The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  * * *

  We were close to home—dirty, drenched in sweat, with geese slung like grim saddlebags over our horses’ backs—when Claes toppled off his horse and landed in a clutch of bracken. I thought for a moment that his mare must have spooked, but rather than galloping toward home, she stopped and nuzzled him, clearly puzzled herself.

  “Claes? Are you all right?”

  His back arched, and a low wail came from somewhere deep inside his chest. He screamed and tore at the grass, his howls reverberating through my body. His horse jigged away from his thrashing form, eyes rolling back in her head. Terrified, I kicked my feet out of the stirrups, but before I could dismount, Claes had collapsed, heaving, into the mud. I slid down from my horse, unsure what else I ought to do.

  Claes beat his fists into the muddy ground. He tore at his hair, his clothes. He was wild, ferocious. When he finally turned to look at me, there were tears streaming from his eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, I approached and knelt down beside him. The cold gray Alskad sky had spit rain all day, and the damp seeped through the knees of my trousers. I shivered and took Claes’s hand in mine. He was clammy, as though with fever, when only a moment before, he’d been hale and joking.

  “Something’s happened,” he said, jerking his hand out of mine. “Hamil save me, I have been so faithful. Please, Hamil, by your oceans, make it false.”

  “What is it? Claes, you’re scaring me.” I touched his cheek, but he shrank away from me.

  “Don’t touch me.” His voice was choked, hollow. “Something’s happened to Penelope.”

  “What do you mean?” My anxious mind whirred with awful possibilities, like a cloud of screaming beetles flying through my thoughts. All my irritation and mistrust melted away as I watched him, fear gripping me. I reached for him again, but he pushed my hand away.

  “For the love of all the gods. She’s gone. I can’t feel her anymore.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. She’s at the mill with Mother. Why would you be able to feel her at all?” My voice trembled and threatened to crack—something it hadn’t done in ages. I wanted so badly to hold him, to kiss him, to do something to make whatever this was right.

  “She’s my twin, Bo. I can always feel her. She’s there, like a weight—” a sob, like a songbird dropping from the sky, stopped him mid-thought “—in my head. She’s there all the time. She was there. Now, she’s just gone.”

  His face flooded with another wash of tears, and he curled around his wet, muddy legs. Our horses, no longer perturbed by Claes’s low moans, grazed peacefully in the light of the dying sun. I pulled his head onto my lap and stroked his hair. We sat there for hours, and even as Claes wept, I tried to make myself believe that nothing had happened, that nothing was wrong. But I knew, deep in my bones, that everything had changed.

  When the sun sank below the horizon, I pulled Claes to his feet, got him onto his mare and took the reins from him once I’d mounted. I led him back to the barn, and in the soft glow of the solar lamps, I could see that the servants already knew something was amiss.

  The stable hands supported Claes up the hill toward the house. I trudged behind them, dreading what I would find inside.

  * * *

  Karyta ushered me into the sitting room as soon as my boots clacked onto the hardwood in the wide entrance hall. Birger and his twin, Thamina, were seated side by side on a sofa next to the fire. Thamina’s dress, a too-small indigo thing that was three years out of fashion, clashed with the saffron upholstery and wallpaper in the room and turned her long face sallow. Each of the twins clutched a tumbler of clear liquid—ouzel, if I had to guess.

  I cleared my throat. When Thamina’s eyes met mine, tears rushed down her cheeks, as if at a signal. I’d never seen her cry, and I didn’t quite trust it. Birger motioned to an armchair, and I sat, fists clenched on my knees.

  “What happened to Penelope? Where’s Mother?” I asked.

  Birger refused to meet my eyes, and Thamina sipped from her glass, grimacing.

  “Tell me. Will she recover? I know something’s wrong. Claes collapsed on our ride.”

  “You tell him,” Thamina commanded. “Get him a drink first.”

  Something inside me went cold as I watched Birger and Thamina, still as stone. A servant appeared and pressed a glass into my hand. I thanked him automatically and took a sip, realizing as soon as the liquid was in my mouth that no one had tasted it for me. I swallowed it anyway, careless, and my throat burned as the ouzel slid into my belly.

  Birger’s lips compressed, and he said, “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but there’s been an accident.” He laced his fingers through Thamina’s and kept his eyes trained on the flames in the hearth. “Your mother and Penelope were killed at the mill today. One of the turpentine stills exploded, and the building caught fire. There was nothing to be done. I’m so sorry, Lord Ambrose.”

  I watched numbly as the glass fell from my fingers. It took a curiously long time to land, as though time had ceased moving forward at its usual pace. As it rolled across the carpet, the spilled liquid seeped into the pattern, darkening it from burgundy to black.

  CHAPTER NINE

  VI

  I forced myself to stop pacing and stared out the window at the endless waves. The temple’s maps had shown me that the sea between the Alskad Empire and the Ilor colonies was enormous, but the reality of water as far as the eye could see made me itch, and we’d only been sailing for three days. Being locked away in my cabin didn’t help one bit. I was so close to things I’d never dreamt I’d get to see, and yet still impossibly distant from them—there was a heated swimming pool on this ship, a room designed for dancing and innumerable gambling halls, all done in different themes. The ship was filled with the kinds of entertainments that only the stupidly wealthy could manage to contrive, and while I might not’ve been allowed in those rooms, I could’ve peeked through the doors. I could have at least seen them.

  Beyond those extravagances, though, I wanted to climb the masts and see how hot the solar panels on the sunsails got at midday. I wanted to see the enormous pantry full of enough food to supply so many people for the voyage. I wanted to peek into the hold and see all of the luggage and trade goods destined to make these people a bit more comfortable as they started new lives in Ilor.

  I wanted to do anything but let myself obsess about my own uncertain future. A deep, heavy sadness had settled over me like a dark blanket I couldn’t shake. It was worse than the grief that possessed me in the depths of winter; worse than anything I’d felt before. Without a goal to work toward, without something driving me, I had nothing to live for. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sawny, and the life he was building in a place he’d not yet been in long enough to call home. I hoped the pearls I’d given him had helped. Even a little.

  Sighing, I picked up one of the books Mal’d brought for me and took it out to the private deck. If I was stuck inside the confines of the small cabin, I could at least have some fresh air. Really, it wasn’t as though I couldn’t leave my rooms—I’d long since planned a handful of escapes. Over the rail and between the private decks, down to the decks below or—if there was time—picking the locks and simply walking through the door. Just in case. It was simple good sense to know a couple of ways out of any room, especially a room meant to keep a person locked away.

  But Mal had gone out of his way to be kind to me. I didn’t want to give him a reason to distrust me, so I stayed. Not because I was locked in, but because Mal was right, and keeping the danger on the other side of that locked door was the smartest thing I could do for myself.

  The air was still brisk, but warmer than when we’d left. Despite my presence onboard, our luck had held, and the weather had been fair. I wondered what it would be like to feel the island heat of the Ilor colonies every day, instead of the constant chill of Alskad.

  The horizon was empty
as far as I could see, and the blue of the sky blurred into the sea’s shining waves. It was almost as if, alone in my room, I was the only being in an oceanic world. I set the book aside and went to the small deck’s railing. Mal had said we’d be turning southward today, into a warm current that would carry us to Ilor. Soon, he’d said, I would be able to see beasts swimming alongside the ship. The kind of great, fierce creatures I’d read about in the temple’s library, staring in awe at the drawings of beasts with horns growing from their heads and creatures that thirsted for the blood of sailors. In the old days, when we sent raiders to Denor and Samiria in wooden ships—before we’d dared to explore as far as Ilor—the beasts would overturn ships to feast on the crews, leaving nothing but wee scraps of wood floating on the waves.

  I leaned over the rail, searching the sea for dark shadows and beasties. I’d spent my whole life in the ocean, but the harbor was a nursery compared to these waters. In the depths beneath this ship, there were worlds I would never see, creatures that I couldn’t even imagine. Even if I could hold my breath for an hour, I’d never make it to the dark ocean floor beneath us. No one would ever see the mountains and gullies and coral cities down there, preserved beneath those waves like precious jewels on blue velvet, caged in water.

  I’d seen the jewels of the Alskad Empire displayed like that once. Sawny’d heard they were to be pulled through the streets of the wealthy neighborhoods in the capital to celebrate Her Majesty’s thirtieth anniversary as the ruling monarch, so we’d found Curlin and dashed off to see them after my morning’s dive. Some in the crowd whispered that they were replicas, but the glittering sapphires and diamonds and the rich, creamy gleam of the metal in which they’d been set had more than convinced me.

  Sawny. He would have loved to be trapped in a room this luxurious. He’d have reveled in it, pretending to be some sort of fur-draped aristocrat.

  A spout of water erupted from beneath me, and I caught sight of a pod of whales, something I’d only ever read about in books. I leaned so far over the railing that the wind caught in my loose curls, whipping them around my face. They didn’t look ferocious at all. They were beautiful, playful, and their antics brought laughter bubbling into my throat. Seeing them weave through the waves elicited the first real joy I’d felt in what seemed like years.

  Catching sight of a baby whale, I leaned even farther, straining to see more. Suddenly, strong arms closed around my waist, and I was hauled off my feet. In a moment, I was back in my room, having hardly had time to blink. As soon as the arms let go of me, I whirled around snarling, and found myself face-to-chest with a man who could only be Mal’s twin, Quill. Fury curled through me, and I glared.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” I spat.

  Quill laid a broad palm over his heart and looked at me askance, a startled smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Me?” he asked, and the laughter in his voice set my nerves ablaze. “What am I doing? I just saved your life. What the bloody hell are you doing, leaning over the rail, fit to leap?”

  “I saw a pod of whales! I’d never imagined I’d see such a thing in all my life. I was in no danger, thank you very much.”

  My cheeks felt hot, and fire danced along the half-healed scratches Curlin had laid into my cheek. I was startled to realize how it must have looked—like I was thinking about jumping—but that’d been the farthest thing from my mind. I’d only wanted to revel in that one gleeful moment and watch those enormous, graceful beasts play in the waves.

  Quill’d never come to my room before, but Mal had mentioned that he would bring some of my meals when Mal couldn’t get away. Mal and his brother had the same golden eyes and wide mouth, though Quill’s hair was twisted in long locks and tied back from his face. I wondered if their personalities were as alike as their faces. My interactions with Mal had been so straightforward, honest to a knife’s edge. He was as earnest as a person could be, but he had the easy laugh of a person who’d spent his whole life well loved. But as I glared at Quill, I realized that his smile held something more, a kind of mischief I hadn’t seen in his brother.

  “Mal’s gone on and on about how civilized you are, especially for a dimmy, but I see the truth,” he teased. “You’re quite the nuisance, aren’t you?” He closed the glass door that led to the deck and pulled out a chair at the little table, gesturing ostentatiously for me to sit.

  “A nuisance?” I sputtered. “I didn’t ask for any of this! I’d’ve been just fine in a cabin with the other temple laborers.” I yanked out the chair opposite the one Quill held for me and sat, trying to slow my pounding heart. “You didn’t need to pull me off that railing, either. I wasn’t in any danger. I’m probably a better swimmer than you by half.”

  I didn’t know why I was still talking. Quill made me nervous. Under my breath, I muttered, “Son of a goat.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at me and went to the liquor cabinet, still smiling. “I think my father would be insulted that you called him a goat.”

  “Your father?” I asked. “Why would he care what some worthless dimmy thinks?”

  “Jeb Whippleston’s our da. He’s the one who’s been providing this grub for you, and he’d be right hurt to know how ungrateful you are. Though I imagine he’d be more concerned that you think yourself worthless.”

  I bit my lip. Magritte’s tongue, Pru, I thought. Send me guidance. I’ve no idea how to read this one.

  “I need a drink,” he said, opening the cabinet door. “What’s your poison? Wine, ouzel, cider?”

  “Isn’t it a bad idea to drink when you’re on duty?” I asked, eyeing Quill’s neatly ironed uniform. I wanted him out of my room. His easy confidence—the way he’d so quickly made himself at home with me, in this room—made me antsy, and I couldn’t stop blushing.

  “I’m done with my shift as soon as you’re fed, and frankly, I think saving someone’s life deserves a bit of celebration, even if you won’t earn me a single tvilling. Wine then, yes?” He pulled a bottle out, examined the label, then replaced it and took another. Seemingly satisfied, he plucked two crystal goblets and a corkscrew from one of the shelves and closed the cabinet. Seeing my expression, he laughed. “Best close up that flytrap, Vi. You look as dull as a porgy fish, and not even the kindest of the temple’s farm managers’ll be inclined to do you any favors if they think you’ll let them pull one over on you.”

  I blinked at him, struck by an idea. “How much do you know about them? About the temple’s farm managers, I mean.”

  Quill shrugged. “My ma runs an import and export business that Mal and I’ve been helping with for some years now. She sends a lot of contract laborers from Alskad to Ilor and works fair closely with the temple. I’d say I’ve met most everyone who hires contract labor in Ilor, temple included. Why?”

  “I wish I knew a bit more what to expect. This wasn’t exactly my choice, you know.”

  Quill studied me, his mouth compressed into a thin line. “You’re not alone in that. It doesn’t happen often, but we’ve taken more than a handful of folks to Ilor to serve long sentences laboring for the temple. No matter what they might’ve done, it’s not a mercy. I can tell you that much.”

  I stared down at my hands, knotted together on the polished wood tabletop. “Does anyone...” I hesitated. I didn’t know what it was that made me want to trust Quill—Pru’s guidance, or gut instinct—but either way, I forged ahead, reckless. “Does anyone ever manage to find their way out of serving that sentence?”

  Quill’s expression turned uneasy. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged, doing my best to look noncommittal, but my heart was pounding in my chest like waves against a seawall. “I mean, do you think it would be possible for me to take another contract, rather than going to work for the temple? I’m no one, a dimmy. The temple’s got no reason to look for me or care now that I’m away from Alskad. Do you think someone would take a dimmy’s co
ntract?”

  He studied me thoughtfully. “It’d be a risk, defying the temple that way.”

  “How would they ever find out?” I asked. “The anchorites’ orders are here on the ship. If they just...got a bit lost...” I gave Quill my most winning smile.

  He grinned back at me. “You’re even more trouble than I suspected.” Quill popped the cork out of the bottle and sniffed it appreciatively. “There’s something to be said for the idea, though. It might surprise you, but there’s a bit of a market for oddities in Ilor. Our percentage on a contract for one of the diminished would be more than we’d make on all the laborers on this ship right now.”

  My mouth fell open. “Gadrian’s fiery breath. Why?”

  He handed me a glass of ruby liquid and shrugged. “Some folks have more money than sense.” He grimaced. “No offense intended. It’s the fashion now, see, for folks in Ilor to use their wealth to show their rich friends how brave they are. The Ilor colonies are new, you know that. Almost none of the empire’s nobility have immigrated, but more than a few wealthy merchants have, and they’ve used the resources in Ilor to create vast fortunes. But those rich folks don’t have any system in place to decide who’s the most important the way the nobility does. So it’s become fashionable to collect, well, oddities, to show the others how brave and interesting they are. Some collect dangerous animals, like long-toothed cats, wild dogs and bears, but others—”

  I finished for him. “Collect people. Dimmys.” An idea began to crystalize in my brain.

  “No one’s been able to yet, though I know more than a few who’d pay a fortune for the privilege. There aren’t exactly scads of dimmys on the docks advertising themselves for hire. Some recruit Denorian poisoners to tell stories at their dinners—others bring in Samirian chefs to slice up pufferfish for their guests to taste, even though it kills one in every hundred or so folks that eat it. I even know a man who’s gone and married an amalgam. I’ve heard people call him brave, but I think stupid’s probably a better fit.”