"If so, it's the most powerful nothing in the known world." Blays brushed a speck from the front of his doublet. "Returning to the matter at hand, it turns out we have a problem."
"You can't go to Dara Bode," Undan stated. "Or speak to those who are there."
"Precisely. I understand this might be a delicate matter, but it was suggested that you might be of service in navigating this dilemma."
"You speak prettily. You powder your words and dress them in frills. These aren't the words the gods gave you. Speak plainly, or your words are as nothing as your credit."
Blays scrunched up one eye. "We need to get to Dara Bode. We'll pay you for it. And if we're snatched up along the way, we'll swallow our own tongues before we tell them who helped us."
Undan smiled toothily. "That feels better, doesn't it? Now tell me of Naran, so that I know you know him."
The two of them provided what Dante hoped was a credible amount of personal detail without veering too deeply and exposing that they were more than partners in trade. His fears evaporated when Undan began to negotiate a price. They arrived at a sum that didn't quite deplete everything Dante and Blays had brought with them.
Before they shook hands, Blays cocked his head. "As long as we're talking in truth-drenched god-words, I get the impression what we're proposing is highly illegal. So why are you willing to help us? Is it just the money?"
"If you get what you want," Undan said, "does it matter why I do what I do?"
"If you're doing this in service of a demonic master who's going to use our silver to fund his campaign to devour the world, then that might be relevant."
"When you choose to live among others, you choose to give up your freedoms. There is only one power that can regain those freedoms: the weight of money." The older woman flashed her teeth again. "Besides, the risk won't be mine. It will fall on my agent."
"Who's your agent?" Dante said.
"She will tell you her name for herself. She is young, and that makes her dumb. But that dumbness is good: if she was smart, she would never agree to this."
"How long will the trip take?"
"Four days, five. Depends on how clear the canallers have kept the water. You will meet your guide in two days at the Frog Vault. Arrive at dusk. She will have a boat, and carry a blue feather on the collar of her jabat."
"Jabat? Is that what you call your…" He gestured in a circle. "Tunics?"
Undan nodded. "I will send for your coin tomorrow night. If you miss your meet after that, your money is forfeit. We have never seen each other, and you don't know my name."
Dante shook her hand and left her pier. Dogged by paranoia, rather than heading right back to the Keeper of Secrets, he wandered inland from the docks, glancing behind them for pursuit. "She was a bit odd, wasn't she?"
"I think she's just the right amount of crazy: too skewed in the head to be trying to set us up, but not so insane that she'll forget to do everything we just agreed to."
"Do you suppose when you let people speak anything, it causes them to think anything? Resulting in the creation of more eccentrics?"
"I think you should test this idea in Narashtovik and find out."
Dante had no intention of doing any such thing, yet he hadn't spent more than a day in Tanar Atain and he was already beginning to question whether he might relax some of the strictures in Narashtovik. Particularly those around certain heresies. After all, his experience in the Plagued Islands had already proven that some of the church's beliefs were incomplete at best, and possibly flat-out wrong. It seemed less than saintly to punish people for holding different beliefs on other matters when he was no longer wholly convinced they were wrong.
And if there was a silver lining to all the running about he'd had to do in the last nine-odd months, it was that visiting new places had exposed him to certain imperfections in how he governed his realm. Despite the time he'd lost away from his people, when he returned, perhaps he could do a better job in ruling them.
Once he was convinced they weren't being followed, he quit meandering and returned to the Finder of Secrets. Vita stood on the deck swigging wine with her crew.
"We have a way to get to the capital," Dante told her. "But they'll evict you from town before we can get back from it. Can you get customs to extend the length of your visit?"
She tucked down the corners of her mouth. "They are strict. But I could return to Cavana, then bring more goods here, giving me a second stay. Do you know how long you will require?"
"Two weeks. When you come back, stay ready to shove off at a moment's notice. If things go the way they tend to, we'll be running all the way."
She offered them wine, toasting their journey. It tasted like crisp apples.
After a couple of cups, Blays motioned Dante over to the side of the boat. "Two weeks is enough to fetch Naran. But what if we find out Gladdic's somewhere out there, too?"
Dante let out a long breath. "We'll see what Naran thinks. The Collen Basin is safe. Gladdic's failed too much to have any sway left in Bressel. It might be better to get Naran out of here and walk away from the rest of it."
"Could leave Raxa and Sorrowen in Bressel until Gladdic comes home. She could get to him."
"Not too fond of him, are you?"
"On the scale of things I detest, he ranks somewhere between spider orgies and explosive hemorrhoids."
Dante frowned and drank more wine.
The following day was quiet. Two hours after nightfall, a man came around to collect Undan's payment. Dante handed over the money with the same oily pang he always felt when he wasn't dead certain he was spending wisely.
If it wasn't a scam, though, he was greatly relieved they'd finally run into a problem that could be solved through the direct application of cash rather than a convoluted scheme to depose or kill a rival, retrieve a lost artifact, or kick off a war. That was the result of how they'd presented themselves, wasn't it? If he'd swept into town as Dante Galand, High Priest of Narashtovik and nethermancer supreme, Undan no doubt would have asked him to resurrect her dead husband or overrun an enemy merchant with a horde of zombies.
But since he'd arrived as a simple financier, money was all they thought to ask from him. Barring life and death danger, he pledged not to reveal his powers to another soul until it came time to extract Naran.
The following afternoon, Dante and Blays made their way to the Frog Vault, a small island whose north end featured a particularly slack and shallow portion of water. The croak of the frogs drowned out the din of arguments and insults from the surrounding islands. Dante and Blays waited in the shadow of a yellow-trunked tree that was propped up on its roots, as if it was trying to escape the pungent waters.
The daylight in Aris Osis had a blurred, dull quality, and as the sun neared the horizon, blocked by towers and haze, it felt like the city was sinking below the surface of a vast, shaded pool. As the minutes went by, Dante grew concerned that DaNasan had decided to turn them in after all, or that Undan's love of silver had talked her into running off with their money and giving them nothing in return. After all, if she'd reneged on a conspiracy to commit a crime, what recourse would they have to get their money back?
Before his stomach could knot itself too tightly, a gentle paddle stirred the water. A canoe resolved in the gloom and glided smoothly toward shore, lodging in the mud there. Seated in the hull, a girl of about eighteen years regarded them with curious, unafraid eyes. Two blue feathers hung from the collar of her jabat. She was as slender as a child's first hunting bow, but her arms and shoulders had the look of pale cuts of wood being shaped into something that would last.
"You two don't look as dumb as I thought." She lobbed a packet at Dante. It bounced off his chest. Blays caught it before it could fall into the murky water. The girl jerked her chin at the packet. "One bulb each. Chew them good."
Blays fished out two purple-spotted plant bulbs, passing one to Dante.
Dante held it to his nose, smelling onions and capers. "What
is it?"
"Eni rio. We'll need it to get out of here."
Blays crunched his down. Dante followed suit. The bulb tasted so strongly of onions—though a strange kind Dante had never encountered before—that it made his eyes water.
"What's it do?" Blays said. "Give you strength to paddle longer?"
"Nah," the girl said. "It kills you."
Dante stared at her, then spit messily, but he'd already swallowed almost all of it. He stuck his finger down his throat and gagged.
The girl rolled her eyes. "Idiot. If I meant it kills-kills you, would I tell you before you were dead? Eni rio makes you act dead. When the Watchers of the Water look you over, you'll be so dead-faced they'll pay me to haul you away." She slapped the side of the canoe. "Now get in. And if you tip us over, then you have to ride underneath."
Dante scowled at her. "Have you done this before?"
"If I said no, would you walk away?"
He grunted, waded into the water, and climbed over the side. It was an awkward maneuver and he probably would have spilled them if the girl hadn't planted her paddle in the muck for balance. Blays hopped in as lightly as a dragonfly alighting on a cattail.
She pushed off, spun them around, and paddled leisurely toward the northeast, making no more sound than the occasional drip of water. Low laughter drifted from islands and collections of rafts moored together; people lived on their boats, Dante realized. Likely, that was true of all the laborers who couldn't afford a scrap of land.
Once the fullness of the night had crouched down on the city, the girl paddled toward a stone bridge, veering toward its abutment. Crossing under its shadow was like sailing into another world: water echoed on all sides, smelling as musty as a cave. The girl pulled the canoe parallel to the abutment. There, a shelf of stone rose a few inches from the water.
"Get out," she said.
Blays tipped back his head at the arch above them. "Oh, are we in the capital already?"
"Change into these." She got a sack from under her bench and tossed them each a jabat. "Two dead outlanders smells like three-day-old fish. But two dead hari won't lift an eyebrow."
"Hari?"
She made a searching gesture. "Foreigners who stayed. Trash-people. No one cares if their bodies stop living."
Light spilled in from either side of the bridge, giving Dante enough visibility to undo various laces and clasps. And for the young woman to stare at them with utter shamelessness as they stripped down. To Dante's annoyance—which didn't make a ton of sense, considering he had no intention of romancing her—she seemed far more interested in Blays.
With an inner sigh, he adjusted the jabat on his shoulders and cinched its thin rope belt. As stupid as it looked, it did circulate the humid air rather well. He strapped on sandals and returned to the canoe.
Blays tied his belt in a stylish loop and jerked his chin at the girl. "Now that you've seen my ass, you could at least tell me your name."
She grinned. "Volo. Back aboard before the eni rio hits you."
Blays reembarked. They wadded up their old clothes and hid their swords beneath it. Volo resumed paddling, faster this time. Soon, though her arms didn't seem to be working any harder, they seemed to be going faster yet, the lanterns on the shores leaving long trails of light behind them. Dante's tongue felt huge in his mouth.
"I think," he said. "The bulbs."
"Lie down," she said without looking back. "If you fall in, you won't be able to swim."
He eased himself back, elbows shaking beneath him. Blays did the same; the canoe was built for multiple people, but they had to do some rearranging to reach a point where there weren't any feet in faces or elbows in ribs.
As soon as Dante quit moving, he felt as relaxed as the moment when you fell asleep. For a minute, it was immensely pleasant, like flying might be; the canoe skimmed through the water without so much as a single jolt. He wanted to laugh, but he didn't seem to know how.
The world got faster and faster. He tried to blink, but his eyelids wouldn't budge. Towers raced past them. The only thing that wasn't moving far too fast was the stars, so he fixed on them. His breaths grew further and further apart. So did the beats of his heart. Among his last clear thoughts was the realization that if someone was going to kill him, he would be utterly powerless to stop it.
Towers and bridges blurred past them. He felt as cool and still as a stone at the bottom of a lake. And then—were they stopped? A man's voice called out, half bored. They were stopped.
A light neared. A man stood above them on a stone walkway carrying a spear and a lantern, dressed in a green jabat. "Who's in the water?"
"Volo of the Maggots," the girl said. "Got a delivery."
"What've you got tonight?"
She shrugged. "Pair of dead hari."
The sentry leaned close, shining the lantern into Dante's face. "You didn't kill 'em, did you?"
They both laughed.
"Smelled bad before they died," Volo said. "Thinking I'll take them to the Garu Marsh."
"Why bother? D'you think they have souls?"
"Hari? They look like people. Must have souls of some kind. But they're probably bad ones."
The guard laughed again, the light of his lantern whirling. He crouched down for another look at Dante, crinkling his nose. "Why would the gods give them souls they knew were bad?"
Volo looked down at the "corpses" with mild disgust. "Maybe they're not so good at making souls. Some of them come out bad. Have to put 'em somewhere."
"But most of the world is worse than hari. That means the gods must be awful at their job!"
"And our leader says he's appointed by the gods. Makes you think."
The guard nodded sagely. Looking preoccupied, he leveled his spear and poked Dante in the ribs. Pain ripped across his side. If he could have screamed, he would have.
The soldier scrunched his mouth and stood. "You're right about the smell. Get 'em out of here. Clear waters."
"Clear waters," she said back.
She paddled away from the wall and toward a high stone arch, letting herself coast to a stop. In Dante's peripheral vision, he saw a net being drawn away from the mouth of the arch, opening the way forward. Volo waved in the direction of a lantern and paddled through the gate.
All towers and structures disappeared, replaced by blank sky. Within a short period of time—Dante still couldn't gauge it any better than that—dark branches grasped together, crowding out the stars. Insects whirred so loudly it was as if they'd burrowed inside his skull.
The lights were long gone behind them. Things weren't speeding by so fast anymore, but even the stars seemed to be moving now, hovering below the trees, winking on and off. As Dante fought to understand how this could be so, one of the stars drifted over the canoe. Volo batted at it: it was a bug, carrying its own light, as if it had a torchstone embedded in its ass.
He might have fallen asleep for a while. When he came back to himself, his limbs and face were tingling. He found that he could blink. Beside him, Blays was twitching. Overhead, the branches weren't moving at all. The insects were still whirring. Out in the darkness, something splashed softly.
"Keep wiggling," Volo said.
"Will it help?" Dante slurred.
"It'll help stop you from being eaten by everything that wants a piece of you."
He wiggled harder. As his floppy limbs and wobbly joints began to cohere into something resembling a functional body, Volo chipped at a flint, spraying sparks onto a wooden cage. Something caught inside, lighting with a soft oily whoosh. Though the lantern was mostly made out of something that looked like wicker, only the parts that were supposed to burn were currently doing so. Volo hung it from a pole in the prow of the canoe.
They were floating in a clearing of sorts, a patch of open water surrounded by thick-trunked trees. Hundreds of wicker cages hung from the black boughs. Inside, white bones rested in untidy piles. Other bodies still carried flesh on them, the skin sloughing off, what lay beneath g
listening darkly.
Blays sniffed. "Wish my nose had stayed paralyzed."
"What is this place?" Dante said. "A prison?"
Volo gawked at him. "You imprison your dead?"
"Of course not. We bury them. Don't you?"
"You bury them? In ground? That's disgusting!"
"Oh yes, much cleaner to hang them in gibbets to get eaten by bugs and drip juice on you when you pass under them."
"Ground is for growth, not death. Here, we elevate the dead above the waters so they don't have to be afraid anymore."
"Is that what you do?" Dante gestured at the cages, then in the direction he thought might possibly be Aris Osis. "Ferry the dead here?"
"That's right. I'm a Maggot."
"Hey now," Blays said. "You seem like a perfectly nice person."
"It's an honor to be a Maggot. I'm one of the only parts of the body that isn't of the body." Volo gave them a look up and down. "You two aren't merchants, are you? You're soldiers."
Dante kept his expression neutral. "What makes you think that?"
"You have swords. And you're doing something you're not supposed to. Something you could get killed for. Merchants don't put their lives in danger. They use money to get other people to do that for them."
"You're right. We're soldiers for the same people Captain Naran works for."
"Not like those common ones, though," Blays said. "We're the elite. Double-elite, really. The normal elite would have you believe otherwise, but that's because they're jealous."
"Like the Knights of Odo Sein?" She considered them. "Does that mean you're going to kill me?"
"Why would we kill you?"
"So I can't tell anyone who you are. Or maybe you only became soldiers because you like killing people, so you'd sword me just because you can."
Blays flexed his hands, working out the last of the sluggishness. "If we were the type to do that, would it be a great idea to plant that thought in our heads?"
"It doesn't matter. You've already thought of it." Volo narrowed her eyes. "And you wouldn't tell me what you're really doing here, either. Are you going to kill the Drakebane?"
The Cycle of Galand Box Set Page 122
