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Famous T. Kingfisher Quotes

“Ah.' The godmother smiled then, and cracks ran across her skin from the motion, like a plaster wall falling apart. As Marra watched in horror, a chip of skin fell from her cheekbone. There was no blood under it, nothing but cool, brown bone. 'Yes, Agnes, will you pass me my teacup? It seems that I am about to die, and I would like a little more tea.' ... She tried to press it in to the godmother's hands, but they were only bone, folded politely in to a pile of dust. ... 'Thank you,' said the godmother against the rim of the teacup, and then she fell apart. Marra took a step back but there was something oddly peaceful about it, about bones sinking down in to the robes and the dust pattering down around them. There had been very little flesh left to the godmother, only skin and skeleton and iron will. Her robes stayed in the perfect triangle, stiff with gold brocade.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“She could track the progression of starvation backwards through the layers. They had eaten deer and they had eaten cattle. When the cattle ran out and the deer were gone, they ate the horses, and when the horses were gone, they ate the dogs. When the dogs were gone, they ate each other. It was the dogs she wanted. Perhaps she might have built a man out of bones, but she had no great love of men any longer. Dogs, though... dogs were always true.”

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“Health's not so little a thing, ' said the dust-wife. 'Compared to the alternative, anyway.' Marra's lip curled. 'She might have wished us safe,' she growled. 'Or at least that we wouldn't marry someone who'd murder us.' 'She might have,' said the dust-wife. 'But parents object to people making pronouncements like that at christenings, for some odd reason.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“At sunset, just as the light from the fire became brighter than the light from the doorway, she finished. The skeleton lay across her lap, complete, claws wired to paws vertebrae strung like beads. 'Wake,' she whispered, while the light faded outside the door. 'Wake. Please.' The bones lay motionless in her lap. She bowed her head. Please. Please, Bonedog. I'm never going to see my sister again, or my mother. I'm not going to see the Sister Apothecary or the abbess. I need one more friend. Please. It was too much like the first time. The second impossible task was also the third. She had always known that she had gotten off too lightly, being handed the moon in a jar. Fenris took her free hand, careful of her sore fingertips, and held it between his palms, waiting with her. 'Please,' she said again, and a single tear ran hotly down her cheek and splashed on to the white expanse of skull. Bonedog yawned and stretched and woke. Marra let out a sob of relief and buried her head in Fenris's neck. He held her in the crook of his arm while Bonedog stood up and bounced and cavorted around the hut.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“Maybe you and I could... not go home together?' The words hung in the air between them, as fine as spun glass and just as fragile. Marra waited for him to say something, to catch the words or shatter them, whichever he chose. 'I think I'd like that,' said Fenris. Marra sagged with relief. She had been so focused on what he might say that she hadn't quite expected what he might do. So it came as a surprise when he wrapped both arms around her and put his lips against her hair. 'I think I would like that very much,' he murmured. 'Oh good,' said Marra, against his neck. And then she would have kissed him or he would have kissed her, but Bonedog decided that they were wrestling and jumped up and barked soundlessly at them both.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“Marra thumped the pillow and then gave up. 'Fenris?' 'Yes?' 'I don't know how to ask this without giving you completely the wrong idea.' 'All right?' 'Do you remember on the road, when we slept back-to-back?' He did not answer, but she heard the bed creak, and then the indignant snuffle of Bonedog being nudged out of the way. Her own bed sagged as Fenris sat on the edge of it. Marra scooted up against the wall to give him room. His back was as solid and warm as she remembered. She sighed and felt something unclench, although whether it was in her jaw or her gut or her soul, she couldn't say. 'You're a saint,' she mumbled, tugging the blanket up around her shoulder. 'You have no idea,' muttered Fenris.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“It was fourteen hours later that Marra and the dust-wife flung themselves at the stone lid, scrabbling with all their strength. For a horrible moment, she thought that it would not be enough, that they would have to come back with levers, but it began, inch by agonising inch, to slide. They got it perhaps six inches and had to stop, panting. Fingers slid out of the gap and caught the edge. Marra nearly wept with relief. Fenris shoved the lid aside and sat up, gasping for air. 'You're really here,' he said, bending over so that his forehead touched his drawn-up knees. 'I kept imagining voices, but you're really here this time.' 'We're here,' said Marra, the words this time jabbing her like pins. He took a half dozen sobbing breaths. 'It is very close in there,' he said, 'even with holes.' His face was slick with sweat or tears, Marra did not know. 'Close and cold.' 'I'm sorry,' said Marra. 'I'm sorry. It was the only way I could think of.' She pulled him out of the coffin, or he climbed out and she helped, and he wrapped his arms around her and they stood together, shaking.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“Did an echo just tell us to run?' asked Agnes, adjusting Finder, and looking rather calmer than Marra felt. 'Do ghostly echoes have our best interest at heart?' asked Fenris, also remarkably calm. 'Rarely,' said the dust-wife. Marra thought, I'm surrounded by lunatics, but and I love them all, but maybe we should be running, anyway.”

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“They emerged, stumbling in to the starlight. The man at Marra's side gasped in air as if he had never breathed before. 'Free,' he said. 'Am I free of that place?' 'Almost,' said the dust-wife. 'Not quite yet. We've got one foot in the other world, and it isn't safe to linger.' ... 'Now,' said the dust-wife, leaning on her staff. 'Now we're all the way back. Now you're free.”

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“... something in the back of her mind whispered that there was no help coming and if she ran out of money, she had no real way to earn more. Her only skills were embroidery and weeding gardens. I suppose I could sell my body, but I'm not sure how one does that, either. It seemed like it would be a lot more complicated than getting a seat on a coach. Dis you approach people, or did they approach you, and how did you start a conversation that ended in money for sex? Was there an etiquette? This was not the sort of thing one was taught at convents. It was easier just to sleep in the coaches.”

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“He isn't my prince,' said Marra acidly. 'If you plan to kill him, he is. Your victim. Your prince. All the same. You sink a knife in to someone's guts, you're bound to them in that moment. Watch a murderer go through the world and you'll see all his victims trailing behind him on black cords, shades of ghosts waiting for their chance.”

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“She broke in to a run, not caring if the thief-wheel heard her now, half sobbing. 'Fenris! Agnes! Dust-wife!' 'Marra?' She broke in to the room and before she could even focus, Fenris had thrown his arms around her and had his face pressed against her hair. 'You're alive,' he said. 'I thought I'd lost you. You're alive.' 'You're alive, too!' she said. She wanted to stop and think about what I thought I'd lost you might mean, but it didn't quite seem like the time. And he was very warm and she was very cold and it was very pleasant to be held in such a fashion. 'You're alive. 'Yes, yes,' said the dust-wife testily. 'We're all alive. Please don't cry on me about it, though.' Fenris finally released her, although not without reluctance. Bonedog immediately leapt up at her, washing her face with his tongue.”

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“The staircase seemed much longer going up than coming down. Perhaps that was always the way in a fairy world. The man she had ransomed, the man she needed, had his arm locked around hers. They leaned against each other, shoulder against shoulder, two humans in a place where no humans should ever have come. When Marra looked over at him in the sickly firefly light, she could see a silvery terror in his eyes, mastered but very much alive. Bonedog walked beside them, Marra's hand wrapped around the rope collar. She felt the illusion of fur against her fingers, except when she didn't and he briefly felt like bones.”

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“It looked like a market, but such a market as Marra had never seen. There were jeweled pavilions crowded next to mud huts and hide tents and things that looked like upside-down bird nests. The aisles between were crowded, but the people within them did not move like a crowd. They moved like dancers, some light, some heavy, some in circling solitary waltzes. They reminded Marra far more of the courtiers in the prince's palace than of the town on market day.”

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“The Toothdancer looked like a stork or a heron, with a long hard bill and a curved, mobile neck. He wore a tattered black suit, with feathers sticking out of the holes, and his hands were very human. When he turned his head, Marra saw half a man's face below the beak, as if it were a mask, and yet his eyes were clearly a heron's, the colour of new-minted coins, and set back from the beak like a bird's.”

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“The glamour settled around him and left a smell like burning dust. Marra saw the outlines of flesh, a shadow of fur, and then Bonedog shook himself and he was a great gray dog with a skull like a battering ram and a blaze of white across his chest. His tail was still a narrow, bony whip but there was fur across it. He had immense jowls and when he looked up at Marra, they all sagged into a gigantic smile. 'Oh, Bonedog,' she said. He licked her hand and she could feel his tongue, not quite substantial but more than it had been.”

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“... her teeth had begun to dance. They twitched in her jaw like living things. She shrieked, not in pain but in horror, her mouth suddenly full of wiggling bone, as if she were in one of those nightmares where all her teeth fell out at once. It was like chewing and squirming and wiggling a loose tooth, wrapped all together, in time to the pennywhistle's tune. She tried to bite down hard, hoping to still the awful dance, but it was worse, much worse, all the teeth rattling against each other, her skull filling up with the sounds of chattering. Oh god oh god no no no no NO! It most of her teeth were dancing, the one bad molar was kicking. It felt as if it were battering against her cheek and the rest of her teeth, like a bird at a window, slam, slam, slam. The Toothdancer leaned in closer and played more quickly. Marra wanted to scream in denial, but if she opened her mouth, all her teeth would dance out. Oh god this was worse than anything worse than the blistered land, that had been outside, and this was inside her skin inside her face- With a popping sensation, the bad tooth pulled itself free of her jaw. It landed on her tongue, bouncing like an insect and began to batter against the backs of her lips. Marra yelped at the sensation of hard, crawling life loose inside her mouth. She tried frantically to spit. The Toothdancer dropped the pennywhistle, leaned in, and plucked the tooth neatly from the surface of her tongue with his beak. He turned and dropped the tooth, wet and glistening, in to the tooth seller's palm. Then he bowed very politely to Marra, patted her arm, and walked away.”

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Book:Nettle & Bone
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“He was a wooden puppet. Some kind of marionette, Marra thought, the kind that traveling performers used to entertain very young children. He had the carved hands and the clacking jaw, the articulated arms and legs. But the only string on him was a black cord that looped Miss Margaret's throat, and the puppet held it in one hand. He moved as they watched. It was a slow, considered movement, like a tortoise turning its head in the sun, and it set Marra's nerves crawling.”

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