The Sin in the Steel

by Ryan Van Loan

  The mage’s mouth curled in a snarl at the mention of the other religion. “And how do you know he wasn’t lying? Pirates lie as easy as drawing breath.”

  “He was dying,” Eld put in. “He died as he told us, with a hole the size of a dinner plate from where the bull, the Veneficus, ran him through.”

  “Ah,” Salina’s voice lost some of its edge. “That makes sense, then.”

  Eld smiled triumphantly at me and I rolled my eyes. Why wouldn’t a dying man lie? He had nothing left to lose. Sometimes I think I’m the only sane one in the world, but if that is true, then I guess I’m insane to everyone else. And … just because I would lie as I drew my last breath if I had reason, didn’t mean everyone else would. I threw up my hands and Eld’s smile grew wider.

  “The Widowmaker,” Salina muttered.

  “Why don’t you think it’s her?” I asked.

  “How will you find her?” Salina asked, ignoring my question.

  Eld replied. “The southern shipping route is where the disappearances have all occurred. The maps indicate two routes of passage, and from the islands the naval officer mentioned, where he saw no ships at all, we know which trade winds to follow.”

  “We won’t be finding her; you will,” I added. “Or your Company will. We solved your mystery and in enough time for you to direct your ships to use the northern route.”

  “And why would they do that? It’s weeks slower with the winds.”

  “Because slow is better than sunk,” I said. “Done and done.”

  “Hmm.” Salina’s voice didn’t sound happy to have good news. “I’m afraid we disagree on the definition of ‘done.’”

  “Allow me to elucidate it for you,” I said.

  “As entertaining as that would be, this isn’t a debate. I hold the pistole; I hold your shares and your seat on the Board,” Salina said. “You’ve done good work, but we need incontrovertible proof that the Widowmaker is responsible for sinking these ships. And even with mages helping, it will be days before we can get word to all of our plantations. The northern route is slower, so it’s unlikely that more sugar will reach Servenza before our supplies run out.”

  “A few days’ scarcity should drive prices up,” I said.

  “And you want a seat on the Board,” Salina mocked. “We are the largest sugar supplier, but not the only one. A few weeks of no supply from Kanados will lose us more than a short shock of high prices will compensate for. The Empire will deal with Normain as easily as us. Easier in some regards.”

  “It’s a shame their plantations lie farther north,” I snapped.

  “Yes, but they do, so you’ll need to find a way to bridge the gap in our supply or else your shares and seat are gone,” Salina said. Her voice sounded a little hoarse—or was it the mage? We hadn’t been talking that long.

  “I’m not going to keep dancing along to the string you’re holding just out of reach,” I said. “We confirm the Widowmaker is behind the disappearances and get some sugar to Servenza in the next twelve days and we’re done.”

  “Eleven days,” she growled, proving she could count.

  Well, it was worth a shot.

  “Take one of our warships and once you confirm it’s the Widowmaker, I want her sent to the bottom of the sea.” The mage rubbed her throat with one hand and reached for the cup of kan beside her.

  “We’re not murderers,” Eld said. I shifted in my seat and he glanced at me. Eld hadn’t spoken to the maid when we were solving the Frilituo murders. I had, and I still wasn’t sure if condemning an innocent woman to death while the murderer walked free was right, whether the woman went along or no. But Eld didn’t know that, didn’t need to know that, so I made a soothing gesture and he turned back to the mage. “We’re not,” he repeated.

  “That’s not the tale the Imperial Guard gave me,” Salina said. Her voice had grown truly hoarse, but I thought it sounded more like the mage’s throat was giving her trouble. “You’ll do this or I will turn the pistole over to them and old Judge Cokren and then you might as well turn pirate and join the Widowmaker yourselves.”

  A blind grope by the Harbormaster knocked her mug across the table; dark liquid puddled, then ran onto the floor. The mage’s teeth grated together and I saw the veins in her neck pulsing as she clawed at her throat.

  “Are you all right?” Eld jumped up. “Gods, I think she’s choking.”

  The mage’s wide eyes found mine then looked at the cup in my hand. Her body jerked and fell out of her chair, rolling onto her back. At her side in an instant, Eld fought to hold her down. A growl escaped through her clenched teeth.

  “Kill her and—” Blood appeared under her nails where she’d scratched rivulets into her own skin. “Kill her!” she barked. “Kill her. Kill. Kill.” The last was a harsh whisper. She abruptly went slack in Eld’s arms.

  He looked up at me and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  I glanced at the tea in my hand and then at the spilled mug of kan. It had been meant for me. Or Eld. “I think I do,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “I’m pretty sure it was that bastard assistant.”

  “My lady!” Albar burst up the stairs with two others right behind him. He slid to a halt as he took in the scene and I saw his eyes bulge when they found his mistress on the floor instead of us. I’ll give the bastard his due, though: he didn’t hesitate. “They’ve killed the Harbormaster! Murder!” He stabbed a finger at us. “Kill them!”

  The last was lost in the howls of his companions, who raced forward with cutlasses drawn. Eld dodged a swing, parried the back blow with his pistole, and blew the brains out of a young man in torn clothing who stood a full head taller. Had stood a full head taller. Smoke filled the air. The other one, a woman with a shock of blond hair sticking out from a dark head scarf, leapt past Eld. Three paces left, draw stiletto with right hand. Inner jacket.

  She moved faster than my mind. I was so shocked, I just sat and watched her come on. Eld yelled and I slid back in my chair until I was brought up hard by the table behind me. Eld’s untouched cup of kan jiggled and I reached for it before I had decided what to do with it. The woman started to swing and I threw the cup without thinking. I felt the sword pass over my head, its hiss muted by the woman’s startled scream. The sword flew out of her hands and she clutched at her scalded face. Then I didn’t need to think; instinct took over and I drew a stiletto from my jacket and buried it in her sternum. She tripped and sat down hard, clutching the hilt between her breasts, her face an angry red mess of burns.

  “Bitch,” I whispered.

  “Bitch!” some man shouted.

  Something slammed into me and I flew sideways, tripped over the mage’s body, and cartwheeled over the table. The room spun until it broke my fall. My head reverberated off wood and my vision went dark, then clear, then spotty in the same instant. My mouth tasted of smoke and I spat as I sat up. I was lying on the top of the writing desk. A paperweight fell from behind me, cracked in two from my skull. I saw everything, but couldn’t make sense of anything.

  “Bitch!” Albar repeated, stepping over the mage’s body and leveling a pistole at me. “Move and she dies!” he yelled. Across the room, Eld froze with his sword half drawn. “I’m going to enjoy this,” Albar added, cocking the hammer. Something moved behind him, but he was focused on me. “You’ve no idea how mu—” His voice cut off with a squeal.

  “Oh, I think I do,” the mage whispered in his ear. She had one arm wrapped around his throat and the other wrapped around his forehead. She grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked his head up. Her mottled purple face was slowly returning to its normal color and her neck was a mass of bruises and scratches and dried blood, which gave her a feral look. Albar squealed again and her arms moved in a blur. His neck sounded like a handful of nuts in a nutcracker. His body was facing me, but his head was turned completely around, staring at his mistress. The mage let go and he fell like an abandoned rag doll. “I hate kan,” she growled.

  “Gods,
you’re alive,” I said.

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Easy now, we didn’t have anything to do with that,” I said. It’s rare that I countenance caution, but a woman smaller than me snapping someone’s neck completely in two was one of those times. “He tried to kill us, too,” I reminded her.

  She breathed deeply and a few of the purple blotches faded, but there were still a dozen left on her face. “You need to leave,” she said hoarsely. “Now.”

  “We’ll leave,” Eld said. I noticed he’d fully drawn his sword in the few moments between Albar threatening him and dying. He motioned for me to come to him. “But Salina promised us a warship.”

  “A warship?” the mage asked.

  “Aye, a man o’ war,” I said, deciding that if her memory was foggy, it was worth taking advantage of. “Biggest one you’ve got.”

  “Leave now,” her voice was calm if gravelly, “or I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

  Her tone made me blink even as it galvanized my bruised legs into motion. “Salina said—” I began.

  “Fuck Salina,” she spat. “It’s my fucking harbor.” She hunched over, grabbed her head in both hands, and growled. “Every Rebirth is like ten thousand needles in my brain. Pain only begets pain.” She looked up and her eyes bulged. “You really need to leave.”

  I opened my mouth, but Eld sheathed his sword and swept me off my feet and over his shoulder before I could do more than protest. And by protest, I mean squeal high enough to rival Albar. The mage sank to her knees as Eld reached the stairs and the last image I had was of her weeping crimson tears. He set me down when we reached the doorway to the courtyard. I opened my mouth, but he shook his head and pushed me out the door and sent me sprawling into the yard.

  “You can curse me later,” he said, steadying me enough to get me moving away from the tower. “But we need to get as far away from her as possible. She’s barely clinging to sanity. Even for a mage.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  His face tightened. “Just trust me.” He glanced over his shoulder, then pointed toward the harbor. “We need to talk our way onto a ship. Now.”

  “Aye, after we grab our things,” I said.

  “No time,” he muttered.

  “I’m not leaving my books. I didn’t even finish the first one,” I said.

  “Buc!” He stopped on the edge of the road and studied me. “Did that fall knock something loose?”

  “No.” I felt the lump forming at the base of my head and winced. “Just hurts.”

  “Aye, you’re not thinking clearly. That thing”—he pointed in the direction we’d come from—“will be back to normal in an hour or so. Maybe she decides that we didn’t have anything to do with Albar’s little stunt and helps us out. Or maybe she decides we have to pay for what happened to her. If she does that, the smallest thing she’ll do will be to order the captains to deny us passage. That’s if she doesn’t snap our necks like she did Albar’s.

  “Besides … you had most of your books sent to our place in Servenza.” He shook his head, then stared into my eyes. I stared back to show him I wasn’t afraid and his sapphire eyes grew dark. “Gods, I’ve never had to explain anything to you before, Buc. What’s wrong?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He’s right. I swallowed the lump in my throat and when I opened my mouth again, everything came tumbling out. “I haven’t slept for days, threw up almost all the liquid in my body, sweated the rest out while a man-bull tried to kill me, got body-slammed off a desk, broke a paperweight with my head, and nearly had my neck broken by a witch,” I said in one breath.

  Eld’s mouth moved wordlessly. He touched my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re feverish. You need water.”

  “Here? This water will give me the runs,” I said.

  “White wine watered down then,” he said.

  Now that I’d admitted my weakness, I felt lighter somehow. A voice in the back of my mind began to rage, but it was barely audible over the ringing in my ears and the haze in the corners of my eyes. “We have to reach the ships. You said.”

  Eld cursed and caught me as I fell, hefting me in his arms. He broke into a run toward the port lights, away from the harbor. “Liquids first, Buc. You’ll be fine. Just need to drink something. I promise. Lots of liquids.” My vision flickered and he muttered something that slipped past me in the haze.

  “You said,” I whispered as the darkness took me. “You.”

  14

  Eld sprinted down the hill, his lungs burning, his legs windmilling so quickly that he knew all it would take was a single loose stone to send him and Buc tumbling the rest of the way. Can’t stop. Buc felt light in his arms, lighter than she should have, head lolled back so that her dark locks almost touched the ground. He murmured for her to hold on, but she didn’t answer. Faintly behind him, well beyond the Harbormaster’s tower, he could hear Port au’ Sheen beginning to get into its cups, but down here, the street was nearly empty.

  He plunged on, dodging the few dockworkers who hadn’t joined in the partying. One of them asked what the matter was, another shouted at him to stop, but he ignored them all. There was a cluster of huts around the edge of the docks and he remembered seeing a few sailors drinking there when they’d disembarked that morning. Huffing and puffing, he slowed to a jog and then a walk, taking care not to jounce Buc as he reached the door of the nearest straw hovel.

  “Easy, man!” the tattooed barkeep called from behind a plank overturned on two kegs that served as a bar. “No need to kill yourself—the drinks will do that for you!” A greasy-haired sailor and a bare-chested dockworker, the only other patrons in the place, barked laughter. “Say, what’s going on now?”

  “Wine!” Eld shouted.

  The barkeep rested thick arms across the bar, hand near a rusty cleaver embedded in the wood. “Not so fast—you can’t just go bringing bodies in off the street. I know we’re a rough lot, but we’ve standards, man,” he said with a smile. “Did you hurt her?” His smile disappeared and his hand caressed the hilt of the cleaver.

  “Not dead! She’s had too much sun and fainted.” Eld winced; Buc would hate to hear him admit that. “She needs watered-down wine.”

  “Well, that’s a different chantey altogether,” the barkeep said, his shoulders relaxing as he released the cleaver.

  “Now!”

  “Keep your temper,” the man grunted, moving around the end of the plank with a pitcher in either hand. “Well, no fears, we’ve got the cure for what ails yer wife.”

  “She’s not my—Never mind,” Eld said, setting Buc down gently on a stool, dropping down behind her so she fell back against him. “Water it down, man,” he grunted when the barkeep reached him.

  “Well, er.” The other man glanced back toward the other men and dropped his voice. “It’s already well watered down,” he whispered. “Give her the lot and she’ll barely feel a buzz. It’s chilled though; that’s why they”—he nodded over his shoulder—“drink it.”

  Eld barely heard the man. Reaching into his pocket with one hand he pulled out the newspaper he’d saved from Servenza and rolled it into a makeshift funnel. “Easy, does it, Buc. I’ve got you,” he whispered. He tried to slip the thin end between her lips, but her head kept twisting, and it was going to require a third hand he didn’t have to pour.

  “Here, let me,” the barkeep said, squatting down beside him, his stained apron dragging through the dust. He reached for the pitcher and Eld growled. The other man’s eyebrows raised and then he nodded and took the funnel from Eld’s hand.

  Eld steadied Buc with one hand and used the other to carefully and slowly pour the cool liquid down the funnel. At first nothing happened, and then Buc opened her mouth slightly, and he poured faster. “There you go, Buc,” he whispered. “We’ll get you taken care of and then—” For a moment his mind was blank, so tightly had he focused on Buc, but now he remembered the whole debacle.

  The Sin Eater wouldn’t be
down forever. They had to get out of Port au’ Sheen before nightfall or she might decide to slit their throats and drown them for good measure. An image of burning desert flashed through his mind and for a breath he could almost taste gunpowder on his tongue.

  “And then,” he said as he tipped the pitcher higher, “we find ourselves a ship.”

  * * *

  “We’ve all wants, man,” the gnarled dockmaster said to Eld with a grin, eyeing Buc in his arms. The dockmaster seemed only mildly concerned about him showing up with an unconscious person, and once he’d explained, she seemed to find the whole situation a joke. She hooked her thumbs into her trousers and spat between a gap in her teeth. “But wants en’t going to put you or yer missie on yon man o’ war.”

  “As I told you before…” Eld began politely.

  “Aye, aye, the Company’s orders,” the old woman growled, hocking something dark and wet from her throat and spitting it out over the railing into the sea. “But wot the Company don’t ken is that on this dock, I make the orders.”

  “Madam—”

  “Stow it, boyo, unless ye’ve got more gold than ye’ve flashed already.”

  Eld had gone through the proper channels once he’d managed to pour both pitchers of wine—and damn the barkeep, it had better have been well watered—down Buc’s throat. It’d taken a fistful of doubloons and an hour to find this old crone … this kindly woman … who refused to tell him where the captain of that ridiculously oversized, well-armed ship was. Time was slipping away and in her current state, Buc was as innocent as a newborn babe. He frowned at the thought; Buc and innocent didn’t go together.

  “Madam…” he began again, and the dockmaster shook her head. The anger that’d been slowly building during the wasted minutes between leaving the Harbormaster and now swirled hotly through him. He set Buc down, carefully, against the handcart someone had decided to leave in the middle of the central dock, and stood up just as the woman began to open her mouth again. She gave a startled yelp as he slammed her back hard against the open railing. A knife appeared in his fist so quickly that even Buc would have been impressed.