"When?"
"The night of the full moon," she said in a hoarse whisper.
For a long moment I stared at her, too stunned for words. The death of my venture-captain was a deeply unpleasant surprise, but this—this was impossible. In two days, the moon would be full again.
"But I have a letter from him, a letter written and dated several days past the last moon." I pulled the piece of tightly rolled, pale green parchment from my bag and waved it at her like a condemned man brandishing proof of his innocence.
In response, the servant pointed to the open door of Gham Banni's study. A stack of similar parchment sat on his writing table, awaiting the quill of one of his scribes. Her implication was obvious.
"It has his seal," I protested, unrolling the parchment and showing her the old bard's sigil. "This is from his signet ring, which can never be removed from his hand. How do you explain that?"
By now my voice had risen to a shout. I knew I was being unreasonable. Gham's death was no fault of this servant, nor was the puzzle in my hand. But grief, mixed with a creeping sense that things were profoundly wrong, pushed me far beyond the point of caring.
The servant brushed aside her veil, revealing a young, pretty, and far too familiar face.
Lapis.
I reached for my knife. What part the dancer might have had in my venture-captain's death I did not know, but if she aimed that sweet and mocking smile at me I would cut her lips from her face.
She held up one hand, a dignified gesture that was also strangely familiar.
"My true name is Tannabit Banni," she said softly. "Gham was my grandfather. I will take you to him, and then I will answer all your questions."
Lapis—that was the only name I could give her—surprised me by heading down the hall and toward the back stairs. I'd expected her to lead me to an embalmer's workshop. Gham Banni was rich and important enough to warrant skilled embalming.
The wine cellar had been emptied, but for a long table and a shelf holding embalming tools and several small, ornate jars. My gaze slid off them quickly. While I was gratified to see that an embalmer had been summoned, I did not like to think of my venture-captain as a collection of desiccated organs.
The figure laid out on the table was no easier to behold. Gham was old and thin as a sparrow, but this wizened husk bore no resemblance to the man I'd known.
My eye fell upon the leather-wrapped sticks that had once been arms, crossed over the dead man's chest. The skeletal fingers of one hand were decked with Gham Banni's finest rings. The other hand, and the signet ring it always wore, was missing.
Understanding came to me then, swiftly followed by wrath. Whoever had done this was as good as dead.
I lifted my gaze to Lapis's eyes and saw similar resolve burning there.
"You didn't kill him," she said. "I had to be sure."
This should have angered me, but I understood her meaning all too well. I had access to Gham's libraries and I knew of his interest in the lost city of Xanchara. I was a Pathfinder and a druid with a special affinity to water. Few people were better suited than I to the task of finding and looting a drowned city. It would be an easy thing for me to steal an ancient map and use it to convince a treasure-hunting cleric to fund a search for a divine relic.
I would not fault her for holding me responsible, with or without evil intent on my part. Only a letter from Gham Banni would have persuaded me to take Vanir Shornish's quest as my own. Only Gham's death would make such a letter possible.
"Is Vanir Shornish still alive?"
She blinked, clearly surprised by my question. "Why would I kill him? He is a tool, just as you have been."
Before I could respond, she turned away and touched the cellar wall in three places. Stone grated against stone as a block slid away to reveal a hidden place. Lapis reached into it and drew out the opal I'd found in Ankara's sea chest.
"Look closely at the gem."
I took the bauble and held it up to the flickering light of an oil lamp. The surface was glossy, reflecting colors like any fine opal, but upon closer examination I realized the gem was hollow.
A tiny, hideous face suddenly appeared, magnified and distorted by the curve of the gem. I flinched away, startled, then leaned in for a closer look. Tiny blue fists beat soundlessly against the inner walls of the prison. This was Janu, the imp-thing the Night Heralds had sent to spy on Vanir Shornish.
"The imp came looking for you the first night after you came aboard the barge," Lapis explained. "At the time, I couldn't know if the creature was your enemy or your ally. I imprisoned it in this gem. It was designed to capture creatures of evil."
I remembered the look on her face when I first reached for the gem, the way she'd flung out a cautioning hand to warn me away. The implication was that touch alone would cause an evil person to be sucked into the magical gem. That fit with the suspicions she'd held of me at the time. But it did not fit with certain other things.
"And you captured Ankara as well, though that was not your intent?"
The dancer's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't feel guilty about that. After all, it would appear that she stole the gem from me, and she was a truly horrible person. Even so..."
Her voice trailed off, and the distant, troubled look in her eyes told me she was imagining Ankara's fate at the hands of an angry imp.
I was envisioning something rather different: the contents of Ankara's half-filled sea chest, neatly arranged so the gem was visible once the lid was opened. If Ankara had stolen the gem, thus sentencing herself to death at the hands of the angry imp imprisoned therein, how did the gem find its way into her sea chest? I suppose it was possible that she'd first touched the gem itself while standing over her open sea chest. But assuming that was what had transpired, who had shut the lid?
"Ankara drank the ale she brewed," I said briskly. And no doubt that was true. If she did sneak ashore with the last group of treasure hunters, as I suspected, the pampered musician would find the road to riches far longer and less pleasant than a cruise on a pleasure barge. "Forget about Ankara. What comes next?"
The dancer's gaze returned to my face and to the moment at hand. "I am my grandfather's heir," she said with quiet dignity. "It is fitting that his wealth and his wisdom be used to find his killer. Do you have my grandfather's map?"
I nodded. Until today, I had not considered that the whaleskin map might have belonged to Gham Banni. He had spoken of such things, yes, but as objects of great and inherent evil. Still, it was not beyond possibility that he would possess such a thing. He collected lore about the lost city of Xanchara. He might even have kept the map for no other reason than to safeguard it from men who were prompted by a lust for power rather than respect for knowledge.
"Good," Lapis said briskly. "We will set sail tomorrow at first light. What you have come for, you will find. We will use it to lure the people who sent you on this quest, and then we will kill them."
Her straightforward manner appealed to me, and her plan, as far as it went, mirrored my own. Later, perhaps, I would find reason for regret, but I am never one to linger overlong over a course of action. And what sort of woman could stand over the body of her mentor and not vow to avenge his murder?
"Agreed."
I spat in my hand and held it out. Lapis echoed my pledge. Her small hand was firm in mine, and for the first time the cold, obsidian resolve in her eyes did not seem out of place on her pretty, painted face. I'm never wholly comfortable with alliances, but I knew to the marrow of my bones that this woman would not betray our joint cause.
At least, not today.
Appendix: Osirian Pleasure Barges
In a nation as dry as Osirion, where water rights and access frequently mean the difference between affluence and poverty, it's little wonder that water itself has come to s
ymbolize wealth in the subtle games of the nobility.
From massive bathing chambers to sculpted fountains, ostentation through the use of water is everywhere in Osirion, but nowhere is it quite as iconic as in the case of pleasure barges. Begun as a means of transporting pharaohs in style and comfort, these long, rowed galleys are incredibly ornate and differ from many ships in that, rather than having multiple decks and cabins, they bear large wooden awnings and are subdivided into smaller compartments via curtains and canvas. In this way they're able to provide shade for their occupants while still allowing any breeze from the river to keep them cool.
While the Ruby Prince still maintains the grandest specimens, pleasure barges today are no longer strictly the domain of pharaohs, and countless merchants enjoy traveling slowly up and down the nation's rivers in their floating palaces, entertained by musicians and acrobats and quietly displaying their power to guests and onlookers.
Chapter Five: When Mermaids Laugh
It is my opinion that anyone who follows a treasure map is a fool. Any treasure map at all, never mind a map created by a race of half-women who delight in luring seafarers to their destruction. In all my years among adventurers whose heads were filled with more dreams than wisdom, I've yet to encounter anyone foolish enough to follow such a map.
Yet here I stood, map in hand, poised on the starboard rail of the Blue Manatee and preparing to dive into the Inner Sea.
"Why do you hesitate?"
I glanced down at the small, blue-clad woman standing on the deck, shifting impatiently from one bare foot to the other.
"Another whale's coming up."
Lapis's shoulder rose and fell in a heavy sigh. "This is the Sandusky Shoal. There will always be another whale coming."
"This one's too close."
I pointed to a nearby patch of darkening sea. My new "partner's" eyes widened as the creature's huge, glossy back broke the surface. Its blowhole opened with a distinct popping sound. A long stream of spray rose into the air, so close that some of the fetid mist drifted over the deck. I hopped down from the rail as my four shipmates—Lapis and three of Gham Banni's most trusted servants—reached for mast or rail to brace for what was to come.
A whale can breathe its fill of air in less than two beats of a coward's heart. My feet had barely touched the deck before its white-fluted tail flipped into the air, tossing a swell of water toward the Manatee.
The wave started too close and came too quickly to pass harmlessly under the little ship. It slammed against the hull, sending spray arcing over the deck. We held on, feet sliding on the wet wood as the portside rail rolled dangerously close to the sea. The ship righted, but rocked for several stomach-churning minutes before she found her balance.
I waited until the Manatee calmed before speaking my piece. "You say there's a shipwreck here and I'm willing to look, if for no other reason than to prove you wrong. The shoal is a known feeding ground for whales. Ship captains avoid it."
"I agreed to help you find the Reliquary of the Drowned God," Lapis reminded me. "And you agreed to follow my directions."
I shook the whaleskin parchment at her. "This is the map of a city. There's nothing beneath these waves but sand, gravel, eels, and the whales that eat them."
Lapis folded her arms and glared. "The captain of the Starseeker thought otherwise."
This new bit of information set me back on my heels. Lapis had not mentioned the name of the sunken ship before now, but it was a name I knew. Gham Banni, my Pathfinder venture-captain and Lapis's grandsire, has spoken of it when reminiscing about youthful misadventures with his cousin, a man he'd described as having more ambition than conscience. The Starseeker had gone down north of the Swells of Gozreh, and Gham had been the only man to reach shore alive.
"Tell me."
Lapis began to toy with her jewelry, a sure sign that she was busily collecting her thoughts. She absently fingered the large opal pendant hanging over her heart—a pretty thing, if you didn't know it could swallow monsters. My distaste must have shown on my face, because she snatched her hand away from the opal and began to twist one of her rings, a circlet of gold inlaid with bright blue bits of her namesake stone.
"The object you seek, the Reliquary of the Drowned God? My grandfather found it years ago. He had it with him on the Starseeker."
I took a moment to absorb the implications of this. "But if the Reliquary was lost with the ship, why didn't he retrieve it? He could have sent Pathfinders here years ago. He could have sent me, for that matter."
Lapis shrugged. "My grandfather's goal was obscuring the Reliquary's location, not revealing it. Perhaps he considered it well enough where it was."
"Then why are we here?"
Her gaze met mine, challenge for challenge. "My grandfather did what he thought best under the circumstances he knew. He would expect me to do the same. The Night Heralds are looking for the Reliquary. They will not give up until they find it, or until they are destroyed."
I could fault neither her reasoning nor her goal. Many people in Osirion looked to the stars, but the Night Heralds sought the cold, silent places between—the mysterious realm known as the Dark Tapestry. Their purpose was to summon the inhabitants of the void, monstrous creatures that would grant them power and position. It would appear that the Reliquary played some part in this goal. If we wanted to catch the men who'd murdered Gham Banni, we needed the Reliquary to bait the hook.
Still, an important question remained unanswered. "Why does the map portray a city?"
"It's not important." Lapis raised a hand sharply, halting the retort ready to spring off the edge of my tongue. "It isn't about the city. Take the map and walk to the other side of the ship. You will understand."
At that moment, the notion of putting distance between Lapis and me held great appeal. I stalked across the ship to the portside rail—
And then I felt it: a faint, insistent tug drawing me back to the starboard side.
"The map lures seafarers to this spot," I realized. No wonder I was willing to dive into the sea to seek a shipwreck I didn't believe existed. No wonder I'd been so restless on my sea journey from Katapesh, so eager to speed northward on the trip up the River Sphinx. "It's the magic in the map that matters. What's written on it is meaningless."
"Not entirely." Lapis took the parchment from me and skimmed her fingers over some of the runes bordering the map. "The language is ancient—only a very few can read it properly—but most scholars would recognize this as ‘Xanchara.' A city map that mentions a legendary lost city? Who could resist?"
Not my former venture-captain, apparently.
I reclaimed the map, rolled it, and tucked it into a bag attached to my weapon belt. Additional daggers were strapped to my thighs, but other than weapons I wore only a brief undergarment and the long blue scarf Lapis had lent me to wrap around my chest. For a palace dancer, she was surprisingly circumspect about such matters.
As I turned to the rail, Lapis reached out and touched my arm. "Wait. There's something you should know."
My eyebrows leaped in feigned surprise. "You've been keeping something from me? I'm shocked and disillusioned."
She heaved another long-suffering sigh. "There might be a mermaid about. Be careful."
With difficulty, I managed not to laugh in her face. She might as well have warned me that dumping chum into the sea was likely to draw seagulls. We were carrying a mermaid-crafted map. Of course there would be mermaids about.
I vaulted over the rail and dropped feet-first into the sea. The rush of water against my skin was like a homecoming. My half-elf form dissolved, revealing a creature better suited to the sea.
I had never taken on shark form before. The transformation proved to be far more difficult than I'd expected. For several moments I clung to the surface, swimming in circles as the thoughts and memories of
Channa Ti, half-elf, struggled to forge pathways through that alien, implacable brain.
A druid's animal transformation is seldom as easy as it appears. An animal's body and brain must act according to its nature yet obey the druid's will. The druid must embrace the animal but not lose herself to it. It is a delicate balance, a line easily crossed. Once I felt confident that half-elf and shark were on speaking terms, I dived deep.
"The sea elves have little patience for uninvited guests."
The Sandusky Shoal was an underwater plateau, so the water here was relatively shallow. Other than the occasional strand of seaweed that brushed against my rough hide and the eel burrows that pockmarked the coarse sand of the sea floor, there was nothing to be seen.
But the shark didn't need to see. There was blood in the water, and that's all it needed to know.
I was swimming toward the taste of blood before I realized the choice had been made. As I rounded a thicket of seaweed, the sodden corpse of the Starseeker came into view.
The old ship was surprisingly small. It listed heavily to one side, with the bottom turned toward me. A few strips of tattered sails clung to the mast and riggings, undulating lazily in concert with the seaweed.
My approach was slow and cautious. If a mermaid was lying in wait, she would probably hide amid the ship's wreckage, spear in hand. The smallest nick of one webbed finger would provide enough blood to bait the trap. What a map is to a treasure hunter, a blood trail is to a shark. A canny hunter knows the best bait for any prey.
Giving the ship a wide berth, I circled. The far side of the ship had rotted away; there was no place for a mermaid to hide. And the taste of blood—eel blood, perhaps?—was already fading away.
Still, there was evidence that a mermaid had lain in wait here once before. I could tell at a glance that no storm had sunk this ship.
A single plank was missing from the Starseeker's underside. I found it not far from the ship, a rope woven from sea fibers still attached to one end. The other end was a mass of splinters where it had torn free of the ship. The hull was clinker-built, with overlapping planks. Most likely the mermaid had pried one end of the plank loose, looped the rope around it, and let the momentum of the ship do the rest. I followed the rope for several meters to where it disappeared into the seabed—probably tied to a rock formation that time and tides had buried beneath the sand.
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