Red Sister. Mark Lawrence
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currently in Red has completed the blade-path. Suleri was the last to finish it while still in Red. Her count was two hundred and ninety.’ Ketti was standing by the door. Her eyes flitted to the path above them. ‘I’ve almost made it to the end though. Almost.’
‘Suleri can do it faster now,’ Sister Kettle said, turning for the door. ‘She’s the fastest novice still at the convent. Her record is one hundred and eighteen.’
‘What’s the fastest it was ever done?’ Nona asked.
Sister Kettle paused, the door half open. ‘Our records say that a little over two hundred years ago a certain Sister Owl – yes, the one in the stories, the Black Fort and all that – the ledgers record her setting a time in Holy Class of twenty-six counts. It does seem hard to credit though. Perhaps the timing mechanism has been adjusted over the years …’
‘Twenty-six!’ Nona blinked. It didn’t sound even vaguely possible.
‘Something to aim for.’ Sister Kettle went through the door with a slight limp, leaving Nona and Ketti to stare at each other. Way above them Ruli started out on the path.
‘Why was Sister Kettle here?’ Nona asked, to break the silence more than anything.
‘To watch the new girl, of course,’ Ketti said. ‘She’ll be reporting back to Sister Tallow. That’s what she does. Watches and reports. She’d be Mistress Shade if we didn’t already have the Poisoner! I expect—’ She paused as Ruli plummeted down into the net with a shriek of frustration. ‘I expect she’d have come anyway to size up the competition. Kettle holds the convent record for the blade-path – the record for anyone still living here – sixty-nine counts.’
Nona tried the path half a dozen more times, moving less quickly and falling, not to stay part of the group but because gravity seemed to have got its hooks into her. Quite how she had got so far before she couldn’t say, for now the path swayed beneath her like a foreign sea, its ways alien to her feet. Even so she got further along than Ruli, Ghena and poor Kariss, who barely made the first yard and never the third.
The sixth impact with the net left her ears ringing.
‘Bray!’ Clera shouted. ‘Oh hells!’ She dropped off the platform, habit swirling about her head, long legs out before her.
Nona hung on tight to the ropes. The only rule they’d told her was not to try the path while someone is still in the net, as you could bounce them out.
Clera scrambled for the edge. ‘We’ll be late for Spirit!’
Nona glanced up at the platform. Empty. She and Clera had been so deep in their competition they hadn’t seen the others leave.
‘Come on!’ Clera tossed Nona her shoes and dropped to the floor. ‘Mistress Spirit is the worst!’
‘I thought you said the Poisoner was the worst!’
‘They’re all the worst when you’re late!’ And Clera was running.
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