Chapter 43: Martin

Neumann kept his head low over the list.

The surgeon crossed behind him with the empty basin and set it on the medical table. Thomas stayed near the narrow window. Martin had not moved from the bench beside Severin.

"This has gone badly so far," Neumann said. "Worse than most days I’ve seen here."

Nobody answered. Neumann folded the bottom of the list back against his palm.

"You’ve handled yourselves better than most cohorts I’ve trained. Whatever happens next, you’ve got nothing to prove to me."

Thomas looked away from the window as Neumann waited a few seconds, then lowered his gaze to the page.

"Thomas Bennett."

Thomas breathed out through his nose. "Right."

He took off his coat and laid it over the end of the bench. One sleeve slipped toward the floor, and he caught it before it touched the stone. After folding it once, he checked the pockets by habit and left it beside Anna’s coat.

The surgeon opened the inner door.

Thomas slowed as he passed Severin. "If Montoro wakes up before this is over, tell him I still say the workers should see the bloody books."

Severin looked up at him. "No need. You’ll tell him yourself later."

Thomas gave a short laugh. "Yeah. I fucking hope so."

His smile faded before he turned and followed the surgeon through the door.

Martin watched it close. "Don’t worry about him. Bennett would argue wages with Vhazroth if he got the chance."

Severin smiled at the shut door. "He’d probably win."

The smile lasted until he noticed his right hand trembling against his thigh.

When Thomas returned, the undyed shift hung loose over his broad frame. Barefoot, he looked smaller than he had carrying stretchers and hauling equipment through training halls. He glanced once at the coat he had left behind, then crossed the script without saying anything.

Maeve followed him down with the iron box.

Severin knew what came next. The first pulse reached his boots as green spread outward through the cut lines, followed by the low resonance beneath the floor.

For nearly a minute, nothing else came up the stair.

Martin leaned forward beside him. Severin kept waiting for Thomas to curse, shout, kick the slab, anything.

A single rough cough came from below, followed by silence. The green held.

Someone spoke in the chamber, too low to make out. Metal touched stone with a quiet click. There was no rush for linen, no assistant running for bottles.

Severin looked at Martin, who was already watching the stair as the outer lines began to fade.

An assistant came up slowly and went to the table for a folded cloth. She did not run when she returned downstairs, and that frightened Severin more than the screaming had.

The surgeon appeared a few minutes later and stopped near Neumann. "Thomas Bennett is dead too."

Martin lowered his head while Neumann’s pencil moved beside Thomas’s name.

The assistants brought Thomas upstairs with his face uncovered and no blood Severin could see.

They carried him through the inner door, leaving Thomas’s coat at the end of the bench.

Seven of them had gone downstairs now, and five had come back dead.

Severin stared at the stair and tried not to carry the count any farther. Martin was next. After Martin there was no one left between the list and his own name.

His foot had started tapping against the stone. He stopped it.

Martin stared at Thomas’s coat for a few seconds, then stood.

"Well," Martin said. "That leaves just the two of us."

Severin glanced toward the stair before looking back at him. "I hope at least one of us comes back alive. Hopefully me."

Martin rubbed both palms down the front of his trousers. "Fuck you, Hale. Why not both of us?"

"Shut up, bastard. You know what I meant."

Neumann looked down at the list. "Martin Keller."

Martin nodded before Neumann finished the name. He stayed where he was for a moment, then pulled off his coat and dropped it onto the bench.

"Fold that properly," Severin said.

Martin looked at the coat. "Why?"

"So you don’t complain later that it got creased."

"It’s a coat, Hale. I’ve got bigger problems on my mind right now, don’t you think?"

Severin reached over, caught the coat by the collar and folded it once across his knees. "Do you remember when you argued that two gray shirts weren’t the same bloody color?"

Martin watched him straighten the fold. "Of course I do. Because they were different grays."

"Well, your eyesight’s already fucked, so losing one here shouldn’t be much of an issue."

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it again and nodded.

The surgeon waited at the inner door, and Martin went with her.

Severin kept the coat across his knees after the door closed. One cuff had turned inside out when Martin dropped it, so Severin pulled it straight and folded the sleeve under the rest.

The preparation room stayed quiet. He knew what was happening beyond the door anyway. Martin would be taking off his clothes, pulling on the linen shift, then standing barefoot on the stone while the surgeon made the last checks before sending him across the hall.

Martin would notice the cuff when he came back and complain about the fold too. The thought came easily enough that Severin did not question it.

When the inner door opened, Severin was already watching it. Martin came through barefoot in the linen shift and looked at him first.

Severin lifted the folded coat a little. "Still here."

Martin glanced at it. "Make sure nothing gets stolen."

"I wish you owned anything worth stealing."

Martin smiled once, then crossed the hall.

His bare feet passed over the same lines Paul, Rafael, Johann, Anna, Andreas, Madeleine and Thomas had crossed before him. At the stair, Martin put one hand against the wall.

He looked back. "See you in a bit."

Severin nodded. "Yeah."

Martin went down, and Maeve followed with the iron box until the stair was empty again.

The first green line brightened. Severin put Martin’s coat beside him and stood as the resonance came through the floor, one pulse followed by another.

Martin shouted below, one sharp sound that turned into a curse Severin could not fully hear.

Something scraped across stone. Severin swallowed against the dryness in his mouth and kept his eyes on the stair.

The green stayed while another pulse passed through the floor. No assistant came running up.

Another minute passed, then another, with the lines still bright until Severin stopped trying to count. Rafael’s ritual had lasted a long time too.

Martin made another sound below, quieter this time, then nothing.

Footsteps moved around the chamber. Maeve spoke, and the surgeon answered her as the resonance steadied. Severin let his fingers loosen from the edge of the bench.

He had made it.

Martin would come back upstairs half dead and unbearable. He would wake in recovery asking what his gift did before the surgeon finished telling him to stay still. If they put a mark on his hand, he would spend the next week staring at it instead of whatever book he was supposed to be reading.

Severin looked down at the folded coat just as a sudden pulse hit the floor hard enough to rattle one of the glass bottles on the medical table.

A shout from below brought his head up as the green lines flickered.

The surgeon called something from below. An assistant ran up the stairs so fast she caught herself against the wall at the turn, then crossed to the table and grabbed two bottles.

Severin stepped toward her. "What happened?"

She disappeared downstairs again without answering. Green flashed through the outer lines, weakened, then returned as Martin screamed once and the sound cut off midway.

Severin took another step toward the stair, but Neumann moved in front of him. "Stay here."

"What the fuck happened?"

"Stay here, Hale."

The resonance broke apart beneath them. One line went dark, then another, while the center held for several seconds longer, green still trapped in the deepest cuts before it went out too.

Severin stared at the black floor. "No."

Neumann said nothing while the work below continued for several minutes. Severin heard hurried movement at first, then less and less until there was almost nothing.

He found himself beside Martin’s coat again without remembering moving back.

The surgeon came up the stairs with no blood on either sleeve.

"There were complications. For a few moments, we thought the pact had taken. Then it started rejecting him."

Severin kept watching the stair behind her anyway.

"Martin Keller is dead."

Severin looked at the folded coat. The cuff had slipped open, so he reached down and fixed it.

The assistants brought Martin up covered to the collar. His face was pale and still, his dark hair pushed back from his forehead. Severin searched it for something that looked temporary and found nothing.

Martin’s stretcher passed him, and Severin wanted to say something to him but had no idea what.

The inner door opened, and the assistants carried him through before it shut behind them.

Neumann’s pencil moved across the paper for only a few seconds.

Severin glanced around the hall. Thomas’s coat remained near the end of the bench, with Anna’s flask beside Johann’s watch, while Martin’s coat lay beneath his hand.

The space by the narrow window and the place beside him were both empty. Every name above his had already been dealt with.

With his mouth still dry, he looked toward the inner preparation door and pictured the linen shift hanging from his own shoulders, his bare feet crossing the green script before the turn at the stair.

His right heel struck the bench behind him, and Severin realized he had backed into it.

Neumann lowered the pencil and moved his finger to the final line. Severin knew the name before he heard it.

"Severin Hale."