by Martha Wells
Ixion walked out of the cell, the Gardier officer following him, barking questions, the other guards behind him. As the outer door clanged shut, the men made muttered exclamations of relief. Gerard leaned back against the stone wall, feeling his tension drain away and the pain of various bruises return.
“We’re well and truly in it,” Gyan said softly.
“You said it,” Arites agreed, sounding glum.
Halian was watching Giliead, who glared contemplatively at the cell door. Then Giliead turned his head slightly, saying, “Two wizards.”
“What?” Halian asked sharply.
Giliead stirred, turning toward them. “He said there were two wizards on the Swift.”
Gerard nodded, considering the man’s words thoughtfully. “He did.”
Halian glanced at Gerard, frowning. “Florian is part wizard, isn’t she? That must be what set him off.”
“Yes, I suppose it could be,” Gerard agreed reluctantly. He could think of one other prospect, but it seemed unlikely. At least he hoped it was unlikely.
Chapter 18
Tremaine asked Niles’s secretary Giaren to find some warm clothes for Ilias to supplement his own, which were inadequate for the weather. Then she found a room for him down the hall from hers and gave a brief lesson in how to work the bathroom taps. While he was changing, she went downstairs; there were a couple of things she had to do before they could go to town.
One of those things should have been a nap but the strong coffee she had been drinking for the past hour had made sleep impossible. She went back to the temporary infirmary but the nurse wouldn’t let her see Florian and Ander, claiming that while Ander seemed improved, he was still in serious condition and that Florian needed to rest. Muttering to herself, Tremaine went through a green baize doorway at the bottom of the stairs and found her way through the cramped hall beyond it. The muted buzz of the wireless led her to the room where the hotel’s switchboards were located. She knocked on the partly open door and peered around it to see a crowded little room packed with telephone equipment. A young man was seated in the old operator’s chair going through a pile of logbooks. He looked up with a frown. “Yes? Can I help you?”
Tremaine pasted an affable smile on her face. “I need to make a trunk call.”
“Oh?” The operator looked doubtful. Personal calls were supposed to be kept to a minimum at all times.
“I’m Tremaine Valiarde. I need to call my uncle Galiard and let him know I’m all right before he leaves town.” Tremaine widened her eyes and concentrated on looking earnest. “He gets so worried.”
Even though the Institute was under government control now, the Valiarde name still worked. “Well, all right, of course you’ll have to keep it short. . . .” He pushed the set toward her.
“Oh, of course.” Tremaine picked up the receiver, feeling that rush of excitement that was becoming almost familiar. Familiarity hadn’t diminished its appeal. Now she understood a little better how her father, Uncle Arisilde, all the others she had met over the years, could become addicted to this. When the switchboard operator answered, she said, “Garbardin 34222.”
She saw the wireless man glance up briefly. It wasn’t a particularly good neighborhood but it was a very old one and it would make sense that the Valiardes might have connections there. The man would probably be very surprised, possibly fatally so, to find out what kind of connections they were. While she was waiting for the operator to respond, the wireless man said, “I’m from Garbardin and I don’t recognize that exchange.”
Damn. Her heart pounding, Tremaine covered the receiver. “It’s a private one.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You know how these old families are.” He’s going to think I’m a fatuous moron but that’s fine as long as I get the damn call through.
The wireless man gave her a polite smile back and nodded, returning to his logs. In her ear the tinny voice of the switchboard operator said, “One hour delay.”
Goddammit. But it was only to be expected; the wires were probably swamped with calls. The army might even have started cutting them, to keep the Gardier from making use of the system. Tremaine hesitated. She could ask for the Institute priority code that would get the call put through immediately, but that would just draw attention to it. “Right.” She hung up, smiled at the wireless man again, and strolled out into the hall.
Tremaine tapped her teeth thoughtfully, her eyes on the door to Colonel Averi’s office. Now the hard part. The staff would be destroying the official military documents by now. The Institute people who hadn’t already left were getting rid of theirs down in the ballroom. Here goes nothing.
She walked in briskly. This had probably been the office of one of the hotel’s lesser managers: It had the same fine wood wainscoting and lily-shaped light fixtures of the more public rooms, but it was small and low-ceilinged. The original furniture had been removed and replaced with a makeshift desk fashioned out of a console table and paper file boxes were stacked on the floor. She smiled at the secretary, an older woman in an army auxiliary uniform, and said, “I’d like to see Colonel Averi, please.” Tremaine had watched Averi leave the hotel while she was looking for Niles’s assistant.
The woman glanced up at her uncertainly. She was sorting documents out of a file box, setting a stack aside on the desk. The discards, the ones that would be burned so they didn’t fall into Gardier hands, were on the floor in a wooden packing crate. “He isn’t here, miss. He’s gone down to the docks.”
Tremaine looked a little flustered. “Oh. He was supposed to leave a letter for me. Can you see if it’s in his desk?”
The woman obligingly got up and stepped into the inner office. Tremaine had a few quick seconds to burrow through the discard box. These weren’t secret documents—the secretary wouldn’t have been allowed to handle those. But Tremaine didn’t need secrets, she just needed the standard form that the Vienne War Office used to send Averi his orders. She found an old one almost immediately, giving Averi authorization to bring Captain Feraim in on the Institute’s project. Perfect.
She had the paper folded and shoved into a pocket and was waiting demurely when the secretary came back in to say, “I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t find it.”
“Well, maybe I misunderstood him. You know, I’ll go down to the dock and ask him.”
As she turned to go the door to the hall swung open and a tall dark-haired man in army uniform stepped in. Captain Dommen, Averi’s second-in-command. He eyed Tremaine thoughtfully. “Can I help you, Miss Valiarde?”
“She stopped by to see Colonel Averi,” the secretary said helpfully.
He stepped forward, extending his hand. “I was so glad to hear you and the others had survived the mission after all.”
Tremaine shook hands, her face starting to hurt a little from all the unaccustomed smiling. She noted he hadn’t mentioned Gerard. Deciding the fatuous moron persona would work with Dommen also, she said, “Colonel Averi is such a nice man, isn’t he?”
Dommen nodded. “He’s said a number of good things about you.”
Really? Because he’s given me the impression he thinks I’m a huge liability to the Institute and possibly the entire war effort. Dommen was making an effort to be unctuous but she could tell it wasn’t easy for him. She suspected his normal attitude was a good deal more direct.
“What did you want to see Averi about?” Dommen asked, watching her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Oh, it was nothing. I’m just going to run down to the dock—”
The telephone on the desk rang and the secretary answered it. Tremaine had a moment of foreboding. Her luck with the document had been too good. The woman listened, then said, “Oh, miss, your call to Vienne was put through.”
Dommen’s brows lifted and he looked at her inquiringly.
Tremaine’s normal temperament would have required her to stare back at him blankly until he asked her outright what the call was about, but she thought helpful dumbness was more p
roductive right now. “That’s my uncle. I wanted to talk to him before he left the city.”
“Ah, I see. Go ahead and take it here then.” Dommen gestured politely for the secretary to hand her the receiver.
“Thank you.” Tremaine showed her teeth back at him, thinking, That was one damn short hour. She took the receiver, heard the line click thoughtfully a couple of times as the call was put through, then it was picked up on the second ring. “Hullo?” a low voice queried cautiously.
“This is Tremaine Valiarde.” There was a faint gasp at the other end. “I can’t speak long”—family code for someone is listening—“but I needed to let Uncle Galiard know that I’m all right.” I need help and I need it now.
“You got a way out of the country? Himself asks me ten times a day. He’s worried about you.” The rough voice was reproachful.
Tremaine managed not to roll her eyes. Yes, I need parental guilt from men who look after me because they’re afraid my father will come back from the dead and gut them. “I’ve taken care of that.”
“All right. What do you need?”
“I need a reference,” Tremaine told him, hoping she had the code right. Damn Dommen anyway, standing there listening and pretending not to. At least the secretary had gone back to sorting documents.
“For what? Oh, oh, I get you. You want a forger?”
“Yes.”
“What you want that for at a time like this? Get yourself to Parscia like everybody else with any sense.”
Tremaine half covered the receiver, saying airily, “It’ll be just a moment, Captain Dommen. I don’t mean to tie up a military wire.”
Dommen nodded fake-pleasantly and there was a long-suffering sigh from the other end of the line. He gave her the address and said, “Be careful with this sort. And get out of there, wherever you are!”
“I’m doing my best,” she said, and rang off. “Well, I’d better be going.” She spoke over Dommen’s attempt to interrupt, backing toward the door. “So many things to take care of, you know.” She made it out the door and beat a hasty retreat down the corridor, her heart pounding.
She found Ilias exploring the lobby, somewhat to the consternation of a couple of the Institute researchers, who were watching him with wary curiosity. He was wearing his own pants and boots with a heavy knitted sweater and a dark fatigue coat that hung past his knees. He looked almost like he belonged here, except for the earrings, the silver mark on his cheek and the mane of fluffy blond hair.
She said, “Ilias, let’s go see the Ravenna.”
Outside, Ilias followed Tremaine down the rickety wooden stairs to one of the piers stretching out to the dark waters of the bay. The sky was just lightening from black to purple-gray and heavy mist was drifting in from the sea. The extra clothes made a big difference in holding off the damp cold and he was grateful for the loan. Tremaine had made it clear this ship, the Ravenna, was essential in her plan to convince her people they could still destroy the Gardier outpost and he was anxious to see it himself.
At first all he could see at the end of the dock were three gray towers, the whole floating high above a gray metal wall. He was impressed by the size of the giant metal building, but wondered where the ship she was pointing at was. When he finally understood that was it, he almost fell down from shock.
“That can’t possibly float,” Ilias said, pressed against the wall of a wooden shed as far from the immense gray metal mountain as he could get.
A building that size was one thing; the Chaeans and the Argoti had fortresses and palaces even larger, but a ship that huge must have a soul big enough to eat people. And he couldn’t get over the feeling that it was about to topple over on him.
“It’s floating now,” she said, obviously enjoying his shock and horror. “And it’s fast. It can make the run to Capidara in three days.”
Unable to stop himself from rising to the bait, Ilias said, “So?”
“That would take a ship the size of the Swift ninety days.”
He glanced at her skeptically. There were small yellow wizard lights on the pier, just enough to keep you from falling off in the dark, and he could see her expression. She had that look he was beginning to recognize. He said, “You’re making that up.”
“All right, I am,” she admitted readily enough. “But it would be a really long time.”
He was willing to believe the ship was fast. It was so big the crew should find a god, elect a lawgiver and call it a peninsula. It could tow the big iron boats of the Gardier behind it like helpless dinghies. That image was appealing, but still... He couldn’t tell whether it was scaring him or giving him a hard-on. “Why don’t they use her to attack the wizards—the Gardier?”
“The Gardier can destroy its engines with their spells.” She studied the big ship regretfully. “It wasn’t really made for attacking things. It’s mainly good for transporting a lot of people someplace very quickly, or being a mobile fort. The original plan was to use it as a troop transport, once the Gardier base had been taken.”
“Don’t call her ‘it,’ ” Ilias told her, eyeing the ship warily. “At least not where she can hear you.”
Tremaine looked like she was going to argue, but stared up at the ship, frowning thoughtfully, and instead said only, “All right.”
Tremaine turned to go and Ilias pushed cautiously away from the dockhouse and backed away from the enormous ship, not liking to turn his back on it. “She needs eyes,” he told Tremaine. The empty, faceless bow just made her look all the more monstrous.
After that, the car was less of a shock.
There was no traffic on the road as few people would be fleeing toward the dangerous coast, and absolutely no one was going toward Vienne.
On impulse Tremaine decided to use the extra time to make a brief stop at Coldcourt. She hadn’t squarely faced this fact before, but with the Gardier invasion imminent she wouldn’t be going back there again. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but it seemed necessary.
The sky was just beginning to gray with dawn when they reached Coldcourt. Visible over the tops of garden walls or past winter-bare trees Tremaine could see the neighboring houses were all still dark; she knew most of them had been closed for some months as the inhabitants had left the city for safer areas. The ironwork gates stood open at the top of Coldcourt’s drive and she turned the car in, slowing to creep down the gravel road.
The sprawling gray stone house lay at the end of a wide sweep of overgrown lawn, broken only by the one large ancient oak. There had never been any garden around the house; open ground provided no cover for intruders to approach and allowed a clear field of fire for defense. The three towers hung over the house, just big shadowy shapes in the dimness. She pulled up in the circular drive and Ilias bailed out before she cut the engine, staggering away from the car and leaning on the stone balustrade that lined the steps up to the door.
Tremaine killed the engine and climbed out, eyeing him sympathetically. Even in the bad light she could tell he was going pale under his tan. “Is it that bad?”
“No.” He took one more deep breath and straightened up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His gaze moved up the front of the house, where the gray light had just started to reveal the cutout shapes of the ornamental crenellations and the chunky lines of carving below them. “You live here?” He sounded not so much doubtful as resigned, as if after the Ravenna and automobiles, this unpleasant fact was nothing.
Walking around the car, Tremaine had to admit Coldcourt had always looked like the villain’s secret hideout in a melodrama. No wonder Nicholas had liked it. It had actually belonged to his foster father, Edouard Viller, long before Nicholas had owned it, but then Edouard must have had strange taste or he wouldn’t have chosen Nicholas for a son.
She started up the few steps to the lead-plated front doors, absently patting her pockets. “Until it’s overrun by the Gardier.” Keep saying it, maybe you’ll get used to the idea. Gardier. She stopped suddenly and smacked hersel
f in the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course they won’t have to break in, because Gervas has the goddamn key.” In the scramble to pick up the scattered supplies, she had left her latchkey on the table in the Gardier interrogation room.
“Key?” Ilias had recovered enough to follow her up to the entrance. “You put locks in your house doors?”
“Yes, so we can lose our keys and look like idiots—” She tried the knob out of desperation and halted abruptly as it turned. The heavy door started to swing open and she stepped back hurriedly, bumping into Ilias. “Someone’s been here.”
“The Gardier?” he asked sharply, pulling her back away from the door.
Tremaine turned to examine the drive; now that she looked she could see the prints in the wet gravel where one car, a large sedan, had rested near the house. That’s funny. It was a nearly deserted neighborhood, but would a Gardier spy be incautious enough to park in front of the house? And if he was, why not just break down the door? And Gervas had the key, not the address, she reminded herself. Though it wouldn’t be that hard for a local spy to find out where the infamous Valiardes lived. No, that didn’t feel right. This was something else. She turned thoughtfully back to the door, stepping up to it again. “Let’s see.”
Ander would have argued; Ilias just came with her, trusting her judgment on her own ground, a tense and hyper-alert reassurance at her side. Tremaine pulled the heavy door open to see the dim tiled hall. Ilias shifted in front of her, padding silently down the hall. Tremaine followed, but the fine hair at the back of her neck didn’t itch. The cold house sounded, and felt, empty. She was a little shocked at the deserted musty smell of it. She hadn’t been gone that long. It must have smelled like this while you were living here. God, I could be one of those old people who has fifty years’ worth of newspapers and gas company pamphlets stuffed in all the drawers. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
