Page 39 of The Death Wish

‘So brusque, Mr Mercer. Has your little ferret friend got into the corn?’

‘Get back,’ Silas hissed. ‘I told you to stay at the table.’

Pitch shrugged. ‘I didn’t listen. Who are you talking to?’ He rose on tiptoe to try to see past Silas, his paper crown slipping. ‘Why are you ruining this Christmas hogwash with your dramatics?’

‘Pitch, I said get back,’ Silas shouted.

‘What the fuck is wrong, Silas? Stand aside, now.’

‘Gentlemen, there is no need for me to cause strife between you. I come with no ill-intent,’ the cook said, gently.

‘Fucking gods,’ Pitch said. ‘Is that Ahari?’

With a frustrated exhale, Silas stepped into the kitchen, moving out of the doorway.

‘Hello, your highness.’ Mr Ahari gave Pitch a short bow.

The kitsune wore a cook’s garb; his apron blotched with orange stains from the kedgeree, sweat glistening on his brow from the kitchen’s heat. The old man did not look well, thinner than last they’d met, and that had not been so long ago. His skin held a grey pallor that was not pleasing, and his hair was a stark white now, no peppered hints of grey remaining.

Pitch did not enter the room, nor allow his flame to rise, for which Silas was thankful. If Ahari had poisoned them all, they needed him alive to learn if an antidote were possible.

Was the old man truly that callous? Silas’s reasonable mind begged the question, while his distrusting self screamed that he’d proved himself a traitor.

‘No closer, Pitch. Do you feel alright? Not light-headed, sleepy perhaps?’

There were no sneers of indignation from the daemon, just a simple, understanding shake of his head. ‘Merely annoyed at going back to cold potatoes.’

‘It is good to see you so well, your highness.’

‘The same can’t be said for you. You look fucking awful, Ahari.’

‘It’s been a difficult time,’ he said, solemn, his eyes filled with a sadness that might have made Silas a little gentler, were he not remembering how close Mr Ahari’s actions had come to stealing Pitch from him forever.

‘What have you done to the food, Ahari?’ Silas drew on every note of his new, imposing quaver.

‘Nothing, of course, nothing.’ To Silas’s surprise Mr Ahari went to his knees, head lowered. ‘My Lord Death, I do not expect to ever gain your forgiveness for what I did.’

‘Good. Then you’ll never be disappointed.’

The kitsune’s shoulders dropped. ‘But I must tell you that I did it in good faith. I thought it for the best…for everyone…’ He seemed even less convinced by his words than Silas.

‘What did you do, Ahari?’ Pitch said.

Silas had not yet had a conversation with him about the events at Cumberland House; about Mr Ahari siding with Lucifer to keep Silas from searching for a lost prince.

‘I sought to keep safe as many of those I cared for as I could.’ Mr Ahari leaned his hands to the black and white tiles. The rest of the kitchen staff continued with their business, as though neither Silas nor Pitch nor Ahari conversed at all.

‘You thought to make us safe by keeping us prisoner in York?’ Sybilla stepped up behind Pitch; another who had ignored Silas’s order to stay seated. ‘And Lucifer do as he pleased, even when you were aware it may include the death of the prince?’

Pitch watched Ahari intently. ‘You stopped them from coming to my aid? You were happy to allow me to die?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Mr Ahari shook his head emphatically. ‘No. No. Lucifer never threatened such a fate for you. I’d never have agreed to hold the others back otherwise.’

‘Then what fate did you agree Pitch could face? The abaddon?’ Silas asked. ‘How bloody noble of you.’ He’d been so afraid, so deathly afraid, and he had trusted the kitsune. That was hardest to forgive.

‘I understand your anger. You have every right to it, but please try to understand…my choice was impossible.’ Mr Ahari wavered, head still lowered. Pitch stepped up to him, keeping Silas back with a simple shake of the head.

‘Have you done anything to the food, Ahari?’ Pitch said, with a calm so unlike him. ‘Do we have reason to doubt you, now?’