by Will Wight
Calder’s heart flared up with rage, and he thumbed back the hammer of his weapon. “Why don’t you turn back around, Naberius? Look over the side. Trust me.”
A dark hand rested on Calder’s arm, and he turned to see Andel standing there in his white suit. “Not the time, Captain.”
As always, Andel was the voice of reason. But that didn’t fit—Andel Petronus was the eternal voice of mercy, the defender of innocents. Calder usually had to talk him out of avenging the helpless.
“Even you, Andel?”
The Quartermaster’s grip tightened on his arm, and Calder finally lowered his pistol.
“You should listen because it’s coming from me, sir,” Andel said forcefully. “We need to get out of here.”
Calder took a deep breath and shoved his emotions down deep. Everything he still felt—his fear, his relief at being alive, his sickness at failing to capture Shera again, his grief. He stuffed it down, forcing his mind back to the job.
The Children were quiet for now, but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend a second longer on the island than he had to.
“Ten thousand goldmarks,” he said to Naberius, his voice cold.
That Elder-spawned worm smiled. “Lead the way, Captain.”
~~~
By the time they reached The Testament, there wasn’t a single Elderspawn in sight. Calder could sense the Lyathatan drifting beneath the island, dreaming incomprehensible dreams. He had already issued orders to have the hold emptied to fit all the Watchmen aboard. They would go hungry for a few days, and they would be forced to rely on the nearest island for resupply, but at least no one would be here waiting for the Children to return.
He was overseeing the removal of a case of dried fish when his mother walked up to him, holding out a hand.
“Spyglass,” she said.
Without a word, he pulled his spyglass out of his coat and handed it to her.
She raised the glass to her eye. After a moment she let out a breath of relief, and her arms dropped limply to her sides. “Light and life, they’re early. Bless them. Looks like you get your ship back after all.”
He took the spyglass from her and took a look at the horizon himself. After a moment of searching he saw what she had: a ship approaching from the west. And not just any ship. A ship sailing on a wake of fire, with blazing red sails.
The Eternal. The ship of Cheska Bennett, Guild Head of the Navigators.
“You said you were forced to work with Cheska. I didn’t know you meant this closely.”
“How do you think we got out here in the first place?” Alsa turned to a pair of Watchmen who had just added a cask to the growing pile of cargo on the beach. “Change of plans, gentlemen. Get it all back on the ship.”
The two Blackwatch members didn’t say anything, but Calder sensed sudden despair radiating from them as they eyed the pile of crates and barrels.
Urzaia marched up to Calder, his eye on the horizon as though he could see The Eternal approaching with his naked eyes. He hadn’t said a word since his fight with the Consultants, and his face was uncharacteristically grim.
“I have failed you again, Captain.”
Calder turned to him, surprised. “Urzaia, if not for you, I would be dead. Maybe all of us. You have nothing to apologize for.”
The big man shook his head, his fists clenched. “I heard her. They have killed Jyrine, and I could not avenge her.”
“That’s not your responsibility, Urzaia.” Calder wondered if it was anyone’s responsibility. Jerri had kept her own secrets, made her own choices. If they’d landed her in an execution on the Gray Island, that wasn’t his fault.
But worry burned in his gut as though he’d swallowed coals.
“Captain, I do not mean to argue, but that isn’t true. I am only strong, and I could not save her. If I can’t avenge her, then what can I do?”
He heard the despair in the other man’s voice, a depth of grief comparable to his own. Urzaia had spent years with Jerri. He must see the protection of the crew, the whole crew, as his responsibility. How must it hurt to feel like you’d failed everyone under your charge?
On second thought, Calder realized he knew exactly what that felt like.
Urzaia took a deep breath, starting again. “Good thing I will have another chance.”
Calder hated to destroy the man’s hopes, but he had to be honest. “They have what they wanted. We won’t see her again.”
“I must correct you. I have tasted the blood of the yellow-haired woman.” He drew in another deep breath through his nose, like a bloodhound tasting a scent. “I can follow her as far as she runs.”
A moment ago Calder had been thinking about giving up the chase.
But that was when he’d thought it was impossible.
Hope kindled in his chest, and he took a step closer to the Soulbound. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure of nothing. But yes, I can find her.”
Suddenly delighted, Calder clapped the man on the back. “What can’t you do, Urzaia?”
“I only have a few gifts, but I use them well.” He gave Calder a wide, gap-toothed smile. “Do not worry, Captain. She can’t hide from me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An axe used to split wood for years, for instance, will naturally become invested with a measurable amount of Intent. It will excel at splitting wood.
Now, if a Reader decides to Awaken this particular axe, the tool itself will yearn to split wood. It gains a rudimentary consciousness related to its task. Most importantly, it can use its own store of Intent to accomplish its goal. An Awakened object will no longer gain new Intent, but it will become able to use whatever it has already collected.
This is a critical, even disturbing, point.
Readers often spend months or years studying an object to be Awakened. If you do not understand an object’s Intent, you don’t understand its goals. If you do not understand its goals, you will not understand its eventual powers.
-Artur Belfry, Imperial Witness
Taken from a letter to his pupil, Calder Marten (fourteen years of age)
Eleven years ago
Over the next few months, Calder and Jerri gathered the information they would need to break into Candle Bay Imperial Prison, retrieve Rojric Marten, and leave. Preferably without getting caught.
They perused textbooks, searched local records for partial blueprints, and even sat outside the prison for hours, watching to see if they could catch a glimpse of Rojric in the window.
But more than anything else, they plumbed their instructors for information. As subtly as they could.
On the way to work one day, sitting opposite his mother in their carriage, Calder held up his Blackwatch badge to the light. “What sort of authority do we have, as Watchmen?”
Alsa looked up in alarm. “Don’t arrest anyone! You can’t hold anyone under arrest, except during a Guild-sanctioned Blackwatch assignment, or in certain emergencies.”
Calder glanced away from the badge. “Why would you assume that I wanted to arrest someone?”
“It’s really not so uncommon as you’d think,” she said. “Someone always tries it.”
He squinted at her, trying to read her expression. “Did you try it?”
Spots of color appeared in her cheeks, but her smile was fond. “On your father.”
Calder promised himself that he would get the full story from her another time. “I don’t want to arrest anyone. Not at the moment. I’m just wondering what we can do.”
She sighed. “A natural question. You must remember that the Blackwatch are never held in the highest public opinion, so the people will resist you, fear you, and even work against you if they get the chance.”
Calder had already begun to notice that. He tried to refrain from wearing his badge and black coat until he actually arrived on The Testament’s work site, to avoid the frightened looks and dark comments.
“Technically, you can order any citizen to do anything if it relat
es to an Elder or Elder magic, or if Elderspawn have been spotted in the area. Anything legal,” she amended. “You can even call on Imperial troops or other low-ranking Guild members to assist you in your duties, and they are bound by the Emperor’s decree to comply to the best of their ability.”
That sounded promising. He could simply order the staff of Candle Bay to release his father, claiming that he was suspected of Elder corruption. If they argued, he could threaten them with the involvement of Imperial troops. They would likely give him whatever he wanted.
The future was looking bright until she added, “Of course, you have to justify whatever you do to the Guild Head.”
Picturing Bliss’ blank expression, Calder froze.
“If you have her authorization to begin with, there’s no problem. But if you’re operating on your own, and she doesn’t approve, you’ll have to answer to her.”
Alsa leaned forward in the carriage, placing her hand on his knee, and looked into Calder’s eyes with absolute gravity. “Calder. You don’t want to answer to Bliss.”
“No, I do not,” he agreed.
He would have to come up with a different plan.
She leaned back, satisfied. Then she added, “And don’t arrest anyone.”
~~~
“Did you know my mother once worked in an Imperial Prison?” Jyrine mentioned idly, during a tutoring session.
Artur’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, is that so? Well, the journal of Estyr Six only mentions the prisons this once. If you’ll return your attention to the text, you’ll see—”
“Did Estyr help to establish the original prisons?” she interrupted.
“As I said, her journal only mentions them once, in passing.”
Calder decided to throw in his support. “But surely you have to know, right? She’s one of the heroes of the early Empire, she has to be mentioned in more than just her own journal.”
Artur glanced over at Vorus, who was scribbling something onto a loose piece of paper. “This is really my brother’s area of expertise more than mine.”
Vorus held up a sheet of paper. “Jorin designed,” it read. “Estyr enforced.”
Artur brightened. “Ah, of course! Thank you, Vorus. You see, the original Imperial Prison was built off the coast of Aurelia, on the land we now know as the Gray Island. It was a prototype designed and built by Jorin himself: Jorin the Curse-breaker, Jorin the Maze-walker. He gets less of a mention in history because he tended not to involve himself openly in battles, but many historians speculate that he was one of the Emperor’s original companions.”
Finally! An interesting story out of Imperial history.
“Does that have any relationship to Imperial prisons today?” Jerri asked, as Calder feverishly sketched notes.
“Very little, I would think. Jorin’s prototype is more the sort of thing you’d find in an adventure novel—spikes, false passages, alchemical traps, stone invested to trap intruders. I suspect it was more of a hobby to him than a serious architectural endeavor.”
Calder dropped his pen, disappointed, but Vorus had picked his back up. He held out another sheet of paper to his brother.
“That’s right, that’s right!” Artur exclaimed. “One of the most innovative bits of Reading in Imperial history, and I almost forgot to mention it. Jorin designed one device for the gates of his Gray Island labyrinth that is supposedly still in use today. Modern prisons all have an analogue, you see.”
Calder tried to keep the impatience from his voice. “And? What is it?”
In excitement, Artur pounded his massive fist on the table. Everything on the wooden surface jumped six inches in the air. “A way to detect Readers. Imagine it! There’s no difference medically in Readers and ordinary people, so there should be nothing to detect, but Jorin managed to pull it off nonetheless. I suppose he uses a structure that is particularly sensitive to unconscious Intent, but I can’t imagine how.”
“I don’t understand,” Jyrine said. “What good does that do? Surely they know if their prisoners are Readers or not.”
“Not the prisoners. Well, yes, the prisoners too. But the staff, and the visitors, and everyone who passes through a particular doorway. You can imagine the problems back then, of course. Any Reader who was taken prisoner could simply spend his days investing a tool, even something so simple as a stick, and then shatter the lock with a touch and stroll out. And a Reader who wanted to break someone else out would have only to disguise themselves as staff and have the run of the facility. This device prevents that, both in ancient prisons and today. A remarkable bit of engineering, really.”
Calder’s hopes fell, dashed against reality like those escaping prisoners against the rocks of Candle Bay. If they could tell he was a Reader, they’d be watching him from the second he walked in the door.
Artur continued, not noticing his student’s mood. “That brings us right around to Estyr Six. At the time, she was functioning as an interim Head of the Imperial Guard, so she made sure that the trap detecting Readers was keyed to a device in her possession. If she was alerted to a Reader trying to sneak out of—or into—an Imperial prison, she would send a squad of Imperial Guards to investigate. To this day, any prison in the Capital can requisition Imperial Guards to respond in case of an emergency.”
Calder almost groaned out loud.
By contrast, Jyrine looked delighted. She glanced at him and surreptitiously pointed to herself.
When Calder figured out what she meant, he shook his head.
She pointed to herself more firmly this time.
He shook his head harder.
~~~
Two hours later, Jyrine confronted him in the hall outside his room. “It has to be me,” she said, arms crossed.
“We don’t even know where this ‘detector’ is. It could be in the front door, or it could be in the warden’s quarters. Besides, I’ll be able to sense it before I run into it.”
“If a Reader could sense it, what good would it be?”
She made a good point.
“We just don’t know enough,” he said finally. “There’s a lot more we need to learn. It would be best if we could visit the prison and get a look for ourselves, but they’ve turned me away every time. If we snuck in at night—”
“If I snuck in,” she corrected. “Because you’d get caught by their magical sensor.”
It burned, but she was right. He’d have to rely on her to sneak in.
Not that he had to tell her yet.
“We’ll see,” he said at last.
“I’ll see plenty. Because I’ll be in the prison, while you’re outside waiting.” She uncrossed her arms, smiling proudly.
Calder grumbled and started to make his way downstairs. He was halfway down the staircase when his mother called his name.
She came around the corner carrying an envelope, resting on a tray and sealed with orange wax. “Post for you,” she said. By working alongside her on the docks, he had gotten to know her better, and he’d say that she sounded surprised.
Jyrine took the letter from the tray, glanced at it, and gasped.
Calder held out a hand, and she gave it over wordlessly.
Deliver To: Mr. Calder Marten and His Current Guardian
At the Residence of Ms. Alsa Grayweather
Sender: Candle Bay Imperial Prison and Reformative Facility
He tore the envelope open, taking the letter in his hands almost before he realized it. It was a single sheet of paper with remarkably brief contents.
Mr. Marten,
We are delighted to inform you that our resident, Mr. Rojric Marten, has recovered from his most recent medical procedure and is delighted to receive you. Please present yourself at the Candle Bay facility on the second day of next week, between the hours of three and four in the afternoon.
Cordially and professionally,
Ulrich Fletcher, Warden of Candle Bay
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Every time Calder saw Cheska Bennett, her hat got bigg
er.
This time it was a dark blue two-cornered hat two feet tall and wide enough to serve as a lifeboat. She wore a jacket and pants to match, both blue and trimmed in gold. Everything was trimmed in gold, in fact: her boots, the buttons on her shirt, the sheath that hung at her hilt. She even wore golden ornaments in her long, Izyrian red hair.
Which was combed. And styled.
“Cheska,” Calder said, by way of greeting. “Did I miss my invitation to the ball?”
She swept him an elegant curtsy, pulling out imaginary skirts. “Captain Marten, welcome to my ship.” She spoiled the manners by grinning. “I know I look good, you don’t have to say it.”
“I’m still trying to get over the shock of seeing you clean. What’s the occasion?”
She tipped her hat to one side to scratch her head. “Naberius should have told you. It’s an emergency meeting of the powers that be.”
It seemed Calder should have pressed the Chronicler for more information. “The who?”
“His sponsors, he’d say. We were planning on meeting up with you after you nabbed the Heart, but we got word that there was some trouble. I didn’t want to miss anything, so I ran on ahead.”
Calder glanced over the deck of The Eternal. It didn’t look like a vessel prepared for battle; if anything, it looked even more scrubbed and tailored than its captain. Like The Testament, it was an Awakened ship, so most of its deck was made of a single, seamless, fused piece of wood. But where Calder’s ship was tinged dark green, this wood was a burnt reddish orange, all the way up the mast to the bright red sails.
The two Navigator ships had sailed away from Nakothi’s island as soon as possible. The day afterward, when land was out of view, Cheska had called over for Calder to join her. The two ships now drifted a few dozen yards apart, the Watchmen on both vessels calling back and forth to one another.