by Jon Skovron
I invite you to come directly and with all due haste to Sunset Point on the north-west peninsula of Stonepeak, where the empress spends the majority of her time. Events are unfolding which concern all of us, and time is of the essence. I would also ask that you bring as many of what Red would call “true wags” on your ship as you can fit. I will explain the reason for this when you arrive, but know that it will benefit both of us greatly. Also bring guns. Lots of guns.
If this is agreeable to you, please indicate as much to the person bearing this message, as well as an approximate date for your arrival at Sunset Point.
Most sincerely,
Lady Merivale Hempist
Merivale looked over the letter, rereading it several times. So much for her reluctance to align herself with ganglords. She would have to smooth it over with the empress, especially if she was right about what the Black Rose wanted in exchange for her services. But this was not a time to shy away from bold measures.
A swift messenger on a fast ship could reach Paradise Circle in a few days, but Merivale had no idea how long it would take the Black Rose to marshal a small force and sail up to Stonepeak. A week? Two? Entirely too close to Ammon Set’s timetable for her liking. Still, there wasn’t much to be done about that.
She sealed the letter, then rang the small bell on her desk.
Hume appeared in the doorway. “My lady?”
“See that this gets to Paradise Circle and directly into the hands of the Black Rose as quickly as possible. The messenger will need to return immediately with a reply.”
“I will enlist our most reliable courier, my lady,” said Hume as he gravely took the envelope. He looked at it, then back at her. “Is that the only message to deliver?”
Hume had heard the entirety of Ammon Set’s plans along with her. She knew what he was asking. Really, it was quite lovely the way that Hume had taken to the former Lord Pastinas. His concern was touching.
“I’m afraid Red didn’t indicate any way to reach him once he arrived on Vance Post,” she told him. “I’m not sure a warning would do much good, anyway. I fear that what’s heading toward Vance Post is beyond even his abilities. At this point, I don’t think we can count on him, or his promised reinforcements, being any help in the coming conflict, even if they somehow survive.”
18
The Painted Caves of Pauper’s Prayer were said to be one of the great wonders of the empire. The island itself wasn’t much to look at. A squat, mountainous lump dotted with scrawny trees and brush. It was only when you entered the bay on the southern side of the island and saw the entrance to the caverns that you began to realize that what you were seeing was only the outer shell of the true island.
Entoch the Hermit was the lone inhabitant of Pauper’s Prayer. Bream didn’t know a great deal about where Entoch had come from, other than that he was of noble birth and he’d studied art at the imperial academy. Many thought he was insane. Bream felt there was some truth to that, although not as much as people claimed. Most folks couldn’t understand why someone would choose to live out their life in seclusion, all alone. But Bream had dealt with enough awful people in the world that he could see how the idea might hold some appeal.
Bream had come to the island for the first time some five years earlier. He was a merchant, and it had been a slow summer. On a lark, he decided to bring the wife and kids aboard his fastest ship and treat them to a trip to the famed Painted Caves. It wasn’t an easy voyage. The waters in that part of the empire where the currents of the Dark and Dawn Seas clashed were unpredictable, raked by sudden storms or suffused with inexplicable calms, depending on the time of year. If Bream was being honest, he hadn’t had much interest in seeing the caves himself. But he had figured, correctly, that the beauty of it would set his wife and kids in a good mood for months to come. What he hadn’t figured on was stumbling across the most lucrative trading pact of his life while he was there.
Even someone like Bream had been awed by the caverns the first time he saw them. As his helmsman steered their ship through the narrow bay, he and his family had stood at the bow and watched the massive cave entrance draw near. It was big enough to allow their sloop to enter, mast and all. It would have been difficult to get it back out again, though, so instead they anchored just outside the entrance.
Bream had rowed his family the rest of the way in the jolly boat through the entrance to the rocky, interior shore. Most of his men stayed behind to watch the entrance. There were rumors that pirates sometimes used the caves as a hideout, and Bream was taking no chances with the fastest ship in his humble little merchant fleet. He also wasn’t taking chances with his family’s lives, or his own, so along with his wife, son, and daughter, he brought his first mate, Bilge Joe, and enough rifles for all of them. Just in case they stumbled across pirates during their explorations.
But they quickly forgot about rifles once they were in the caverns. It wasn’t dark, like he’d thought. In fact, some rooms were so bright that he had to squint. Many of the walls were covered in giant slabs of crystal, which amplified even the tiniest bit of light that snuck in from cracks in the cave ceiling. Most of the crystal was colorless, but here and there were outcroppings of red, blue, green, and even the occasional purple. That, of course, was where the name Painted Caves came from. In some rooms, it was a dazzling display of brilliant, ever-changing color more wondrous than the temple on Stonepeak.
Bream and his family wandered the caverns aimlessly for hours until they turned a sharp corner and were surprised to find a man in a ragged robe sitting in a small emerald-colored cave. His back was to them, and he appeared to be working intently on a painting.
“Hello there, good sir!” Bream called good-naturedly, which sent the artist into a near panic. When Bream finally calmed the man down, he learned that his name was Entoch, and that he’d come the year before to escape the world and only make art.
“I thought I’d have enough paint and canvas for several years at least,” Entoch said, his eyes sparkling ruefully from his thick beard and long hair. “But this place is so drownedly beautiful, I haven’t been able to pace myself. I’m already down to but a few canvases, and half the colors in my palette.”
“I’m sure you’re ready to get back to civilization, anyway,” said Bream.
Entoch shook his shaggy head. “I would give anything to be able to just stay here and paint for the rest of my life.”
Bream looked at the small painting on his easel. He was no art critic, but it seemed impressively done, somehow managing not only to capture the colors, but the light as well, as perfect as if he were looking at the thing itself.
“You must have a lot of paintings by now,” Bream said. “Are the rest this good?”
Entoch jumped eagerly to his feet. “Come! I’ll show you!” Then he hurried down a small passageway.
Bream and his family followed after the strange artist, and soon they came to a large room that was only dimly lit. Paintings were stacked all along the walls. Some were realistic renderings of the caverns, like he’d seen in the emerald room. Others had people or animals in them.
“A lot of other people come here?” he asked, pointing to a painting of a rose-colored room he’d passed earlier. A family appeared to be having a picnic by the small pool of water in the center of the room.
“None,” Entoch said. “That’s why you surprised me.” He nodded to the painting. “That was a dream I had. I suppose even I get lonely now and then, but then I dream of some people, and paint them, and I don’t feel lonely for a while.”
Bream’s eyes were next drawn to a dramatic painting of a room filled with reds, blues, and purples. It appeared to be two men in a sword fight. “What about this one?”
“Ah! That one is from history!” Entoch said. “I stumbled across the room where Dire Bane made his last stand against Hurlo the Cunning. It was like I could almost see them both there, so I had to paint it.”
Bream picked it up and examined it more carefully in th
e dim light. Dire Bane loomed over the lean, black-clad Vinchen, but he looked gray and weary—a jarring sight among the rainbow colors that surrounded him.
“It’s good,” he told Entoch. “I bet I could sell these back on Stonepeak for you.”
“Money has no interest for me.”
“Ah, but it interests me a great deal. I could sell these, and use the money to buy you more paints and supplies, minus, of course, my commission and expenses incurred in bringing the supplies to you.”
Entoch’s eyes lit up then. “You mean, I could stay here and you would come and go, bringing me paints and canvases at regular intervals?”
“As long as you keep providing me with art to make it worth my while, we can do this as long as you like,” Bream said.
Entoch grinned wide, showing surprisingly white teeth in his dense beard. “I accept your kind offer!”
Bream had known the paintings would sell. But he’d underestimated how well. Entoch’s work became some of the most sought-after art in Stonepeak. He’d asked Entoch if he wanted a cut of the profit. After all, there was only so many paints and canvases a man could buy, and Bream prided himself on being an honest merchant that his children could look up to. But Entoch had politely declined. And so over the last five years, Bream had slowly amassed a fortune. Other merchants had tried to cut in on his business and buy paintings from Entoch, but the hermit always refused. They didn’t understand how to talk to him. They didn’t understand that for a man like Entoch, it was all about the art. While Bream didn’t understand art, he had a broad mind and a willingness to grasp viewpoints that had nothing to do with his own. It was odd to think that such a quality was ultimately responsible for his becoming the most successful art dealer in the empire.
Bream arrived on Pauper’s Pray at his usual interval. Along with the paints and canvases, he brought a bottle of whiskey. Not for Entoch, who seemed content to live on nothing but rainwater, lichen, and fish. But over the five years he’d been working with Entoch, Bream had gotten into the habit of spending one night in the caves with him whenever he visited. The hermit’s conversation topics were often bizarre, but Bream found that a strong dose of whiskey made them quite enjoyable.
That night, the two men lay on soft beds of moss Entoch had been patiently cultivating as sleeping mats in the room where the paintings were stored. A tiny sliver of moonlight slipped in through a crack in the ceiling to illuminate the newest painting, still drying on the easel.
“One of your dream paintings?” Bream pointed his bottle at the canvas, then took a sip.
Entoch smiled his usual, serene smile and shook his head. “No, that’s something I actually saw the other day.”
Bream choked on his whiskey, coughing for several moments before he could wheeze out, “What?”
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Entoch said dreamily.
Bream crawled on hands and knees over to the painting so he could get a better look. Instead of an interior, this was a painting of the coast as seen from the entrance of the caverns. The rocky shore of the bay stretched out on either side, with the wide-open sea in the distance. And rising from the sea was something so big, at first glance, it looked like a new islet had suddenly formed. But it wasn’t a land mass. It was a massive, bulbous head half submerged in the sea. Just above the water level, a dark orange orb housing a thin black rectangle glared balefully out of the painting. Behind it, a few thick trunks that looked very likely to be giant tentacles rose from the water.
“Is that … a kraken?” asked Bream.
“I don’t know what else it could be,” said Entoch. “I’m so lucky to have caught a glimpse of it.”
Bream shivered. “Wherever it’s heading … those people are definitely not lucky.”
PART THREE
In the end, I see now that my gravest mistake was in thinking that I must carry the burden on my own. But progress is never borne on the shoulders of one person. Instead it happens when many people come together with a unity of purpose.
Unfortunately, I cannot imagine a situation so dire that it would unite the people of this fractured empire. What a glorious and terrible day that would be …
—from the private journal of Hurlo the Cunning
19
Hope had never thought a great deal about kissing before she kissed Red. Perhaps her overriding obsession with revenge throughout her girlhood had squelched such romantic inclinations. Even when the idea had occurred to her, it always seemed so trivial as to be hardly worth pursuing.
Yet now that she’d done it, she thought about kissing Red quite a lot. His firm, soft lips, the way that his hands had gripped her, the heat and closeness of him … if she let herself linger on the memories too long, she began to feel a little light-headed. It left her with a vague, gnawing hunger for more of him. Almost like a physical need.
But it seemed unlikely such a longing would be fulfilled now. He had clearly been hurt by her refusal to join his alliance with the empress. He wasn’t brooding, exactly, but his cheerfulness seemed forced, and there was now a wall just behind his eyes.
She understood that it was personal for him. He cared about these people deeply. That was no surprise, because he was an extremely caring person, despite his attempts to appear otherwise, and he had spent about as much time with this Lady Hempist and Prince Leston as Hope had spent with Brigga Lin and Alash. What Hope didn’t understand was why he ever thought she would join such an alliance in the first place. Did he know her so poorly? Or maybe it was that his own perspective had changed so much, it was hard for him to remember how he had once viewed the world. From the bottom up.
Well, one way or another, he had changed. Even more than she’d first thought. There was a focus to him that she’d never seen before, like he’d finally found a purpose to life other than chasing girls, winning games, and robbing the rich. And he didn’t try so hard to seem pat all the time. Hope found both of these new qualities admirable. Attractive, even. And yet somehow they also came with a newfound loyalty to the throne, something she could hardly even comprehend, much less relate to. But, maddeningly, that did not lessen the attraction.
She’d worried that he might leave after she turned down his request. It made a certain amount of sense. He’d been tasked with recruiting them. He had failed. He should return to his chief of spies and report back. The fact that he decided to stay was both a relief and a concern. On one hand, she didn’t know if she could bear to part with him again so soon. On the other hand, she worried that the reason he had decided to stay was because he believed there was still a chance he could convince her to join the empire.
As she sat in the lobby of the Broadside Inn, she glanced over to Red as he played a game of stones with Jilly at a nearby table. She’d never seen this nurturing side of him before either. She was grateful he was finally allowing her to see these depths to his personality. And yet …
She sighed. This push-pull of longing and distrust was expending far too much energy. She just didn’t know how to stop.
She looked down at the folded sheet of paper that had been delivered that morning. It was written in a careful, yet still somehow messy script:
Dear Hope,
You mentioned that you would like to speak with Racklock when he had recovered enough to receive visitors. Although he is still in a great deal of pain, and will likely not be moving around for a while, I believe he is coherent enough to speak with you. I expect we will not stay on Vance Post much longer, so if you still wish to talk to him, I suggest you come as quickly as is convenient for you.
—Stephan
Hope folded the letter and put it in one of the deep pockets of her robe. Then she walked over to where Red and Jilly were playing stones.
“Where is everyone else?” she asked.
“Alash and Vaderton are working on the boat,” said Jilly. “Brigga Lin is in our room, trying to teach Uter how to meditate or something.”
“Go ask Brigga Lin to come down,” said Hope. “And then
I need you to look after Uter while we’re gone.”
“Me?” Jilly looked crestfallen. “I want to come with you!”
“We’re going to pay a visit to the Vinchen. Things will be tense enough without someone like Uter around. So I need you to keep him here.” She gave her a teasing smile. “Besides, he thinks of you as the big sister he never had.”
She groaned. “The little brother I never wanted.”
“Go,” she told her.
“Yes, teacher.” She rose from the table, and hurried up the stairs.
Hope stood there, and Red sat at the table fiddling with the numbered stones. It was these awkward silences that she hated most.
“Do you want me along?” he asked finally.
She looked at him. “I always want you along.”
Sleeth Harbor Hotel, where the Vinchen were staying, was not what Hope had expected. It appeared to be the most opulent lodgings in all of Vance Post. It was six stories high and took most of the city block, with more columns, trellises, and balconies than many of the manor houses she had seen in Hollow Falls. It looked like the sort of place rich merchants went to be treated like nobility.
Hope stopped and stared at the building for a moment.
“Aren’t Vinchen supposed to be ascetics?” murmured Red.
“Yes,” said Hope.
“Do I … misunderstand the meaning of that word?”
“No. You don’t.” She shook her head in disgust. “I suppose there’s no point in standing out here. Let’s go in.”
The interior was even more luxurious than the exterior. The fine furniture, crystal chandeliers, and lush tapestries rivaled the Hotel Sunset, where Thoriston and his wife had stayed in Silverback.
“Why didn’t we stay here?” asked Brigga Lin.
Hope gave her a disapproving look.
“What?” Brigga Lin asked innocently. “The Vinchen may take vows of poverty and celibacy, but trust me, biomancers do not.”