“There"s a storm coming, Sunyin.” Not so much as a murmur stirred the treacherous night. “Sunyin,” I repeated.
I shook the first globs of acidic rain from my hair and turned back to the monk. The little fellow was out on his feet. He seemed oblivious to the world about him and stumbled along using the coffin for support. I had no words of comfort, so fell silent and left him to his staggering.
A glance over the near vertical cliffs ruled out one means of escape: Shangri-La was gone. The Marquis, notorious by his absence, had departed. The coward"s part in proceedings was for a time over. Gift-wrapped and tied with a bow, he"d deposited his parcel, me, and left without waiting for a thank you. Duped by the one man I"d thought incapable of doing so, the blood boiled in my veins. I would ma
