The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  Quarrah opened her mouth to reply, but what could she say? He was always the one with the words.

  “You were faster than I expected,” Ard said to her.

  “You were expecting me?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I negotiated your release. Did you think Tanalin Phor slipped you that lock-picking tool out of the goodness of her heart?”

  “Lock-picking tool …?” Was he talking about the hidden jagpin in her boot?

  “I knew those shackles wouldn’t give you any trouble if I got the right instrument into your hands,” Ard carried on. “I found the tool in your pack and coerced Tanalin into making the delivery.”

  As far as Ard was aware, he had rescued Quarrah. She wondered what Tanalin must have thought when she came to drop off the tool and found Quarrah’s shackles empty.

  She smiled, deciding not to tell Ard the truth of her escape just yet. He had come for her. He had finally faced his bygone lover for Quarrah’s sake. He’d chosen her over Tanalin in an apparent display of his affection. Quarrah thought it best to let him revel in the moment.

  “Did you send Tanalin my warmest regards?” Raek asked.

  Ard nodded. “She said we should all get together for lunch sometime.”

  “And then she shot you in the chest?”

  “That was a formality.” Ard plucked at his stained shirt. “It hurt a lot worse when she punched me in the face.”

  Quarrah had only been apart from them for a single night, but something had obviously changed between the two partners. An old level of trust seemed to be reemerging, like sunlight breaking through clouds after a heavy storm.

  “We should get moving,” Ard said. “It won’t be long before Tanalin leads her crew this way.”

  “She knows where we are?” Raek asked.

  “I had to tell her,” answered Ard. “But she agreed to turn a blind eye while we escape. Then she promised to circle around and retrieve Nemery.”

  Quarrah started. In her worry over Ard’s return, she’d forgotten about the girl. “Where is she?”

  Ard pointed back toward the trees. “Asleep,” he said. “And she needs to stay that way until we’re gone.”

  It seemed harsh to leave Nemery behind, but Quarrah knew it was the right choice. She’d seen the girl’s wounded leg. Nemery would never make the swim to the waiting ship. Still, turning her over to Tanalin was a gamble. But Quarrah supposed it was better that Nemery be a prisoner than a corpse.

  “Time to test Ard’s frozen grape theory.” Raek’s statement made no sense to Quarrah, but she watched as the big man placed the pot of Drift Grit he’d been holding. Ard seemed to know what to do, moving around to brace himself against the Slagstone as Raek detonated the Grit.

  With a slight discoloration of the air, a weightless cloud sprang up, enveloping the huge black stone. Raek took his place beside Ard, the two men planting their feet outside the blast perimeter for leverage.

  “Hey, Ard,” Raek said with a cheeky grin. “If this doesn’t float, we’re sunk.”

  Ard rolled his eyes. “Thanks for buoying my confidence.”

  They counted down from three and shoved against the Slagstone, sending it spinning through the hazy Grit cloud and over the cliff’s edge.

  Quarrah stepped forward anxiously as it plummeted. Far below, it struck the water. In the mist from the crashing waves, Quarrah couldn’t tell if the Grit detonated like Raek said it should.

  The Slagstone sunk out of sight, the three of them holding their breath as they peered down. And then a massive chunk of ice rose from the depths and bobbed upon the surface.

  Raek let out a huge sigh, and Ard laughed victoriously. When Quarrah realized what they’d done, she shook her head at the brilliant idea.

  “Won’t it melt?” she asked. The detonation cloud would stay where it originated, but the Slagstone had already floated yards away.

  “Eventually, yes,” Raek said, pulling off his shirt in preparation for the big dive. “But ice is ice, whether it’s in the freezing atmosphere or not. Which reminds me …” He held up a finger of caution. “Make sure you don’t jump into the Cold cloud below or it’ll freeze you solid in the blink of an eye.”

  Quarrah glanced down at the Compounded Cold cloud on the ocean’s surface. Continuous shards of ice formed as water passed into the detonation radius, the current pushing and pulling the frozen fractals in multiple directions. Quarrah suddenly realized the urgency of their dive, since every moment they waited filled their landing space with deadly icebergs.

  She was standing there as though frozen, fear filling up her insides, when Ard’s warm hand slipped into hers.

  “We’ll jump together.” The morning light shone on his crimson-stained bare chest. Quarrah nodded wordlessly, slipping out of her boots. Her clothes were tight-fitting enough not to bog her down, and she had no other excess to shed.

  Hand in hand, Ard and Quarrah sprinted a handful of steps, and then the ground fell out from beneath them. It was a paralyzing plunge, and Quarrah was sure they would hit one of the icebergs below.

  Water wrapped around her like a forceful hug. She felt Ard’s hand separate from hers as she strained upward, breaking the surface with a gasp.

  Quarrah was by no means an expert swimmer, but she found the rhythm of it, kicking hard in the direction of the waiting ship. She felt as though she had left all of her strength in the water when they hauled her up, cold hands clinging desperately to the rope ladder.

  “Welcome aboard the Shiverswift,” a new voice greeted Quarrah as she pulled herself, sopping, onto the deck. “Frightful good fortune to pull a fine young lass from the water.”

  Quarrah looked at the speaker. The man’s hair was gray and comely, pulled back in the popular fashion. He wore a striking blue shoulder cape and a pressed shirt with impressive sleeves. His chin was shaved smooth, leaving only a neatly trimmed mustache. The early light played on his blue feathered hat, the left side of the huge brim turned up. If Quarrah hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the man was dressed for an orchestra concert in Beripent.

  “I thought,” she gasped, “you were pirates.”

  “What makes you think we aren’t?” the man asked, proffering a dry handkerchief.

  Quarrah glanced across the deck. Ard and Raek had apparently beaten her to the ship and were already conversing with a few well-dressed sailors at the stern. A ship hand walked by with a glass of red wine. An actual glass!

  “I thought you’d be more …” Quarrah dried her face. “Rough.”

  “Homeland, no!” the man exclaimed. “A bit of scented grapeseed oil softens the calluses nicely.” He produced a long-stemmed pipe and began to light the tobacco. “We consider ourselves high-class pirates, madame. We’re in it for the finer things. Leave the ravaging and murdering to the tasteless folk.”

  Quarrah shouldn’t have been surprised. After all she’d been through with Ardor Benn and Raekon Dorrel, she should have expected them to contract with classy pirates.

  The ship lurched, and Quarrah barely kept her feet planted. Raek ran past, shouting something as a handful of sailors readied the cargo nets. A few minutes later, they had managed to ensnare the floating, ice-encrusted Slagstone. Sails whipped in the wind, and the Shiverswift towed its valuable cargo away from Pekal’s high shoreline.

  Ard came alongside the finely dressed pirate. “Our ice is melting fast. The cargo won’t stay afloat much longer.”

  “We’ll pull her aboard once we reach legal waters,” the gray-haired man said.

  “Thanks, Captain,” Ard replied. “We’ll get payments squared away within a cycle.”

  “Aye. I’ll expect the deposit into my treasury account at the Symphonette guesthouse.” The captain offered them each a butter mint, took a long puff on his pipe, and strode away.

  “Good winds,” Raek said, coming up behind Ard. “We should be to Strind by suppertime.”

  “Tell us about the factory,” Ard said.

  “Well, I’ve pic
ked out the perfect place,” Raek began. “Cozy, quaint. And wait until you see the views.”

  Quarrah lifted an eyebrow. “We are talking about a Grit processing factory, right?”

  Raek chuckled. “Actually, the place is a perfect dump. It’ll fit our needs nicely.”

  “We’ll move in after dark?” Quarrah clarified. “Process the Grit while no one is there?”

  “There’s always someone there,” Ard said. “And it’s going to be nearly impossible to sneak that lump of Slagstone in after hours. Besides, Raek’s not sneaky. Just look at him.”

  “Then what’s the plan?” Quarrah wondered why they hadn’t talked about this? All this time she had imagined that they’d sneak in.

  “I left a stash when I visited a few cycles back,” Raek said. “It’s got uniforms, documents, everything we need to bring that Slagstone through the front door right under the workers’ noses.”

  “Another ruse?” Quarrah sighed. Why couldn’t they ever do things her way?

  “Yes and no,” said Ard. “We’ll move the Slagstone into the factory during the hustle and bustle of regular hours. Then we’ll need someone to slip in undetected in the middle of the night, steal some keys, open some doors, and get us access to the machinery.” He rubbed his chin. “If only I knew someone with that specific skill set …”

  Quarrah grinned. Maybe they would do something her way after all.

  I envy all those who can so easily sail away from this place.

  CHAPTER

  33

  Quarrah slipped into the dark corner of the Grit factory, melding with the midnight shadows and waiting for the scheduled security guard to walk past. She altered her breathing. Low and shallow, but steady. It was the common temptation to hold one’s breath while hiding, but that tactic inevitably led to audible gasping.

  It wasn’t like the handful of guards would be listening to the shadows anyway. It was just an ordinary night at Mordell and Sons Grit Processing Factory.

  Quarrah, Ard, and Raek had barely arrived before the factory closed, the pirates dropping them at a quiet harbor on Strind before departing with Moroy Peng.

  Raek’s stash of uniforms and forged paperwork had served them well, allowing the three of them to move the Slagstone into a holding room without any trouble. Now it was Quarrah’s turn to get them all inside again, with full access to the Slagstone, the machinery, and the processing pits.

  Quarrah heard the footsteps she’d been expecting. A single pair of boots, slow, heavy gait. A bit of a shuffle, which would imply either fatigue or intoxication. Perhaps a bit of both.

  The guard walked past, a heavyset man with a bored expression. Quarrah waited until the sound of his steps faded around a corner before ducking out of her shadowed nook and moving down the hallway.

  It felt good to be a thief again! Like rinsing in a clear stream after a day on the dusty road.

  Mordell and Sons was the perfect place. Private security was lax, locks were outdated, and half of the standard safety protocols were ignored.

  Quarrah had already lifted a ring of keys from a “secure” room. These would allow Ard and Raek to open doors without her. And it would make it much easier to relock doors behind them, so as not to leave any evidence of their intrusion.

  This was really the end of the ruse! Quarrah hadn’t given much thought to it on Pekal, with all her focus on basic survival. By morning they’d be back in Beripent, delivering the Visitant Grit to Isle Halavend and collecting their million Ashings.

  Where would Quarrah go next? Things weren’t perfect with Ard, but she hoped they might begin to build something real together. They’d be as rich as nobility, and Ard would have no excuses but to focus a bit of that brilliant mind on cultivating a relationship with her.

  Quarrah moved around another corner. The factory was a large hexagonal structure, the six exterior corridors pocked with rooms to house equipment and supplies. The center of the hexagon was an open-air courtyard where the processing pits and stationary machinery were located.

  Listening for any sounds of security guards, Quarrah paused at an outer personnel door. Most of the factory entrances were large cargo gates, designed to bring in cumbersome Slagstone mounds. But this small door would be more subtle.

  Quarrah inserted the key that corresponded with that particular style of lock and pushed open the metal door, wincing as it groaned on its hinges.

  Ard and Raek stepped quickly inside. The stolen factory uniforms they’d been wearing earlier were replaced by more traditional clothes—billowing sleeves and a vest for Ard, cutoff shirtsleeves for Raek.

  “This way.” Quarrah took off down the hallway at a jog. Her boots from the stash weren’t nearly as comfortable as her usual soft leather. And the soles seemed to scuff noisily.

  In a moment, they were standing in the room where the Slagstone was stored. Ard rested one hand gently on the cool, dark stone as if he’d hated being apart from it.

  “There are four security guards patrolling the hallways,” Quarrah said. “How do we stop them from coming into the courtyard once we start processing?”

  “We’ll need to keep the loud machinery in a cloud of Silence Grit at all times,” Ard said.

  “I’ve also got these.” Raek held out a handful of curious devices. Each looked like a detonation pot with a metal prong extending off one side.

  “Door mines full of Memory Grit,” he explained. “Once we get into the courtyard, I’ll attach these to each of the doors. If a guard tries to walk in on us, the mine will detonate. He’ll be instantly enveloped by a cloud of Memory Grit, so he won’t remember anything he sees in the courtyard.”

  “What’s to stop him from stepping through the cloud?” Quarrah asked. Memory Grit only erased the person’s ability to recall things that happened while they were contained within it.

  “That’s what these are for.” Raek gestured to a bundle of thin tubes at his belt.

  “You rascal!” Ard cried. “Where did you get those?”

  “Had some left over from the Dewdow ruse,” he said. “I stashed them here with the other stuff.”

  “That’s why I keep this guy around,” Ard said.

  “What are they?” Quarrah asked.

  “Trothian Air Darts,” Raek explained. “They blow needles laced with tranquilizer. I’ll rig them to the door frame with an ignitor and the smallest pinch of Void Grit. The detonation will shoot the needle across the threshold when the door opens. As long as it hits the guard while he’s in the Memory cloud, he won’t remember any of it. When he wakes up, he’ll think he must have dozed off. It is the night shift, after all.”

  “Remind me to give you a raise,” Ard said.

  “I would,” Raek replied, “but I’m not your employee.”

  “Quarrah and I will set up the equipment while you place the door mines,” Ard went on. “When you finish, start mixing the solution for the pits. We’ll begin Chipping, but we need to move through this as quickly as possible. We’re looking for seventeen fragments of fertilized shell in this mound.” He patted the Slagstone, the broken end resting in the cart beside it.

  “You got it.” Raek swung open the wide loading door. Quarrah glimpsed the dark courtyard beyond as Raek moved out of sight.

  “Here’s a list of materials we’re going to need.” Ard handed her a slip of paper. “Supply rooms are usually located with easy access to the pits. Check the doors around the perimeter of the courtyard.”

  Quarrah squinted at the list. She’d have to step closer to the Light cloud if she hoped to read it. There wasn’t much she missed about being Azania Fyse, but Quarrah regretted not keeping her spectacles in moments like these.

  “I’ll move the Slagstone into position and prime the machinery.” Ard seemed to sense her nervousness and tried to break it with a winning smile. “Don’t worry, Quarrah. This’ll be fun.”

  “Have you done this before?” she asked. Ard knew so much about it, Quarrah assumed he had experience working in a Grit fac
tory.

  “That depends on what you mean,” answered Ard.

  “I thought it was a straightforward question.”

  “If you’re asking if I’ve ever broken into a factory and processed my own Grit in the middle of the night, then the answer is no,” he said. “If you’re asking if I’ve ever processed Grit in a factory at all, then the answer is … no.”

  “So, basically, the answer is no,” said Quarrah.

  “Hey. Try not to be so negative.” He winked at her. “Raek read a book about Grit processing once. He told me what it said. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Quarrah rolled her eyes, unable to decide if Ard was telling the truth or trying to lighten the mood. He pulled the handle of the Slagstone cart, Quarrah giving a good shove from the back as it rolled onto the packed dirt of the courtyard.

  Alone now, Quarrah stepped over to the floating cloud of Light Grit, mumbling aloud as she read the list that Ard had scribed for her.

  “Weighted Light Grit lanterns, glass eye lenses, steel gauntlets, nose plugs, breathing reed … What the blazes?” Quarrah shook her head. She couldn’t have predicted a single bizarre item on this list.

  Knowing Ard, half the items could have been a joke. But Quarrah knew he wasn’t in the mood to waste time tonight. She’d get the supplies as quickly as possible and hope that he and Raek really knew what they were doing.

  The night was nearly spent, but Ard felt confident that they’d be done by sunrise. Raek’s Memory Grit door mines had captured only one would-be intruder. But Raek had dragged the unconscious guard back into the hallway before resetting the mine and Trothian Air Dart.

  The Mill’s steady pounding was as rhythmic as Ard’s heartbeat, sending tremors through the dirt as the plate of sharp dragon teeth pulverized the shell fragments.

  Fortunately, the factory’s machinery hadn’t given them any trouble. Quarrah and Raek had used the Chipping Vise and Blast Chisels to rough out the pieces of shell, breaking away excess Slagstone. They had uncovered bone, wood, and chips of rock. Normally, a factory would carefully extract every indigestible embedded within the Slagstone. But tonight, Ard was only interested in dragon shell.