by Will Wight
He gestured to the Optasia, which sat alone and almost forgotten in the corner of the room. “What exactly should I do with this, Jerri?”
“It’s a relic of the Emperor,” Jerri answered, in a tone that suggested he was an idiot. “You sit in it.”
“And then what will happen to me?”
“Calder, I’m not a Reader.”
“No, you’re a Soulbound.” Something else you lied to me about. “But I have every faith in your ability to answer the question.”
She sighed, as though giving into a child’s demands. “As I understand it, the device will expand your awareness. Thanks to a network of relays, you’ll be able to Read practically anything on the planet from this spot.”
Almost word-for-word how Lucan had explained it. So she understood the Optasia perfectly. “Including the Great Elders,” he prompted, waiting for her to admit it.
“Of course including the Great Elders. That’s the whole point. This is the only way for you to understand them, and to negotiate with them on an equal level. With you on the throne, humanity will finally have someone to speak to the Elders on our behalf. You’ll have a seat among the immortals, Calder. It’s something we all desperately need.”
Once again, she was trying to convince him he would be saving the world. Not handing his body over as a husk for the Elders. Finally, he’d caught her in an outright lie. He turned to Lucan.
“We’ve heard from the crazed Elder cultist, and now let’s hear from a neutral party. Jerri, Lucan here is a Consultant who came here to sabotage the Optasia. He Read the throne for himself, and instead of leaving, he stayed here to warn me.”
“And you call him a neutral party?” Jerri asked, but quickly latched on to a different detail. She turned away from Calder to Lucan. “Consultant Lucan, did you say?”
“Jyrine,” Lucan said, shocking Calder. “I’m glad you made it out alive.”
Of course. They were practically cellmates. Next door in the Consultant dungeon, they must have gotten to know each other. For an instant, a suspicion bloomed: if they knew each other already, how could he possibly trust anything Lucan said? Maybe he was Sleepless himself.
But if this was all part of their plan, they would have concealed their connection. He would never have found out. In fact, this could be an advantage: if Jerri knew Lucan, then she knew he was a Reader. She’d know he was telling the truth.
“Lucan, what would happen to me if I tried to use the Optasia?”
The Consultant didn’t hesitate. “You would go insane in minutes. Perhaps seconds. The Great Elders would core you like an apple and put whatever they wanted in your place.” No member of the Sleepless would warn him like this; they would leave him to walk blindly into danger.
“That’s some compelling imagery,” Calder said. “Jerri, your rebuttal?”
But he could see that his wife’s mind was elsewhere.
~~~
As soon as she heard the Consultant’s name, Jerri recalled a vivid memory. Crouched in her cold cell on the Gray Island, she listened as Lucan spoke to his ally. To Shera.
She almost shivered at the unnatural timing of this ‘coincidence.’ Kelarac was controlling the game now, and he had placed her within reach of Shera’s allies. “Lucan,” she said. “The Consultant named Shera visited you while you were in prison. Do you know her well?”
Lucan’s response was absolutely calm. “We’ve worked together.”
That was confirmation enough for Jerri. She turned to his blond partner. Meia? Maia? Something like that. “How about you? Do you know Shera?”
“I don’t believe I’m required to answer you, madam,” Meia said, but Jerri knew the truth. Kelarac had delivered two of Shera’s closest allies into her hands.
She nodded, turning back to Calder. “You’ve met Shera before. She’s tried to kill both of us. She did kill Urzaia. Would you trust her companions?”
“Consultant Shera and I have a separate account to balance,” Calder said. “If I refused to do business with any Guild whose members have attempted to execute me in the past, I’d be working alone. Or maybe with the Greenwardens,” he added.
He was being intentionally obstinate; ignoring her logic and making a point to say the opposite of whatever she did. In other circumstances, she could try and get him alone, make him engage her argument.
But she had to take this opportunity, whatever it cost her. You must not let the Killer meet the King.
“I’ve been warned about Shera quite recently,” Jerri said, hoping he would sense sincerity in her Intent. “However little you know of her, let me assure you: she is the greatest threat to you and to the future of humanity, not any Guild.”
Calder’s brow furrowed, and his hand began crawling for his pistol. “Recently? Who warned you, Jerri?”
“She’s your enemy, Calder, whether you believe it or not,” Jerri said. She was close to him now, the Guards closing in on her from every direction. “And whether you like it or not, I’m still your ally.”
She spun to face Meia, drawing power from her earring. The Vessel, the source of her power, delivered to her by Kelarac himself.
There were two targets here, two allies of the Killer, but she knew she would only get one shot. And if she could eliminate only one target, she’d prefer to remove Meia; the blond Consultant was a stranger, while Lucan had listened to her stories while they were both captives of his Guild. If she had to kill one and spare the other, she would prefer it if Lucan walked away.
“Stop her!” Calder shouted, drawing his sword instead of his gun. The Guards shoved her to the ground, but she had already released a shot of green flame. It blasted over Calder’s shoulder, tearing through the air with palpable hunger.
Meia stood with orange eyes wide, staring at her approaching death. In the instant before the blast struck, Jerri knew she had succeeded. Meia couldn’t escape.
Calder twisted, trying to get his orange-spotted blade between Meia and the fire, but he was too slow. He couldn’t stop it.
But Lucan threw out a hand.
Meia collapsed as though weighted down, like every inch of her clothing was suddenly anchored to the floor. Jerri’s attack tore through the wall of the Emperor’s room, leaving a smoldering hole the size of a bullet.
I’ve failed. The Guards piled on top of her, practically smothering her with their weight, and she knew she had only seconds before they pried her earring away. She couldn’t even see Meia, so her only option was to burn her way free of the Guards if she wanted to try again.
Her Vessel raged inside her, begging her to incinerate the bodies in her way, but she forced it down. Calder would never trust her again
“Her earring!” Calder shouted. “The earring is the Vessel!”
She was surrounded in a cage of limbs, both human and otherwise. The Kameira enhancements of the Imperial Guards blocked her in a menagerie of tentacles, talons, claws, and scales. But through the chaos, she caught a glimpse of another face; pressed, like hers, against the floor.
Lucan’s dark skin was a shade too pale, and his eyelids fluttered as though he hovered on the verge of passing out, but he looked as though he recognized her. And Jerri saw Kelarac’s will.
She wished it didn’t have to be Lucan, but this was one last Elder-sent chance to remove one of Shera’s greatest allies. The moment was here, she had her earring, and she didn’t even have to kill anyone else. Truly, the Great Elders had set the stage.
Though she knew Lucan wouldn’t hear her over the chaos, she felt she had to say something. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Her Vessel wasn’t sorry. It crowed triumph.
Calder shouted louder, reaching closer, trying to grab her ear.
A wave of dry heat blasted up as a single bolt of green flame flashed out from Jerri’s hand. It drilled into Lucan’s stomach.
The Guards saw the flash of light on her face, tearing out the earring and leaving a bloody hole in her ear. But it was too late. Jerri let them drag her off
back to her cell, knowing that her task was over. She had already won.
Lucan was dead.
The Guards were still shackling her to the walls, growling threats about her execution, when Calder marched in. He still held his sword, as though he’d forgotten its existence, and he stared at her in undisguised horror.
Even now, that still hurt.
“Why?” Calder asked. “Why him?”
Jerri spoke simply, knowing he would recognize honesty. “That might be the last chance I get to strike a blow against Shera. I had to make it count.”
“Because she’s the greatest threat.” He pointed to Jerri with the tip of his sword. “Who told you that, Jerri?”
“Who do you think?”
He nodded as though she’d confirmed his every suspicion, then gestured to the Guard nearest the door. An instant later the door slammed shut, leaving Jerri once again in darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Six years ago
No two Kanatalia workshops look the same—just in the Capital, Calder had seen some covered in quicklamps like trees with glowing fruit, some with huge glass tanks on the roof, and others that were built like round domes instead of square boxes. He supposed it had to do with the types of experiments they ran in there, but no one got inside a workshop without strict Guild approval.
They didn’t look alike, but they all smelled identical. It was what he imagined acid would smell like, mixed liberally with soap and something coppery. His imagination told him it must be blood, and his logic told him it was probably copper.
But just in case the alchemists needed to top off their blood-tank today, he tried to stay inconspicuous as he lurked behind their workshop. He wanted to catch one alchemist alone, not a group of guards changing shifts.
On every other side of the building except this one, the workshop had ten yards or so of clearance. Here, in the back, it was little more than an alley: a few feet of street separating a back exit and the brick wall of a cannery. An aluminum box the size of a carriage took up the entire space, and the copper-acid-soap smell wafted most strongly from that direction. It made Calder’s hours of waiting all the more unpleasant, but it also took up every inch of space between the alchemical workshop and the cannery. It was wedged in so tightly that the mice had to scamper over the top of the box to get past.
Which meant that Calder only had to huddle next to the metal box when the guards came by. They would unshutter their quicklamp, shine a quick flash of light down the alley to make sure the box was still intact and unopened, and walk away.
A broken half of a bottle and a scrap of coat told him that some homeless Capital citizens had used this tactic before to steal a good night’s sleep. It was to his good fortune that none of them had tried it tonight. At least, not on his side of the box.
A glimpse of motion, the sound of furtive shuffling, and the sight of a ragged shadow made him convinced that someone was rummaging through something on the other side. He didn’t begrudge this mysterious person their space, though he did wonder how they avoided being spotted. The patrols always came from that side, so the guards had to see this figure every time they opened their quicklamp. But they never said a word, simply walking away.
Kanatalia was more generous to squatters than he would have expected.
It was well after midnight before the rear door opened. By this time, Calder was more irritated at the work habits of alchemists than anything else. Who worked past midnight? Why couldn’t they leave promptly at sunset, like everyone else? They could have been considerate enough to spare him over six hours of waiting in the ice-cold dark as the winter wind froze his coat to his body.
Alchemists. Always thinking of themselves.
But he pasted a big smile on his face as the opening exit almost crushed him against the brick wall. The man walking out of the workshop wore thick gloves, a leather apron that hung down past his knees, and a pair of goggles currently pushed up onto his forehead. The skin around his eyes was a shade paler than elsewhere, showing where the goggles usually rested.
The man had a shock of pure black hair, but lines at the corners of his eyes showed that he was at least twenty years older than Calder. He was carrying a sealed glass cylinder in both gloved hands, and something that looked like a six-legged cat floated within, suspended in a bluish fluid. He moved as though he were hauling something heavy, but he stopped when he saw Calder.
“Charity is three days away. If you have a medical issue, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m not that kind of alchemist.”
Calder pointedly adjusted his hat. He’d worn the three-cornered hat and his dark blue coat because he thought it made him look more like a Navigator. Each of his coat buttons had the Navigator crest on them. What more did he have to do?
“I’m not looking for charity, sir, but if you’re feeling charitable you could spare a moment to hear me out.”
The alchemist grunted as he pushed past Calder toward the metal box. “Give me a second. If I keep holding this thing, it might come back to life.”
He did something to the side of the box, Calder couldn’t see what, and the entire metal top lifted straight off. It was supported at each corner by a metal pole, which together raised the top panel of the box a few feet up. The smell of burning blood and soap grew stronger as the alchemist shoved his glass cylinder inside. The sound of shattering glass followed him, as well as something that sounded suspiciously like the yowl of a cat.
The alchemist turned back to Calder as the box slowly hissed shut behind him. “Now then, what can I help you with?” His tone made it sound more like, “Go die in a hole.”
There was no sense in antagonizing someone while asking for a favor, so Calder did his best to radiate pleasant contentment. “My name is Captain Calder Marten, of the Guild of Navigators.” He extended a hand.
The alchemist actually leaned over and inspected the hand, sniffing at Calder’s palm, before pulling his own glove off and shaking. Calder had known dogs that were more discreet.
“Lampson,” the alchemist said. That was all.
“An honor to meet you, Mr. Lampson. Now, I apologize for approaching you in this manner, but I was looking to purchase some alchemicals, and I was wondering if you might help me.”
Lampson squinted at him. “The chapter house will sell to you, if you’re a Navigator. Guild members get thirty percent off the street price.”
Calder knew about the discount, which the honorable Guild of Alchemists was only inclined to offer because they originally marked each of their potions up eighty percent. “Thank you for your recommendation, but I’ve already been to the chapter house. I’m afraid they weren’t able to satisfy my specific needs.”
The alchemist glanced him up and down once. “As I said, I’m not the sort of medical alchemist you’re looking for. I deal primarily in organ processing and storage, so unless you’d care to make a donation...”
“I like all my organs where they are, though I appreciate the offer. It’s less of a service that I’d like to purchase from you, and more a selection of your stock. You see, I have a wall in my home that I would like to demolish.”
Lampson’s mouth opened in a silent ‘ah.’ “There’s a crew of workmen I can recommend, if you’ll give me a few moments to retrieve their information. They’re highly rated by the Guild in their use of munitions.”
Calder clapped the man on the shoulder and chuckled, as though he’d made a joke. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’d not want to trouble them.”
“Navigators. Can’t say I’m surprised. What are you looking for?”
“What do you sell to the army?”
Lampson passed a hand over his face. “Look. Listen. I...look. If this wall is in the Capital...”
“It’s a continent away.”
“...if it’s in the Capital, this will get back to me. The Guild understands if we do some business on our own initiative, as long as the workshop gets its fair cut, but if this draws the Imperial Guard down on
me, I’ll paint them a picture of you if I have to. I’ll even give them your alias, if that will help them somehow.”
An alias. That would have been a good idea. He’d been trying to add a sense of credibility by giving his name, in case Lampson checked with the Navigator’s Guild, but in hindsight that was stupid. The alchemist wouldn’t be bothered to check his name, and an alias could save him trouble down the road. It was amazing how quickly you forgot the basics.
“It’s not in the Capital,” Calder assured him. “I’m setting sail for Vandenyas before the sun rises, if all goes right.” It was probably too late, but he’d decided to start throwing a few lies into the mix. Better now than never.
“Well, either way, I’m going to need to spread the marks around if we want to get this done. And as I don’t see a valise packed with paper anywhere, you should make a visit to the bank. While you’re doing that, I can take inventory and see what we have, but I’ll warn you now, it would be better if you had a real alchemist along. On your own, you’re more likely to blow your ship to splinters than to demolish your...wall.”
If Calder had an alchemist aboard, as many Navigators did, then he wouldn’t be begging in an alley behind a workshop. But at the moment, there was a more pressing issue in play. “That’s a reasonable concern, and I thank you for it. But on the matter of payment, I was thinking of something less formal.”
The alchemist’s eyebrows climbed so high that they vanished into his messy black hair. “You want me to give you a barrel of Othaghor’s Fire on faith and favors?”
It wasn’t as unreasonable as he was making it sound, Calder was sure. Favors were a common currency between the different Guilds, and typically considered a denomination higher than goldmarks. No amount of money would call the Blackwatch to your side when you wanted them; only a direct investigation followed by an official Guild action could do that. But if a Watchman owed you a favor, then you had someone to tell you if that shadow tapping your window is a rogue tree branch or a soul-eating minion of Urg’naut.