable life surrounded by other deserters. Better to die a gluttonous failure than a hungry one. I almost believed the lies I told myself. Then you showed up. I know a sign when I see one. Once again I have betrayed