She shuddered. “I will now. Order more if you’re still hungry. I’m paying.”
“We’ll split the check.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks. Please. Eat. You need to heal.”
“I’m fine.” Kai half-turned in her seat so Mara could see her back, and slid her shoulder out of the wide neck of her blouse to show the scars there. “See? All better.”
“People are looking.”
She laughed, but fixed her blouse, and brushed her hair back into place. Weeks and she still wasn’t used to its new shorter length.
“You still need the cane, though.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Kai finished her coffee.
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, but she had to say something. Even that didn’t break the silence.
“It’s good to see you,” Kai added at last. “I miss the old office. Harder to make friends with Twilling’s people. I don’t have much in common with them. They’re fine, just, you know, sales types. A locker-room culture. Reminds me of the shipyard.”
“How’s the work?”
“Weird. We memorize catechisms about pilgrims and prospects, wants and needs, expectation and return on investment. Endless training sessions where we trade off the roles of pilgrim and priest. I don’t think anyone has even mentioned faith, or rapture, or responsibility. Prayers, sacrifices, litanies, all the work we do up the mountain—it’s by-product to them.”
“Are you surprised? Pilgrims want security, anonymity, ROI. Worship is our job.”
“I didn’t mind that arrangement when I was the one worshipping. But I feel like I’m going crazy without something to believe in. I miss my idols; I miss my prayers. I miss building things.”
“You’ve been stuck in training for weeks. Once you’re out, the work will get interesting.”
“Let’s face it. I’m great in the pool, or behind an altar. I’m no good at interpersonal stuff.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
“You’re fine at interpersonal whatever. You just happen to be a bit of a jerk.”
Kai wadded up a napkin and threw it at her. Mara laughed, too loud for the room. A waiter glanced their way, and Mara covered her mouth and faked a cough.
“Maybe you’re thinking about this wrong,” she said. “None of what we do is possible without pilgrims. The sales stuff brings pilgrims here—for them, our theological work is a means to an end. In a way you’re more central to the business now than you ever were up top.” Mara raised her hand, and called for the check.
“We’ll test that soon enough. I have my first meeting with a pilgrim today.”
“On your own?”
“Twilling thinks I’m ready.” She nodded north, to Kavekana’ai. “How’s the Grimwald case? Once that’s over, Jace has one less excuse to keep me here in the outer darkness.”
The waiter brought the check. Kai reached for it, but Mara reached faster, and paid with a signature and a small heap of soul. “I don’t know, Kai.”
“Not good, then.”
“Not good. Their Craftswoman, Kevarian, she keeps digging for more information about Seven Alpha. Nothing’s enough. I don’t even know what she’s looking for. Our Craftsmen can’t stop her. I’ve gone in for three of those interrogation sessions now. Like needles driven into my brain. I tell her the whole story every time, but she doesn’t stop.” She folded her hands and looked out to the skyspires that hovered above the waves, miles distant. “You asked me, back on the balcony, if I’d ever heard a voice in the pool.”
A little electric chill feathered up Kai’s arms—a ghost’s unkind caress. “I did.”
“And I asked you if you had. And you never said.”
“I didn’t.” Mara waited. At last, Kai surrendered. “Fine. I heard something, I think, just before the idol died. Like a voice in my ear. ‘Howl, bound world.’ That’s it. I found the line later, in a poem, but I don’t know where it came from.”
“I’ve never heard those words before. Haven’t heard anything inside the pool.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I don’t know why Kevarian’s pressing me so hard; I thought it might be connected to your question, but…” She shrugged. “You’re sure of what you heard?”
“I passed out a minute later, and spent the next two weeks on about nine forms of opiate, and I’ve had this recurring dream about being strapped to a table, so: maybe?”
Mara laughed, and looked guilty after. “I miss you.”
Kai heard the silence between them. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mara said. “Nothing at all.” She looked down. “I’ve made partner. I thought you should know.”
Waves peaked into whitecaps. Sea breeze blew through the open window. Kai smelled salt and ozone: wards on the window burned away the scents of oil and dead fish. “That’s great,” she said when she found her voice. “That’s great. You deserve it.”
“I don’t. I mean, I didn’t expect it. A surprise. Jace told me three days ago.”
“At least I feel better about you picking up breakfast.” She forced a laugh. “You get a bigger office? Minions to do your work for you?”
“Maybe. They’re working on the details. The salary bump’s standard. Profit-sharing.”
“I wouldn’t share the prophets if I were you. You’ll need them to stay ahead of the market.” She tried to lighten her tone, and knew she was failing.
“That’s a horrible joke.”
“I know.”
Mara took Kai’s hand. Kai’s hand was larger, but the other woman’s fingers enclosed it like the wires of a cage. “It should have been you.”
Damn right. “You took Seven Alpha on the chin, and came out swinging. You deserve this.”
“You don’t need to say that. You’ve tried to save my job twice, and now you’re sent down here, square one, and I get the promotion.”
“I’m happy for you.” Too sharp. “They made the right decision.” Kai placed her free hand on the back of Mara’s, and squeezed. “Enjoy this. Don’t waste time worrying about me. I’ll take care of myself.”
“Can you?”
“I never should have told you that damn dream.”
“This all feels wrong,” Mara said. “I don’t know why.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Promise?”
She grinned. “Trust me.”
Mara leaned back in her chair, rested her front knuckle on her chin. She sat so still Kai thought she’d turned to stone. “Sure.” She stood, adjusted her jacket, and shouldered her purse. Together they walked out into the morning heat. Beyond the Flambeau’s wards, the dockside smell returned. Clouds crouched low in the southwest, windward. Storms this evening. Mara hugged her again before she left.
“Take care of yourself,” Kai said as they parted. Mara nodded, and turned, and walked briskly away. Kai watched her go, then walked in the opposite direction, though she should have taken the same road. She made it a block and a half before the anger building in her stomach seized control, and stopped her. She looked south, to the sea, and north, to the mountain looming overhead, and swore.
18
Kai took a stroll after breakfast to calm down, but the exercise didn’t help. She moved with a quick heavy step, hands stuffed deep in her pockets, eyes skyward. As a kid, she’d learned to watch the ground. Though her mother and their staff kept the docks clean, tools and ropes and loops of wire had a way of jutting out to catch unwary ankles. Looking into the open sky was dangerous.
After a half hour’s march anger had melted her thoughts from coherent sentences to puddles of emotion. Mara’s pity. Jace’s fear. Claude’s calm concern. She stomped past the shipyards, realized she’d gone too far, turned, and stomped past again in the other direction. She bought herself another coffee from a food cart. By the time she reached the Order’s office building, a glass-walled
tower in the Palm, caffeine buzzed through her blood and burned behind her eyeballs. Perfect attitude for work. Easier to solve problems when you could direct the full weight of your messed-up life against them.
She realized her mistake when she reached the conference room and found a human being waiting for her, rather than a set of theological enigmas.
Kai stopped at the door. The pilgrim was a curvy Quechal woman, five six or so, skin darker than Kai’s, hair short and curled. She wore a pinstriped suit and a bolo tie, and if she noticed Kai’s mood, she did not let on. She swept forward, beaming, hand extended straight and sure as a ship’s prow. A silver wire bracelet gleamed on her left wrist. “Miss Pohala? I’m Teo Batan. Thank you so much for taking this meeting.”
Kai took the woman’s hand by defensive reflex. Her grip was firm, her smile the kind of genuine only naifs or consummate professionals could manage. Kai suspected she was the latter. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Batan.”
“Call me Teo, please.”
“Kai,” she said, again by reflex. She ushered Teo to a chair, but the Quechal woman shook her head.
“Do you mind if I stand? I’ve spent the last three days shipboard in a cabin the size of a doghouse. Feels good to stretch the legs.” She rose onto her toes, settled back to her heels, and swept her arms through the air.
“Fine by me.” Kai walked around the table, so the wood lay between them at least. She opened the project folder and fanned through pages of information she’d memorized already. She looked across at Teo, who looked back. Once more Kai felt that foreign frission, the fear of being spotted. Old Quechal society had little room for people born in wrong-sexed bodies; they’d kicked out their priests and pantheon at the end of the God Wars, but ancient attitudes lingered. The subject wouldn’t come up, no reason for it, but the extra tickle of tension tightened Kai’s nerves, which needed no more tightening. She took a breath and tried to think about water, or anything else. The first step of a sale, Twilling taught, was identification, connecting with the prospect. She’d done that already, or Teo had. Needs assessment came next. “Why do you want to build an idol, Teo?”
“I don’t,” the other woman said.
Kai closed the folder. “I guess we’re done, then.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be flip, just honest. I represent a sort of Concern called the Two Serpents Group, and we’re debating whether to work with your Order. I’ve come to investigate, and advise my board.”
No wonder Twilling gave Kai this assignment. Scut work. “Long way to come for an informational interview.”
“Consider my three days of seasickness and muscle cramps a compliment to your Order’s reputation.”
“You didn’t have to come all this way. We could have met over nightmare telegraph.”
“I never liked nightmares. Not very personal. I mean, in a way they’re personal as you can get, direct mind-to-mind contact and all, but they’re not, you know, real. I’m an old-fashioned gal. I like to see people face-to-face. Get out of the office once in a while. Hence my presence here. I was in Alt Coulumb for a conference, which made this trip a natural addition. We’ve been debating this move for a year at least, usual analysis-paralysis dance. Good arguments on both sides, and whenever time comes to make a final decision, more pressing business presents itself.”
“What side are you on?”
“The against side,” she said. “I don’t like gods.”
“Our idols aren’t gods.”
“I don’t like anything that looks like a god. But I’m prepared to be convinced.” Teo leaned back against the windowsill, sun behind her. The light stung Kai’s eyes.
“You’re looking for a reason to reject us.”
Teo shook her head. “I have plenty of reasons. Give me more and I’ll take them, sure, but I’m looking for a reason to work with you.”
Kai crossed her arms. This was why she hated humanity. Idols were clear. Such and thus a rate of return. This contract, with that consideration. Humans hid their goals within a mess of flesh and lies. Teo could be telling the truth, or not, or saying things she thought were true but were in fact lies she’d sold herself. People cherished lies. Kai herself had believed she was in love for years.
Human beings. Liars all, and surprisingly it worked. She’d heard that the Badlands east of Dresediel Lex harbored tribes of scorpions grown large and sentient, which skittered, hunting, across the desert. She wondered if they were any easier to handle.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you could tell me something about your Concern.”
Teo nodded. “We’re … a little different than most you see through here.”
“Everyone says that.”
“I expect they do.” She laced her fingers. “We spend soulstuff. We don’t make it.”
“Good luck with that.”
“See what I mean?” Teo grinned on a slant, like Mara. She’d told this tale before, and met the same reaction often enough to find humor there. “We form peaceful, mutually beneficial agreements between gods and Deathless Kings.”
“Is that even possible? Gods and Deathless Kings don’t tend to see eye to eye.”
“The God Wars were a long time ago,” she said. “These days, gods and human Craftsmen have plenty of common interests, which lets us find win-win scenarios.”
“For example?”
“We do a lot of restoration,” Teo said. “Where the God Wars scarred the earth, when a Deathless King’s golem manufactory infests a mountain range with demons, we step in to solve the problem.”
“I’m surprised the Deathless Kings care about cleaning up after themselves.”
“You’d be surprised how interested a Deathless King—or Queen—can be in the environment if you frame the problem right. My business partner explains all this with a high-handed pitch, lots of appeal to human destiny and the future of”—she waved vaguely beside her ear—“whatever. For me, it’s simple: without people you have no power; without a planet you have no people. Deathless Kings need something to rule. We preserve the something.”
“And they pay you for that.”
“They back us. Cover expenses. Keep us inspired, though not as richly as I’d like. I came out of sales and contract management, commission-driven roles for the most part. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss that nice fat gob of enlightenment every quarter. But damn if this isn’t more fulfilling, day-to-day.”
“And you’ve been operating for?”
“About three years now. Founded four years ago, but it took us a while to get rolling. You know the drill. Paperwork, demons, more paperwork because of the demons.”
“You’ve mostly worked in Northern Kath, it says here.”
“So far. We’re looking to expand to the Old World, though. The Shining Empire first, natural since they’re closer to DL, but also Koschei’s kingdom and the Northern Gleb.” She paced the room, hands in pockets. A ship must have felt like death to this woman. She liked to move. “That leaves us in an odd position. Most of our board members are serious God Wars vets—Craftsmen. To say they don’t like gods puts it mildly. Operating on the ground in the Old World means sacrificing to local deities, and they want to avoid that. And please understand, when I say ’want to avoid’ I’m being professionally euphemistic, the actual terms our sponsors used were more…” She trailed off.
“Flowery?” Kai suggested.
“‘Bloody,’ I think, is more fitting.”
Okay. Needs assessed, offer a solution. “Well, Kavekana is well positioned to help with sacrifice planning. The maintenance fee for your idol supports priests up the mountain”— and she actually managed to say that without a self-pitying wince, not exactly a victory worthy of triumphant song but not bad, either—“who worship the idol in your stead. The same priests help construct and manage the idol’s investments, and ensure grace is dispensed where and when you need it.”
“That’s just what the pro-faction on the board says.”
“You’re not convinced.
”
“Well, here’s the thing. You know how I said I don’t like gods?”
“Sure.”
“My sponsors are worse. And when I say ‘worse’—”
“Another professional euphemism?”
“Basically. I’ve had a few bad experiences. Most of our sponsors, they have a history. The King in Red broke the Quechal gods on his altar, and killed the moon in single combat; Ilyana Rakesblight and the Blade Queen seared the sky over Kho Katang. You don’t even want to know the outline of half the stories I’ve heard about Belladonna Albrecht.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying my bosses want to be sure they aren’t supporting gods when they deposit their soulstuff here.”
Was that a lure to her anger, or an honest question? If this woman wanted to sabotage her board’s plans to build an idol on Kavekana, she would see a fight with Kai as a win. “Our idols are not gods, Ms. Batan.”
“You have priests, and altars, and prayers. What’s different?”
Kai closed her eyes, and breathed her anger away. Unfortunately, it was still there when she opened her eyes again. “Do you know anything about Kavekana’s history?”
“A bit, from the brochures.”
“Our gods rowed off to fight your sponsors in the Wars,” Kai said. “The greatest warriors and priests of the Archipelago went with them. They never came back. But people stayed, and kept faith. The priests of Kavekana took that faith and made new images, idols to watch over us with the gods gone. They weren’t alive, these idols, not like the gods were—they couldn’t speak, or guide, or love, or correct. Didn’t have the history, the complexity. But they helped, and later we learned that mainlanders found them useful.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Teo said.
“No one who has seen a real god would confuse the idols we build with one.”
She nodded, still skeptical. “I’m not used to this sort of thing, to be honest. I’m no Craftswoman, nor, obviously, a theologian Applied or otherwise. We don’t have much truck with gods and spirits and idols and the like back home in Dresediel Lex. At least, we don’t if everything goes according to plan. If it’s a question of seeing, could I see these idols of yours myself? The whole Two Serpents board knows how I feel about gods; if I go back and tell them there’s no trouble, they’ll believe me.”
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