Ship of Smoke and Steel

by Django Wexler

  “Tougher, if anything,” Jack says, with obscene cheeriness.

  “What are her Wells?”

  “She has a touch of Rhema, for certain.” Jack shrugs. “Scuttlebutt says she has Melos as well, but no one’s seen her use it.”

  We reach the hole in the wall, leading back into the cellblock. Jack steps aside to let me go first, and I pause.

  “This is where you would kill me, if you were so inclined,” Jack says. “The guards are at the other end of the corridor. You might make it.”

  “I swore I’d go back, didn’t I?”

  “You did. But does that mean anything to you?” She cocks her head.

  I climb through the hole, stretching once I reach the wider corridor.

  Jack smiles, climbing through after me. “And what should Clever Jack tell Zarun?”

  “Tell him … I’ll think about it.”

  “Think quickly,” Jack advises. She shuts the door behind me, and I hear the bar slide back into place.

  * * *

  There’s no question of going back to sleep. I use the chamber pot, wash as best I can, sit back on the pallet, and wait for my next visitor. I have a feeling it won’t be long.

  Sure enough, the bar slides away again a few hours later. I compose myself, and when the door opens I barely twitch. I was expecting Zarun; instead, it’s Shiara in an elegant black-and-red kizen. The Scholar is behind her, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “Welcome,” I say. “I’m sorry I can’t offer any better hospitality.”

  Shiara gives a thin smile. She picks her way into the room as though the floor were covered in dung. The Scholar follows her and closes the door behind them.

  “Deepwalker,” Shiara says. Her Imperial has an upper-class accent, but it sounds studied to me, as though she’s deliberately putting it on. “I regret we haven’t had the chance to get better acquainted.”

  The Scholar just frowns, hands twisting around the head of his cane.

  “The Council has deliberated as to your punishment,” Shiara says, then glances at the Scholar. “And his. The penalty for trespassing in the Captain’s domain is death.”

  I bark a laugh. “Oh yes. I’m sure he’s very angry with me.”

  “Mythology has its uses,” Shiara says tightly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the fine points of leadership.”

  I refrain from pointing out that I was boss of the Sixteenth Ward, which had ten times as many people as live on Soliton. I just shrug, and she sets her shoulders, looking annoyed.

  “Therefore,” she goes on, “you are facing execution. But we hope to avoid that, if you are willing to … behave.”

  “You’re worried I’m too popular,” I translate.

  “Quite.” Shiara’s expertly painted lips quirk. “The Scholar has, let’s say, implored us to let you accompany him on an expedition to the so-called Garden. The Council has agreed that, if you wish to take the risk, we could commute your sentence. Assuming you were prepared to leave quietly.”

  “Isoka, please,” the Scholar says. “This could be our only chance.”

  “It is certainly your only chance,” Shiara says.

  “Unless I fight the Butcher,” I say brightly.

  They both freeze, and the smile drains from Shiara’s face. I mime astonishment.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Was I not supposed to know about that?”

  “Zarun told her,” the Scholar says. “Of course.”

  “Zarun is not thinking in the interests of everyone,” Shiara says. “These are dangerous times. The last thing we need is a leadership struggle.”

  “But as long as he doesn’t agree with the rest of you, I have the right to challenge,” I say.

  “You do.” Shiara sighs. “But you should consider what would happen afterward, even if you win.”

  “Isoka—” the Scholar begins.

  “Do you think,” I say to Shiara, “that your colleague and I could speak alone? As the two who would be going on this … expedition.”

  She looks between us, suspiciously, and then sighs again. “I suppose. I will wait outside. Don’t take long.”

  When she’s gone, the Scholar lowers his voice. “I know you don’t trust her, but this offer is genuine. Shiara may not be convinced that I’m right, but she’s at least concerned.”

  “I don’t have any particular reason to distrust her,” I say. “It’s not the offer I’m worried about.”

  “Then what?” His voice is a hiss. “If we don’t turn the ship soon, everyone is going to die.”

  “I’m not convinced we can turn the ship, even if we find the Garden.”

  His eyes narrow. “Why?”

  “I have … my own sources.” I still don’t trust him any further than absolutely necessary. “But I think the Garden will protect us from the Rot, if we can make it there.”

  “Then we might as well try,” the Scholar says. “At least—”

  “If that’s the case,” I cut him off, “then I’m not leaving without Meroe and the rest of my pack.”

  His eyes widen in understanding, and he taps his cane on the floor. “I see.”

  “So if you want my help,” I continue, “find Meroe and tell her I need to see her. Tell her…” I hesitate. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

  “We’re running out of time.”

  “Then hurry.” I gesture around the cell. “I’ll wait.”

  I hear the Scholar and Shiara talking in the hall as they leave. The Scholar sounds insistent, Shiara annoyed.

  I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I had a plan to get to the Captain, and it blew up in my face. Now I’m playing it by ear. It seems like I have something everybody wants—the Scholar needs my power, Zarun wants me to kill the Butcher, and Shiara and the rest of the Council don’t want me throwing a wrench into their carefully planned administration. And Hagan … I don’t know if Hagan is helping me or taking some kind of elaborate revenge from beyond the grave.

  All I know, at this point, is that it’s been nearly a day since I’ve seen Meroe and I can’t forget the feel of her lips, her body pressed against mine. If there’s no turning back from this choice, I have to see her again before I step over the threshold.

  22

  An hour later, there’s a knock at the door. Not the sharp rap of a jailer rousing a prisoner, but the quiet tap of a polite request to enter.

  My princess. I sit up at one end of the pallet and clear my throat.

  “Come in.”

  The door opens. Meroe is flanked by two nervous-looking crew with hands on swords. She steps inside and they close and bar the door behind her.

  I clear my throat again. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She’s wearing a dress in the same style I first saw her, airy and colorful, with the same silver bands on her arms. “I heard … rumors. I didn’t realize they’d actually locked you up.”

  “It hasn’t been that bad.”

  “Isoka, you should know…” She looks at the floor. “Zarun came and asked me about the dredwurm. He already seemed to know most of it, so I didn’t see any point in lying to him.”

  “It’s all right,” I say. “I heard from Jack. No one has tried to threaten you or Aifin?”

  She shakes her head. “Zarun’s people are watching us, I think. But that’s all.”

  There’s a pause, which stretches on uncomfortably. I shuffle sideways on the pallet.

  “Would you like to sit?”

  After a brief hesitation, Meroe gives a tight nod. She lowers herself carefully, keeping as much separation from me as the small space allows. Her shoulders are hunched, nervous. Rot, but I want to wrap my arms around her. Another pause.

  “We need to talk,” we both say, at almost the same moment. She looks up at me, and I can’t help but smile. She breaks out in giggles.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Do you want to go first?”

  “I … not really, but I suppose I should.” She takes a deep breath. “If you ask me what I want I’d say it’s to hide
in my room for the rest of my life and never talk to anyone again. But that’s probably not practical.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Okay.” She squares her shoulders, as though she’s marching to her execution. “You … kissed me.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

  “It wasn’t…,” she begins, then stops, swallows. “You shouldn’t have. Not without asking. But I … afterward, I should have talked to you.”

  “You’re under no obligation to me,” I say, remembering my night with Zarun. We’ve made no promises.

  “I’m under the obligation that I—you and I—” She stops again, collects herself. “Have you ever done that before?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Kissing?”

  “With a … a woman.”

  “No.” I take a deep breath. “I know you don’t—”

  “I have,” Meroe blurts out. “It’s…” She blinks, and there are tears in her eyes.

  “We don’t have to do this, Meroe.” I put my hand, tentatively, on top of hers. “Just forget it, all right? Forget it happened.”

  “No.” She shakes her head violently. “I’m sorry. This is just … harder than I thought. But you told me about you and your sister.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Please just listen, Isoka?”

  I nod.

  “When I was … twelve, maybe, there was a girl. Sarama. A daughter of one of my mother’s attendants, from a noble family, but wild. She liked to explore the castle, and one day she found her way into my garden.

  “I didn’t have many friends by that age. Everyone was so careful around me. My father wanted it that way. Princes and princesses didn’t have the luxury of friends, he said. Sarama was different. She was a little younger than me, and she wasn’t afraid of anything. And that made me feel different. Ever since I was old enough to understand”—she looks down at her hands—“what I am, I’d been careful, too. But not with her.”

  She pauses, pressing her knuckles into her eyes. I squeeze her hand, and she takes a deep breath.

  “One of the servants caught us. I think my sister Boloi tipped her off. It was the kind of thing she would have done.” Meroe swallows. “We were in the garden, back in one of the flower beds, and we were kissing. The servant told my father everything.”

  Her eyes are filling with tears again. “It wasn’t Sarama’s fault. The kissing was … I told her it was a game. I was the one who talked her into it. She just wanted to run around the garden and pretend we were fighting bandits.

  “The next day, my father’s guards picked me up from my room and marched me down to the basement. My father had Sarama and her parents there, and he accused her of defiling the Princess. Her mother screamed at her, and her father. I tried to scream, too, but the guards stopped me. I had to watch while Sarama’s parents beat her bloody. All to please my father, of course. They were desperate to keep their station at court, and Sarama was only a younger daughter, and a troublesome one besides.

  “Afterward, my father asked me if I knew why he’d made me watch. I called him awful things, said it was me who’d started everything. He said he was well aware, and that was why he wanted to teach me a lesson. He couldn’t beat me, you see. Not without telling the whole court that I wasn’t … what I was supposed to be.”

  “It’s not allowed, in Nimar? For two women to be together?”

  Meroe shakes her head. “It’s all right for boys to run around and suck each other’s pricks. That’s all just in good fun until they’re of age. But girls have to be pure, and princesses doubly so.” She looks at me, hesitantly. “I heard it was different, in the Empire.”

  “I guess.” I scratch my head, embarrassed. “It’s not exactly … usual, but nobody gets beaten over it.”

  “In some parts of southern Jyashtan married women are expected to keep unwed girls as lovers,” Meroe says absently. “It’s supposed to keep them out of trouble.”

  “That…” I try to picture it, and shake my head. “What happened? Did you ever see Sarama again?”

  “No. Her parents sent her back to their estate and kept her there.” She rubs her eyes again. “So when you kissed me, I just…”

  “I understand,” I say, though I wonder if I really could. If I’d had a father, and he’d done that to me, I’d have killed him, king or not. “Like I said, we can forget it ever happened.”

  “I don’t want to.” Meroe turns to face me, and my heart double-thumps. Goose bumps race down my arm. “I want you to kiss me, Isoka. Gods, I’ve wanted that practically since we first met. I just need to … get used to the idea.”

  “You…” Rot, rot, rot. Something is wrong with my brain. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.” She smiles cautiously. “Why are you looking at me like I just swallowed a live fish?”

  “Sorry.”

  “And stop apologizing.”

  “Sorry,” I say, automatically, and then start laughing. Meroe laughs with me, and our fingers intertwine.

  “Thank you,” she says, after a while. “For telling me what you did.”

  “I felt like an idiot,” I say. “It’s not exactly an uplifting story.”

  “It was your story,” she says. “That’s good enough.”

  We stare at each other for a long moment. The tension has drained away, replaced by a warm feeling I can’t put a name to.

  “Okay,” Meroe says. “Now that the important stuff is out of the way, do you want to explain why exactly you’re sitting in a cell waiting for execution?”

  * * *

  I start laughing, and when I’m finished laughing I tell Meroe everything.

  Somewhat to my surprise, I tell her everything. It comes spilling out of me, like pus from an infected wound, a river of ugly, stinking truth. Meroe takes it all and doesn’t flinch. I tell her about Shiro’s death, and Hagan’s. About Tori, with her perfect house and her perfect life, and what I’ve done to keep her safe. And about Kuon Naga, how he wants Soliton for his war, and how he ruined everything. Her hand tightens on mine.

  Then it’s just a matter of explaining what went on between me and the Scholar, the deal we made, and what had happened between me and the Council after I’d been captured. And Hagan, of course.

  “He’s a ghost?” Meroe says, her voice a squeak.

  “I’m … not sure.”

  * * *

  “Okay.” Meroe takes a deep breath. I can’t help but think she’s dealing with this remarkably well. “And this ghost-friend of yours agrees with the Scholar that the ship is going to sail to the Vile Rot and kill us all.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Scholar thinks if he can get to this Garden he can change course.”

  “That’s his theory. Hagan said it wouldn’t work. But he said the Garden would protect us if we got there.”

  “Right,” Meroe says. “And the Council is offering you the chance to go with him and find out. In the meantime, Zarun wants you to fight the Butcher.”

  I nod. “That would get me out of the execution. But it doesn’t help us if Hagan’s to be believed.” I shake my head. “I think I have to go with the Scholar, Meroe.”

  Meroe looks at me, carefully. “Then what happens to everyone else?”

  “I told them I wasn’t leaving you behind.” I squeeze her hand. “I said my pack, actually, so Aifin, Jack, and Thora are welcome if they want to come.”

  “But what about the others?”

  “What do you mean? The rest of the Council?”

  “All the people,” she says, patiently. “The crew. The ones who stay behind.”

  “Maybe the Scholar can turn the ship around,” I say. “If not … I don’t know. But probably nothing good.”

  “Then we can’t do that, can we?”

  I stare at her. “Why not?”

  “We can’t run off, save ourselves, and leave a thousand people behind to die!”

  “What choice do we have?”

  “There has to be a way,” Mero
e says. “We just have to find it.”

  “We’re not in charge of everyone.” I wave a hand vaguely. “That’s the Council’s job.”

  “Are they doing it?”

  “I—”

  She crosses her arms, as though that were a conclusive argument. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.

  “Look,” I say. “I know you were raised in a palace. But things are different in the real world. You’re not responsible for everyone.”

  “It’s not about being responsible,” Meroe says. I expect her to be angry, but she’s not, which honestly makes me irritated. “It’s about helping people when you have the ability to help them.”

  “But—” I grit my teeth. “We don’t have the ability to help them. If Hagan is right and the Scholar can’t turn the ship, then people are going to die no matter what we do.”

  “How many people would fit in the Garden?”

  “How many…” I stop. “You’re not serious.”

  “How many?” Her tone is gentle, but firm.

  “I have no idea!” I’m shouting now. “Hagan said it would protect everyone who gets there, but I don’t know if he meant everyone.”

  “Still. It’s the best chance they have.”

  “Except that there’s no way we’ll be able to convince them to go. The Scholar barely got the Council to agree to send me. They’re not going to pack all this up and haul it across the ship.”

  “Forget the Council,” Meroe says. “Just talk to the crew. Tell them the truth. If they choose to follow you, the Council won’t be able to stop them.”

  “How exactly am I supposed to do that when I’m stuck in a cell?”

  “At a public event where nearly everyone will be watching,” Meroe says.

  The penny drops. “Like if I were to fight the Butcher, you mean.”

  “Like that, for example.” She grins.

  “Rot.” I stare at her. “You really mean it. You want to help everyone.”

  “Someone has to.”

  I want to—I don’t know. Yell at her until she realizes how insane this plan is. Lie to her, tell her I’ll do it, then tie her up and drag her off with me and the Scholar and leave everyone else to burn.