“They’re bringing more of their kind here. They’ve already begun to abandon us. We have no orders. We’re having to create our own purpose, our own orders. Because they don’t care anymore. They have no need of us. Any more than they need Unrisens like you.”

“Is that what you call us?” Trying not to look at the boiling water. The knives. The hammer.

The Partial sat back. “You should thank me. Heretic would have killed you outright. But I want you alive. I want you alive to tell me what you really know. To tell me what Heretic would never tell me. What you’ve found out. All those times you went missing this week. Where I couldn’t see you.”

“I don’t know anything that can help you.”

The Partial frowned. “That’s not true. I think you’re just stalling. Maybe you still don’t really believe me about Heretic. Maybe you think he’s going to come walking through that door.”

“No, I believe you!” Anticipating the hammer.

But the Partial stood up anyway. Got behind Finch. Pulled his chair around until he was facing Shriek’s body under the blanket.

Stooped. Pulled the blanket away.

Revealing Heretic, and a couple of pillows. The hat missing. A head stippled with tiny mauve mushroom caps. His neck twisted. His face crumpled and torn. Eyes closed. One of his feet was on the wrong way. As if he’d fallen from a great height.

From a suffocating distance, Finch heard the Partial say, “See? Just like I told you.”

Heard someone say, “Where’s the body? Of the dead man.”

Heard the response through the singing of the blood in his ears: “Oh, we destroyed that yesterday. Too big a risk to their plans. Heretic’s orders. When he was still giving orders. We spread the ashes over the base of the towers.”

Then, thankfully, the Partial was hitting him with the hammer again.

And he was losing the thread again.

Going under.

Going deep under.

SATURDAY