Page 2 of The Death Wish
Oh, this was a delightful game. ‘Did you grow hard? I did wonder at that poking in my back, I thought it felt a little bigger than your thumb.’
Silas shook his head, glancing back to where the carriage had drawn closer. ‘Will you stop it. Isaac shall hear.’
‘I can already bloody hear ya,’ the coachman called, ‘and I’ll be havin’ nightmares if ya don’t damn well shut up.’
‘Oh come now, don’t pretend you won’t think of this when you next fist yourself,’ Pitch said. ‘I know you shall picture me, pressed beneath this mammoth of a man, legs and arse wide open. Jealous, and rightly so.’
‘Fucking tosser.’ Isaac flicked the reins, urging the geldings into a faster walk. Silas and Pitch pulled aside quickly, lest they be run off the road.
Phillipa, who was perched on the roof of her beloved coach, nearly sputtered out her ghostly innards as she tried very hard not to laugh aloud.
‘Ain’t funny,’ Isaac shouted.
‘It is a little,’ the spectre returned.
With the back of the carriage now in view, Silas heaved a great sigh.
‘Pitch, you are atrocious. That was very unkind, and hugely embarrassing.’ He scolded gently, and, great gods of Arcadia, Pitch nearly swooned right off the mare. The ankou’s baritone was positively sinful. He had emerged from the wreckage of the cockaigne an absolute delight to listen to, with a commanding tenor in his voice that had been absent before.
‘I promise I’ll behave myself if you ride with me again.’
‘I do not trust that promise in the slightest. Besides, a distraction, such as you are, my dear, is ill-advised. We need to keep our wits about us still, no matter how decisive our victories in the cockaigne.’
Pitch sobered at that. ‘You do know how to ruin a mood.’
Silas edged his horse closer, reaching for Pitch. But he was no longer feeling quite so bawdy and jovial and tried to urge Lalassu away. Of course, the bloody Pale Horse betrayed him, shifting to where Silas was within reach. Enough so to run his hand up Pitch’s back.
‘That’s not my intention, you know that. I am going a little out of my mind not being able to hold you. If you had any idea how wonderful you look in that magnificent cloak, what that colour does for your complexion…well, you’d know it is torturous not to be closer to you right now.’
Pitch was not the swooning type, not at all. But that voice…and the sickeningly sweet words, the sincerity they held–and being so damned tired he was ready to cry with exhaustion–had him clutching at Lalassu’s mane, lest he fall off the damned horse. Silas’s saddle creaked as he leaned in, and Pitch did likewise. They were but an inch from a kiss when the soothsayer ruined what pitiful closeness they could find.
‘You’re goin’ too fast, ya bastard. What are we runnin’ from?’ she shouted, hanging her head out one of the carriage windows. She was a quick study, finding Pitch and Silas in their respective leans. ‘Oh feck, forget I asked. Ride on.’
She slipped back inside. Silas kept on, regardless of the interruption, and brushed his lips against Pitch’s. But his damned horse was no ally, discomforted at being so close to Lalassu, who was a decent few hands taller, and much wider of girth. The brown horse side-stepped, pulling Silas out of reach.
He groaned with dissatisfaction. ‘When we stop for lunch,’ he declared. ‘You and I shall go off on our own, and continue this. I swear to you.’ He nodded his head towards the Pale Horse. ‘Do you hear that, Lalassu? And we shall take our time. Send word to Sanu that we may be a few hours later than planned.’
His attempt at lightheartedness fell short, and a look passed between them that Pitch understood well. They did not yet know where Lalassu guided them, but they knew this to be the final journey well enough. Silas’s gentle smile hurt to look at, and Pitch turned away, nudging at Lalassu’s sides, sending the mare slightly ahead of Silas and his steed.
They rode on, keeping the horses at a walk behind the carriage. Lalassu showed no impetus to pass them, and considering she was the only one who knew their way, Pitch made no attempt to guide her. After a while Silas took up humming, a quiet contented melody that was almost as pleasing to listen to as his growling voice. It was lulling, and soothing; and gave Pitch a strange sense of being close to the ankou, which he sank into greedily.
He had no idea he’d dozed off until he was jerking awake, arms flailing, torn from a dream where he’d been drowning in pastel colours, and feathers. So many fucking feathers, choking him, filling his belly where the emptiness left a wide open space to fill. His arms had been leaden; raising them even fractionally was a mammoth effort, and when he finally managed it, all he saw was a great spanning wing of lavender and subtle peach.
He coughed, clutching at his throat.
‘There now, you’re safe, just a dream.’ Silas rode right alongside him, with one hand braced to Pitch’s shoulder. Lalassu’s mane covered Pitch’s legs and lap ensuring a fall had never been a concern. ‘You fell asleep rather quickly.’
Another few coughs and Pitch got a handle on things. His throat loosened, and he blinked himself back into reality. ‘Where is the simurgh?’ he said, hoarsely.
‘In the carriage, with Scarlet, and the others. It has not stirred.’ It had not done so since leaving Newchurch, slumbering in a sort of hibernated state. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Pitch shook his head, fully awake now, and feeling a bit of a ninny for the wild awakening. ‘Keep on. It was a stupid dream, that’s all. I’ve not slept in what feels like several decades, I suppose there are bound to be repercussions.’
‘You can speak to me freely, you know that, don’t you? If it helps to talk of what you’ve endured…’
Not so many months ago Pitch would have launched into whole-hearted ridicule and derision at that. Ranting about how he did not need anyone to lean upon. He still did not like the idea of using anyone as a crutch, but then, Silas was not justanyone.
‘Perhaps in time,’ he said, staring at the carriage, a few horse-lengths ahead of them still. ‘But it truly was just a dream. I think it a remnant of being restrained for so long.’