by Martha Wells
“Oh, him?” Her smile was bitterly ironic. “He hasn’t killed anybody or overthrown any governments or brought down any captains of industry since we’ve been aboard so far, so I suppose he’s bored.”
Ilias’s mouth quirked; he hadn’t understood all of that, but he was fairly sure she wasn’t entirely joking. He asked carefully, “Is he angry that you got married?” He knew Rienish men had far more control over decisions made by their household. He had also known this might end with Tremaine leaving for her own land and him staying behind in Cineth, but he somehow hadn’t thought that it would be soon.
Tremaine shook her head, obviously irritated. “He thinks it’s impetuous of me to marry someone that I’ve only known for a few days from another world that I don’t know anything about.”
Ilias nodded. When she put it that way, it did sound a little…impetuous. “Karima probably already traded away the coins,” he found himself saying.
“He doesn’t really care, he’s just trying to make me react.” Tremaine gestured sharply. “It’s infuriating.”
He wasn’t sure she was right about that.
Then from the passage, Molin called jubilantly, “The Ravenna!” followed by a lot of very fast Rienish Ilias couldn’t catch. Cletia and Cimarus got to their feet, looking worried, and the boy Calit sat up, blinking sleepily.
“He’s raised her on the wireless,” Tremaine repeated for Ilias, stepping into the outer room, heartfelt relief in her voice. “God, that’s good news for once.”
Someone touched her shoulder, saying, “Florian.”
She started and sat up, her legs aching and one foot asleep, startled to see she was still in the darkened storeroom. “Ow,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. There was no tall thin man with violet eyes and wispy white hair standing over her, that had been a dream. She shivered at the sudden chill in the air.
Then she saw something move across the threshold of the door. As she squinted at it, a breath of white mist crept in. Florian stared. “Oh. Oh, no,” she whispered grimly to herself. You wanted something to happen, there it is.
She pushed to her feet, stepping to the door, careful to avoid the questing wisp of mist.
Like the breath off a bog, a layer of the stuff floated above the passage leading to the main corridor. Damn it. She thought about calling out, but the knowledge that whatever was causing this had to be here somewhere nearby squelched that impulse. She closed her eyes for an instant, going over the words of the concealment charm again, then turned the other way, moving down the corridor toward Ixion’s prison. Reaching the corner, she darted a cautious look around it. Three of the guards lay sprawled in the passage, already unconscious, tendrils of mist wafting over their bodies.
The mist covered the floor on the far side of the door to the guardroom and pockets of it oozed into being everywhere there was clear floor space. It’s surrounding us, cutting us off from—“Shit!” Florian hopped away from the mist reaching for her ankles and darted into the guardroom. Four more men lay unconscious around the empty chamber, one stretched across the table in the corner, the receiver for the ship’s telephone in his hand. Florian scrambled onto the table, just avoiding a reaching wisp, and grabbed the receiver out of the man’s limp hand. She tapped frantically on the cradle, but the line was dead.
The door to the inner room flew open and Florian froze as for the first time she got a good look at Ixion. He looked like an ordinary man, handsome even, wearing a set of gray army fatigues. There was a sparse dark fuzz across his skull, as if he had shaved his head and the hair was just growing back. She had expected something a good deal more horrible after the body-growing process the others had talked about, but the past few days must have completed it. His eyes darted around the room but didn’t settle on her; she fervently hoped her charm was working on him and he wasn’t just toying with her.
He made a ritual gesture her eye couldn’t quite follow and the mist peeled back from the floor in a half circle around him. But as he stepped forward Florian caught movement out of the corner of her eye and jerked away in horror, nearly stumbling off the table. Something was standing in the doorway, almost within arm’s reach of her.
It looked like a man too, but the dirty brown rags it wore revealed gray scarred pockmarked skin, with open sores and tinges of green, as if it was riddled with disease. It was bald and the disfigurement continued all across its head and face. The truly horrible part was that in the center of many of the open sores, she could see a glitter of crystal. Florian sank back into the corner, praying she hadn’t accidentally dispelled the charm by moving so abruptly, her skin crawling at the thought of being touched by the thing.
Ixion regarded it calmly. “So there you are. Whatever you are.” He grimaced. “And they say my curselings are foul.”
It started toward him, unimpeded by the mist. Ixion raised his hands, whispering something. A second lighter mist melted out of the air, overlaying the first, growing up into sticky gray ropes around the crystal creature. God, let it work, Florian thought. She had never seen that spell before, but she was willing to concede that Ixion might be the lesser of two evils here.
The creature staggered, shook its head like a wounded animal, then tore the ropes off. The etheric substance dissolved harmlessly and Ixion’s mist faded. The creature plowed toward him again.
Ixion winced and Florian heard him murmur, “Damn Gardier,” in exasperation. He backed into his cell as it approached, then darted to the side and she saw him grab something. A crash made her flinch and she realized he must have struck the thing with a table or chair. Ixion bolted out of the cell suddenly, the mist peeling away from his feet.
He reached the door into the corridor and stopped as if he had struck a wall. Blue light suffused the air around him; he gave a strangled cry and collapsed. Florian stared, aghast. The ward. That was one of Arisilde’s wards. It would surely alert Gerard or Niles that something was happening, but—
Too late. The creature appeared in the doorway and lunged toward Ixion. If it gets him, Florian had time to think, God knows what we’ll have to deal with.
She leapt off the table into the free space around Ixion’s body where the mist had retreated. Facing the creature, she gestured her concealment charm away.
The creature staggered to an abrupt halt, staring at her. Its eyes were dark and far too human for comfort. “I’ve seen you,” Florian said as she stepped over Ixion’s body, backing away, knowing it could understand. “I’m off to tell everyone now.” It lunged for her and she ran.
She got two steps before she saw the band of mist still crossing the corridor. She leapt over it but felt something touch her foot even through her boots. She landed, staggering against the wall, dizzy and sick.
The creature was in the doorway just stepping over Ixion and it would have her in seconds. Then Ixion flung out an arm and the creature staggered.
Florian pushed away from the wall and bolted down the corridor, yelling for help, hearing heavy footsteps behind her. No one answered and she knew the mist must be all through here now, blocking off help, making people unconscious. She turned down a cross corridor hoping for stairs and came to a closed hatchway.
She pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t move. Warded, dammit, everything down here’s warded! If it was just meant to keep out curious passengers…She tugged with all her strength, gasping, “It’s an emergency, please!”
The ward must have some kind of fail-safe to read her fear and knew she was telling the truth; the door moved under her hand and she flung it open into a half-lit labyrinth of machinery and pipes. Thrumming noise and damp heat assaulted her as she bolted down a narrow catwalk that ran next to a bulkhead. Ducking around a corner, she saw the walkway continued into the dim maze, but a byway led to the right, through a thick hatchway into a more brightly lit area. She leaned in and saw another machinery maze, with two men in disheveled crew work uniforms, their backs to her, leaning over something in the center of a mass of pipes. Relief washe
d over her and she stepped through the door, drawing breath to call out.
Something caught her arm and yanked her backward. Florian caught hold of a pipe in pure reflex, crying out. The dull roar of the Ravenna’s inner workings filled her ears; she had barely heard herself, she knew the men across the room hadn’t. She hooked her arm around the pipe, twisting around, finding herself facing a gray-skinned face pocked with dull yellow crystals. Braced in the doorway, it was man-sized, man-shaped, but inhuman, foul. It wrenched at her again, hauling her nearly off the pipe. She clawed at the wall for handhold, grabbing a red lever. She saw the words “Watertight door release, do not—” and pulled it with all her strength.
Riveted metal slammed into the doorway and she stumbled back. There were body parts everywhere, an arm, part of the torso, a leg, but no blood. The thing had come apart under the door’s crushing force. Past the roaring in her ears she could hear an alarm Klaxon blaring. Finally, she thought in exasperated relief, and decided to sit down on the catwalk.
By the time they got the door to open again, crew and officers were everywhere. One of the engineers led Florian back up to Ixion’s cell, where Niles stood, distracted and angry. He saw her and demanded, “Are you all right?”
Florian nodded. One of the boiler room men had given her a drink from something very alcoholic in a flask, and it had made her feel floaty and warm and just distant enough. “We brought the parts,” she said, gesturing to the two men following who were dragging a canvas bag. “Where’s Ixion? Was he killed?”
“They’ve taken him to the hospital. Against my advice. Gerard is going to go absolutely mad when he hears that.” Niles grimaced. But before Florian could demand more information, Niles shook his head, his expression growing less grim. “You wouldn’t have heard, but the wireless operator was contacted by Molin a short time ago.”
“Molin?” Florian stared, the good news coming as almost a big a shock as bad. “That means they’re here?”
Niles actually smiled for the first time in three days. “Very near.”
The flying whale couldn’t go too near to the Ravenna’s deck without fouling itself in the lines that helped secure the smaller stern mast, so they had to climb down a rope ladder from the steering cabin. Normally climbing down the broad ladder in the bright sunlight, the wind pulling at his hair, would have been exciting; at the moment Ilias found it excruciatingly painful.
He had been looking forward to the sight of the Ravenna coming toward them across the sea, but they didn’t see her until she was nearly right under them. Molin had apparently been speaking to her on the flying whale’s talking curse box, and when the Ravenna had been assured that it was them, the curse concealing her had dropped away and the giant ship was suddenly beneath them. The view was still fairly spectacular; the great ship looked like a giant fortress floating on the waves.
The flying whale was now temporarily moored to various secure points on the open stern area of the Ravenna’s Promenade deck, including a catwalk that stretched across the width of it.
“That’s actually a docking bridge, a secondary wheelhouse,” Tremaine had explained, as they crowded up against the windows on the second-level crew area, watching as Dubos had carefully maneuvered the airship down and sailors caught the dangling lines. He had shouted at everyone to get out of the steering cabin and the second level had been the next best vantage point. “The little enclosed building in the center of it has the engine telegraphs and another wheel. The catwalk is built across the width of the ship so they can stand on it and look down the sides when they dock, kind of like the wing things that stick out from the big wheelhouse.” Ilias had felt some vindication that the ship could be steered from her stern like a rational craft; he had pointed this out, but Giliead was still too troubled to take much notice.
Now Ilias reached the narrow catwalk with relief, letting go of the ladder and stumbling so that one of the Rienish sailors waiting had to catch him. Annoyed at himself and shrugging off the help, he waited for Tremaine to finish her descent.
She made it down safely, though she grabbed the rail as soon as she stepped off the ladder, a little shaky. She looked sourly at Ilias. “That wasn’t fun.”
“No,” he had to agree. “It wasn’t.”
He followed her down the catwalk’s stairs to the deck. There Pasima hugged Cletia tightly and Sanior and Danias nearly knocked Cimarus over with the exuberance of their greeting. Gerard was waiting for them and immediately caught Tremaine in a hug. I wish he was her father, Ilias thought bleakly. Wizard or not, things would have been a lot easier.
Giliead already stood with Gyan and Kias. Ilias reached them in time to hear Giliead say, “Arites is dead.”
He wished he hadn’t been in time to see their expressions change. “How?” Gyan asked, putting a hand on Ilias’s shoulder. They don’t touch him, Ilias thought. That’s just because he’s a Chosen Vessel. He didn’t even think they realized they did it. When they found out that he had let the crystal teach him a curse, it would be so much worse.
“A shooting weapon,” Giliead said, his expression stony. “He never made it onto the flying whale.”
From behind them, Gerard said, “There’s something I need to tell you both.” Ilias turned warily, warned by his tone.
Gerard’s expression was grave, his face etched with tension. “We’ve just had another rather startling development,” he said, keeping one arm on Tremaine’s shoulders as if wanting to make sure she didn’t disappear. “Something happened to Ixion. The creature we thought we had banished was still aboard, and it made an attempt on him. He was caught between it and Arisilde’s ward.”
“He’s dead?” Giliead asked sharply.
“Alive. He’s in the hospital.”
Tremaine watched Ilias and Giliead bolt for the stairs, frowning. “Ixion is under guard, right? And what happened to the—” She stopped as she saw Gerard’s eyes fix on something standing behind her.
He went pale. “Dear God.”
“Not quite,” Nicholas said. With one brow cocked and a slight reserved smile, Tremaine still thought he looked insufferably pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes. He loves this part.
Gerard made a helpless gesture, still staring. “How—”
“It’s a long and rather fraught story.”
The wind crossing the stern was cool and Tremaine wanted someone to answer her questions about Ixion. Through the windows into the big room facing the stern, she saw Colonel Averi speaking to someone. She left Gerard and Nicholas to their reunion and headed for the doors.
It was one of the Second Class lounges and there was fine wood veneer on the walls, blue-and-gold carpets over tile and the sun streamed through the windows looking out onto the deck. The outside doors opened onto an area arranged as a parlor, with couches, armchairs and low cocktail tables, while the rest of it was set up for dining or cards. Home, Tremaine thought warmly, then felt foolish. It’s a ship, it’s not your home. And you’ve never even been in this lounge before.
She advanced on Averi. “Colonel, what happened with Ixion?”
“We’d given you up for—” Colonel Averi began. Then he stared past her, his expression turning faintly incredulous.
Tremaine looked around to see Nicholas strolling calmly in with Gerard, taking in the furnishings and the art on the walls as if he was thinking of buying the place. Gerard was saying over his shoulder, “—send up a crew to relieve Dubos, I gather he’s—”
“Who is that?” Averi asked evenly.
It was probably the Gardier uniform that was causing Averi’s consternation. She decided to be merciful and not pretend to misunderstand and formally introduce him to Gerard. “That’s Nicholas Valiarde.”
Nicholas chose an armchair and sat down, eyeing Averi with a contemplative air. “Colonel Averi, I presume?”
Averi looked stunned. “It can’t be. He’s been missing for—”
Gerard saw Averi’s thunderstruck expression and came to the rescue. “Ah,
Colonel Averi, this is Nicholas Valiarde. I believe you must have heard of him, he’s the benefactor of the Viller Institute. He’s…ah, been acting as an intelligence agent, spying on the Gardier.”
“Can somebody tell the Ixion story from the beginning?” Tremaine demanded in exasperation.
Gerard began, “Florian had suspected—”
The door to the inner corridor flew open with a bang and Florian literally burst in, followed by Niles and two crewmen, one in lieutenant’s uniform and the other in dungarees and singlet, both with the oil and sweat stains that usually marked the engineering and boiler gangs. Florian halted, taking in the array of shocked and startled faces; Tremaine saw she was clutching some long narrow object wrapped in a towel. “Are they—” she began, then spotted Tremaine. “Thank God, you’re back!”
She hurried forward to throw her arm around Tremaine’s shoulders in a hug. Tremaine returned it, distracted by the fact that the towel had fallen back, revealing that the long narrow object Florian carried was actually a man’s severed arm. “I’m back. You have an arm.”
“Yes.” Florian nodded emphatically, stepping back to drop the object on the nearest table. “The thing from the hospital, it wasn’t dead.”
“It’s dead now,” Niles assured them, as Gerard stepped forward to study the arm.
The lieutenant told Colonel Averi, “He’s—It’s in pieces, sir. Caught in a watertight door.”
“May I?” Nicholas stepped forward, picking up the stiffening arm. He turned it over, showing Gerard the lumps of crystal set deep into the gray flesh, each in its own star of scar tissue.
“My God,” Gerard breathed. He glanced up at Florian, asking sharply, “There were more?”
She grimaced in disgust. “All over his body.”
“The Gardier said they had a presence aboard this ship,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t sure what that meant, but this clarifies the situation remarkably.” He glanced over at Averi. “The Gardier use those crystals to give temporary sorcerous powers to certain Command officers, called Liaisons. It also allows something to temporarily inhabit the Liaison’s body.” He added, with an ironic lift of his brow, “Who the Liaisons were actually liaising with, I was never able to discover. It’s not something that’s commonly known to all but the highest ranks.” He lifted the arm, studying it thoughtfully. “But even in their case, only one crystal is implanted, usually in the temple. This is something different.”