by Martha Wells
“I suppose someone’s warned the kitchen staff?” Tremaine said, swinging her feet against the desk.
“This is insupportable,” Niles fumed, not really answering her question. His tie was knotted incorrectly, for him a sign of great agitation.
Florian looked up, wearily pushing her hair back. She didn’t appear as if she had gotten much sleep. “Niles did reveal charms on all the food stores as soon as he realized what had happened.”
Tremaine frowned. Despite that, she wasn’t much in the mood for breakfast. “The poison wasn’t in the food then?”
“Only the soup,” the nurse answered her, sounding sick at the thought. “It was the only part of the meal that the hospital staff didn’t eat too.” She gestured helplessly. “The first day most of the Gardier didn’t eat it and the ones who did were ill. I thought it might be the spices, so I asked the kitchens to make a batch without so much.”
“Did the kitchen staff know it was for the Gardier?” Tremaine asked.
The nurse looked up, frowning. She was young though there were already touches of gray in her dark hair. “Yes, I said it was for the prisoners. The patients’food was separate, and the guards on the Isolation Ward were in shifts, so they could go to dinner. Some of the patients still can’t keep much down and—” Realization hit and she added uncertainly, “Oh, you don’t think…”
Tremaine shrugged. The kitchen staff were probably all Rienish and Aderassi with perhaps a few other nationalities mixed in. Poison was a weapon of choice for Rienish domestic murderers; her perusals of Medical Jurisprudence had told her that much. “Are we sure it was actually a sorcerous poison and not just something somebody sprinkled in on impulse when they realized who the soup was for?”
“It worked so fast,” Florian protested. “Surely something you could find in a kitchen wouldn’t be so…virulent.”
Tremaine tapped her lower lip, lost in thought. “I bet I could put together something, if I had time to really look.” She turned to Niles to ask a question and saw he was giving her that look again. “What?” she demanded.
Niles shook his head in annoyance. “Dr. Divies has already explored that possibility, but a cleaning agent or anything else readily available in the kitchens would have had more specific symptoms.”
Ilias and Giliead walked in with Gerard. “Anything?” Tremaine asked hopefully.
Giliead shook his head. “No trail. But a curse on the food wouldn’t leave one.”
“In a way, this changes nothing,” Gerard said grimly. He hadn’t had a chance to shave yet, and it gave him a faintly disreputable air. “We just have to keep looking.”
By the end of the day, Ilias thought he and Giliead and Tremaine had been over almost every pace of the ship, with no sign of their quarry. They had even gone down into the Ravenna’s mysterious innards, where the curses that drove her lived.
A sailor had guided them through those dark noisy spaces, down alleyways crammed with metal and pipes in indescribable combinations, or across little bridges over vast spaces of growling labyrinthine shapes, all of it making an indescribable din. The stink was worse than the flying whale or the Rienish wagons without horses, and there were many of the Rienish trail signs that meant danger. He knew if Pasima or any of the others knew all this was down here, they would never have set foot on the ship.
One of the sailors who worked there, a big dark-skinned man whose duty, as far as Ilias could tell, was to keep all these metal guts working, had looked both him and Giliead over skeptically, then gestured to the red markings and the levers near them, speaking with serious emphasis. Tremaine translated, “He says not to touch anything, especially the releases for the watertight doors.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Giliead agreed with a wary glance around. They were in one of those crowded alleys between rows of boxy metal shapes and pipes. Even the wizard lamps made more shadows than light, and the air was foul.
Ilias gave the man a grim nod, wishing they didn’t have to come down here at all. “What’s a watertight door?” he asked carefully, having a sudden vision of doors below the water level in the hull, perilously keeping out the sea.
Tremaine translated the question, and the man stepped back to pat the thick frame of the doorway behind him. Tremaine listened, frowning, then translated, “Hatches that close off the compartments if the hull is breached. They can all be shut from the bridge in moments. He says on the first voyage a man was killed in one during a drill.” She paused, obviously thinking it over. “I don’t think I wanted to know that.”
Ilias leaned forward, eyeing the heavy slab of metal. It was at least a handspan thick. He exchanged a look with Giliead.
Gerard had told them the only curses that were supposed to be down there were protective, meant to stop rust and fire and other things that might damage the ship’s insides; Giliead had been unable to sense most of them but then they were beginning to believe that there were some Rienish curses he just couldn’t see.
After that nerve-shattering experience they had fled to the upper decks, to the topmost one. Here the covered hulls of the ships’ boats were cradled just below the railing, and there was an open space outside between the first and second of the giant chimneys. It was floored with polished wood, and Tremaine explained that it was meant for some kind of game. It was a good place to lie in the salt-laden breeze and watch the sunset and the distant outline of the Walls.
Tremaine had found a wooden contraption something like a couch and dragged it onto the open area near where Ilias and Giliead sprawled on the sun-warmed boards. Propping up one end and sitting in it, she surveyed the view, saying, “So. If this sorcerer who spoke to Bain is a Gardier, why hasn’t he done the mechanical disruption spell and sunk us yet?”
They had been discussing this off and on all day. Ilias sat up, propping himself on his hands. His headache from going so far belowdecks had finally started to fade. It was another world up here, impossibly high above the water, all sky and air and sea forever. You could easily forget the troubled waters they sailed. “Your god won’t let him use his curses, except on the other Gardier.”
Tremaine gave him a sour eye. “He is not a god. Just call him Arisilde.”
Ilias was fairly sure he didn’t want to be on such intimate terms with a foreign wizard god, no matter how much he liked Tremaine and the other Rienish. It had taken him a year or so just to get used to knowing their own god personally. He caught Giliead’s amused eye. His friend was lying on his stomach with his head propped on his folded arms, and Ilias could tell he was thinking the same thing and laughing at him. He thumped him in the ribs with his bootheel. Giliead grunted and changed the subject, saying, “We’re too far out. If he sinks the ship, he has no way to get to shore. Any shore.”
“He could take one of the lifeboats,” Tremaine put in thoughtfully. “They’re made to travel long distances if they have to. But you’re right, if he’s not a good sailor, he might not like the idea much. I sure as hell wouldn’t try it if I were him.”
Ilias scratched his chest absently, still thinking it over. “But how did he get here? Could a Gardier really have come off the island with us?” After the improbability of being here and of surviving all these years, killing one more poisoning wizard seemed ridiculously easy; it was frustrating that they couldn’t find him.
“A Gardier spy could have come aboard at Chaire, with the other refugees,” Tremaine admitted. “But that was a last-minute change of plans, so he would have gotten the chance more by luck than anything else.” She steepled her fingers. “I don’t believe in luck.”
Ilias lifted a brow at her, and Giliead snorted wryly. “What?” she demanded.
“You live on nothing but luck,” Ilias told her fondly.
“It’s careful planning,” she insisted, apparently serious. “I am not a lucky person.”
Giliead rolled over and stretched. “If it is a Gardier wizard, why not do the same as a Syprian wizard would and poison everyone on the ship?”
“That’s one reason,” Giliead agreed. He sat up on his elbows, squinting against the setting sun to see Tremaine. “He must have killed the prisoners because he didn’t want them to talk to you. But why try to make Bain help him?”
“He needs the help of another wizard for something else,” Ilias said, not liking the idea.
Tremaine’s brow furrowed. “If we can get past the stupid Walls, we’ll reach Capidara in three days. In two days we should be close enough to go through the etheric gateway and finish the rest of the trip in our world, since the Gardier don’t have Capidara blockaded yet. He doesn’t have much time.”
Giliead lifted a brow, considering. “He may try for the Gardier woman. Or if Bain hasn’t told you everything, if his father lied—”
“We need to be there tonight, in the healer’s rooms.” Ilias met his eyes, understanding completely. It had been a frustrating day, and they were both ready to finish this off.
“Of course, he’ll expect that.” Tremaine sounded as if she preferred it that way.
So we’re not having much luck, though I suppose we could turn up another Bain.” Tremaine shrugged, sitting on the leather-clad arm of a chair. “We wanted to try a trap.”
“Niles and I were considering something of the sort. It’s obvious the woman will continue to be a target.” Gerard polished his spectacles, the calculation in his eyes belying the absent gesture. Gerard and Niles had taken over the First Class smoking room as a work area and laboratory. Tremaine had never been there before and was unsurprised to find it as opulent as the ship’s other public rooms. The high ceiling rose to a dome and the walls were paneled in dark woods framed with strips of copper banding. The overstuffed red leather club chairs stood about on an inlaid stone-tile floor, and Parscian carved screens framed the marble hearth. Now two of the blocky tables had been pulled into the center of the room and were stacked with books, papers, beakers and flasks, jars of herbs and powders and crystals. Several charts with incomprehensible figures and glyphs partly covered a surrealist seascape, and an easel had been put up in one corner to support a chalkboard. Wooden crates were stacked against the opposite wall, a few pried open to reveal more books. With no space restrictions to worry about, Niles must have brought the Viller Institute’s entire research library and all the sorcerous paraphernalia there had been time to haul aboard. Gerard lifted his brows. “But of course—”
Tremaine finished the thought, “He has to know we’ll be waiting for him.”
“Yes. Our opponent will have to be aware of that. But he also may feel he doesn’t have a choice.” Gerard paced a few steps. He had the drawn look that Tremaine saw in the mirror, that everyone on the ship seemed to wear now. Considering Gerard hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep in the past three days, it was a miracle he was on his feet at all. “If we present Balin with evidence that one of her own people killed her companions, it could go a long way toward making her more forthcoming. He’ll want to prevent that at all cost.”
Tremaine nodded, running a distracted hand through her hair and wincing at the odor of engine oil that came away on her fingers. Ilias and Giliead had gone on to the dining room, on the grounds that setting the trap meant they would probably be up all night again and they might as well do it on full stomachs. Suddenly what Gerard had said penetrated, and she glanced up, frowning. “Wait, who’s Balin?”
“The Gardier woman. That’s her name.” Gerard regarded her thoughtfully. “Did you not want to know?”
Tremaine gave him a thin smile. “I don’t care if they all had names, children and gray-haired old mothers wasting away waiting for their return.”
Gerard’s expression grew sardonic, but he continued, “Of course, our opponent may not have counted on Giliead’s unique abilities. Gervas did say that they were only able to detect two sorcerers on the Swift, myself and Arisilde’s sphere. Unless this saboteur is somehow able to get access to our conferences, he may not realize Giliead has any special power at all.”
Tremaine eyed him thoughtfully, swinging her leg against the table. “You think Giliead’s a sorcerer, whether he knows it or not?”
“It’s one theory. I think the Syprian gods are actually selecting potential sorcerers. The Chosen Vessels learn to use their magic with the god’s help, and possibly with some assistance from other Vessels?” He glanced at her for confirmation.
Tremaine nodded slowly. “They said there were journals, left by older Vessels.”
“Just so. Those who aren’t Chosen either let their potential lapse or learn to perform small harmless charms, probably without realizing it, that never draw the attention of the gods or the Vessels. And others find a rogue sorcerer to learn from and turn themselves into abominations like Ixion.” He stopped pacing, regarding her thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mention this theory to any of the Syprians.”
Tremaine snorted. “No, really.”
“But to get back to tonight.” Gerard gestured with his spectacles. “The Gardier, as far as we can tell, seem to disregard the Syprians completely, so the saboteur may not regard Giliead’s presence in the hospital as a deterrent.”
“Speaking of deterrents…” Tremaine said reluctantly. “Any idea why Arisilde didn’t do anything to stop this?”
Gerard frowned. “No, not yet.”
She let out a worried breath. “I don’t think Averi and Ander really understand what he’s capable of.”
“I tried to use the sphere to cast a ward around the hospital this afternoon. Niles tried with it as well. We both failed. Niles has used his own sphere, but it simply isn’t as powerful as Arisilde.” Gerard regarded her grimly. “I suspect Arisilde doesn’t feel he should waste his strength in protecting Gardier.”
“Damn it.” Tremaine shook her head. “I was afraid of that. It could mean he’s not as all there as we thought, in which case…” We’re trusting our lives to a crazy man trapped in a metal ball. She rubbed her eyes. Maybe I don’t want to kill myself anymore not because Arisilde was trying to communicate with me from the sphere, but because I’ve gone insane.
They sat there in glum silence for a moment, then Gerard shook his head. “There’s not much we can do now, except try to stop this Gardier.”
Tremaine chewed her lip, distracted. “We’re sure we’re dealing with a Gardier, then?”
Gerard frowned. “No. We’re not.”
Tremaine got to the dining hall in time to eat with Giliead and Ilias, then by common consent they headed back to the cabin. Tremaine was hoping to be able to grab a nap, since it was going to be a long night.
But when they reached the cabin Tremaine saw Pasima and Cletia were occupying two of the chairs in the main room, with Sanior sitting at their feet. She groaned mentally and heard Ilias mutter, “Oh, good.” Giliead just set his face in a stony expression.
The three Syprians must have been having a conversation, but the talk stopped when they saw Tremaine and the others enter the foyer. Cletia and Sanior looked uncomfortable, but Pasima had her Ice Queen face on. Tremaine meant to plow through the room without acknowledging any of them and had almost made it to the sliding doors when Pasima said, “A word, Tremaine, if you please.”
Tremaine stopped with one hand on the door, the sanctuary of the back area of the cabin teasingly within sight. Oh, why not. “I can think of a few choice ones,” she said, turning around. “That lifeboat drill was being conducted by an officer of this ship. Would you behave that way to one of your own captains?”
Everyone looked startled except Ilias, who leaned against the wall as if making himself comfortable for a long siege, and Pasima, who looked annoyed. She snapped, “I didn’t want to risk exposing myself to your curses.”
Giliead, who had planted himself in the middle of the room with his arms folde
d, still stone-faced, told her, “If the ship sinks, you can congratulate yourself on your purity on the bottom of the ocean.”
Pasima’s lip curled. “Cursed ships don’t sink, more’s the pity.”
“All our others have,” Tremaine retorted.
“So you’ve told us.” Pasima eyed her. “No one has seen evidence of this.”
“Evidence?” Ilias broke in with a derisive laugh. “Are we supposed to take you to the sea bottom to look for it?”
Pasima stood, her lips tightening. “The only one who has seen this land you come from is him.” She jerked her head at Ilias as if pointing at him or saying his name would contaminate her. “A man with a curse mark who coincidentally is taken in marriage by you—”
“So Pella of the Cineth council is on our side? Because that’s not the impression I got,” Tremaine interrupted, her anger rising with dangerous speed. She had the feeling she was seeing Pasima’s real face here, the one that Ilias and the others had seen all along. “And if you’re suggesting the Rienish government chose me to bribe Ilias to silence, then I have to say they don’t share your taste in courtesans.” About 90 percent of that was an insult to herself, but never mind. “If you think we’re lying to you, why did you come on the damn trip in the first place?”
Pasima drew breath to reply and stopped suddenly, the words unsaid, flicking a wary glance at Giliead.
Tremaine stared at her for a long moment. Ah. I understand why they’re here now. Why she’s here. Pasima meant to prove Giliead wrong, to show that the Rienish sorcerers were as dangerous to the Syprians as their own wizards. Her voice tight, she said, “So we bribed Ilias with me, what did we bribe Giliead with? And the god? It didn’t strike me as being big on material possessions.” Pasima didn’t answer. “Well?”
Studying Pasima thoughtfully, Giliead said, “That’s what she’s here to find out.”
“I see. It was brave of you to admit it,” Tremaine assured her. “Wait, you didn’t, did you?” She turned for the door, knowing if she stayed any longer, she would be hurling objects at Pasima’s head. “Let’s go.”
