Ship of Smoke and Steel

by Django Wexler

  I’m about ready to walk out the door, or possibly cut this madman in half. But I don’t. Because he may be crazy, but I’m not sure that I’m not crazy, too, and he’s the best lead I have. And crazy or not, he’s on the Council, and he can get to the Captain. If he needs my help so badly, I can get what I need from him.

  And if he’s right about this power, then … maybe …

  We climb, again. When we reach the top of the spiral stair, he pushes the leather cover aside with his cane. I’m a little surprised to see sky above us, the light now almost totally gone, the river of stars broken by wispy clouds. No lanterns glow up here. We’re still inside the cylindrical structure, but the roof and most of the walls above this floor are gone, leaving a flat expanse of deck bordered by a jagged, rusty edge. The floor is stained by rain and salt spray.

  A single table stands in the center, surrounded by three bronze instruments on tall stands. Two look like spyglasses, while the third is a complicated arrangement of interlocking circles whose purpose I can’t divine.

  “This is why they let me on the Council, you see,” the Scholar says, having regained his calm. “I figure things out. From here I can see the stars, when it’s clear, and that tells us our position.”

  I nod, cautiously, as he walks to the table. I know that sailors at sea use the stars to figure out where they are, though I have no idea how one might actually go about doing it.

  The table holds a couple of thick books, with leather covers to keep the rain away from them, holding down the edges of a big leather-backed map. It’s a fine one, painted in a delicate hand, with tiny mountains and decorative sea serpents now cracked with age, and it shows all the lands around the Central Sea, the entire known world. Jyashtan in the west, the Blessed Empire in the east, with the divided bulge of the Southern Kingdoms beneath it. The islands of the icelings in the north, with glaciers carefully picked out in white and blue, and the gray expanse of the Southern Wastes, which the mapmaker has filled with fanciful imaginary beasts. Various islands stand out in the great ocean, including the string that stretch like stepping-stones from east to west, where the war fleets go to fight and die.

  The Scholar puts his finger on the map, just below where the island chain comes closest to the Southern Kingdoms. I lean forward and read the label for Cape Wall, painted in tiny, tiny brushstrokes. Automatically, my eyes track north, and find Kahnzoka, tucked into its broad bay.

  A thousand miles away. Full of things I never thought about, any more than I thought about the air I breathe. Now I find myself missing … everything. The food at Breda’s, the way people in the Sixteenth Ward nodded to me as I passed, the feeling of walking streets I’d walked so many times the map was ground into my bones. And Tori, beautiful, brilliant, clean Tori, untainted by the blood that stains my hands.

  I take a deep breath, feeling it catch in my throat. At that moment, I would give anything to be able to visit her. To sit in her garden and listen to her earnest insistence that everyone could help one another if they would only try.

  I would introduce her to Meroe. I think they would get along.

  Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, furious, and look up at the Scholar. He’s staring at me, his expression unreadable.

  “Well?” I ask him. “You’ve already tried to convince me that this ship runs on the spirits of the dead. You’re going to have to work hard to get crazier than that.”

  “This, I’m afraid, is a bit more … mundane.” He taps the map. “As you heard at the Council meeting, this is roughly where we are now.” Tracing a line due south, his finger crosses the deep ocean between the Southern Kingdoms and the wastes, then turns west. “For fourteen years, Soliton has followed this path. Never precisely the same, but never varying much. We stop in different cities each year, for example.”

  The line continues across the wastes, then north along the coast of Jyashtan, all the way to the ice. Then east again, skirting the icelings’ islands, until it returns to the Empire and turns south once more. A great circle, clockwise around the Central Sea.

  “And now it’s going faster than normal,” I say. “You told us already.”

  “We passed Cape Wall several days ago,” he says. “And we’re still in sight of land. We’re going the wrong way. East, not south.”

  My lips twist. “Maybe the Captain realized he forgot a city, and wanted to make a special trip.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps we’ll turn south, any day. But if we don’t…”

  I examine the map under his finger. The Southern Kingdoms and the wastes form a narrow strait, leading right off the eastern end of the map. Just at the edge, an island sits in the strait like a cork in a bottle, painted in blotches of green and red.

  The Vile Rot.

  “Don’t be stupid.” I straighten up. “No ship goes near the Rot.” I’m from fifteen hundred miles away, and I know that.

  “Soliton is hardly an ordinary ship.” The Scholar shrugs. “Suppose that, every twenty years or so, it breaks from its usual pattern and takes this route. Through the Green Strait, to the Rot.”

  “That’s…” I shake my head. “That’s impossible. Nothing survives the Rot, not even Soliton. If the Captain took the ship in there, he wouldn’t be around to take it out again.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone aboard died. But the ship?” He taps the deck with his cane. “Steel doesn’t rot.”

  “What would be the point?”

  “To clean us out, maybe? Like washing out a teapot in hot water. Clean the ship in the Rot and start over.”

  “Then why gather us in the first place? That makes no sense.”

  “Unless our deaths are the point.” He leans closer. “If our souls power the ship. It picks up fuel, and then it burns it like firewood.” He straightens up. “Or maybe the Captain has his own reasons.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “He’s not inclined to share his thoughts with us,” the Scholar says, with a slight smile.

  I look down at the map again, and fight down a chill. “Anomaly … coming…,” Hagan had said. “Find Garden. Or die.”

  Is this what he meant?

  “I’ve heard enough,” I say out loud. “They warned me you were a little mad, but I have to say this is worse than I expected.”

  There’s a long pause.

  “I didn’t think you’d believe me,” he says, surprisingly calm.

  “I don’t. And I’m leaving.”

  “You haven’t heard my offer.”

  I snort. “I’m not interested in more crazy theories.”

  “Nothing so complicated. I know what you want, and I can get it for you.”

  “Oh, really?” I glare at him. “What do I want?”

  “I can get you into the Captain’s tower.”

  I stare for a moment. “Why should I believe you?”

  “The crew guards the main entrance, but I can show you another route.”

  “It can’t be that simple.”

  “It’s not.” He grins. “There’s an angel on the bottom floor. But the Council has a key that will get us past it. I’ll lend you mine.”

  “And then … what?”

  “That’s up to you.” He spreads his arms. “You and your princess have been asking about getting to the Captain for weeks. I assume you have some plan for what you want to say to him.”

  I wish I did. But …

  “And what’s in this for you? I assume that if the rest of the Council found out, they wouldn’t be pleased.”

  “You assume correctly.” The Scholar raises his eyebrows. “I want you to bring me the dredwurm’s eye.”

  That’s not what I expected to hear. “I thought the Council already had a bounty on that.”

  “They do. Let’s say that we disagree on what should be done with it.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He grins again. “More of my ‘craziness.’ But that’s my price.”

  “Even if I thought I
could kill the dredwurm,” I say carefully, “nobody knows where it is. Half the crew is out looking for it. If I ever see the thing, it’ll be as part of some big team Zarun puts together, and I won’t be able to get the eye for myself.”

  “As it happens, Zarun has just received a report from one of his scouting packs,” the Scholar says. “He’s putting together his team now, but it will take him a few days. If you hurry, you can beat him to the punch.”

  “Assuming he tells me what he knows. Unless you have the location already?”

  “Unfortunately, my informant didn’t quite get that far.” He taps his cane against the deck. “But you’re the Deepwalker. I have every confidence in you.”

  “If I do this…” I shake my head. “If anyone found out, Zarun or the other officers, they’d kill me.”

  “As they’d kill me, if they knew I let you into the Captain’s tower. I think it’s a fair trade.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “It’s my price,” he snaps. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to try to find another way to get to the Captain.” He glances at the map, then back at me. “If you think you have time.”

  * * *

  I sit in my room, back against the wall, one foot tapping out a fast rhythm on the floor.

  The Scholar may be crazy, but he’s right about one thing. This is a hell of a bet. He thinks it’s worth it, because he believes we’re all headed to the Rot.

  If he’s right, we’re all going to die. And if I die here, that means Tori—

  Rot, rot, Blessed’s rotten balls in a vise.

  The curtain rustles, and Meroe comes in, looking worried.

  “Are you all right?” she says. “Berun said you were looking for me.”

  I beckon her over, and she sits beside me, favoring her bad leg only a little. She’s still carrying the cane, but she doesn’t use it much.

  “Isoka?”

  I hold up a finger, close my eyes, and listen. The walls here aren’t thick, Blessed knows Thora and Jack have proved that often enough. I don’t hear anything now, but best to be careful. “Try to stay quiet.”

  Meroe obliges by whispering. “Isoka, what’s going on?”

  “I met with the Scholar.”

  “And?”

  “He’s mad.”

  She eyes me. “Is it contagious?”

  “He made me … an offer. If we bring him the dredwurm’s eye, he can get me in to see the Captain.”

  Meroe frowns. “I thought nobody knew where the dredwurm was.”

  “Zarun does. If I can get the information from him, we can beat him to the prize.”

  I see her eyes widen in understanding. “By ‘we’ you mean—”

  “You and me. Berun. Aifin, if he’s willing.”

  “Not Thora and Jack.”

  I shake my head. “I like them, but they were Zarun’s people long before they were part of this pack.”

  She nods, slowly. There’s a long silence.

  “Do you really think we can kill the dredwurm? The four of us?”

  “We killed a blueshell and a hammerhead.”

  “You killed them, you mean.”

  I shrug, uncomfortably. “Honestly? I don’t know. But this could be the best chance we get.”

  It sounds like a weak argument, even to me. Why not wait, and look for a better opportunity? Get closer to the Council. If not for the Scholar and his rotting map, I would have agreed. But as it is … if there’s a chance …

  “If you think we can do it,” Meroe says, “then I’ll help.”

  I want to hug her and swear at her at the same time. Tell her she shouldn’t put so much trust in me. What in the Rot do I know?

  She shifts uncomfortably, working her fingers idly through her braids. “What about Zarun?”

  “I’ll figure that part out.”

  “We’ll be betraying him.”

  “Does that bother you?” I cock my head. “You didn’t want to accept his help in the first place.”

  “I…” She bites her lip. “I can’t forget what he did the day we got here. That poor girl. But … he’s done everything he promised since then. I don’t like him, but I feel like I can trust him, if that makes any sense.”

  “He’s using us, just like we’re using him. We don’t owe him anything.”

  “But if he finds out—”

  “He’ll kill us.” I feel my fist clench. “Or I’ll have to kill him. But he doesn’t have to find out. I have a plan.”

  “Okay,” Meroe says, and the trust in her voice tears at my heart. “When?”

  “I’ll get the information from Zarun tonight. We’ll go looking tomorrow morning. We can’t risk someone else getting there first.” I hesitate. “Can you talk to the other two?”

  She nods. “They’ll help, I’m certain.”

  Of course they’ll help. Berun is half in love with Meroe, and she’s the only friend Aifin has ever had. They’ll do it for her, and she’s doing it for me. Which means it’s all my responsibility.

  Rot, rot, rot.

  “Okay.” My chest feels tight. “Then we’re on.”

  “Okay.” Meroe waits for a moment, looking at me. “Isoka? Are you all right?”

  I’m not all right. I’m trying hard not to stare at her, my hands laced together in my lap. I know what I want to say, but it feels like my throat has swollen shut.

  “It’s…,” I manage. But that’s all.

  Meroe scoots closer, until she’s sitting directly opposite me, our knees touching. She takes my hands in hers and holds them gently.

  “I know what this means to you,” she says, still whispering. “Getting off this ship and back to your sister. You’re doing what you have to do, Isoka.”

  “I know.” She doesn’t know the half of it. Doesn’t know about Kuon Naga, or the threat hanging over Tori’s head. But I’m suddenly certain that even if she did, she’d understand. “Meroe…”

  She’s right there, face inches from mine, her lips slightly parted. All I would have to do is lean forward, put my arms around her.

  What I want to say is:

  I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be as kind, as smart, as brave, as you are.

  I didn’t think I could care about anyone but Tori. I thought I’d burned that out of myself. Blessed knows I tried.

  I have never wanted a girl before. I have never wanted someone so badly in my life. I want to kiss you, touch you, drag you down, and rut until we’re both too tired and shaky to stand. To fall asleep with you in my arms, listening to you breathe.

  But my arms hang dead, and my lips won’t move. Because I have no idea what she’ll say. If she wants me. If she likes women, or likes anyone.

  Because the last person I slept with, I put my blade through his head when I thought it would help Tori. And I’m not sure I’ve changed.

  She licks her lips, a quick dart of a pink tongue.

  I get to my feet, pulling my hands away.

  “I have to go.” Forcing the words out feels like vomiting broken glass.

  Does she hesitate for a moment? As though she was waiting for me to say something else? “Good luck.”

  * * *

  First a side trip to Sister Cadua’s. She has what I need.

  Then the market, which never really sleeps. A bottle of Jyashtani wine, costing far too much scrip.

  Then to Zarun’s tower.

  One of his crew is on guard at the door, a boy who blanches at the sight of me. I’m wearing the same outfit I had on the night of the Council meeting, sleek, tight-fitting leather and crab-shell armor, the blue tracks across my skin standing out in the lamplight. I tell him I’m here to see Zarun, and he hurries inside with the message, then reappears to escort me. He takes me up a floor via an echoing metal staircase, then raps at a door.

  “She’s, uh, here,” the boy says. “The Deepwalker.”

  “Very good,” comes Zarun’s voice from inside. “Get lost.”

  He swallows hard, nods to me
, and hurries away. I push the door open.

  Zarun’s chambers aren’t as gaudy as I expected. There’s a front room with a large table and chairs, and a desk pushed into one corner. Through a rear doorway I can see a bedroom, with a huge bed in the Jyashtani style. Another room is curtained off. Zarun is standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing a black silk robe belted loosely at the waist. It hangs open enough to show off his smooth, well-muscled chest.

  “Deepwalker. Not who I expected at this hour.”

  “I thought we could have a drink.” I hold up the bottle.

  “A drink?” He raises an eyebrow.

  I keep my voice level. “A drink.”

  “Well. Let it never be said I wasn’t accommodating to a guest.” He goes into the bedroom, comes back with a pair of sparkling crystal glasses and a corkscrew.

  “Have a seat,” I tell him.

  He takes one of the chairs. I open the bottle and pour, as he smiles at me, bemused. It gives me the chance to let the little sachet of dried mushrooms fall into his glass. The wine is a deep red, and the mushrooms dissolve almost immediately, but my heart is still beating hard when I hand it to him. If he has suspicions, they don’t show. He raises his glass, and I raise mine, and we both take a long swallow.

  “So, if I may ask,” he says, “to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  “Frustration, if I’m being honest.” I refill the glasses.

  “Frustration?”

  It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. His eyes widen slightly, and if I’m not wrong there’s a hint of embarrassment in his grin.

  “You have an odd way of flirting,” he says, taking another long drink.

  “I’m not used to flirting,” I say, honestly. “Back home, when I wanted a boy, I’d usually say something along the lines of, ‘Hey, let’s go upstairs and rut.’”

  “Subtle.”

  “At least it keeps things honest.”

  “To honesty.” He raises his glass, and I follow suit. “Is that why you haven’t come before this? Because I was beating around the bush?”

  “You were clear enough. I was…” I pause, and sip the wine, which I’ve been too nervous to taste. It’s good, actually. “Until now, I needed your help too badly.”