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Summary
This building, Aral decided, had too many damned stairs. He leaned on the railing with one hand as he wobbled up them, one after the other; they seemed to stretch into infinity, an endless march of marble steps covered in a red carpet runner. They kept sliding, too, lurching disconcertingly under his feet, though he knew that was probably just the effect of the—five? six? he'd lost count—shots of bourbon still swimming through his system. You’re drunk, he told himself firmly, though he didn’t need the reminder; that was why he was here. That was why he was thinking about this at all.
***
Three weeks after his wife's funeral, Aral pays Ges a late-night visit.
Series
- Part 5 of The Aral Files