“Are you planning on staying down here longer than the rest of us?” I ask, as she knots the bundle back up.
“You never know,” she says. “It might help, and at least I can carry some extra weight.” She catches my eye and adds in a quiet voice, “I don’t like being useless.”
“You’re doing better than Berun.”
“Don’t you start on him,” Meroe says. “Did you ever think that if Ahdron was encouraging him instead of threatening him he might not be so afraid of everything?”
I doubt that, but Meroe’s expression tells me it wouldn’t be productive to say so, so I only shrug. I have a hard time understanding why she’s coddling this boy, who seems to deserve his nickname. Any gang in Kahnzoka would have kicked him to the gutter long ago as not even worth killing. Meroe may not have a Well, but she’s got an inner strength that I wouldn’t trade for a hundred craven fools like Berun. Or a dozen insecure bosses like Ahdron, for that matter.
And the way Berun looks at Meroe makes me want to slap him, halfway between a boy at his first peep show and a supplicant looking on the image of his goddess. She doesn’t seem to notice, or pretends not to. The Moron has reappeared, standing at the pack leader’s side as calmly as if nothing had happened. Ahdron regards him sourly for a moment, then turns and leads us onward.
We reach the pillar, a massive metal spire at the intersection of four bridges, with a circular platform ringed by a rusted-out railing. Shelf mushrooms grow on its side, and tiny beetles with iridescent red carapaces scuttle among them. I hold back for a moment, waiting for Ahdron to tell us they’re flesh-eating monsters, but he doesn’t give them a second glance, so I relax. The pack leader sits in a soft pile of fungus with his back to the pillar, taking a long swig from his canteen.
“Take a break,” he says. “It’s another hour’s walk to the edge of the Wrecks, and I don’t want us exhausted when we get there.”
I sit down against the pillar a little ways away from them and take a long drink. Another hour, Ahdron says, and we’ll reach the hammerhead’s hunting ground. If we find it, and if this rotting plan to kill it actually works, then I’ll need to figure out what to do about Ahdron’s offer, and Zarun’s. And—
There’s something moving, under the surface of the pillar. It’s hard for my eyes to focus on. At first I think it’s a horde of ants, but the moving specks are smaller, and glow with a faint gray light that feels unpleasantly familiar. They’re all flowing in the same direction, up from the deck toward the ceiling lost in darkness above us. As they move, they weave around one another, a delicate dance of near collisions like they really were ants. I put my hand against the pillar, tentatively, and watch the flows shift around it, like a stream twisting around a rock.
And there are voices, down at the edge of hearing. Most of the words are unintelligible, but a few break through the babble. “Hurts. Please.” Someone—something—is begging. And then another, “Kill, kill, killkillkill—”
I snatch my hand away and scramble back a pace, heart pounding. Meroe looks up at me, questioningly. I blink, and wave her away. She’s touching the pillar. So whatever it is, she can’t see it, or hear the voices.
“Isoka.” It’s Ahdron, climbing to his feet. “You ready?”
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. “I’m ready.”
* * *
It’s not hard to guess why they called this place the Wrecks.
We reach it after descending another staircase. In the midst of the labyrinth of bridges, a wide, flat expanse of decking stretches out ahead of us, beyond the range of our lanterns. It’s supported at regular intervals by more pillars, and I give these a wide berth. In between the pillars there are holes in the deck, too clean and rectangular to be rusted-out patches, each the size of a building. On the sides of the holes are huge stanchions, as tall as I am, from which dangle lengths of arm-thick chain.
The first few holes we find are empty, just drops into the unknowable depths of Soliton. Eventually, though, we come across one that’s still occupied. It takes me a moment to understand that the ugly, rusted thing hanging in the gap is a ship, albeit one of a design I’ve never seen before. It has two parallel hulls, long and narrow, with a gracefully curved deck bridging the gap between them. The chains are attached to it, suspending the small vessel in midair at roughly the level of the deck.
So this is a dock, of a sort. I wonder if the small vessel was some kind of ship’s boat—it’s the size of a war galley, but given the enormity of Soliton it doesn’t seem unreasonable. Why a dock would be hanging in midair with no water in sight is beyond me, but once again, it’s a weird ship.
It isn’t just rust that has damaged the small vessel. Parts of its hull are shattered into jagged, twisted shards, or torn open by parallel rents I can’t help but interpret as the marks of enormous claws.
“Wow,” Meroe says, eyes wide. She looks from the vessel to the empty holes, then out into the distance. “How many are there?”
“Dozens,” Ahdron says indifferently.
“Do any of them still work?” Meroe says, taking a step forward. “Is there a way to get them into the water? You could—”
“Don’t,” he says. “People have tried going out to them. Even if you don’t slip and fall all the way to the Deeps, there’s nothing to find.”
“And they’re cursed,” Berun says.
“They’re not cursed,” Ahdron says.
“People who climb out there die,” the boy insists.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ahdron says, “because we’re not going near them. Meroe, time to play hammerhead bait.”
“Right,” she says. “My crucial role in this adventure. You’re ready, Berun?”
“I … think so.” Berun shifts awkwardly. “If it comes, I’ll try to hold it.”
“Here.” Ahdron tosses Meroe a small object, which makes a clonk-clonk noise. It turns out to be a bell, bent out of shape. “Just cut yourself a little, and make a racket.”
Meroe nods, and takes a deep breath. She pulls a knife out of her pocket and offers it to me, hilt first.
“Would you mind?” she says.
I take her hand, palm up. It’s shaking a little. “Close your eyes,” I tell her.
She does. I make a quick gash across the meat at the bottom of her thumb, just below the bandage. Blood wells quickly, drops running down her arm.
She holds her hand out to Ahdron. “This enough?”
“Should be,” he says. “You and Isoka go out ahead. Berun and I will keep our distance.”
Convenient for him. Meroe waves her hand around, letting blood drip on the deck, and rings the bell with a clack-clonk. It echoes weirdly off the metal.
“I guess we just … walk,” she says. “Come on. I want to see if there are more of the little ships.”
“Does it matter?” I say, falling into step beside her.
“You’re not curious?” she says.
“About what?”
“About this!” She waves a hand. “Who built this thing? How? What was it for?”
I think of the voices in the pillar, and the angels. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Really? I certainly do.” She rings the bell again. “I mean, have you even heard of anything like it?”
I shake my head. “Whoever built it, though, I think they’re long gone.” I gesture at the small ship as we walk past it. “Otherwise they’d have kept things in better shape.”
“Does the Captain know, do you think?”
There’s a thought I hadn’t considered. I’ve been assuming the Captain can steer Soliton—that’s what it means to be a Captain, isn’t it? But I wonder if he understands any more about how the ship works than the rest of us.
“I’d love to talk to him,” Meroe says.
“You like figuring things out, don’t you.”
She nods. “My father always told me I shouldn’t be so interested in everything. It wasn’t … seemly, for a princess. But I suppose I can’t help it.”
She rings the bell, and waves her wounded hand back and forth. “There was a eunuch at our court who studied the stars. I used to sneak in and play with his telescope.”
“What’s a telescope?” The word is Imperial, but I’ve never heard it before.
“It’s … you know what a spyglass is? For looking at ships?”
I nod cautiously. I’ve seen those on the docks.
“A telescope is like that, but stronger. You use it to look at the stars, or the moon.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Curiosity?”
Which is, of course, a very aristo way of looking at things. Why not stare at the sky when you don’t have to work for your dinner?
The next bay over is empty, so we change directions, and come alongside another wrecked vessel. This one is dangling nose down, with only the chains at its aft end still holding it in place. It shifts back and forth, very gently, producing faint metal-on-metal creaks.
Meroe rings her bell. “I feel like I’m calling the castle to dinner,” she says.
“You’re calling someone to dinner.” I look over my shoulder and make sure Ahdron and Berun are not too far behind us. They’re hanging back, but still in sight. “Hopefully it’ll hear us soon.”
The hanging ship creaks again. Then I become aware of another sound, a rapid drumming. It comes up through my feet as a vibration in the deck, making my teeth buzz. Meroe tenses.
“I think you can get rid of the bell.” I look around again, but I can’t see any sort of monster. The sound comes from every direction at once. “Where in the Rot is it?”
“I think…” Meroe hesitates, closing her eyes, then takes a step away from the closest gap. “Underneath!”
The hammerhead crawls up over the side of the gap. Chunks of rusty decking break and fall away under its weight, but it keeps coming. It’s big, as tall as the blueshell but considerably more compact, with a long, oval body split into many narrow segments of gray chitin. Each side of it is lined with legs, hundreds of stubby little things that keep it only a few inches off the ground. They move with eerie, mechanical coordination, ripples of motion running down each flank. At the front of the creature, its body flattens out into a broad head, protruding out to either side and shaped vaguely like a hammer. A huge mouth splits the head almost in two, and as it yawns wide I can see row after row of needle-like teeth, short but viciously sharp.
The legs, Ahdron had said. Meroe is already backing away from it, and I fade to one side, ready to attack its flank if it stays focused on her. All of a sudden, though, I don’t like this plan. Meroe is all alone, and if something goes wrong—
“Berun!” Meroe shouts. “Now!”
Berun, at Ahdron’s side, swallows hard and concentrates. For a moment, pale blue light flickers around the hammerhead, which is still moving toward Meroe at a leisurely pace. The Tartak force makes it pause for a moment, but no more than that.
“I can’t,” Berun says. “I can’t hold it!”
“Try again.” Meroe’s voice is remarkably steady. “I trust you.”
Oh, rot. Rot rot rot.
Pale blue light gathers one more time, but Berun doesn’t seem to know how to apply his force to the enormous creature. Bands of light press against the massive head, trying to hold the thing in place, but he’s just not strong enough. Given the size of the thing, it’s like trying to stop a runaway cart full of rocks. It pushes through with ease, moving faster now, right at Meroe.
I should have rotting known this wasn’t going to work.
I run at the hammerhead, igniting my blades and shouting at the top of my lungs. The noise at least distracts it, and it slows, wide snout turning in my direction. It doesn’t change course fast enough, though, and I still catch it in the side, one blade held out in front of me like a lance. The green energy sinks into the hammerhead’s flesh, actinic crackles of magic spidering out along its hide, until my knuckles brush against its skin. Clear, sticky blood wells, coating my fingers.
I’m just about at the middle of the creature, and down around my knees its hundreds of legs are pumping away like pistons. I pull my blade free with another spurt of watery fluid and slash low, hoping to salvage Ahdron’s plan. But the legs are chitinous and hard, much tougher than the rubbery skin of the creature, and my Melos blade scrapes and sparks across them without inflicting much damage.
The hammerhead lurches sideways, and I have to jump backward to avoid being slammed aside. I definitely have its attention now, and its segmented body curves in my direction, blunt head straining blindly toward me. The mouth gapes wide enough for me to see two black tongues twisting around each other like wrestling snakes.
Rotting wonderful.
Fire blooms in the darkness, a bolt that whips across the deck and slams into the hammerhead’s side. It barely seems to notice. Another blast impacts near its head, shattering into globs of liquid flame that burn briefly on its thick hide before guttering out. It’s coming faster now, legs churning, and I back away.
“Isoka!” Meroe shouts.
“Keep it moving!” says Ahdron, hurling another gout of flame.
You’re not rotting helping, I want to say, but I can’t spare the breath. Picking away at something this size is like trying to kill an ox with a slingshot. The heart or the brain, Ahdron had said. I try to picture the location of both, based on his crude drawings. The heart, back in the center of the body, is buried too deep in the rubbery flesh to get at without carving the thing apart. The brain should be just behind the bulbous hammer-shaped head. So maybe …
Oh, Blessed’s rotting balls. This is going to hurt.
I spare a glance over my shoulder, making sure the ground behind me is clear, and settle into a defensive crouch. The thing is coming at me like a loaded wagon barreling downhill, and a traitorous part of my brain insists that it’s not too late to run away. But I need this—if I’m going to climb Soliton’s hierarchy, get out from under the Butcher and into a position where I might be able to get something done, I need to take risks.
This is definitely a risk.
A moment before it reaches me, I jump, hoping to get clear of its jaws. At the same time, I stab down with both my blades, aiming at the back of the snout, trying to punch through enough rubbery flesh to reach the brain.
It nearly works. I get my blade in, sizzling Melos power slashing through flesh, but the brain must be farther back than I thought. The creature never slows. And my standing jump isn’t quite high enough, because one long black tongue licks out and wraps around my ankle, yanking me down. My blades come free in a spray of clear blood, and for a moment I’m falling. I jam one blade in, right above the creature’s jaws, and twist it so it holds me in place. That keeps the tongue from pulling me in entirely, so its bite closes on my calf, rather than my waist.
Melos armor flares wildly around my leg, green energy forming a nearly solid shell that crackles and spits as it tries to keep the monster’s teeth from my flesh. But this isn’t like deflecting a sword cut or a brief blast of fire. It’s more like trying to hold up a building, and I give a full-throated scream as the magical energy flowing under my skin builds to an unbearable heat. Wisps of smoke rise from my leg where arcs of green lightning strobe across it.
I let the armor fail. I’m not sure it’s even a conscious decision, but I have no choice. In another few seconds, Melos power would sear my leg into ash and blackened bone. The hammerhead’s straining jaws close, and a new, exquisite agony blooms as needle teeth tear into my flesh. There’s a nauseating crack as the bone breaks, and blood bubbles through the monster’s clenched teeth.
Definitely not the best plan I’ve ever been a part of.
The hammerhead is still moving fast, turning back toward the others. I’m hanging on the front of its head, supported by my mangled leg and the blade driven into its nose. If I let go, then I’ll fall down and be crushed under the thing’s onrushing bulk. If I hang on, I’ll pass out from loss of blood. My vision is already going gray at the edge
s. So what now, Isoka?
Die, most likely.
I’m not eager to die. And more than that. If I die, I fail. If I die, Kuon Naga will do whatever he wants to Tori and everything I’ve worked for will be for nothing. If I die now, I never meant anything to anyone.
The rot with that. I’m not going to let that rotsucker win. Not like this.
I twist my head and spot Meroe and Berun. My voice is a strangled yell, twisted by pain.
“Get its mouth open!” I wave my free hand, blade humming as it parts the air. “You rotting little coward, just get this thing to open up!”
I’m not sure Berun understands, but Meroe does. She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him, hard. His eyes are wide as saucers, but he brings his hands up, focusing his Tartak power. I see the wisps of pale blue energy hover around the hammerhead’s mouth, tentatively at first, then pushing harder as Meroe shakes Berun again.
The creature’s jaw levers open. I’m sure Berun wouldn’t be strong enough if it were bearing down, but he’s caught it by surprise, and in a few moments the thing is yawning wide. I purposely don’t look at my leg, catching only a sidelong glimpse of a mess of torn fabric and skin, painted liberally in crimson. Instead, I grab a tooth in my free hand and swing myself forward, into the hammerhead’s mouth.
This is, to put it mildly, completely insane.
The two black tongues writhe around me but don’t grab hold yet, the creature unsure what to make of this development. Pulling my leg free from where it’s still impaled on the hammerhead’s teeth hurts so much I nearly black out, but I cling to consciousness like grim death, crawling toward the back of the thing’s gullet. I plant my boot on the base of its tongue, and push upward, slamming both of my blades into the roof of its mouth. They cut through its palate and slice deep enough, I hope, to reach the brain.
This time, I managed to hit something. The hammerhead wobbles, slewing like a cart with a snapped axle. I stab again and again, ignoring the lash of its tongue against my waist. I feel it when the creature starts to roll, legs losing their coordination and going out from under it. It falls heavily and flips over, sending me crashing against the roof of its mouth, then flips again, ending up on its side. I lie curled inside the monster’s cheek, its tongues twitching and shaking against me, as it slides to a halt.
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