An Echo in the Bone [antikvár]

Used as Grey was to the swift brutality of army surgeons, Mrs. Eraser's preparations seemed laborious in the extreme: she swabbed Henry's belly repeatedly with an alcoholic solution she had concocted, talking to him through her highwayman's mask in a low, soothing voice. She rinsed her hands -and made Hunter and Mrs. Woodcock do the same - and her instruments, so that the whole room reeked like a distillery of low quality.Her motions were in fact quite brisk, he realized after a moment. But her hands moved with such sureness and yes, grace, that was the only word that they gave the illusion of gliding like a pair of gulls upon the air. No frantic flapping, only a sure, serene, and almost mystic movement. He found himself quieting as he watched them, becoming entranced and half forgetting the ultimate purpose of this quiet dance of hands.She moved to the head of the bed, bending low to speak to Henry, smooth the hair away from his brow, and Grey saw the hawk's eyes soften momentarily into gold. Henry's body relaxed slowly under her touch; Grey saw his clenched, rigid hands uncurl. She had yet another mask, he saw, this one a stiff thing made of basket withes lined with layers of soft cotton cloth. She fitted this gently to Henry's face and, saying something inaudible to him, took up her dropping bottle.The air filled at once with a pungent, sweet aroma that clung to the back of Grey's throat and made his head swim slightly. He blinked, shaking his head to dispel the giddiness, and realized that Mrs. Eraser had said something to him.'I beg your pardon?' He looked up at her, a great white bird with yellow eyes - and a gleaming talon that sprouted suddenly from her hand.'I said,' she repeated calmly through her mask, 'you might want to sit back a little farther. It's going to be rather messy.'