“Nah, I don’t pry into my guests’ personal lives. Are you interested in a room?”
“No, thank you. Is there any chance you can let me in to see if he left a message?”
“Go ahead.” The man unlocked the door to the tiny office and shuffled inside.
Tikaya waited to see if he would pull out a keychain and escort her to the room, but he sat down and pulled out a magazine full of pictures of nude women. Maybe Rias had left his door unlocked….
She turned into an even narrower hallway, this one bereft of attack shrubbery lining its walls, and searched for Room #3. None of the doors had locks. She supposed that explained why the proprietor hadn’t felt compelled to show her to the room personally. The catch was broken on Room #3’s door, leaving it ajar, and Tikaya pushed it open without needing to risk touching any sticky residue that might lurk on the knob.
The tiny windowless room—closet might have been a better word—claimed a dearth of furnishings. It didn’t even have a bed. She was on the verge of cursing her cousin for recommending the place when she found the missing bed folded into the wall. A piece of wire stretching across one corner at the right height to garrote Tikaya held two hangers. Rias’s trousers dangled from one. A crate in a second corner served as the only other piece of furniture. There was a pen on it, but no note to suggest where Rias might have gone. She checked the pockets of the hanging garment, even as she wondered what clothing he’d found to replace the military trousers, and smiled when she found a note folded in the pocket.
It held a pair of nonsense words. She tried the same key as he’d used with the previous note and decoded it: Shipyard 4.
Tikaya hadn’t realized there were more than three shipyards in the harbor, and double-checked her decryption, but it appeared correct. Perhaps Shipyard 4 was near the privately owned docks at the far end of the quay.
She hustled out of the room, worried she’d miss Rias if he and Yosis had indeed left early that morning. The proprietor had pulled the curtains on his booth. She decided not to say anything in parting in case he was… busy.
Outside, Tikaya almost crashed into a big man heading up the walkway with canvas totes full of tools. A big Turgonian man, the bronze skin, muscled arms, and determined brown eyes suggested. Apparently in a hurry, he nearly strode right through her.
Tikaya gulped and skittered into the grass to let him pass. Though she doubted she was in further danger of being kidnapped, the role she’d played in thwarting the Turgonians’ conquering aspirations meant she’d always be wary when one approached. This one had a grim, fierce aspect as well. Marine, she guessed, though perhaps a former one, since he wore loose cotton and hemp island garb.
“Oh, pardon, ma’am.” He stopped to look her over. “Are you all right? Sorry, I was in a hurry to, uhm…” He eyed her more closely.
Uh oh. What if flyers were being passed around to Turgonians all over the world, displaying pictures of the “cryptomancer” with offers of reward? She glanced around. Nobody else was in sight.
“Pardon, ma’am,” the Turgonian said again, “but are you the admiral’s Kyattese woman? He said she was tall. And smart. And you look like both.”
She looked smart? None of her family members or colleagues would say that, at least if recent events were anything to go by. Of course, spectacles seemed to be rare amongst Turgonians, so maybe that fit their definition of “smart.” At least this fellow sounded more like an ally than an enemy.
“The admiral’s Kyattese woman?” Tikaya asked. “I guess that’s more or less accurate, though he’s somewhat… retired now.”
“I know,” the man groaned. “He didn’t explain it all, but I can’t believe it. I thought, er, we all thought that he was dead. To know that he’s here and alive, and—” the man’s face, one she’d been thinking of as grim and fierce a moment before, split into a broad grin, “—he talked to me! He asked about what ship I’d served on in the war, and he knew all about the action we’d seen and even about the way Captain Levk used to sing when he was deep in his cups.” The grin turned into a fond chuckle before the man seemed to remember Tikaya was standing there. “Oh, do you know where he went? These are for him.” He hefted his totes, and equipment clanked, everything from saws and hammers to metalworking tools. “And don’t tell that shifty bloke who’s following him around, but my boss at the steelworks said he could come by anytime to use our Bragov Converter. My boss used to be a marine too, you know.”
“I… am sure Rias will appreciate your support,” Tikaya said, mildly stunned by the deluge of information. It didn’t surprise her that Rias was already attempting to make allies and gather resources, but she hadn’t realized it’d be feasible. It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be Turgonian expatriates living on the island who held useful positions. “What was your name, sir?”
“Oh, Milvet.” He thumped his fist to his chest and gave a bow that surprised her with its depth. She wasn’t certain of the exact nuances but knew the degrees of torso inclination were adjusted based on the rank, military or warrior-caste, of the person receiving the bow. She had a feeling she’d been granted a lot of status on Rias’s behalf. Didn’t this Milvet care that Rias had disobeyed orders and was in exile? Or maybe he didn’t know exactly. “Real good to meet you, ma’am. Do you know if I should leave this in his room or is he around?”
“I believe he’s in one of the shipyards at the quay.”
“Already setting to work, eh?” Milvet winked.
“Uhm, I suppose so.”
Was Rias truly going to start building his submarine right under Yosis’s nose? Surely not. That’d be asking for trouble, assuming the government even let him get started. Besides, he’d need a lot of good Turgonian steel to craft the hull, and that wouldn’t be in large supply. This steelworks Milvet had mentioned was probably the only one in Kyatt and surely only worked with scrap metal rather than fresh ore. The volcanic islands didn’t provide anything like that.
“I’m heading down there now,” Tikaya said. “Do you want me to take those bags to him?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask a lady to carry my dirty tools. I’ll go with you, ma’am.”
Tikaya doubted it would be in her best interest to be seen wandering around with Turgonians, but she didn’t see how she could turn down the earnest fellow. She certainly didn’t want to dissuade anyone from becoming an ally to Rias; he’d have precious few of them here.
“Right,” Tikaya said. “This way, then.”
As they wound through the streets toward the waterfront, Milvet handled all of the talking, or perhaps one might call it burbling as he extolled Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s virtues and spoke of all the times his own ship had been in the vicinity of the admiral’s flagship. They’d reached the quay, and Tikaya was searching the signs for mention of a Shipyard 4, so she almost missed it when Milvet asked a question.
“Do you think he’ll be coming back to Turgonia?”
“Huh?” Tikaya asked.
“Both of you, that is.”
“Ah, I don’t know what he told you,” Tikaya said, not wanting to trample on whatever story Rias had given the young man, “but you do know that he’s…?”
“In exile? Oh, sure, he told me that. And made me promise not to tell the world that he’s alive if I travel back to the empire, but he’s going to want to come home eventually, won’t he? The emperor’s powerful, sure, but if the admiral showed up in the capital, he’d have legions of people who would stand at his back and make it right clear that it’d be in the emperor’s best interest to give him his lands and title back, if you see what I’m saying.” Milvet offered a sly comradely smile, as if he were ready to sign up for one of those legions right then.
“We’ll… have to wait and see what the future holds.” Tikaya wondered if this young man was naive or if Rias truly could raise an army, one that could be used to coerce the emperor into rethinking the exile declaration. If it were a possibility… Well, it was sobering to think that Rias mi
ght be choosing Kyatt, where her people only wished to torment him, over returning home. “He said something about being more interested in helping the world than the empire the last we spoke of it,” she said as they passed the last of the three shipyards she was familiar with and entered a tangled snarl of old wooden docks jutting out into the harbor. Where was Shipyard 4?
Milvet trekked happily along at her side, muscles bulging as he carried the gear. If the long walk with his arms weighed down tired him, he gave no indication of it. If anything, he looked tickled to have this opportunity to work for Rias.
“What’s the dock number?” he asked.
“We’re looking for Shipyard Four,” Tikaya said.
“That’s the little one down at the end.” Milvet waved toward the end of the quay where a dilapidated block-and-tackle hoist system straddled an empty bay. “It’s the original one for the island, isn’t it?”
Tikaya squinted in the direction he was pointing. Compared to the private and public shipyards they’d passed, each capable of housing multiple vessels in various stages of completion, the spot ahead appeared to be little more than another dock. As they drew closer, she could see that the channel was enclosed with a gate at the end, but everything from the hoist system to the dock itself looked like something suitable for the maritime museum rather than actual use. It didn’t even have a sign, just a crooked, sun-faded “4” carved into a weathered post at the head of the channel.
“Is this privately owned?” Tikaya asked. Strange perhaps to ask a foreigner, but Milvet seemed more familiar with the docks than she. Her own work hadn’t brought her down here often.
“Think so,” Milvet said. “I know the Dukovics control some of the old docks down here.”
“That’s a Turgonian name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. After the war, my people weren’t real welcome here, even those who’d made homes here long before the fighting started, and suddenly they weren’t allowed to dock their ships. Someone talked a native into buying a block on the quay and signing a contract to rent the berths out to Turgonians.”
Tikaya hadn’t realized there were that many Turgonians on the islands.
“I wonder if that’s the ship the admiral mentioned.” Milvet waved to the dock next to the tiny shipyard.
The only “ship” Tikaya saw was a giant pile of junk hunkering against the waves. Twisted metal arms and cranes rose from the deck of the old tug. At least it had been a tug once. Now, the entire deck was canted with water lapping over one end, and the vessel appeared about as seaworthy as a boulder. Rust coated the monstrosity like powdered sugar on a rum cake, except without any of the appeal.
“Are you sure that’s… a ship?” Tikaya asked.
Milvet set his bag down, scratched his jaw, and said, “I might have been more flattering than I intended in using that word, ma’am.”
Tikaya would have turned around, certain she’d decoded Rias’s message incorrectly, but she spotted Yosis sitting in a deck chair next to a gangplank—a knotty old board—leading onto the dilapidated tug. Head back, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, he appeared to be sleeping. The hem of his white robes flapped in the breeze, revealing hairier legs than she cared to see. Yosis didn’t stir to adjust his robes. Maybe Rias had worn him out with all his traipsing about the night before.
“After you, ma’am.” Milvet nodded.
The man didn’t look anything like Agarik, but his polite ma’ams were starting to remind Tikaya of him. For all that Turgonians might be warlike brutes, imperial mothers did seem to raise their boys to be polite, most of them anyway. She thought less fondly of Sergeant Ottotark and Captain Bocrest, though even Bocrest’s crustiness had seemed less harsh in the end.
“Thank you,” Tikaya said and walked up the dock.
She was close enough to shove Yosis’s chair into the water—and she contemplated what punishment she might receive should she do just that—before he snapped his mouth shut and opened his eyes. The withering look he gave her made her wonder if he was a telepath.
“Good afternoon,” Tikaya said, smiling to wipe any vestiges of a guilty expression from her face. “I’ve come to see Rias.”
“You should not be allowed to collude with him. I’ve sent my first day’s notes off and made my recommendations. I’ll hear back shortly.”
From whom, she wondered? The police? Or was he answering to another institution? “I can’t wait to hear the results,” Tikaya said, though his words roused concern. They couldn’t truly keep her from seeing Rias, could they? She was a free citizen. And he was… They hadn’t decided yet apparently.
“I doubt that,” Yosis grumbled.
Clanks came from the bowels of the half-sunken vessel. A moment later, a hatch clanged open, and Rias’s head poked out. All manner of rust flakes, dust, and cobwebs cloaked his hair, and a large smudge of grease adorned his cheek. Though Yosis had cast new worries into her mind, Tikaya couldn’t help but smile at this sight.
He smiled, too, when he saw her, pulled himself onto the tilted deck, and crossed the gangplank in a single long stride. Elloil’s handiwork was evident in his new attire, a sleeveless yellow shirt that wrapped across his torso, leaving a large open V below his throat, and vibrant green plaid clam diggers. She dearly hoped the garb represented an attempt to appear innocuous and didn’t reflect his true color preferences. If it did, she might have to return him to the Turgonian marines, just to get him back into a uniform. Though, she had to admit that as vile as she found the colors, they didn’t look bad on his olive skin, and the sleeveless shirt revealed a lot that was—she swallowed—worth revealing.
When he reached her, he swept her into a warm hug, though, after a quick glance at Yosis, gave her only a chaste kiss. The depth of Rias’s smile and an eager I-have-news light in his eyes suggested she may not have gotten much more anyway.
“Milvet, thank you for bringing the tools. That’s far more than I hoped for.” Rias gripped the Turgonian’s arm with one hand while keeping Tikaya close with the other.
“It was an honor and my duty, my lord,” Milvet said.
“Rias, please.”
“Yes, my lord. Er, sir. Uhm, Rias.” Milvet shrugged sheepishly.
Yosis had not risen from his chair, but he observed the exchange with narrowed eyes.
“Look what I won,” Rias said to Tikaya and stretched an arm toward the vessel.
“You won it?”
“In a game called Cockroach, a board game that pits two people against each other. You can choose to be either the plantation owner defending his crops or the insect army attempting to decimate the fields.” He grinned again. “Who would have thought I’d find military strategy games on the Kyatt Islands?”
“Military strategy?” Tikaya asked, bemused. Cockroach was a game children played, and it surprised her to learn there was a gambling-hall version.
“Of course. As the plantation owner, I had to deploy my troops and use my resources to stave off the invading insect armies.”
“Troops? Do you mean the… family members?” Tikaya asked, thinking of the freckled blond boy, girl, and spouse board pieces.
“Yes. Once I learned the rules—and that laying a trap in one’s own silo to blow up the captured invaders isn’t acceptable—winning was a simple matter.”
“Did you say… blowing up the silo?”
“An undesirable tactic since preserving one’s assets is preferable, but sometimes a small sacrifice is worth making if it facilitates the winning of the war.”
“How do you blow up a silo, my lo—Rias?” Milvet asked.
Rias winked. “Spontaneous combustion. That’s usually accidental, but one can certainly hasten it along by providing oxidation through moisture and air. Bacterial fermentation also works. The rules in Cockroach, however, do not appear to allow for such creativity.”
“Yes,” Tikaya said, “we don’t like to encourage our children to go around blowing things up.”
“A shame. Such skills can prov
e useful in life.”
“Turgonian life,” Yosis muttered. He produced his notepad and scribbled a few lines.
Rias only grinned, and Tikaya wondered if he might be deliberately provoking the professor.
“I better get ready for work,” Milvet said. “Though there’s not much going on there during the nightshift.” He didn’t say it to anyone in particular, though he widened his eyes slightly, and Tikaya assumed that was an invitation for Rias to come and do… whatever it was he intended to do.
Rias gave him a comradely wave, then offered his hand to Tikaya. Perhaps out of habit, Milvet saluted Rias before striding off. Yosis made a note.
“Do you truly think he’d be so obvious about all of this if he were planning something inimical?” Tikaya snapped at the professor.
“Perhaps,” Yosis said, without bothering to look up from his notepad, “it is by being obvious that he seeks to lull us into a false sense of safety.”
Tikaya opened her mouth, another retort on her lips, but Rias tugged her gently toward the gangplank. “Come see my prize.”
She took a deep breath and followed him. If Yosis didn’t bother Rias, she shouldn’t let him bother her. Still, she couldn’t help but grit her teeth when the professor followed them onto the old tug.
The rusty deck creaked ominously when they stepped onto it. Tikaya could scarcely identify the warped cranes and other lifting apparatuses. Aside from the rust bejeweling the hull, a slimy green coat covered much of the deck, and she had to walk carefully lest she slip more often than usual.
“Are you sure you won this?” Tikaya asked. “Maybe the other fellow pretended to lose so he’d no longer be responsible for the moorage fees.”
Rias lifted his chin. “I’d know if someone sandbagged in a strategy game. The fellow had already lost his coin in previous rounds, and this was all he had left with which to gamble. Normally, I don’t partake in such ventures, and I did feel underhanded in acquiring his belongings, but I have few resources myself these days and must think of our goals. Given how expensive it is to purchase metal here on the islands, I estimate the scrap here to be worth nearly forty thousand ranmyas.”
Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series) Page 46