Kali wanted to throw a book at his head. She resisted.
“I wanna go to Atlua too,” she said, keeping calm. “That’s what I want more than anything right now, and I’ve done a lot of questionable shit to make that happen, which is something I’m gonna have to wrestle with. But I think this is one step too far. I’m not sure I could live with myself knowing that I helped some piece of shit get this book. There’s too much bad that can be done with it.”
“I dunno how you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that’s not what we were doin’ this entire time, but you’re a moron if you wanna throw away everything we’ve done now. If we do that, we’ll both be broke fucks stuck in this huge, horrible desert.”
Without warning, he jumped off the bed and stormed out of the room.
Kali remained on the floor, her stomach aching, staring down at the black void of the book’s cover.
- -
Puk’s feet automatically glided him down the stairs and out the inn’s entryway. He wasn’t sure yet where his tantrum was taking him.
He marched straight across the town’s circular path, through the thin treeline, all the way down to the oasis shore. A good ways away on either side of him were people enjoying the water or lounging on the beach downing bottles. But he was alone in his little patch of sand.
He dropped down onto the sand, sinking in, the warmth of it irritating him further. He wanted dead leaves crunching underfoot. The rustle of greenery in the breeze. Dirt between his toes. Real dirt, not this poor excuse for dirt they called sand. He leaned back on his hands, fanning his fingers in and out to feel the grains.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, aghast at Kali’s sudden turn.
After numerous dreadful days traveling across this dreadful desert, finding not one but two mythical towns, wrangling with wild cordols, and so much more…now she wanted to give up their reward? All that hard work wasted?
The prospect infuriated him. He wanted to go back to Atlua. That was that. It was all he had been striving for, ever since being unceremoniously booted from the Rusty Halberd.
That felt like ages ago. He tried and failed to mentally map out where the troupe might be by now. Maybe they were in the east, traveling along the mountain ridge, performing in centript hives. Or taking a break to explore the southern beaches now that he wasn’t weighing them down.
“Idiots,” he muttered this time, thinking of his old comrades that had abandoned him back in Seroo’s Eye. He’d thought they were his closest friends, ones who would never turn their backs on him. Now he had no idea where in the world they were, and they would likely never see each other again.
I should find out the schedule for their next tour and go to every stop and heckle them. Maybe I’ll even buy a tomato or two to throw at the stage. Or maybe something harder, like a pumpkin.
The petty thought made him chuckle, brightening his mood a little. He then pictured Dern, with his unending appetite, attempting to catch a tomato in his mouth as a snack. Then Hin catching a pumpkin to the head.
Puk sighed. He watched as a couple waded out into the water, flirtatiously splashing each other. The sound of the water began to calm him down.
With his mind clearing up, he tried to really reflect on what Kali was suggesting. Deep down, he knew she was right to not trust Haratti or anyone the haggard man worked with. That was obvious just from speaking to the guy. Even just from looking at him.
But all those crescents…
The money was a huge motivator. One that he could not entirely ignore, no matter what his conscience was screaming at him about his selfishness. He couldn’t survive without crescents, let alone get back home to hear that breeze, feel that dirt. A sacrifice might have to be made.
It was unfortunate, and he did feel selfish, but it was the truth.
The red mage’s snake-man was horrific. It would give Puk nightmares for years to come, he imagined. But it was not what had bothered him most in that ordeal.
All day he had been forcing himself to think about anything other than Kleus Saix altering his body, but now the memory wouldn’t leave him alone. Writhing on the man’s floor, being able to feel his limbs but unable to move them.
Dammit, Kali.
He had felt so constrained, so trapped. So utterly helpless.
Beyond that, something he had kept thinking, limp on the floor while Kleus taunted him, was that he’d never be able to play his music again.
The disconnect he experienced with being able to feel his limbs—to feel their presence, their existence, yet them no longer being physically part of the world—was the worst thing Puk had felt in his entire life. It was like a tingle he couldn’t get out of his back, or trying to vomit with nothing coming up. Constant struggle and discomfort. Trying to do nothing more than wiggle his fingers.
If that was only a basic red magic spell, Kali was justified in fearing the more complex spells at Malum’s disposal. Kleus had kept himself secret, either content to learn the spells to make himself feel powerful or too concerned with whatever the High Mages’ punishment might entail were he caught.
The book could easily fall into more sinister and ambitious hands, though, and havoc could be unleashed on Ustlia.
Puk didn’t want to envision living a life in that sluglike state, nor did he want to think about others suffering a similar fate, let alone something worse.
They were far from Myrisih. And as far as they knew, no one was following them. They could easily slip away, never to be seen by Haratti or his cohorts again. The stupid qarm and the naïve faif could have easily gotten themselves killed on their way to or within Pontequest. An entirely plausible scenario.
But Puk had to dismiss that notion as soon as it had entered his mind. He knew it was too idealistic.
They were able to find Kleus, and he’s nowhere near as big an idiot as me. Haratti’s people could find me in a day. Probably less, if I’m in a loud mood.
Haratti doubtless had innumerable connections throughout Myrisih and beyond.
But I’ve got connections too, Puk suddenly thought.
And connections were invaluable.
I’ve got Voya, and Voya’s got even more. He’s nowhere near as influential or all-reaching as Haratti and his boss are, but…
Puk tried to connect some dots in his head.
On one hand, relinquishing the book to Haratti could potentially invite doom for many innocent people, even inciting all-out war if Kali’s prediction regarding Vareda was correct.
But all that money…
Maybe we can get the money and also keep the book, Puk pondered. He had since grown used to the sand’s warmth and was enjoying it while he watched the setting sun. He was reminded of Vosk’s morning routine.
“Idiot,” he said aloud again, this time referring to himself.
None of his plans thus far had gone smoothly. Why would this one be any different?
All of ’em worked in the end, though. They got royally fucked first, but in the end…
Perhaps it was worth a shot.
He lifted himself off the ground, then left the oasis and headed back toward the quaint inn to inform Kali of his newest harebrained scheme.
- -
“You wanna steal the book again,” Kali said, clarifying that was indeed what Puk intended.
The qarm stood before her, nodding fervently. His eyestalks bobbed back and forth as he did so. The motion had to be disorienting.
While he’d been sulking outside, she had tidied up the room a bit, stacking their new collection of books on a table near the window. She then sat on the bed and leafed through Kleus’s journal, once more searching for entries about Vosk, and had been surprised to find Kleus once had a wife and son, back when he lived in Gillus. Puk returned before she’d had the chance to learn what happened to them.
“Voya knows lots of people around Myrisih, and I know for a fact he’s acquainted with some mercenaries, because I’ve gambled with and lost a lot of money to them,” said Puk, pa
cing. In spite of all he had been through that day, he was suddenly brimming with energy.
“I just don’t think it’s feasible,” she murmured.
His intentions were noble, but she doubted their viability. When he reappeared in the room, he had breathlessly pitched a plan to go along with Haratti as normal and sell the book, obtaining the precious crescents they both so desperately required, then use some hired hands to turn around and immediately nab the book back before any harm could be done with it. At that point, they could burn it to a crisp or dispose of it in some other way.
“What’s not feasible about it?” Puk wanted to know. It was not irritation in his tone or expression, but disappointment.
Kali wanted the plan to work. She truly did. It would be perfect if they could somehow keep the money while simultaneously safeguarding the book. But she could not bring herself to see it happening.
She said, “It’s just the fact that we have no idea what Haratti’s intentions are. He or whoever he sells it to could hop on a boat that day or even half an hour later and sail away to kill some people with it. We just don’t know the timing of it all, so it’s difficult to hatch a plan.”
Puk stopped pacing and considered her concern for a minute, his stalks bunching up in thought. Finally, he said, “I think it’s unlikely that whatever they wanna do with the book will be done in Myrisih, right? They’ve got no reason to fuck up that place, it’s their headquarters. They don’t wanna destroy it or draw any attention to it.”
“Right,” Kali said with a nod.
Puk nodded as well. “So I agree with you that they’re likely gonna be getting it off the island as soon as they can. The solution’s easy, then: we can get to Restick whenever, but we’ll ask Zenib to take us over to Myrisih on the last day the port’s open. Only a few hours before it closes, even. That way, we can go meet with Haratti, get our hard-earned money, then grab the book and scram. Plenty of time for us to snatch the book and sail through the port right as it’s closing so no one can follow.”
The qarm stood in the middle of the room with a hopeful grin plastered on his face like a fool. Kali chuckled at him.
“I wouldn’t call ‘a few hours’ plenty of time,” she said.
“But it’d be enough.”
“That’s…” she started. She almost didn’t want to say it, because the idea made her nervous, but she went ahead. “…not a bad point. It…uh, it might be feasible.”
Puk’s face lit up.
His enthusiasm was infectious, and Kali found herself smiling too.
The plan made her incredibly anxious, letting Malum slip into Haratti’s hands for even a second. If they didn’t pull it off, then the fallout could be disastrous. Every life lost to red magic would be blood on her hands.
But all of their previous plans had made her anxious too. And now here they were with the book.
It was entirely possible that they were not an awful team.
Certainly not a good one, but not an awful one, either.
“Are we doin’ it?” Puk asked hopefully.
Kali sighed, glancing over at the table where Malum rested. It looked so unassuming, sitting there amongst the other innocent texts.
“Okay,” she finally said. Puk whooped in celebration. “But only if we get the best of the best working with us. We can’t afford even the tiniest misstep on this.”
Puk sported a smug look and said, “Don’t worry about that. The best of the best are the only people Voya knows. I’m a prime example.”
Kali burst out laughing at this.
“Oh, so we are totally fucked,” she teased.
“Hey now,” said Puk, “Lookin’ at all the shit we’ve accomplished, I wouldn’t bet against us.”
“You don’t have any money to bet anyway.”
“Not yet, I don’t.”
CHAPTER XX
MEETINGS
Their journey from Weynard to Restick was largely uneventful, aside from Puk eagerly overextending himself during dinner at a travelers’ outpost and unburdening his upset stomach outside by the stables. Neither the ayotes nor the stablemaster were especially thrilled with his behavior.
Conversation atop Bella’s back was peppered with ideas for what to do with Malum once they stole it back from Haratti’s crew. They bandied about a few different scenarios, but what seemed easiest and most reasonable was simply burning the book. Removing all trace of it from the world.
In Restick, they sought Zenib and requested another ride to Myrisih on the last day of its port being open. The centript agreed, and they arranged to meet by his boat’s hiding spot the following night after he secured another passbook and directions from his unnamed source.
After leaving the centript’s home, Kali recalled reading a few pages in Malum about altering an individual’s memory, and she wondered how such an effect was placed on Myrisih’s entrance. However it was possible, there was no denying the spell was effective; she could not recall even the smallest detail about how to reach the city. She felt violated, having her memories erased.
Soon the trio was once again huddled together on the diminutive Fiery Lass. Their escort looked different somehow from the last time they’d seen him, and it took Kali a few minutes to realize what the change was: he was missing a new segment of his carapace. The mold had taken more of him.
On the boat ride over, Kali took the time to explain their situation to Zenib. She was careful to leave out the exact details, just in case the man decided to get a little greedy and steal the book to sell for himself, but she mentioned that they would be looking to get out of Myrisih with haste.
I’ve gotten to visit all these bizarre, interesting places, and yet we’re always trying to leave as soon as we can, she lamented. The innate traveler in her yearned to spend more time exploring the ins and outs of Myrisih, of Weynard—of Pontequest, even.
“When you tryin’ to leave?” Zenib wanted to know. They did not have an exact answer for him, so he said, “I’ll try to be ready at a moment’s notice, then. For a few extra crescents, of course.”
“Of course,” Puk muttered. Kali never appreciated having every possible crescent squeezed out of her when she was haggling with other merchants, but sometimes that was the name of the game. It was not an unreasonable request, coming from Zenib. He held quite a lot of leverage.
So he agreed to post up somewhere near the docks upon their arrival, awaiting their retreat at an unspecified later time.
“If we’re leaving tonight, though, make sure to get back before the ports close,” he reminded them. As if they needed to be told.
With that problem solved, the next step would be hiring a friend of Voya’s that could be trusted. Kali did not have what she would describe as “a lot” of faith in the type of company the ujath kept, but Puk insisted it would be fine.
To her surprise, she found that she still trusted Puk, regardless of his lie about the spit vial. Even with the drug in his possession, he had kept his word about not consuming it, as far as she had been able to tell—if he’d ingested any, it hadn’t affected their quest or relationship. And, of course, it had been an invaluable asset when it came to dealing with Kleus. It was probably the sole reason they had succeeded. All of her initial anger toward him had fully faded.
The Myrisih port was full when they sailed in through the cavern’s canals. There were plenty of small vessels similar to their own bobbing in the gentle waters, but there were also bigger ships with Varedan architecture. Their presence strengthened Kali’s assumptions and resolve; they could not screw up this last job. If she was correct about Haratti’s intentions with the book, she would not let herself incite a war.
After checking in, Zenib bade them farewell. “I’ll be here,” he said in his scratchy voice. Kali appreciated his lack of inquiries into their plans. If they were to succeed, his cut of the profits would be a hefty chunk of crescents, so maybe that was motivation enough to wish them good fortune.
Myrisih’s tunnels were bustling wi
th activity. Kali had to swerve and dodge hurried passersby, tightly squeezing between those unwilling to modify their paths in the cramped walkways. There was a dull roar within the Mass, a conglomeration of footsteps, bartering, and food sizzling. The hidden city was much more active at night than when they had previously navigated it during the morning.
Without discussing it, Kali knew that Puk was leading them down the Mass’s outermost ring to Voya’s home. It was clear how fucked their situation was when visiting the intimidating ujath’s house was the part that worried her the least.
She just hoped he would be willing to lend them a hand.
- -
“Thuck off!” came Voya’s bellowing voice from the recesses of his home, an unfortunate echo of their first visit. The man’s irate shouts were followed by the sound of something very expensive shattering.
But Puk pounded on the door again and said, “It’s Puk!”
“What do you not underthtand abou’ thucking off?”
No one could say Puk was not persistent. He continued whacking his fist on the rough wood until his old companion eventually flung the door open.
Spit and Song (Ustlian Tales Book 2) Page 39