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Back Harrow the Ninth Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. DRAMATIS PERSONAE
  5. Prologue
  6. PARODOS
  7. ACT ONE
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. ACT TWO
  20. 12
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. ACT THREE
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. ACT FOUR
  42. 32
  43. 33
  44. 34
  45. 35
  46. 36
  47. 37
  48. 38
  49. 39
  50. EPIPARODOS
  51. ACT FIVE
  52. 40
  53. 41
  54. 42
  55. 43
  56. 44
  57. 45
  58. 46
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. 49
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. EPILOGUE
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. The Locked Tomb Trilogy
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

“She should be so lucky as to be any kind of use, as she wasn’t any in life. Damned proud of my straight face. Oh, Cristabel, all is forgiven! Good night, Mercy; my lips are sealed, but if you’re going to make deals with the devil, do ask to see the goods beforehand. I hope you choke before I regret it, and I hope you know that one day I’ll wrench Cristabel’s rotten ghost from your corpse, and eat her … Where did you stash Cytherea?”

More footsteps. A voice rose: “I told you once and I’ll tell you again: I haven’t touched her, you vile, condescending son of a bitch…” And then—nothing. You ducked back into your room.

At last you were able to wrench off the scarf that posed as a dress, and button yourself into a nightgown of your own, and you were able to brush your hair, and scrape off your paint, and wash off the blood from where Ianthe kissed you, and you were able to lie in the silence of the night with your sword beside you and the evening behind you.

Next to you, the Body said quietly, “The water is risen. So is the sun. We will endure.”

ACT FOUR

32

TWO MONTHS BEFORE THE EMPEROR’S MURDER

THE FOURTEENTH PLANET YOU were sent to kill was the thriving, thalergenic satellite of a hot little star. It was lush and terrestrial, with a thick carpet of vegetation and plenty of animal life, and nobody particularly wanted to be responsible for taking it out. Unfortunately, it was right in the current path of Number Seven; and Number Seven, as Teacher put it, would view such a planet like a hot pie. You were the youngest. It was left to you, and to Mercymorn.

Cytherea’s body had never been found. An attempt was made, in those first few days, to search for it, but it seemed that the only one still anxious about it was the Emperor. You knew that Augustine suspected Mercymorn, though you did not know why; Ianthe suspected Ortus of squirrelling her away, no matter your doubts. (“You know,” she persisted in saying, “for … sex reasons.”)

She had not blamed you for failing to murder him. Surprisingly, nor did the Saint of Patience, who had allusively apologised for his failure to account for the incinerator alarms. You had not seen any great changes between him and Mercy—except that they were fractionally more short-tempered with each other—or between him and God or her and God. There was no embarrassment, nor any pause when they met at breakfast, or in the corridor, and clasped arms with the same warmth or lack thereof that they had always shown. The total absence of appropriate shame made you suspect that this had happened between them before, a thought that made you want to give yourself a lobotomy.