The Curse of Chalion - Lois McMaster Bujold [142]
“Yes, yes, and I spoke to Rojeras too, good man, but of course he could not understand—”
“He understood better than you seem to. I bear death and murder in my gut. An abomination, for all I know taking physical and not just psychic form, engendered by a demon and Dondo dy Jironal’s accursed ghost. Which screams at me nightly, by the way, in Dondo’s voice, with all his vilest vocabulary, and Dondo had a mouth like the Cardegoss main sewer. With no way out but to tear me open. It is not holy, it is disgusting!”
Mendenal stepped back, blinking.
Cazaril clutched his head. “I have terrible dreams. And pains in my belly. And rages. And I’m afraid Dondo is leaking.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mendenal faintly. “I had no idea, Lord Cazaril. Umegat said only that you were skittish, and it was best to leave you in his hands.”
“Skittish,” Cazaril repeated hollowly. “And oh, did I mention the ghosts?” It was surely a measure of…something, that they seemed the least of his worries.
“Ghosts?”
“All the ghosts of the Zangre follow me about the castle and cluster around my bed at night.”
“Oh,” said Mendenal, looking suddenly worried. “Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Did Umegat warn you about the ghosts?”
“No…he said they could do me no harm.”
“Well, yes and no. They can do you no harm while you live. But as Umegat explained it to me, the Lady’s miracle has delayed the working out of the Bastard’s miracle, not reversed it. It follows that, hm, should Her hand open, and the demon fly away with your soul—and Dondo’s, of course—it will leave your husk with a certain, um, dangerous theological emptiness which is not quite like natural death. And the ghosts of the excluded damned will attempt to, er, move in.”
After a short, fraught silence, Cazaril inquired, “Do they ever succeed?”
“Sometimes. I saw a case once, when I was a young divine. The degraded spirits are shambling stupid things, but it’s so very awkward to get them out again once they take possession. They must be burned…well, alive is not quite the right term. Very ugly scene, especially if the relatives don’t understand, because, of course, being your body, it screams in your voice…. It would not, in the event, be your problem, of course, you would be, um, elsewhere by then, but it might save, hm, others some painful troubles, if you make sure you always have someone by you who would understand the necessity of burning your body before sunset…” Mendenal trailed off apologetically.
“Thank you, Your Reverence,” said Cazaril, with awful politeness. “I shall add that to Rojeras’s theory of the demon growing itself a new body in my tumor and gnawing its way out, should I ever again be in danger of getting a night’s sleep. Although I suppose there’s no reason both could not occur. Sequentially.”
Mendenal cleared his throat. “Sorry, my lord. I thought you should know.”
Cazaril sighed. “Yes…I suppose I should.” He looked up, remembering last night’s scene with dy Joal. “Is it possible…suppose the Lady’s grip loosened just a little. Is it possible for Dondo’s soul to leak into mine?”
Mendenal’s brows rose. “I don’t…Umegat would know. Oh, how I wish he would wake up! I suppose it would be a faster way for Dondo’s ghost to get a body than to grow one in a tumor. You would think it would be too small.” He made an uncertain measuring gesture with his hands.
“Not according to Rojeras,” said Cazaril dryly.
Mendenal rubbed his forehead. “Ah, poor Rojeras. He thought I had taken a sudden interest in his specialty when I asked about you, and of course, I did not correct his misapprehension. I thought he was going to talk for half the night. I finally had to promise him a purse for his ward, to escape the tour of his collection.”
“I’d pay money to escape that, too,” Cazaril allowed. After a moment he asked curiously, “Your Reverence…why was I not arrested for Dondo’s murder? How did Umegat finesse that?”
“Murder? There was no murder.”
“Excuse me, the man is dead, and by my hand, by death magic, which is a capital crime.”