One Man

by Harry Connolly

  Culzatik ward-Safroy defe-Safroy admir-Safroy hold-Safroy followed his bodyguard into the Upgarden gem shop, then nodded to Gurrishil, child of Garrisala, the owner. The elderly fellow beamed back in a near-perfect display of sincerity.

  Gurrishil was one of the wealthiest stitches in the Safroy sail, and their families did a great deal of business together—Culzatik’s father had even arranged for the man’s grandson to serve on the flagship of the Salashi navy. It was a much-coveted position, bringing him into close contact with noble families with both money troubles and unwed children.

  Many common folk hoped their descendants could shed their “child of” and take on a noble title, but Gurrishil was one of the few who might see it happen.

  Until then, he was a Safroy stitch, and the well-guarded rooms inside his well-guarded shop on this well-guarded deck were perfect for clandestine meetings. If the old fellow was less gracious about letting Culzatik use his room than he would have been to his noble mother or father, well, that was to be expected. The heirs of noble families were notoriously frivolous with other people’s belongings.

  Gurrishil’s attitude would change. Eventually.

  A woman who stood six foot two, with prodigious shoulders and an even more prodigious belly, emerged from one of those private rooms. She had to be a bodyguard—no one else would be admitted to an Upgarden shop with a sword and buckler.

  Right behind her came Essatreska admir-Phillien.

  Culzatik couldn’t hide his surprise. “What— Essatreska, my betrothed, I— What a surprise to find you here.”

  She smiled slightly, clearly pleased to make him uncomfortable. “You’re surprised to chance upon me while shopping? Perhaps you don’t know me as well as I’d thought.”

  Today, her dress was the color of pale roses, tailored to cover her lovely figure from ankle to jawline, and the fit was so snug that it showed off her every curve. She was still sporting yellow on her nails—expensive things take longer to fall out of fashion—but now her hands were painted with flowering vines. Her lovely black hair was no longer shaped like a candle flame. It had been oiled and twisted into a dozen slender braids, then tied to a wire frame to make a small cage atop her head. Inside the cage was a pair of stuffed songbirds. The only adornment on her face were two trails of painted pale blue tears, as though the beauty of that imaginary birdsong made her weep.

  For her part, Essatreska peered down at his ink-stained fingers and scowled very slightly.

  “Perhaps not,” Culzatik agreed. “You look as if you’re dressed for a party.”

  “Some of us simply like to look nice.” She glanced down at his ring and the clasp of his robe. “You Safroys stick the bull’s head on everything, don’t you?”

  “Everything except our spouses.”

  “This is lovely,” said a voice from the back, “but too showy. I’d hoped to find something that looked showy without being showy, if you know what I mean.”

  As the sentence finished, the speaker emerged from the private room. It was Ponnalas admir-Phillien. He handed Illia, Gurrishil’s daughter, a bracelet of coiled gold that did not look particularly showy at all.

  “Hello, Ponnalas,” Culzatik said.

  The older man threw his arms into the air. “Culzatik! So good to see you, my boy.”

  “And you. Buying yourself a party favor? Gurrishil’s work is amazing.”

  “So they tell me,” Essatreska said with a hint of disapproval. She handed a diamond bracelet to a servant, who handed it to Illia. The proprietor’s expression turned stoic. He wasn’t accustomed to hearing his work insulted.

  Illia was more diplomatic. “I’m sorry it wasn’t to your liking, your virtue.”

  Essatreska waved dismissively. “I’ll take it anyway. Wrap it as a gift.”

  Illia nodded and smiled. Then she made a mistake. She glanced expectantly at Culzatik.

  Manners can be complicated when one works in a business catering to the wealthy and powerful. Any noble, even one without the wealth and power of the Safroys behind him, can cause a hell of a lot of trouble when they perceive an insult or challenge.

  And Culzatik was well known to be both Essatreska’s betrothed and the heir to a fortune. In a circumstance like this, some might expect him to pay. But to glance at him as if waiting for him to make the offer? That was bad form. That was one step away from attempting to shame him into emptying his purse.

  The moment passed and Culzatik did not make the offer. His family could better afford it than the Philliens, no matter what the growing rumors hinted, but he smiled pleasantly at Illia until she became embarrassed and slipped away, muttering about writing up a bill of sale.

  Ponnalas, of course, was so caught up staring at the piece Essatreska had chosen that he missed it all. “Best not get anything for me,” he said. “My daughter is showy enough for the both of us.”

  “Shopping together?” Culzatik asked.

  “For today,” the older man answered. “My daughter’s bodyguard—the fellow who placed third in the tournament and is earning a top rate—has taken yet another personal day, so we have to share.” He rolled his eyes at the inconvenience of it all, then leaned close to his daughter. “And I have much work still to do. Piles of it, my dear.”

  “We’re just about done, Father.”

  Illia returned with the package and the note. Essatreska signed it and her servant pressed the family seal onto ink, then onto the paper. The package went to the servant. Ponnalas stared at it nervously, but Essatreska ignored him. “I will say that it’s a surprise to see you here. I love to shop, but what use have you for Gurrishil’s private viewing rooms?”

  “I enjoy looking at beautiful things, my betrothed, although I suspect that seeing you has spoiled me for all this expensive jewelry.” As they started to leave, Culzatik said, “Caflinna hasn’t come over to see that book, Ponnalas. Did you forget to tell her?”

  Ponnalas sighed. “My daughters,” he said, and was gone.

  * * *

  Fay followed Mirishiya out of the Undertower lift into Dawnshine. The Upgarden deck was no more than twenty-five feet over their heads, but it was early enough that the eastern sun shone slightly upward, casting shadows over their feet.

  Despite appearances, Dawnshine was a prosperous deck. It was narrow and cramped, but the merchants living and working there either were hoping to move up into the most exclusive neighborhood in the city, or had made a niche for themselves as the equal of the Upgarden shops without the pretension.

  The man they were going to see was in the export business, and very successful, too. It seemed unlikely to catch him there so early, but Mirishiya was convinced their trip would not be wasted.

  The sign above the storefront they wanted read Long Diversion, and the proprietor was in his back office, although Fay had to produce his token to get the chubby assistant at the front to admit it.

  The man who came out of the back was dressed well but not better than the clientele he’d expect to see, and his shoes had been chosen for comfort rather than style. His knuckles were scarred from years of hard labor, but his cheeks and midsection had grown soft. Apparently, his success was recent.

  “Ah,” he said in a way that suggested he was holding back his real opinion, “I’m Zikiriam admir-Vlosh tuto-Vlosh, the owner of this establishment. How can I help you?

  Onderishta had taught Fay to keep his expression calm but sympathetic, and he did so now. “It’s about the…item you sold at Suloh’s Tower today.”

  “Ah. The bloodkind. Nothing illegal about that, is there? They’re not people, are they?”

  “No, nothing illegal about it,” Fay said.

  “It’s about the boy you sent with it,” Mirishiya said, demonstrating a good instinct for when to step in.

  “Ah, yes, the boy I saved.”

  Mirishiya tilted her head. “But you’re not the one who saved him, are you?”

  Zikiriam admir-Vlosh tuto-Vlosh hesitated, then invited them into his office.r />
  The space was spare. Except for a green carpet on the floor and a carved Harkan holy mask on the wall, it was as utilitarian as an office in Gray Flames. Zikiriam gestured that Fay and his apprentice should sit opposite his desk, then moved a stack of papers to one side. Then, without asking if they wanted any, he poured two cups of warm tea for them.

  He finally sat down himself. “I did save that boy, for my part. I’m the one who brought him to the temple and got him the care he needed. I got him enrolled. But no, I’m not the one who drove off the bloodkind that was killing him.”

  “Who did?”

  “A man I consider a friend,” Zikiriam replied, “although I doubt he feels the same way about me. A man who saved my life and helped me create this business. A good man. I won’t say anything to anyone who is trying to get him in trouble, right?”

  “This is Kyrioc, child of No One, isn’t it?”

  “I won’t help you against him. I just won’t. I owe him too much.”

  “We don’t want to collar him,” Fay lied. “We’re trying to help him. He’s in trouble.”

  Zikiriam nodded. “He said as much to me this morning. He said he was being hunted.”

  “Do you see him often?”

  “No.” Zikiriam leaned forward and laid his fists on his desk. “Not for months. He came to me out of nowhere, without any warning, telling me he was being hunted. Then he saw a boy going under The Docks and somehow knew he was in danger. He went in to rescue the boy, and when he came out, he gave me a living bloodkind to sell and asked me to take responsibility for the boy.”

  Fay glanced at Mirishiya, and she glanced at him. She looked as confused as he felt. “Would you describe your friend?”

  “Kyrioc? Tall, slender, strong. Needs a haircut. And he has a terrible scar on his face. Don’t ask me how he got it. I never had the nerve to ask. That’s the man you’re looking for?”

  “The description fits,” Fay admitted. “But I confess that I’m confused by your story. Does every child who goes under The Docks disappear?”

  Zikiriam pursed his lips. “Well, no. They dart in and out all the time. But we also know that some bloodkind live on this side of the wall. Presumably. How he knew that particular child… I’ve heard that Kyrioc lived on The Docks for a time, when I first brought him here, so maybe he’s seen something I haven’t.”

  Suddenly, there were too many potential lines of questioning. Fay had to restrain himself from chasing after them like a hound trying to catch butterflies. “Good sir, what did he want with the boy?”

  “To question him,” the older man said. “The boy was a messenger for one of the gangs in the city. The Pails. He thought the boy might know something.”

  “And he questioned the boy?” Fay asked. “Did you overhear them?”

  At this, Zikiriam became uncomfortable. “Well, ah, I could have. I was standing just above them at the edge of the deck. I could have. But I had just been handed the bloodkind all wrapped up in a cloak, and…you know…I was so astonished that the whole world seemed to go away. A naked woman could have run by and I would have missed it.” He glanced at Mirishiya. “Er, my apologies.”

  “No need,” she responded calmly.

  “I didn’t look up again until Kyrioc was pressing the boy on me, too, telling me I needed to get him medical care and take him on as an apprentice. Which I did. You’ll find him at Suloh’s Tower, although I’ve forgotten the boy’s name. Ask out front for it.”

  Of course, Mirishiya had already talked to the boy in the tower. That was how they’d gotten Zikiriam’s name. “Thank you. We will.”

  “And…I think that’s all I know. What sort of trouble brings you here asking about Kyrioc?”

  “A woman was killed,” Fay said, mainly to see Zikiriam’s response. “His neighbor.”

  “And you think they’re after him next? By the fallen gods, I told him I could put him someplace safe—I would have given him a berth on the Quiet Speech, for free, so he could sail around the Semprestian for six months—but he wouldn’t have it.”

  In Fay’s experience, getting out of Koh-Salash was the logical step after attacking the constables. The only ones who didn’t were either too stupid to understand the consequences, too frightened to come out of hiding, or convinced they had nowhere else to go. He wasn’t sure how Kyrioc fit into those categories, or if he fit at all. “How did you meet him?”

  “A story!” Zikiriam jumped out of his chair and refilled their cups with more tepid tea. “I was a sea captain for many years, you know, before I became rich enough to pay others to sail for me, and people of the sea love good stories. So! This was late winter of last year. Spring was still weeks away. Right? I had pulled in to a little river inlet community to pick up that season’s lion skins, which Harkan refugees in Smithwood and Ionelto absolutely have to have for their sons’ transition to manhood, and there I met a funny little guy who swore he could direct me to a dragon’s midden.”

  “Oh,” Fay said. Zikiriam had so far seemed a reliable witness, but if he was going to start telling folk tales…

  The former captain couldn’t contain his grin. He gestured to the room around him. “Right?”

  A tingle ran down Fay’s back. A sea captain shipping goods to refugees in backwaters like Smithwood was not on the path to success. He’d be lucky if he could pay his crew.

  “Anyway,” Zikiriam continued, “the price was right because this was Harka, and everyone there is desperate for something, but it cost me just about everything I had. But they were beautiful.” He cupped his hands in front of him as though holding his prize. “Gleaming, gorgeous yellow metal in the shape of massive turds.

  “Now, a smart man would have just knifed the seller, kept his money, and sailed away, no questions asked. Unfortunately, I’m not a smart man. I’m an honest one. I paid the fellow and swore him to secrecy. But, as we pulled out of the inlet, a pirate’s carrack came at us, tacking against the wind. I wanted to head northeast to the Free Cities, where the gold merchants compete ferociously, but the pirate stayed on our stern. Are you familiar with the exploits of the captain and crew of Scream for Mercy?”

  Fay and Mirishiya shook their heads.

  The captain spread his hands. “Not surprising, honestly. But among those of us who sail the waves, they were infamous.

  “We had no choice but to turn westward, into the Parsu Deliverer, and flee for our lives. Not that we’re cowards, you understand, but even if my ship had a full crew, the pirates would have outnumbered us three to two. Besides, I’m not much for fighting an enemy with archers in the rigging and the coin to arm every man and woman with a steel sword.

  “The upshot is that they drove us out of the Semprestian into deep water. I had no charts for waters so far west. I never sailed there nor had any reason to. Worse, the weather gave me no stars to sail by. But I tried every trick I could think of, short of turning about and engaging my pursuer hand to hand. Nothing worked. As days of pursuit turned into weeks, I realized the Harkan had sold them word of our cargo, and they would follow us into the ghostkind-haunted lands of the west for that much gold.

  “Now, you may be aware that there are volcanic islands out in the ocean. Not exactly an archipelago, you understand, but clusters here and there. By the time we spotted them, my crew was drinking their own piss—begging your pardon for the language—and were talking about dying quickly by sword rather than the slow agony of dehydration and seawater poisoning. I had a mind to restock at one of those islands and, while the pirates did the same, slip away eastward. So, we sailed around the largest of the islands, looking for a place among all those cliffs where a thirsty crew could come ashore.

  “Late in the day, we had an unexpected boarder. No one knew where he’d come from at first, but his bare feet hit the boards with a loud thunk, and he was just standing there. There was a commotion, obviously, and the second mate charged with his knife drawn, but the boarder countered the mate’s attack without hurting him, and I called for
peace.”

  Here the old sea captain paused. Fay realized he was enjoying this.

  “Our unexpected boarder was nothing impressive. His hair was long, matted, and filthy, with bits of greenery in it. He wore a girded cloth of a fabric I’d never seen before—something shimmery, like sharkskin—but it was in tatters. The only thing he had with him was a short length of black iron, barely as long as a truncheon.

  “‘Who are you,’ I said, ‘to come aboard my ship without permission?’

  “He opened his mouth to answer, but it took a few seconds for the words to come. ‘If you come to this island, this island will kill you all.’

  “And that was all he said. The crew surrounded him, blades bared. They were about to cut him up and eat him, but I kept them steady. ‘Without water,’ I said, ‘no sailor can live. And we don’t have the time to search about, not with our enemy so close.’

  “I pointed eastward, where Scream for Mercy held her position, waiting for us. I had no idea what they were doing for water themselves, but it spooked my crew just to mention it. But this boarder—who was Kyrioc, child of No One, as I’m sure you’ve guessed—peered across the waves at it. Then he said, simple as you please, ‘If you promise to take me to Koh-Salash, I will kill everyone on that ship.’

  “The crew just laughed, right? The first mate said there was a bounty on the captain, so he should take prisoners, too. Kyrioc shrugged and said it was ‘acceptable.’ The laughter faded a bit then, and I asked if he was mad or a fool.

  “All he said was ‘Delay the fight until after full nightfall, and give me something to eat. By morning, you’ll have two ships. But first, you must get away from this island before it notices you.’

  “Well, I don’t mind saying that I took his advice. What did we have to lose? We moored at another island to the north, restocked our water from a little fall, and just before midnight were headed into deep water again. Kyrioc stood in the bow, directing us through the rocks, and the overcast night was so dark that I could only hear his voice. I couldn’t see him.

  “We were running before the wind while Scream for Mercy was reaching, so they caught up to us quickly. I heard their jeering before the twang of their bowstrings, and Kyrioc called for me to let them get close. A half-dozen of the crew, whether they were inspired or ashamed, appeared on deck with hatchets in hand, ready to join the fight, but Kyrioc told them to get below and keep out of his way.”