The Tyrant

by Seth Dickinson

  The next morning they all drank antimony to empty their stomachs, and then they went into the sick room, the scream room, where Cosgrad directed the house surgeon in the removal of Padrigan’s arm.

  They stopped the blood with a tourniquet and made the cut. Then Cosgrad, nimble-fingered, murmuring, ligatured up the arteries and caked the wound in his bread-web paste.

  Padrigan lived.

  The comic griot who had led his mob across the lake to kill Cosgrad and Farrier now brought word from the war. In the wake of the Unspeakable Day, Falcrest had declared the entire Ashen Sea a Free Navigation Commons that would be policed by Falcrest ships and taxed by Falcrest tariffs. A decade earlier it would have seemed a joke to Tau. Hadn’t Falcrest spent their history throwing ship after mad experimental ship out into the Mother of Storms, fleeing Devi-naga’s pirates, running north in search of anything they could steal from the Bastè Ana in their houses of ice? How could they possibly take the whole Ashen Sea, the whirling center of civilization?

  But now there were Falcresti ships sailing for Segu Mbo to enforce their claim. The Falcresti Parliament had appointed a woman named Admiral Juristane as their “Charitable Factor for More Civilized Warfare.”

  “I know her,” Cairdine Farrier told the Princes over a lunch he had prepared out of bread and beer-battered fish. “She’ll treat the Segu fairly, but I warn you, she’ll answer any poor conduct with righteous fury.”

  “Why is her fury righteous?” Tau asked, frowning. “What makes her right, to come to one of our cities and dictate terms?”

  “She’s righteous,” Kindalana said, looking narrowly at Farrier, who would not meet her eyes, “because she has the power to decide which conduct is poor, and the power to punish it. Farrier! Farrier, what’s really going to happen at Kutulbha?”

  “Your people will be too proud to accept the new conditions,” he said. “And their pride will be rebuked. I’m sorry.”

  Kindalana smiled at him, as if they shared some toothy secret. Tau realized that she was rewarding him for his honesty: making him feel as if they two, Kindalana and Farrier, shared a special privileged channel of understanding.

  Thus it occurred:

  Falcrest’s tall-masted ships appeared off Kutulbha. The Segu sent pickets to warn them away. The pickets vanished.

  Falcresti ships came into Kutulbha’s harbor and demanded the surrender of every warship possessed by every tribe in Segu. It was an impossible demand. It would take months to gather every Segu Prince and the Queen-Mothers of the tribes, the Oya and the Isi and the Bru and the Esh and the Aam and the Yeni and the Uro. Even after a vote there would be dissenters.

  The Falcresti fleet waited patiently for the inevitable attack.

  It came.

  During the fighting, Admiral Juristane’s ships fired rockets into Kutulbha, and the paper and wood houses caught fire, caught and spread, a conflagration, a principle of fire, and then the empty grain silos left by the blight and the stoppage of shipping somehow burnt so hot that the air itself ignited. A blossom of fire grew up out of the city and its wind seared the laundry against the stones and sheared the fruit from the millet. Night became day. The griots said the whole city burned and a hundred thousand people were dead and four hundred thousand were cast out into the ash to weep and starve as their burns festered.

  Abdumasi’s white-haired mother, Abdi-obdi, had gone to Kutulbha to hunt sorcerers.

  Cairdine Farrier came to Tau-indi as Tau-indi sat in the dark gnawing their left hand and hoping against hope for news of Abdu’s mom.

  “I have a document with me,” he said, “that I think you should review with your mother. I have had it with me since the beginning of my time here. I don’t want you to think less of me for bearing it in silence. It was the task I was given. I had to do my duty.”

  “What is it?” Tau-indi asked dully.

  Farrier offered a wax-sealed tube.

  “Terms of surrender,” he said. “For the Princes of the Mbo to ratify.”

  “My surrender?”

  “Your surrender,” Farrier said, soberly, using the Aphalone plural your. “The entire Oriati Mbo’s surrender.”

  She’s dead,” Abdumasi said. “She was on a ship in the harbor. So was her whole fleet. It’s all gone. The whole concern. They killed her and everyone else.”

  Of all the things Abdumasi spoke that night, of all the tears and curses he shed into his friends’ arms, the hardest was this:

  “You called a power, didn’t you? You called a power and the price had to be paid. We saved your father, Kinda! We saved him! The price still had to be paid!”

  10

  Reunions and Reassessments

  What the fuck is going on here?” Apparitor demanded. “Don’t give me your judicial stare, Yawa, of course I tailed your boats. I had a stake in this operation.

  “And suddenly you two are thick as thieves with a master key, which is not, if you’ll recall, what you promised me!” He stabbed one red-gloved finger at Baru, who sat on the dead lava, too dizzy to move. “You promised me her lobotomized and vanished, disappeared so mysteriously even Farrier couldn’t blame us for it! Yes, I mean you, Baru, don’t pretend you’re hurt!”

  “Ah, Svir.” I beamed at the Stakhi man, red-haired pale-skinned child of the Wintercrest Mountains. He was an exile from those mountains, so of course he was the Throne’s agent in command of northern affairs. Falcrest likes its ironies. Falcrest also likes hostages: Apparitor’s loyalty was secured by his lover, the Empire Admiral Lindon Satamine, as I was secured by my twin Olake.

  I had seen a few thousand murders of passion in my time as a judge; Svir-who-was-Apparitor looked ready to commit one. When he’d learned that Baru had stolen his concubine Iraji, he’d begged me to call off the maneuver against Baru. Not him. I won’t lose him. Not in this place.

  And I’d lied, of course. I’d assured him I would delay the attack until Iraji was safe.

  Instead I’d poisoned Iraji and sent him to the Cancrioth in exchange for Baru.

  Then I’d failed to destroy Baru.

  My professional relationship with Apparitor was, I suspected, about to encounter some complications. This was a major inconvenience. He was master of our clipper Helbride, our only way off these dying islands.

  Baru and I had talked quietly and indirectly, trapped by the old etiquettes of our distrust. I think we were both ashamed. We had misjudged each other so badly, both collaborators, both secretly still loyal to our homes. She might be the only person in the world who could understand what I’d done to my brother. I could never forgive myself for it, any more than she could forgive herself for killing Tain Hu. But we might forgive each other.

  We were each other’s only hope for grace.

  But neither of us could cast off our isolation so easily. The closest Baru had come was to say: “I’ve been lonely. For such a long time.”

  “Nonsense.” I’d sniffed. “You’re not even thirty.”

  She’d laughed.

  We’d tiptoed around things still too raw to settle. I’d killed her secretary Muire Lo. She’d led my brother into madness and captivity. We’d make a fine stage play, wouldn’t we? The two of us at dinner, trying not to talk about any of it long enough to make our excuses and run for the door.

  And then Apparitor burst in on us through the skylight above us, drawn by Baru’s laughter. “Did you say anything sensitive?”

  “Sensitive?” Baru croaked.

  “There was someone at the skylight. She left when I approached.”

  “Iscend!” Baru exclaimed. “Shit, if she tells Hesychast what we—”

  She clapped her mouth shut.

  The morning light was coming down through the skylight now and Apparitor stepped into it. The shadow of his pointing finger crossed Baru’s face. “You’re supposed to be lobotomized. A perfectly legal treatment for your seizure disorder. Why are you awake?”

  I felt it was my duty to lie for her. “She produced evidence which made he
r indispensable to our work. I’ve elected not to proceed with her removal.”

  He knelt to study Baru’s swollen, bandaged face. “You put her in a position where you felt she couldn’t lie, and you liked the answers.”

  “It’s my purpose, Svir, to find the truth.”

  “Don’t use my name, Durance.” He did not look up from Baru’s broken face. “Where’s Iraji?”

  “He’s in terrible danger,” Baru croaked. She hauled herself upright by my shoulder, so powerfully that she nearly dragged me over. She was just as dense as I expected. “Alive, but in such danger.”

  “Where is he,” Apparitor hissed. “What have you done with him?”

  “Aboard the Cancrioth ship. It’s my fault he’s there.”

  “Is it now.” Apparitor fixed deadly, poison-green eyes on me. “Your fault entirely? Not one bit Yawa’s?”

  “It was his choice to go,” I said.

  “Choice! We’re fucking Masquerade cryptarchs, Yawa—letting people ‘choose’ to do what we want is our job!”

  “It’s also our job to risk our agents, even our favorite concubines—”

  “Not here!” Apparitor bellowed. “I did not consent to risk him here!”

  You boy fool, we do not get to consent to the stakes, to the risks, to the prices we pay. We pay them or we fail. That’s all. “We had a task, Svir!” I barked; enough of his whinging! “Find the Cancrioth! Return the proof!”

  “You two had a task to destroy each other!” Apparitor roared back. “Baru or Yawa! Agonist or Durance! The point was to pit you against each other, and tonight it was supposed to be done! Why are both of you still here to plague me?”

  “Plague,” Baru repeated. She was wrapped around me, holding herself up.

  “Yes,” Apparitor snapped, “that’s what I called you, do you want an apology?”

  “No, Apparitor, I mean—I mean that the moment the wind steadies, and the captains moored here decide they can sail without becalming, the atoll of Kyprananoke is going to become a plague bomb the likes of which death itself has never seen. The Kettling can take forty weeks to incubate after infection. That’s long enough for a carrier to reach the shores of the Ashen Sea and find the nearest city.”

  “Please,” Apparitor sneered. “I don’t need you to stop a plague. I don’t need you for anything. Yawa, tie her back up and finish the lobotomy.”

  “We do need her,” I said, and yes, I even drew the wretched woman a little closer.

  He groaned and rubbed his temples. “How did she compromise you, Yawa? Something about your brother? Something on that palimpsest her agent stole?”

  I’d stolen the palimpsest back, actually; it was in my cabin on Helbride, frustratingly resistant to decryption. “She hasn’t compromised anyone.”

  “You had her completely in your power. You had total control of the situation. And you still let her defeat you?” He shook his head matronizingly. “Pathetic.”

  I have my pride. I would have struck him on the edge of his mask, if I could’ve reached him. Old women are allowed small violences.

  “I’ve been on that ship,” Baru croaked. “I’ve met the Cancrioth. I know what they want. I know how we can get Iraji back.”

  “You have been on that ship, haven’t you?” Apparitor’s sarcastic purr had worn so thin I could hear the death beneath it. “You’ve made some clever bargain. You’ve hooked Yawa into it, and the Cancrioth is dancing to your drum, and you think I’ll go along. Everyone in Aurdwynn went along, didn’t they? Everyone did what you required, and Aurdwynn fell into your clutches. And you think it was all your work, you little egomaniac, you never knew how much I did to smooth your way, ah, ziscjaditzcionursz, let’s be rid of her, Durance, let’s lobotomize her and have it done, this is our chance!”

  I shook my head. I would not. I had decided.

  “They’re making ready to sail.” Baru’s voice was fading. “They’re discovered. They’re going to make for open ocean. . . .”

  “With Iraji aboard. Straight into Ormsment and her waiting frigate. Sulane will put enough Burn into those Cancrioth to turn them into soap and glass.” Apparitor’s lips were as thin and white as a Stakhi peasant. “Where’s Tau?”

  “On the same ship,” Baru admitted.

  “Wonderful!” Apparitor beamed at me. “I look forward to telling the Oriati crew packed onto my clipper that we’ve donated their Prince to their ancient foe. And when Ormsment’s finished destroying the Cancrioth, I can’t wait to explain to Parliament how the Oriati Ambassador to Falcrest was burnt to death by one of our own ships!”

  Baru slumped against my arm. “We can save Tau, Svir. We can save everyone on that ship. But we have to act now—”

  He spoke across her. I twitched in irritation, remembering a thousand meetings of the Ruling Factors in Aurdwynn, biting my tongue as Hasran Cattlson interrupted me. “What bargain did you make over there? Last time you traded your entire rebellion for your exaltation to the Throne. What is it this time?”

  “I failed.”

  Apparitor blinked. “What?”

  “They made me an offer and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make the exchange. Things went wrong after that.”

  I felt that I had to add something to support her. “Are you really surprised? She’s a walking ruin. She pushed herself too hard to gain her place on the Throne. Isn’t that one of your mountain folktalkes, Svir? That most climbers die after they summit?”

  His eyes narrowed at the sympathy in my tone. “You think she has limits? After what she did to Hu?”

  I did. I believed she had limits. But there was no possible way I could convince Svir of what I had learned without betraying my own ultimate purpose. And that problem would only grow. If I returned to Falcrest with Baru alive I would fail Hesychast and he would destroy me.

  What was I going to do? I had thrown away weeks and weeks of planning—decades and decades of effort—on a moment’s compassion. What was I going to do next?

  “The Cancrioth will follow me,” Baru said.

  I was so glad she had a way to defend herself that I almost dropped her. “Baru?”

  “The woman from the ship. Kimbune. She came with me because she thinks I can lead her to someone she’s lost. The Brain can make the others follow me . . . yes. I think I have a plan. . . .”

  She trailed off. We both waited for her plan. But Baru, bless her shriveled little soul, had passed out.

  The two of us stared at each other, the old Maia judge and the young Stakhi bravo. Baru dribbled slowly out of my grip and down onto the stone.

  “Do it,” Svir said, deadly flat. “Finish this.”

  Aminata was going to die in this mountain.

  She’d seen too much by now, and so the Republic she served would dispose of her. All her hard work, all the marks and scores in her service jacket. They had not mattered; she had not mattered, in the end. The masked immensity of the Imperial Republic had never lowered its eyes to notice her. There was no reward at the center of the maze. You just wandered it until you died.

  When she’d pulled Baru off that boat and into her arms she’d really believed it was finished. She would sit down with Baru and learn everything. And then she would know where her duty lay.

  Instead she’d led Baru into another trap.

  The story of their friendship. First she’d struck Baru in sheer fury over the risks Baru’s deviancy posed to Aminata’s own career. Then she’d lured Baru into that brothel in Treatymont where (she hadn’t known, she hadn’t known) Xate Yawa’s spies waited to observe Baru’s indiscretions.

  And now she’d drawn Baru to Tain Shir’s killing ground, and to Xate Yawa’s final judgment.

  If you had a duty to your friends, then Aminata figured she’d failed it.

  She tried to keep the other prisoners’ spirits up anyway. “Chins up, it’s sunrise! Turn your best side to the sun, sailors, the day remembers the first face it sees!”

  The water of the el-Tsunuqba caldera licked at the
black stone. The prisoners from Tain Hu’s old household muttered and stirred. The little man Run Czeshine tried to pretend he’d been awake the whole time. Ude Sentiamut scratched his beard and grumbled to Ake Sentiamut, a living caricature of the bony, neurotic Stakhi woman. She reached out to clasp hands with the plump herbalist Yythel.

  Down at the end of the chain, the diver Ulyu Xe sat limp and did not move at all.

  Aminata was worried about Xe. Tain Shir had done something to her. Aminata had kept a hawk eye on Shir’s conduct around the prisoners as they left Sulane, and she’d seen no sign of mistreatment. But then that nightmare in the caldera, Tain Shir lifting Xe like a doll . . . and now she sat there saying nothing, looking at nothing, spine limp, feet crushed sideways beneath folded thighs.

  Aminata should have stayed on Ascentatic. She should have listened to Captain Nullsin.

  “We can’t see the sun down here,” the boy Run complained. “How do you know it’s dawn?”

  “Because I’m a sailor,” Aminata said, jauntily. “You’ll see I’m right. Aren’t I right, Mister Execarne?”

  Faham Execarne was the man in charge of the Morrow Ministry detail, a handsome leathery old guy with a farmer’s hard shoulders and big sensuous lips. Aminata had expected him to interrogate her. Instead, Execarne crouched on the pillowed lava and smoked weed. The smell was getting into Aminata’s uniform reds.

  “Eh?” he croaked, looking up. “Aren’t you right about what?”

  It bothered her to see him so fucked up. It was never a good sign when the officer in command was coming apart. “That it’s sunrise, sir.”

  “Round about this chime, I think.” He rubbed his eyes and grunted. “It’ll be a bad day.”

  “Faham,” Ake Sentiamut called. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You’re smoking too much,” Yythel added, solicitously, “and I always know when you’ve had too much.”

  “He’s afraid,” Ude Sentiamut said. “He’s scared of that ship we saw.”

  “Damn right I am.”

  “Hey.” Aminata nodded to Execarne, the only gesture really available in manacles. “Can I have a pull?”