The Jade God by Alan Sullivan (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

a few inches from his throat. The deadly kris was beside him. He could see the jade god, its sardonic eyes bent on him, the cruel lips curved as though they comprehended the grim irony of the moment. Under that scrutiny he felt once more the mesmeric power evidenced here only the day before.

“Edith,” he murmured.

“Yes?”

“Twitch the curtains so that they are about an inch apart. Then get back quickly.”

She did this without a sound. Derrick lay still, his eyes closed. He knew that a narrow rib of light was streaming out over the sodden lawn and that the one who hid there could view the strange scene inside. Then silence fell. The tick of the clock sounded heavy and fateful. Shadows danced on the oaken walls, as they had danced two years before, and the flicker of fire cast an intermittent glow on Millicent’s face as it looked down from its gilded frame. From a nearby covert came the soft hooting of a barn-owl.

A faint whisper from the outer world reached Derrick, lying motionless with the blood pounding in his temples. It was that of movement, not sound; the merest fraction of movement, and transmitted by the most delicate waves of air. His senses, tuned to the utmost pitch, caught this, though it was no more than the suggestion that the atmosphere had been displaced not far off. Close to him someone had changed position. That was all he knew, and by the quality of this sensation he also guessed that the change had been made stealthily.

In the midst of this, and while the air seemed to transmit a steady singing monotone, came a sharp knock at the front door. He held his breath for the click of the latch, presently catching Burke’s voice, deep and husky. Followed a sound of heavy feet, and Perkins’s tap at the study door. She waited a moment; Derrick felt a slight draft and knew she was in the room with the two men behind her.

From Martin came a strange, throaty cry, and from the woman a choking gasp. Derrick’s hair prickled, and all power seemed to leave him. Again the gasp. Then flying feet crossed the floor with inconceivable swiftness, and Perkins flung herself beside his chair. He felt the grip of frenzied arms on his shoulders and heard tones of unutterable anguish.

“Master, master, what is it? Speak to me, speak to me! You’re not dead! I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know I did it. I was asleep; don’t you understand? And when I woke your blood was on my hands. Speak to me, master; for God’s sake, speak!”

For an instant Derrick was unable to move. Perkins crouched on the floor beside him, her body shaking, her face buried in her arms. Another cry from Martin, and he plunged, dragging Burke with him. He put his one free hand on the woman’s head.

“Don’t you go on like that, lass. It’s only a plant. You didn’t do it. I’ll swear you didn’t.”

Perkins staggered to her feet. Her eyes were glazed. She stared wildly up at Martin, then at the sergeant as though she did not see him, then at the French window. The curtains had parted, and in the gap crouched the tense figure of Blunt, poised for a spring. At this last, her features became distorted. All the suffering of the damned crowded into them. With a motion of incredible swiftness, she grasped the kris and plunged it into her heart. Simultaneously Blunt darted forward.

What happened in that instant happened in a flash. Martin fell on his knees beside the woman. Burke, half dazed as he was, flung out his great fist and caught Blunt on the temple. There came a cry from the two who had been hidden behind the screen. Derrick leaped up. He saw Perkins, her breast stained scarlet, with Martin beside her, rocking in an abandonment of grief. Against the wall, as though it had been thrown there like a rag, huddled the insensible figure of the peddler. Burke was breathing hard and already fumbling at the lock of the handcuff that bound him to the gardener. On one side stood Jean and Edith, their eyes starting with horror.

In a moment the sergeant got himself free with a clink of metal. He glowered at the inert body of Blunt with a sort of animal satisfaction, then, kneeling beside Perkins, stared at her hard, and finally put his big head against that crimson heart. Martin did not move but gave one long shuddering sigh. A moment thus, till Burke heaved up, his face very grave, and made an unmistakable gesture. At that Edith put her arms round Jean and held the girl close.

“I’ll take charge now, sir,” said Burke grimly. “These two men must come to the station with me. As for this poor woman, we can’t do better than take her to the cottage, if you don’t mind her being there till morning, and I’ll send a man up there as soon as possible. And,” he added, “perhaps I’d better take this knife for safekeeping till the inquest.”

“No, no!” Martin turned his grief-stricken face, clutching at the officer’s arm. “For God’s sake don’t do that. Let me stay with her,” he implored hoarsely.

Burke stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t leave her in the cottage with anyone but me. I’ll be there in the morning. I won’t run away. I’ll do anything else you like, but for God’s sake let me stay with her tonight!”

Burke shook his head. “You’ll do what you’re told, and do it now. What is this woman to you?”

“My wife,” groaned Martin, and burst into throttling sobs.

Utter silence fell upon this room of death. Against the wall, Blunt gave a slow shiver and raised his head, regarding the scene with a strange calm, as though such tragedies were only passing incidents in a still greater drama. He made no attempt to move but lay there, resting on one elbow, part of it