65

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Garth found himself back in his house again . . . in his rumpled bed, surrounded by easily recognized things that disoriented him with their very familiarity.

After his collapse, the pain and restless sleep had sent him . . . far away. In that dim, aching place he had expected to see Soft Stone again, her guiding hand taking him either toward the tunnel of light or pushing him back through the doorway to life. This time, though, he had been unconscious and alone. He had awakened without any revelations, without any help, without any hope.

Pashnak sat at his bedside, crying, holding Garth’s hand. When the assistant saw that he had opened his eyes, Pashnak squeezed the hand tighter. “Oh, Garth—they weren’t sure you would ever wake up again.”

“They? Who are you talking about? Where have I been?”

Pashnak’s words came out in a rush. “I took you to a medical center, had them run scans on you. You’ve been there for most of a day. When they ID’ed the body you’re in, they called up the old man’s records and got the prognosis.”

“Not good, I’ll bet.” Each breath sent a stab of pain through his overstressed lungs.

“They were surprised you’re still alive. Can’t offer any help, diagnosis terminal—imminently terminal.” He tried to blink the tear-sheen from his eyes. “They offered COM euthanasia for a small fee. I . . . told them no.”

Garth patted his hand. “I really blew it this time, Pashnak—everything I tried to do for Eduard . . . I failed.” He closed his eyes to push away the accusing thoughts in his head.

Pashnak got up and shifted the window polarization, letting misty daylight into the room. He remained standing with his back to the bed, a rigid silhouette. “I just don’t understand why you would do such a terrible thing to yourself. You had so much . . .”

Garth lay back on the pillow and smiled wistfully. “Pashnak, I was glad to have a worthwhile reason to fight after all. It reminded me of how I used to be inspired. It was great.”

The assistant fussed with the sheets, tucked in the blankets. “I tracked the bidding through COM, because I thought you’d want to know.” He held a wrinkled printout in front of Garth’s face. “This is the woman who bought your body. A rich old lady named Madame Ruxton.”

Garth tried to make his eyes focus. “I could have paid twice that much. It would’ve been so simple, if we’d made it to the auction. I could have saved Eduard, if we’d just gotten there in time.”

Pashnak’s hands trembled. “That would have been the simplest solution. But the simplest solution doesn’t always work.”

Garth could tell by the look on Pashnak’s drawn face that the assistant had come to some kind of decision—though he couldn’t imagine what the issue was.

“I’ve been with you for a long, long time, Garth. I’ve seen your moods, and I’ve seen what you can do. I held your hand through your pregnancy, I helped you walk when you were blind. I also saw you running out of steam and I was at a loss to help you. I didn’t know what to do. I never lost faith in you . . . but you did.”

Garth sighed, trying to sink into the blankets and sheets. “Sorry for everything I put you through.”

The assistant brushed it aside. “I was always so proud to be part of what you were doing. I was honored.”

Garth reached up to run his fingers through the assistant’s mouse-brown hair. Pashnak’s lips trembled; he was obviously more frightened than he had ever been. “Last night, seeing you full of energy and alive again, ready to give everything to help your friend . . . that’s the Garth I want to remember. That’s the way I last want to see you.” Garth forced a wan smile, and Pashnak grabbed his hand. “I want you inspired again, fighting, and passionate—go help Eduard, if that’s what you need to do. You can find a way.”

Garth winced as pain shot through him again. “Impossible, Pashnak. Right now, I doubt I could even get to the bathroom by myself.”

The assistant squeezed his hand so hard Garth was afraid some of his brittle bones might shatter. “Unless you hopscotch with me.”

Garth snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Pashnak’s face turned crimson. “I’m not being ridiculous! You’re not the only one who can make sacrifices, you know—and this is the only way you’re going to help your friend. Dammit, if you refuse me, then you’re costing Eduard his only chance.” Garth swallowed hard and felt his body dying by rapid steps. Pashnak leaned close, his words like a kiss on the artist’s wrinkled cheek. “Let me do something that’ll make a difference for once.”

Garth’s mind spun. He found it difficult to think with so much pain clawing at his thoughts. “Even if I do swap with you, it’s still very remote. What exactly do you think I can do for him?”

The assistant crossed his arms over his chest. “I know you, Garth—when you’re inspired, you can do anything.” Pashnak held out the wadded printout. “Take this. Go track down Madame Ruxton. She’ll be at the execution tomorrow—or you can be in her place, if you make her the right offer.” He smiled deprecatingly. “My own body’s not so great, but it’s strong enough. Ask the old lady if this isn’t better than being good-looking and destitute. She seems to be a greedy bitch.”

Seeing the wavering, uncertain look on the pallid old face, Pashnak reached down. “Better swap with me now, before I lose my nerve.”

Instinctively, desperately, Garth hopscotched out of his dying body into the gaunt form of his assistant. He drew a deep, deep breath, filled with wonder at how sweet the bedroom air smelled. Even these lanky arms and legs felt strong, capable of great things.

From the reverse perspective looking down on the old man in the bed, Garth saw how truly ill he had looked. He immediately changed his mind. “Oh, Pashnak—I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I guess it’s not so terrible,” he said. “I love you, Garth.”

“I know. I love you, too.” Garth bent down, his world focused on the dying man in front of him. “Forget it. I don’t want to lose you as well as Eduard. This is my problem, and I need to pay the price.”

He touched the papery skin on the dying man’s temples, but he could not hopscotch. A thin smile curled the assistant’s old lips. “Sorry, Garth. I’m staying here, and you can’t swap back with me unless I cooperate.”

He remembered seeing young Pashnak standing in front of the Splinters during his graduation ceremony, when the gaunt boy had swapped with Soft Stone, proving his ability. “Pashnak, swap back with me. Now!”

“No, not unless you’ve got some Scramble. After all these years, I think that’s the first time I ever refused you.” He seemed to think that was funny. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. . . .”

“Pashnak!”

Looking up at the ceiling, the assistant said, “Will you read to me? Like you used to? When we were in the monastery?”

Tears filled Garth’s eyes, and he embraced the man on the bed as gently as he could. “Of course.”

He rushed off, remembering how they had sat by candlelight, reading Dickens. He stopped in front of the library shelves, searching for the right book, any book. He grabbed David Copperfield, the novel they had been sharing when Pashnak left the Falling Leaves.

He hurried back, flipping through the pages, searching for the right place, a good scene. “Here’s one.” He walked into the bedroom.

Where he found Pashnak already dead. The old body lay silent and motionless, eyes closed. One hand was clenched around a knot of sheets.

Garth’s fingers turned to rubber, and the heavy book slipped with a thump to the floor. Pashnak didn’t flinch or stir.

Garth cradled him in his arms, anguished. Now, of course, he had a thousand things to say. But it was too late.

He, himself, would have been lying there dead now, if not for Pashnak’s sacrifice. And he’d already had more than his fill of useless sacrifices. Instead, Garth’s options were now limited to one important thing. He didn’t know how he could ever pull it off, but he was damned well going to try.

Garth prepared to go rescue Eduard. Somehow.

He shut down everything in his big house and left.