Never Trust a Dead Man Read Online Free Page A

just enough to salve Thorne's conscience.
    Linton said, "Yeah, well, first thing he's going to do is take off his gag, and then we'll have to listen to him bellowing all the way back."
    "Then we'll have to move out of here fast," Thorne said. "We won't be able to hear him with the rock back in place." Immediately he started back the way they'd come, those with the torches lighting the way.
    Raedan paused just long enough to rest his hand on Selwyn's shoulder, then scrambled to catch up.
    Linton's voice came back, whining to Thorne, "I'm going to tell Bowden."
    Selwyn worked to break loose the remaining strands of rope. He couldn't escape, he knew that. But he was frantic to get closer to the entry, where the air was fresher, where there wasn't such a sense of the dead eagerly waiting for him to join them.
    The glow of the torches grew smaller and fainter, and then disappeared entirely. He was in total blackness—absolutely no different from having his eyes closed. But all about him there were noises: drips and rustlings and scratchings.
Vermin
, he told himself, not an angry spirit come back to demand, "What have you done to my bones?"
    He thought he heard the hollow echo of the rock rolling back over the entrance. Or maybe not. He
was
deep in the cave.
    His former friends and neighbors were probably halfway down the hill before Selwyn, twisting and tugging, managed to snap the rope where Thorne had weakened it. As Linton had warned, the first thing he did was to remove the gag. He had told himself he'd be brave. He knew it was useless—even if the villagers could hear him, which they could not—but he couldn't help himself. He yelled and screamed for them to come back.
    Eventually, long after his voice gave out, he was able to pick loose the knots that bound his ankles. He stood, slowly, his hands outstretched in the darkness. He shuffled forward a careful step. His hand touched something cobwebby and dusty that would have better remained untouched. To the right seemed clear. But somehow one of the broken bones was under his foot, and his leg slid out from under him. He put his hands out to break his fall and landed on one of the bodies.
    Cloth and bones caved in under the pressure of his outflung hands, sending up a cloud of acrid dust. Still on his knees, Selwyn backed away hurriedly, trying desperately not to inhale. But now something was tangled up around his left ankle. His own rope? Or one that had held a corpse's blanket? Or a corpse itself?
    Selwyn brushed at his ankle and stood, smacking his head. That must be where ceiling curved down into wall, which meant he needed to take a step backward. But in that direction was another body. To the left, and he banged his shin against a rocky outcropping. Once again he fell—once again on a body. This one held up under his weight. Which was a good indication it was Farold.
    Selwyn let himself sink back down to the floor. He wouldn't be able to find the entry, anyway. Better to be still. Then, if some angry spirit
did
come to accuse him, he would be able to say, "It wasn't me who disturbed your rest Go haunt those who are still alive."

FOUR
    Selwyn breathed through his mouth in an attempt to get away from the smell of all those dead people. But that made him sure he could taste them in the back of his throat, which was even worse.
    He tried to compose himself for death, even though he knew it would be a long time coming. God knew he hadn't killed Farold, but there were other matters that weighed on Selwyn's soul and needed praying over. Like drinking too much ale that day two weeks ago, and egging Farold on to a fight, which was surely wrong—as well as foolish. Selwyn prayed to be forgiven for that, even though he felt that multiple bruises and public humiliation were surely atonement enough for that particular sin.
    With his forehead on his upraised knees and his hands clasped around his legs, he also prayed for the peaceful repose of those around him. He mentally