by Jon Skovron
But as she’d just told Brigga Lin earlier, one problem at a time. It seemed like she reminded herself that a lot, these days.
“Filler?” she asked wearily.
Filler gazed down at the design, scratching his bushy beard. “Get me to a smithy, and I’ll make the chamber covers for you.”
Hope gave him a grateful smile. “You have been my rock this past year, Filler.”
“I’m no mechanical genius or biomancer. Not even much of a sailor. But I always helped Red as best I could, and I know he wants me to help you the same while he’s gone.”
Hope absently massaged her forearm as she stared north across the sea again. “We will get him back, Fill.”
“Of course we will, Captain.”
They reached the island of High Guster late the following morning. Missing Fin steered them into a secluded cove a little ways from the village. They’d taken down the Kraken Hunter flag, but there was always the potential that the ship itself could be recognized in port. They were there to find Filler a smithy, not to start a meaningless skirmish with the local imperial outpost. High Guster was a tiny island with no strategic value. Little could be gained by direct conflict, and the imperial presence was likely to be small. Ideally, they would slip in, bribe the local smithy for access to his tools, and be on their way without incident, as they’d done several times before on other islands.
Initially, Hope decided only she and Filler would go ashore, but at the last minute changed her mind and brought Jilly along as well. A child would help them blend in the small, domestically focused village.
As Filler rowed the dingy ashore, Hope noticed Jilly glance at her clamp, then hurriedly look away.
“Did you want to ask me something, Jilly?”
“Oh.” Jilly looked guiltily back at the clamp, then at Hope. “Captain, would you tell me what happened to your hand?”
Hope smiled faintly. “If Red were here, I’m sure he would spin you an epic tale, but I don’t have his gift of storytelling. So I’ll just say that I cut it off myself.”
Jilly’s eyes grew wide. “Why?”
“A biomancer had poisoned it. The poison was spreading and I had to make the choice. My hand or my life.”
Jilly stared at her in awe.
“Don’t ever tell Red,” said Filler as he pulled smoothly on the oars, “but sometimes I prefer your plainer style, Captain.”
“He would be crushed to hear it,” said Hope.
When they landed on the beach, the three of them dragged the dingy into a sparse thicket, and covered it with some seaweed. Then they entered the strip of forest that separated them from the village. As they walked between the trees, the quiet sounds of the woodlands were broken by the rhythmic squeak of Filler’s metal leg frame. Hope was glad they weren’t trying to sneak into town. Even so, she worried it might draw attention to them.
“What happened to your leg, Filler?” Jilly asked.
“Shot at the Battle of Three Cups,” he said. “That story, Red does tell fine.”
“You were at the battle?” asked Jilly.
“Of course. Couldn’t stand the idea of one of our own selling us out to the biomancers like that.” Filler looked down at her. “Were you still in Hammer Point then?”
Jilly nodded. “I wanted to join, but our neighborhood was under Sharn, and she said none of her people could go.”
“I always wondered why she stayed behind,” said Hope. “She was the only one who did.”
“People say she struck a deal with the biomancers instead,” said Jilly.
Filler looked at her sharply. “You believe it?”
“I don’t now,” said Jilly. “Sharn always seemed a fine molly to me, but it was crystal that people started going missing after the battle.”
“Did your aunt go missing?” asked Filler.
Jilly’s face went dark. She shook her head. “No, not her. Not likely ever. But all those people going missing, it was one of the reasons I cut my hair and joined the navy to look for my mom. Didn’t realize them biomancers had already taken her, too.”
“They’ve taken a great many people,” said Hope.
“Why does the emperor let it happen?” asked Jilly. “Aren’t we all his people?”
Hope put her hand on Jilly’s thin shoulder. “The next time I break into his palace, I plan to ask him.”
The village of High Guster was no more than a hundred buildings. All the roads were dirt, and rutted with ancient wagons that trundled slowly past. The buildings themselves seemed to be a mixture of stone and wood, which made sense, given the large number of trees on the island.
As they made their way down the dusty road through town, Hope noticed that they were drawing even more attention than she’d expected. But the townspeople weren’t staring at her, with her missing hand and black Vinchen armor, or Filler, with his intimidating height and clanking leg. They stared at Jilly.
Hope glanced down at Jilly, who walked at her left. She didn’t notice their singular interest in her. Instead she seemed fascinated by the town itself.
“Awfully small, ain’t it?” she asked. “I can see from one end to the other.”
Hope smiled. “I grew up on an island even smaller than this, down in the Southern Isles.”
“Do they all have yellow hair like yours in the south?”
“Most do. The families who have lived there since before the empire was formed. But occasionally other people have come down from the north to live a simpler life, far from the politics and violence of places like Stonepeak and New Laven. High Guster is not so far south, but perhaps it’s small enough and far enough from the capital to enjoy a similar peace.”
“You sure about that?” asked Filler. “Don’t feel exactly peaceful to me.”
“I know what you mean.” Hope hadn’t been here since she sailed under Carmichael. Everything looked as it had then, but something felt different. Perhaps it was the people, who carried themselves more timidly than she remembered.
It wasn’t long before they found the smithy, a large squat building wisely free of wood. Inside was an older man, much shorter than Filler, but with arms and a chest nearly twice as thick. He was hard at work shaping a small hand plow when they entered the hot, dim room, but he stopped the moment he saw them. Or rather, when he saw Jilly. He mopped his face and neck with a thick cloth as he stepped out from behind his anvil.
“Name’s Grenly. What can I do for you folks?” he asked.
“Mr. Grenly,” said Hope. “My smith would like to use your forge for a few hours.”
He squinted at her, then at Filler. “I’m accustomed to doing my own work. If you need something made, I can make most things.”
“I’m sure you can,” said Hope. “But our needs are specific and unusual. I would prefer my own smith do the work. I can assure you, he is skilled and unlikely to damage your tools. But as a precaution, I would like you to accept this money, in case there are any minor reparations you discover need to be made later.”
She took a small bag from her belt filled with more gold than the smith probably received in a year. But when he saw it, he scowled.
“Money ain’t so interesting to me these days.”
Hope glanced questioningly at Filler. They’d made similar offers in other villages, always with success.
“We don’t mean no disrespect to your skill,” said Filler. “The thing is, the less you know about us or what we want, the safer you are.”
Grenly spat. “Safe from who?”
Filler seemed just as surprised by the hostility as Hope. There was more going on here in High Guster. Something to do with the timidity that had come over the townspeople.
“When we first came in, you stared at our girl.” Hope put her hand on Jilly’s head. “Her hair is a little short, but otherwise, she’s not particularly remarkable. Yet everyone in this village looks at her as if she was some rare creature.”
Grenly’s mouth was set hard. He stared down at his thick, scarred hand
s. “Just wasn’t expecting to see someone so young is all.”
An icy dread started to form in Hope’s stomach. “I haven’t seen any children since we arrived. Where are they?”
The smith remained silent, continuing to stare down at his hands.
Hope snapped the clamp onto her sword and said in a flat, hard voice. “This will be the last time I ask you. What have you done with the children?”
Grenly looked up at her, and there were tears streaming down his grizzled cheek. “Done? We ain’t done nothin’, and that’s the problem. First the navy came and took all our boys into conscript. We did nothing. Then not two days ago, a biomancer came and took all our girls. And still we did nothing.” His fists were clenched and his whole body shook with suppressed rage. “My own Kapany. That monster in white took her and God knows what he will do with her. And when he loaded them all up on his ship, he left behind a chest of money as recompense. Like any amount of money could replace my sweet little Kapany.” The man was openly weeping now, his breath hissing through clenched yellow teeth.
“Two days?” asked Hope, the ice in her stomach softening. “Where was it heading?”
“What?” Grenly blinked back tears, looking bewildered by her question.
“It would help if I knew the direction the ship was heading. And, if you can remember, the number of masts and guns as well.”
Grenly frowned. “But why?”
“So that we can run it down and free your daughters,” said Hope.
“But… didn’t you hear me?” he asked. “There’s a biomancer on board that ship.”
“This here is Dire Bane you’re talking to,” Filler said quietly. “And there ain’t a biomancer alive can scare her.”
“The Dire Bane?” Grenly gave her an unsure look. “Well, whoever you are, if you bring back my Kapany, I’ll let your man here have free rein of my shop as long and as often as you like.”
Hope smiled grimly. “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Grenly.”
4
Lord Pastinas, perhaps you would care to eat now?”
Red woke slowly. Reluctantly. Another restless night of dimly recalled dreams. They were always dark and violent, leaving him oddly sore, as if his whole body had been tense while he slept.
He opened his eyes and saw Hume, one of the palace servants, standing patiently with a covered silver tray. The gaf had to be at least as old as Sadie, but he had a full head of iron-gray hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. His posture was straight as a rod, and no matter what Red did or said, he hadn’t been able to get the man to even crack a smile.
“Oh, Humey, my wag, you know I don’t go in for breakfast and the like.”
“Of course, my lord. That is why I have brought you lunch.”
“Already?”
Hume looked at him gravely. “Midday is the traditional time for serving lunch, my lord.”
“Midday? Piss’ell, but I’ve been a late riser recently.”
“Indeed, my lord,” agreed Hume.
“I’ve just been sleeping terrible these past few weeks,” said Red as he accepted the tray from Hume.
“Perhaps your lordship has a lot on his mind.”
Red shrugged as he lifted the cover on his tray. He still wasn’t used to being called lord. He’d asked Hume to just call him Red, but Hume had said—very apologetically—that His Highness had directly commanded him to show Red all due propriety and respect as befitted his station as Lord Pastinas of Hollow Falls.
Part of Red’s discomfort with the title was due to how neatly the biomancers had arranged it all. They wanted to keep Red at the palace without making their connection obvious. But without a title, Red’s presence would have been restricted to the lower floors. So they had Emperor Martarkis declare Alash an outlaw and strip him of all claim to his inheritance. Then they had the emperor legitimize Red as heir. Red appreciated the irony that he was now the noble and his cousin the outlaw, but it stopped being funny a few days later when word reached the palace that old man Pastinas had died in his sleep, making Red the new Lord Pastinas of Hollow Falls. It was one thing to mess around with meaningless titles. It was something else entirely to kill a defenseless old wrink, cock-dribble though he was. It was too late to save his grandfather, but Red promised himself that he would find a way to set Alash up as the proper lord of the manor. In the meantime, he tried to think of the whole thing as one great big con.
He looked down at the steaming dish of lamb, rice, and broccoli, all coated in some sort of cheese shavings. The endless supply of good food was one thing he had no trouble adjusting to. Well, that wasn’t completely true. His stomach had a hard time getting used to all the butter and cheese at first. But with a concerted effort, he got past all that within the first month. So much so that he might have been in danger of getting fat, if not for his intense training regimen overseen by the biomancers. They pushed him hard. So hard that there were days when the only thing that got him through it was thinking about how he would one day turn all their training against them. He really looked forward to that day.
“His Highness has requested the pleasure of your company after you have finished eating, my lord,” said Hume.
“Where is the old princey?” asked Red.
“At the cliff gardens, my lord.”
“Of course he is.”
Red ate quickly, then handed the tray to Hume. He climbed out of the big feather bed and opened his wardrobe.
“Do you require assistance getting dressed, my lord?”
“Humey, old pot, if I ever get so lacy I need someone to dress me, I expect you to shoot me right between the eyes, keen?”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Red pulled on breeches, boots, and a linen shirt, then turned toward the door.
“My lord, you seem to have forgotten your cravat and jacket,” said Hume, his face still unmarked by emotion.
“Oh, no, Humey. Just don’t feel like wearing them today.”
Hume’s eyebrow flickered for just a moment. “How very… provocative of you, my lord.”
Red slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the idea, my wag.” Then he turned and left his apartments.
He got some odd looks as he strode cheerfully down the hallway. People at the palace generally didn’t walk around outside their apartments without a jacket and cravat. Red knew this. He could have followed the rules and truly blended. But part of his con was to use his unusual background and circumstances to make himself a novelty item. It seemed to be working so far. He found that even though lacies gripped tightly to their propriety, they were fascinated by his wonton disregard for it. He wasn’t sure how long they’d put up with him, but he planned to enjoy it while it lasted.
Red’s apartments were on the thirty-fifth floor of the palace. There were a total of fifty floors, the top thirty of which were only accessible to the nobility. Of course, they couldn’t be expected to climb all those steps. A lift platform had been constructed along with the rest of the palace. It was operated by a team of palace soldiers who worked in shifts so that it was available at any time, day or night. Except it wasn’t usually available for Red. Ammon Set, head of the biomancer council, had instructed the lift operation team that Red was only allowed in it when he was in the company of other nobles. When he was alone, Ammon Set expected him to utilize the steps as part of his strength and endurance training.
Red walked past the lift entrance and nodded to the soldier who stood out front. The gaf nodded back respectfully. If any of them thought Red’s ban was strange, they didn’t let on. Red suspected that servants and soldiers in the palace were used to taking seemingly arbitrary orders from biomancers. Or else, they were just really good at hiding it. Maybe that’s how it was here. Each place had its own work culture. Because of his title, Red was shut out of that at the palace, and he didn’t like it. The few awkward attempts he’d made to let people know he wasn’t really a lacy had been met with polite indulgence. The kind you gave to rich lacies who were a little e
mbarrassed by their own wealth. Obviously, none of them believed him.
It was probably for the best. If he had brought any of them in on his con, and the biomancers found out, those poor saltheads would disappear, true as trouble. And Red didn’t want that on his conscience. It meant he was frequently alone, though, even in a crowd of nobles all vying for his attention. The only true wag he’d made was, oddly enough, Prince Leston.
Perhaps it wasn’t so odd, though. Leston suffered from the same problem of feeling lonely in a crowded room. For the prince, though, it was because not a single one of the ass-licking, bird-faced cunt-droppings spoke to him like a real person. As far as Red could tell, they didn’t even like him. He was just the tom who filled their bucket.
Red jogged the fifteen flights down to the twentieth floor, which was the level of the cliff gardens. Then he walked boldly through the hall toward the west garden entrance. As he passed a group of nobles pretending like they weren’t staring at his open shirt collar and flapping sleeves, he winked at them, sending them scurrying off like a pack of perfumed rats. That put a smile on his face. He slipped on his tinted glasses and threw open the door.
Prince Leston came to the cliff gardens often, usually when he was restless and needed concrete proof that there was a world beyond the confines of the palace. The cliff gardens were set into a ledge carved into the side of the mountain that wrapped all the way around to the east side of the palace. Red wasn’t sure if it was irrigated by some mysterious biomancer process or some feat of engineering, but either way, having a lush green space this high up and open to the air was impressive. And even more impressive was the view. For a palace built into the side of a mountain, there were precious few places with a decent view. Most of the windows showed nothing other than clouds and sky. The cliff gardens was one of the few places you could actually look out and see the entire city of Stonepeak stretched out below you.
