“... Matron.”
The way Sythius said the word seemed to imply that he didn’t so much understand that he was speaking at all;
more that he was just repeating sounds. He continued to
stare at the youth in front of him. The least that could be said in terms of improvement was that, with something on which to
bend his concentration, he’d apparently let go of his nerves.
The youth nodded. “Yes,
my matron. You’ll meet her soon. I’m Godric, by the way.” And with that, the
youth had a label. Sythius squinted again. Godric sighed, rolled his eyes,
and tried a different tack. “My name.” He gestured to himself. “Godric.” He
pointed to Sythius. “Sythius?” He pointed back to himself. “Godric.”
Eventually, Sythius seemed to
understand. His face split into a grin that looked somehow savage and innocent at the same time. “Godric,” he said slowly, and nodded with conviction as though he’d had some religious epiphany. A thick, gloved hand engulfed Godric’s left
shoulder.
“That’s right, friend. You have it.”
Godric stepped toward the
body of the dead man, lying almost forgotten at their feet, and squatted down.
He turned the body over and studied the face. It was slack, unremarkable.
Light-skinned, he was, with short-cropped yellow hair and a thick scar running
through his surprisingly well-kept beard.
“... It’s him. It’s
really him.” Godric sat back on his heels and laughed a little. He turned his
head up, then bent backward so that he was looking at Sythius upside-down. “You
magnificent bastard. You’ve killed Uncle Scratch.”
“Scratch.” Sythius
pointed to the corpse. “Scratch?”
Godric nodded. He stood
back up. “We’ll have to do something about you, big guy. You really aren’t too
bright, are you?” Dusting off his pants, he gestured down the alley. “Well,
that’s okay. I’m not too bright, either. Tell you what. Back home, the matron
can help you. Like I said. She’s been waiting for you.”
Sythius kept staring at
his victim. “Sythius,” he murmured softly. “Godric. Scratch?” He looked at
Godric again, and looked inquisitive. “Scratch is ... strange name.”
Godric blinked. Then he
smiled. He looked impressed; whether it was because Sythius could evidently
understand that some names just didn’t make much sense, or because he’d very
nearly spoken a complete sentence — four whole words! — was a mystery.
“You’re right. But then,
Scratch was a strange man. Come on. Follow me.” Godric looked around. “We don’t
want to be found here.”
* * *
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