by Jon Skovron
“Sure thing, Captain,” said Filler.
“Thought I might go ashore, too,” said Nettles. “Haven’t been on dry land in weeks.”
“Good idea,” said Hope. “You should all take some time to relax. You’ve earned it.”
She watched them go down into the small town, which now seemed to be rallying for an impromptu celebration. So often her crew did hard, thankless work. She was glad they would have some enthusiastic recognition for a change.
“Not going yourself, Captain?” Alash asked as he joined her at the gunwale.
“Someone has to mind the ship. What about you?”
“Crowds make me uncomfortable.”
“I know what you mean.”
They watched the growing celebration for a while. People were bringing tables and chairs from their homes and setting them up in the middle of the dirt road. Others were bringing out food and casks of wine.
“I’m glad your idea worked, Alash,” said Hope. “But it shouldn’t have had to come to that. It was an act of desperation.”
“What else could we have done?”
“I’m not sure. And that’s what troubles me. I feel as though we are reaching the limits of what we can do with one small ship and a skeleton crew.”
“That may be.”
“Is it enough?” asked Hope. “Are we making any real difference?”
“We made a difference for these people.”
“You’re right. Of course this matters. It’s just…” She trailed off, her eyes straining to see past the island of High Guster, past the many islands beyond it, still trying to catch a glimpse of Stonepeak across the miles.
“I know you want Red back,” said Alash. “But aren’t you the one who said it didn’t matter how long it took?”
She smiled ruefully. “I did.”
“I think you were right. We’ve taken some ships, but still have a ways to go before we pose a credible threat to the biomancers and can free my cousin. And in the meantime, we need to savor these little victories when we can. It’s the only way we’ll be able to sustain ourselves until we finally bring him home.”
Hope watched a cluster of musicians begin to gather near the tables and food. When she heard the first strains of melody drift toward her, she turned to Alash.
“You’re absolutely right.” She held out her arm and gave him a playful smile. “Come, Mr. Havolon. Let us join the party after all.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know…,” said Alash.
But Hope grabbed his hand and pulled him down the gangplank with her.
“Doesn’t someone have to mind the ship?” he asked.
“I think of all the times and places, this one I will chance it.”
The sky was beginning to darken as they reached the gathering. People brought out lanterns and placed them on tables, casting a warm, flickering glow on everyone there. Hope saw Filler arrive from the smithy, his face still red from the forge. He accepted a cup of wine from one of the villagers and drank it down gratefully. Sadie and Finn had already had quite a lot of wine it seemed, and were now off to one side, sitting at a table, leaning peacefully into each other. Some of the village girls they had rescued were teaching Nettles and Jilly a local dance. Alash and Brigga Lin sat by the food, whispering to each other with uneasy looks, as if they didn’t recognize some of the rustic dishes and were not entirely convinced they were edible.
There were moments in life, Hope decided, that seemed too perfect to be real. She wished there was a way to capture a night like this—bottle it up and save it for the dark times ahead. But perhaps it was just as well that they remained only in memory, growing more beautiful and poignant with time. It was not a very Vinchen idea, but then again, she wasn’t very Vinchen herself anymore. She was the dread pirate Dire Bane, champion of the people.
“Good to see you relaxing for a change.”
Nettles handed Hope a cup of wine and grinned. Her face was flushed from dancing and there was a thin line of sweat at her temples.
Hope smiled back. “Trying something new, I guess.”
Nettles took a large gulp of wine. “That’s how you survive. Stay flexible. Adapt.”
They watched as Jilly began teaching the girls of the village how to hold a knife properly.
“I think those girls have learned something about survival,” said Hope.
“What do you think that biomancer wanted with them anyway?”
“I’m not sure. But the captain said something terrible is going on at Dawn’s Light.”
Nettles grunted. “I wonder what ‘terrible’ looks like to a gaf who’s willing to steal twenty little girls and shove them into a ship’s hold without food or water.”
“Perhaps,” said Hope, “we should find out.”
8
Red hadn’t expected it to feel quite so good to walk through the dark city streets with the potential for danger behind every corner. His eyes took in every detail of the wide thoroughfare. The uniform beige walls of neat buildings glowed faintly luminous in the moonlight. He could hear the skitter of rats across cobblestones, and the distant creak of doors and shutters opening or closing. He could smell the salt tang of the sea on the cool evening breeze.
It was still well before midnight, but the streets were nearly empty. A few merchants hurried home from their shops, and a young couple kissed in a doorway. At this hour, Paradise Circle would have been at its rowdiest. The whorehouses would be filled to capacity. The previous few hours of post-labor drinking would have made even the honest gafs dangerous. And the truly dangerous ones would have been plying their trades of robbery and murder. Of course Red and his wags had been right in the middle of it all. He felt a sudden pang of longing for those simpler times and he wondered if they were now lost to him forever.
It occurred to him then, that among other things, the biomancers were trying to domesticate him. They allowed him his little eccentricities, such as dressing how he wished, and making friends with whomever he wished. All the while, they were making him comfortable and tame. His stomach churned as he considered the full scope of his prison, truly seeing the bars for the first time.
He glanced at Nea, who walked at his side. Despite the prince’s warnings of danger, she moved with confidence, her head held high. If all the government gafs of Aukbontar were this pat, no wonder the biomancers were practically pissing their robes yellow. Maybe that was the real reason Ammon Set had told him to go to the ball. To get a gander at the person who was supposed to be his enemy. And wouldn’t they be upset to learn that he was actually helping her?
“Why are you smiling at me?” asked Nea suspiciously.
“What’s not to smile about? Beautiful night, beautiful molly, freedom, and the chance of a little scuffle to warm the blood.”
“You really think someone has been sent to assassinate me so soon?”
“Seems unlikely,” said Red. “But they did manage to intercept both of your messengers. They might have already known you were here even before you announced yourself at the palace.”
“Who are they exactly?” asked Nea. “These influential people who want me dead?”
Red paused for a moment. Leston had been careful not to give specifics, so maybe he shouldn’t either. As nice as Nea seemed, she was still the ambassador of a foreign country. It was probably wise to keep her in the dark on the inner workings of palace politics. Knowledge only grants power when it is withheld from others, Progul Bon had said. Well, piss on that. Red was no tame politician and he wasn’t about to start following the advice of the people who were actively trying to ruin his life.
“You ever hear of biomancers?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “Sorcerers with the ability to bend the laws of nature to their will? Yes, I have heard of them, but assumed it to be merely superstitious lore.”
“I’m afraid it ain’t all lore, old pot.” He pulled her directly under a street lamp, even though the brightness pained him a little. “Take a good look at my eyes in
this light.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath, and a look of discomfort crossed her face. But a moment later she regained her composure.
“The reddish color is certainly unusual,” she admitted. “And the shape of the pupils are slitted almost like a cat’s. A curious birth defect, to be sure. But—”
“They made me like this,” said Red. And for the first time in his life, he felt angry about it. Back when he thought it was just something that happened because his mom made some bad choices, he’d accepted it. Thought it made him special, even. But now that he knew it was part of some biomancer scheme, it didn’t make him feel special at all. It just made him feel used.
The glare of the streetlight was getting too uncomfortable, so he stepped back into the shadows and started walking in the direction of the inn again.
“Why would they do that?” she asked, following him.
“Because they wanted to see if they could make someone able to see in the dark. They see regular people as nothing more than lab experiments. I’ve seen one turn a gaf’s whole body to ice. I’ve seen other men crumble to dust. They took my best wag, Hope…” He felt a momentary pang of longing. “They massacred her whole village for one of their experiments. They do all this to develop weapons against you.”
“Me?” asked Nea.
“Well, your country, anyway. They are so sure you’re going to invade, they have been developing… bio-weapons, I guess you’d call them, for about twenty years now.”
“What are these bio-weapons?”
“No idea.” It was true that Red didn’t know a whole lot about the biomancer weapons, but even he wasn’t rash enough to give the few details he knew to the ambassador of Aukbontar. Thankfully, she had the grace not to press him on it.
“So these biomancers of yours,” she said instead. “Do they hold any real political power?”
“Not officially. But they seem to have the emperor in their pocket.”
“If he’s as feeble as he appeared, that probably wasn’t difficult,” said Nea. “So it sounds like the best thing for the Empire of Storms would be if Prince Leston succeeded his father as soon as possible.”
“I suppose.”
“Can’t you just declare the current emperor incompetent and have him deposed?”
“Is that something that happens in Aukbontar?” asked Red.
“Only in very rare cases,” said Nea. “But yes, if a member of the Great Congress is deemed compromised, usually due to illness or old age, they are asked to step down. Most of the time, they do so gracefully. But every once in a while, one refuses, and there must be a trial to determine if they are truly fit to represent their city-state.”
“Aukbontar sounds like a complicated place.”
“A certain amount of bureaucracy is inevitable for any large country. Mavokadia is much the same in that respect, although of course they are a nationalist republic, not a social democracy like Aukbontar.”
“Mavokadia?” asked Red.
“The country to the north of Aukbontar, of course.” Nea squinted at him, like she was trying to determine if he was testing her.
“Oh, yeah,” he said quickly. “That place.” He’d never heard of Mavokadia. He’d never even considered that there might be another country to the north of Aukbontar. He wondered if even Progul Bon knew about it. “Well, we don’t do anything like that. I think it would be like saying God made a mistake. Now, personally, I am ready to believe that if there is a God, he is making all kinds of mistakes. But most gafs feel that God not only exists, but is completely quality.”
Nea winced. “Right. Divine rule. Sorry, I forgot about that.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Nea, my wag. For a complete stranger, you know this place better than many who’ve lived here their whole lives.”
“Thank you, Red.” She smiled her lacy smile. “I pride myself on my thorough research. And it hasn’t been easy. So little about your empire comes to us, I cannot help but think it is by design.”
They continued through the quiet streets of Stonepeak. Red’s eyes were everywhere. Down passageways, in doorways, on rooftops. He kept waiting for a few rough-handed gafs to jump out. Maybe they were lurking in the alleys, hoping Red was stupid enough to take the ambassador through a more secluded area. If that was true, they’d get more desperate the closer Red and Nea got to the inn.
When they were a couple of blocks from the inn, Red drew the gun he’d borrowed from Captain Murkton. If there were people lurking in the shadows, now would be the time they’d get bold enough to attack.
“Strange,” said Nea, glancing at his gun.
“What’s that?” Red asked distractedly as he scanned the nearby alleys.
“Your gun. It looks exactly like the ones our law enforcement officers carry in Aukbontar.”
“A gun’s a gun, right? How much difference could there be from one to the next?”
She looked at it more carefully for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. “You are right, of course. Let us continue on.”
She quickened her pace, forcing Red to move faster to keep up. Soon they were across the street from the Call to Arms.
“Well, it appears Prince Leston’s fears were groundless,” Nea said with a mixture of relief and satisfaction. “There is my inn, and we have not encountered any assassins. I am sorry you had to waste your time escorting me, when you would probably much rather have been in your bed.”
“I wouldn’t rest easy just yet.” Red pointed to the inn. It was a two-story building, not fancy but well kept. “Front door is wide open.”
“Someone probably just forgot to close it.”
“At an inn?” asked Red. “That lets in the ghosts.”
“More superstitious nonsense.”
Red shrugged. “Don’t mean people don’t believe it. No self-respecting innkeeper would let his door flap open like that. I reckon there’s something going on inside. Stay behind me, just in case.”
Nea reluctantly let Red take the lead as they cautiously crossed the street. Red had been learning from Ammon Set how to momentarily see at an even greater distance than usual. He squinted his eyes, and his vision gave a funny lurch and he saw at least part of the scene through the door.
“Piss’ell,” he whispered, cocking his gun.
“What is it?” asked Nea, stepping impatiently to his side.
“Really. Stay behind me. Or better yet, stay out here.”
“If my team is in danger, I need to go in,” she said in a tone that made it clear this was not open to discussion.
“Fine. But behind me.”
Nea again let Red go first. When they stepped through the door, Red got his first full view of the chaos inside.
Unlike the inns of New Laven, the layout of most Stonepeak inns had the dining and common area right in front, so that ideally, the first thing a potential customer saw when they walked through the door was a bunch of friendly-looking people relaxing and enjoying themselves. Now this innkeeper could see why none of the inns in Paradise Circle used this layout. Or he could have, if he’d still been alive.
It looked like a crew of boots had just walked in and opened fire on the place right at dinnertime. Bodies were on the floor or sprawled across tables. One boot was riffling through the pockets of the dead. On either side of this dining area was a staircase that led to an open second level lined with doors. There was a boot on either staircase, gun pointing toward a specific door. The last two boots were at the door. One had an ax, the other a sledgehammer. They were slowly tearing the door apart.
“What is—” began Nea, her eyes wide in horror as she again stepped to Red’s side.
Red put his hand over her mouth and moved her back. So far, none of the boots had noticed them. They were too focused on whoever was behind that door.
“Citizen Omnipora!” A frightened face appeared in the widening gap in the door. “Run!”
Of course all five boots turned to see who he was yelling at. And of course Nea
didn’t run.
“Thanks, team,” muttered Red. He took a deep breath and, much as he hated to do it, summoned all the instruction Chiffet Mek had given him. He took five shots and five boots fell dead.
There was a moment of silence after the gunshots faded and the smoke cleared. Then Nea cleared her throat. “It seems you were not exaggerating about your skill, friend Red.”
Red nodded and stared down at his gun. There was no doubt about it. The biomancers had made him a better killer. He felt a little sick. He’d killed plenty before. But the ease with which he’d snuffed out five lives… it was on a different level.
“Well, look who it is. The biomancers’ little pet.”
Red looked up and saw a familiar face grinning at him across the dining tables.
“Brackson? What in all hells are you doing this far from Paradise Circle?”
Deadface Drem’s old lieutenant sighed dramatically. He still had thin scars on his cheeks where Nettles had sliced him at the Rag and Boards. “Thanks to you, I wasn’t so popular back in the Circle anymore. Thought I’d try my luck here at the capital. Seems to be working out so far.”
“You think so?” Red pointed his gun at him. “I’ve still got one bullet, just for you.”
“I wish we could do this proper. I really do.” Brackson made a big show of regret. “But the biomancers were very specific in telling me to keep my hands off their favorite pet.”
“I’m nobody’s pet.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“You ain’t going nowhere.” Red pulled back the hammer. The last thing he felt like doing was killing another person. But it looked like Brackson wasn’t giving him a choice.
Brackson laughed and held up a tiny silver whistle. “You know what this is? A dog whistle, dog.”
He blew on the whistle and it suddenly felt like the ground moved beneath Red’s feet. He reached for a table to keep from falling, but the table seemed to move out of his reach, and the ground flew up to meet him. At the last second, he felt hands grab around his middle and stop his fall.