moments of life without disobeying Duncan. And it means I will not be able to harm Gaby.”
Harris heard a scrape from behind Joseph; he turned his head back to look.
A rope dangled behind Joseph, ten feet away. It brushed the statuary, stretching from the liftship above to somewhere below Harris. And it was moving, swaying toward him. “Just hold on as long as you can, Joseph.”
The rope swayed a yard closer. Harris looked up and saw the liftship’s propellers turning. The ship was moving, dragging the rope along with it.
Joseph began to droop. Harris saw that the damage to his back was worse than before—made deeper and rougher by water erosion, Joseph’s “bleeding.” Harris grimaced.
“I am losing strength, Harris.”
“How do you want to be remembered?” The rope edged closer. It almost touched Joseph. Another yard and it would be within Harris’ reach.
“It will do no good for me to tell you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I would like to be remembered for having hurt no one. But that would be a lie.”
The rope slid to within inches of Harris’ hand. Joseph finally saw it. He looked puzzled.
Harris stretched, grabbed it, and dragged it to his right hand. With all his strength, he kicked away from the building face. The move pulled him free of Joseph’s grasp.
Harris swung out from the building, then back toward it, hitting the wall two full yards away from the giant. He managed to get his feet up and took the impact with his legs.
Joseph’s face twisted into a faint smile. “No, I was wrong. It will please me to be remembered for having failed in my last duty.”
He fell, leaving a stain of gray clay on the wall.
Harris watched him disappear. Something hard and
Harris heard a scrape from behind Joseph; he turned his head back to look.
A rope dangled behind Joseph, ten feet away. It brushed the statuary, stretching from the liftship above to somewhere below Harris. And it was moving, swaying toward him. “Just hold on as long as you can, Joseph.”
The rope swayed a yard closer. Harris looked up and saw the liftship’s propellers turning. The ship was moving, dragging the rope along with it.
Joseph began to droop. Harris saw that the damage to his back was worse than before—made deeper and rougher by water erosion, Joseph’s “bleeding.” Harris grimaced.
“I am losing strength, Harris.”
“How do you want to be remembered?” The rope edged closer. It almost touched Joseph. Another yard and it would be within Harris’ reach.
“It will do no good for me to tell you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I would like to be remembered for having hurt no one. But that would be a lie.”
The rope slid to within inches of Harris’ hand. Joseph finally saw it. He looked puzzled.
Harris stretched, grabbed it, and dragged it to his right hand. With all his strength, he kicked away from the building face. The move pulled him free of Joseph’s grasp.
Harris swung out from the building, then back toward it, hitting the wall two full yards away from the giant. He managed to get his feet up and took the impact with his legs.
Joseph’s face twisted into a faint smile. “No, I was wrong. It will please me to be remembered for having failed in my last duty.”
He fell, leaving a stain of gray clay on the wall.
Harris watched him disappear. Something hard and