Page 50 of Katabasis
“Judas,” Alice muttered. “Suppose you wanted breakfast.”
Archimedes mewed and licked the crumbs off his whiskers.
Peter had already warmed up some Lembas Bread over the fire, and even heated water in two collapsible tin cups for tea. Alice pulled herself to a sitting position and accepted a cup of Darjeeling. “I didn’t know you’d brought tea.”
“Just a few bags,” he said. “It’s not so heavy, after all. I was going to save it until the second week, but I thought we deserved a treat.”
“Well, thank you.” She blew on the surface. “Darjeeling’s my favorite.”
“I know. You’re always snapping at people not to touch your tea bags.”
“Well if it’s clearly not marked asdepartmenttea, then it’s not communal property.”
“No, that’s perfectly reasonable. For what it’s worth, I always thought it was Michele swiping them. Too many Fortnum bags in his office bin.”
She laughed despite herself, and then her mind caught up and she remembered what she’d seen and what she now knew Peter was. A bitter taste seeped through her mouth. She dropped her gaze.
“You all right there?”
“Oh yes,” she said, and hastily rearranged her face into a neutral calm. “Just tired.”
She kept stealing glances at Peter as they ate. Observing his smile, watching for the cracks.
Part of her wished she’d never seen his notes, for now every interaction with Peter meant filtering through a façade. Was his affable demeanor just a front? Some calculated jester’s affect to trick everyone around him into lowering their guard? Deep down, was he just as competitive and insecure as the rest of them? Or worse: was Peter the most dangerous kind of rival, the charming sociopath who never let you suspect for a moment until they slid the blade into your back?
But how did one keep that up for years without slipping? Peter was flaky, yes, but Alice had never once heard rumor of him acting maliciously toward anyone. If anything, he was famously, unnecessarily kind. Everyone adored him, despite having every reason to hate him. Bless Murdoch, everyone said. Annoying as all hell, but his heart’s in the right place.
Was it all a grand performance? Had Peter been playing them since the day they’d met?
Alice had spent hours that night staring at his sleeping skull, wondering what thoughts swirled around in that mind. Whowashe? For all her ambition, Alice could not imagine bringing a friend, or even a colleague, into the pits of Hell like a lamb to the slaughter. She could not fathom Peter’s intentions, and this scared her more than anything else: the possibility that, despite years of trying, she did not know who Peter Murdoch was at all.
She felt like an idiot for sharing all that she had last night. She cringed to recall how he’d nodded along, humming in sympathy, his hand on her shoulder. And all the while he must have been cackling inside.Poor Alice, dear Alice, what an idiot.
It was no accident he had found her in the lab. She realized this now—he must have known she was going. Heneededher to go, needed her soul intact for the exchange.
How long had he been awaiting his chance?
Oh, dear God. Now she was trapped in Hell with him.
“Are you doing all right?” Peter asked.
She blinked. “Sorry?”
He nodded to her elbow. “It looks like the swelling’s gone down a bit.”
She peered at her arm. “Huh. Guess so.”
“Fine to keep going?”
She did a quick inventory of her body. Her limbs ached, and her cuts still stung, but it was all superficial. The only thing that really pained her was the anxiety gnawing in her gut, but this she had no choice but to endure. “I think so.”
“Let’s be on then.” He smiled, stood up, and extended his hand. Archimedes stood further ahead, tail swishing impatiently.
“Yes, all right.”
Pretend, she told herself as she grasped his hand.Pretend for your life.
As Desire faded behind them, theterrain changed rapidly beneath their feet. The campus path became bumpy and riddled with potholes. Then the bricks gave way to unpaved dirt. Soon it became clear they were descending a yawning slope, the ground crumbly and treacherous. They had to pause with each step, carefully testing their purchase before they put their weight on the ground. At least Alice had some practice with this—one summer there had been construction on Mill Road between Magdalene College and the department, and the whole sidewalk was torn up. It was a season of twisted ankles. In time they came upon a rift in the ground, a wide abyss cleaving the space between Desire and beyond. Their path thinned into a perilous strand of stairs that wound down to the bottom and crawled up the other side. Below on their left, level with the base of the abyss, churned the Lethe; no longer still now, but a foaming, vicious rush.
