Over the last few days I’d tried every form of argument, bribe, and plea. Nothing had worked. I had taken several doses of her accursed potion now, but the cold serpent that coiled through my gut had had no effect, except to add to my nausea. No effect, I told myself firmly. My wrists were raw from struggling against the ropes that bound them to the bedstead. My throat was raw from the funnel. I felt sick, and very tired, and my eyes were beginning to play tricks on me. I hated her. I was about to say it again when the door flew open with a force that would have knocked her down had she been standing closer. As it was the door struck her wide skirts, spinning her around, face to face with Fisk. Fisk! His face was a mask of determination, and the lady’s eyes opened so wide I could see white around the rims. She drew a breath to scream, but Fisk moved faster than I’d ever seen him, leaping forward, shoving her shoulders, kicking for her ankles. They fell together with Fisk on top, and Lady Ceciel’s head struck the floor hard enough to crack her skull, if the thick knot of hair at the back of her head hadn’t cushioned it.
