“Not yet, but I hope to be,” she said. “Great changes are coming to the Guardian Fleet, and I’d like to see those at close quarters.”
“What changes are those?” Darok asked. One change had already come—the tragedy that had befallen the armada. Eighteen ships lost. Just thinking about it made a heavy, leaden sickness settle in his gut, and although he trusted the Unity, he didn’t see what could overcome such a setback.
Lady Lisabe cracked a claw and sucked it clean before she replied. “Better weaponry, for one. We’ve heard of powerful siege engines being developed in Dagre—cannons, they’re called—and just one or two of those could smash a galley to kindling.”
“Really,” Darok said, though his brother’s eyes had lit up. Evidently he thought the time was near for him to command his own ship, outfitted with foreign artillery. Darok had no interest at all in such a thing, because a Denalait ship did best with Denalait weaponry.
“Oh yes,” Lady Lisabe said, as a cabin boy cleared away the bowls and the steward served shrimp in a sauce of lime and ginger. “There will be improvements to the design of ships as well. Rather than requiring sails for propulsion, they’ll use steam.”
“Steam?” Darok couldn’t imagine how a little steam was supposed to push a ship the size of Daystrider. He glanced at Julean Flaige, who knew a great deal more about science than he did, but got an equally blank look in return. Only Yerena didn’t react to the news, probably because she hadn’t yet been told that her shark would be replaced by some clockwork contraption.
“I’m not sure what the exact design is,” Lady Lisabe said. Oh yes, you are, Darok thought, you’re just being careful not to discuss it. “But the Admiralty has shown great interest in the construction of steamships. Those will not be at the mercy of the currents, much less in danger of becalming.”
“Where will this steam come from?” Darok said. Even in the height of summer, the ocean never grew so hot.
“Oh, the ships will carry coal to boil water.”
“I see. So they’ll sail—I mean, move—until their supplies of coal give out, is that it?” If that was the case, he’d pit Daystrider against one of those new constructions any day. He imagined his warship all but flying over the waves, streaking past a vessel that wallowed in her wake, its masts naked and sailless.
Alyster gave him a look that was half exasperation and half pity. “I’m sure their fuel supplies will be enough to take them to their destinations.”
“Hopefully more coal will be waiting for them there,” Darok shot back. “Coal imported from Dagre.” Those greedy bastards are getting the best of this bargain, selling us something that will make us dependent on them for years to come. Denalay had struggled to break away from the land which had originally colonized it, and he wondered if the Dagrans would try to do through economics what they could not have done through force.
Lady Lisabe waved that away. “Have no fear, we’ll find alternate sources of fuel. Whale oil, perhaps. Wait and see, Captain. Three years from now, the face of naval warfare will be quite different, and the Turean pirates will have learned the consequences of defying the Unity.”
“Indeed.” Julean tilted his head back to drain his glass. “The sinking of the armada seems almost providential, in retrospect. Whatever lessons it taught the Tureans, it certainly left great gaps in our ranks for these steamships to fill—after they’re constructed, of course.”
Darok could gladly have drowned him in the soup. He hadn’t enjoyed Lady Lisabe’s final sentiments, which had the melodramatic ring of propaganda, but no one needed to be reminded of what had happened to the armada. Or worse, to have the matter treated with sarcasm that verged on disrespect towards the Unity. The steward’s and cabin boy’s faces were correctly wooden, but Lady Lisabe looked as though her teeth were clenched behind her lips.
“The wine seems to have affected you, Doctor.” Darok knew why Julean was so cynical, but at the moment, Daystrider’s future seemed jeopardized enough without a Voice of the Unity suspecting one of its officers was disloyal. “No doubt some fresh air would help.”
There was a brief but tense pause before Julean rose, a dull flush staining his skin, since he could drink anyone under the table. “I beg your pardon. Please excuse me.” He bowed to the rest of the table with cold courtesy and the cabin boy let him out.
“I apologize on his behalf, Lady Lisabe.” Darok nodded to the steward for the main course.
“No need. I’m aware of Dr. Flaige’s history.” Lady Lisabe made a waving-away gesture again. “Very unfortunate, but what’s sadder is his inability to relinquish the past. A man so brilliant could have a successful career if he accepted his loss and moved forward. Don’t you think so, Captain?”
Oh, I would love to shut the two of you into the hold and let you snipe each other to death. Darok knew exactly what Lady Lisabe was saying, and from the glint in her eyes, she was well aware her shot had struck home. He tried to think of some other topic of conversation—a topic that would have nothing to do with steamships, Julean or anything else discussed that evening—and he saw Yerena blotting her plate clean with bread and clearly waiting for the conversation to resume. Next to Lady Lisabe in her red-and-gold finery, she looked like a cloud that had drifted into a magnificent sunset by mistake.
“This beef is delicious,” Lady Lisabe said. “My compliments to the cook.”
Alyster grinned. “Enjoy the meal while you can. After today it’s all dried fish and hardtack.”
“Yerena.” Darok wasn’t certain how to address her, since she had no evident rank or professional title, so he had no choice but to use her name. “How did you become a Weapon of Denalay?”
She looked at him as though he had ordered her out of the room as well, but it was only for an instant before she dropped her gaze. She pressed her napkin to her mouth, set the cloth down and began.
“There was a coral stand a dozen leagues south of the Isle of Bones.” Her voice was as steady as it had been before, devoid of inflection. “Three Turean galleys were guarding it, along with several boats—tugs and scouters and wave runners—all waiting for the coral to mature.”
“Brain coral, I take it,” Lady Lisabe said. Darok wasn’t sure what exactly brain coral did, but it obviously gave the Tureans some advantage in the war.
“Yes. They watched the water but they couldn’t see what was happening beneath the surface. Especially not at night. I was in a prototype submersible which my shark towed under the Turean galleys, and the submersible holed them one by one. All its stored air was used up by then, so I left it and let it sink down to the coral.”
Darok wondered why she didn’t take any credit, because the submersible hadn’t holed the galleys all by itself any more than his razor had shaved him on its own. But she probably wouldn’t be too happy with more attention being called to her.
“What of the coral?” Lady Lisabe said. He had a different concern: a valuable prototype left in pirate waters. What if the Tureans retrieved it somehow?
“There was a keg in the submersible. I don’t know what was in it, but I added water to it and ignited the end of a long string before I let the submersible sink.”
Lady Lisabe smiled. “Then the coral no longer exists. At least not in any form that couldn’t fit into a thimble.”
The steward placed a bowl of crystallized orange slices on the table as Darok said, “What about the other Turean vessels?”
“The shark dealt with those.”
Darok’s imagination filled in what the understatement didn’t describe. In his mind’s eye he saw the galleys tilt as they took in water, starting to capsize, their crews fighting to get free of the doomed ships before they were dragged down as well. The tugs and skimmers would have rowed to rescue the survivors, night-lanterns on their sterns bobbing and swaying with their speed.
Then the shark would have struck. He pictured it rampaging among the panic-stricken flotilla, overturning boats with its sheer bulk and momentum, jaws snappin
g shut on whatever it could reach. The Turean archers might have shot at it, but in the dark and the chaos, none of their arrows would have connected. Besides, for all its size, the white death moved terrifyingly fast when it closed for the kill.
Darok didn’t believe any such place as hell existed, but if it did, it probably wasn’t much different from what the sea that night would have looked like—red clouds of blood blossoming from bodies torn apart, wreckage floating on the wash and mingling with splashes of burning oil from smashed lanterns. He wondered if Yerena had actually been in the charnel sea, in the midst of the massacre, while the shark savaged every other living thing around her.
“After it was over,” he said, “you took one of the boats to sail home?”
Yerena shook her head. “They were all too badly damaged by then. The shark brought me back to Whetstone.”
Not home, then, Darok thought, but before he could ask her anything else, Lady Lisabe got to her feet. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to retire, but this was an excellent meal, Captain. Once our mission is complete, I will return the favor and feast you in Skybeyond.”
The slender, heavily guarded tower in which the Unity dwelt was so tall no one could see its highest point, hence the name. Just entering the place would have been enough to take away Darok’s appetite, but hopefully there would be a lower tier—much, much lower—where common folk like him could eat. Even more hopefully, they would all come back from the mission.
Alyster offered to escort Lady Lisabe to her cabin, and as they were leaving, Yerena rose as well. “Thank you for the meal, Captain,” she said. No promises to feast him in Whetstone, wherever that was. “Good night.”
“Wait.” Darok leaned forward. “I’d like to speak to you.”
She stopped. One hand had been on her chair to push it back into place, and her fingers tightened on it until the knuckles were pale knots. Darok couldn’t think what he had said to produce such a reaction—surely she wasn’t afraid he would make a pass at her? He could imagine how a Seawatch operative might react to unwanted advances. She carried a knife, but she probably wouldn’t risk a fight. Shrewder to bide her time until she could shove him overboard, into a waiting mouth filled with several hundred more knives.
“Clear this away in the morning,” he told the steward, who bowed and left, the cabin boy following him. The door shut behind them. Yerena stood motionless, watching him.
“Please, sit down,” Darok said quietly, as he would have spoken to a wild animal he wanted to tame. He didn’t want to stand, because she looked nervous enough with him seated, but he was starting to feel uncomfortable. She’d faced down a Turean flotilla alone, so why did she look so wary?
He’s found out.
Yerena knew it was a baseless fear, that she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t help it. She was used to going alone into hostile waters, but it was the first time she had been ordered to attack someone on her own side, and she wasn’t sure what would happen to her if Captain Juell ever learned about her orders.
“Please, sit down.” He didn’t seem angry, and the courtesy made her react instinctively. Before she realized it, the muscles in her arm tightened, drawing her chair back again.
There was no way for him to know, she told herself, because Seawatch put nothing in writing. If only she hadn’t spoken about sinking those galleys. She sat down, clasping her hands in her lap. Her training hadn’t included the art of plausible lying, because she wasn’t a spy, but years of crushing her emotions had made them a small tight knot deep in her chest, leaving her face and mind blank and controlled. Stay calm.
“Thank you,” Captain Juell said. “I want to talk to you about the route we’re taking to Lastland.”
Yerena nearly slumped in her chair with relief. He wanted to consult with her in her official capacity, thank the Unity. He got up and drew a rolled-up parchment from a pigeonholed desk at the cabin’s other end, but before he could turn from the desk she was busy clearing a space on the table, stacking the dishes. He stood beside her and spread the parchment out, anchoring its corners with three wineglasses and a candlestand. Yerena looked down at a map.
“The Farflung Provinces of Denalay,” she said, giving the Archipelago its official name.
The map was detailed, showing every fleck in the great spatter of islands that spanned the Iron Ocean. She could have drawn it all herself, since Seawatch’s prohibition against writing extended to cartography as well—its operatives carried maps in their minds instead—but she liked the old-fashioned look of the map with its compass rose and fanciful legends. She touched the edge of the parchment, and it felt smooth and thick beneath her finger.
“Where’s that place you mentioned?” Captain Juell said. “Whetstone?”
She drew her hand back. Every city and village and fort in Denalay was marked on the map, but not the stronghold of Seawatch. “I’m not at liberty to disclose its location.”
“Ah. Obviously on the coast somewhere…but since we have three thousand miles and more of coastline, that doesn’t help.”
Yerena glanced sideways at him, feeling uneasy again. “I thought you wanted to discuss our route to Lastland, Captain.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry, I have no interest in trying to find the place. And you don’t need to address me by my rank. I called you by your name, so feel free to use mine.”
Yerena was absolutely certain she would never use his name. Familiarity would be a mistake, and she didn’t need lessons in comportment and deportment to tell her that—common sense sufficed.
“You wouldn’t recognize Whetstone even if you were to sail those three thousand miles and more,” she said, which was true. From a ship, he would see small cottages built atop high, jagged cliffs pocked with caves. There would be no indication that the caves were tunnels leading into training pools, that below the cottages a great underground complex had been built.
That should have been an end to the matter, but Captain Juell was still looking at her for some reason, and she didn’t want to seem weak or evasive by dropping her gaze. Having to read the map together meant she stood closer to him than she had been on the ship’s deck that morning, close enough to notice how dark his eyes were. Not the black of the shark’s eyes, but a brown as deep as fresh-plowed fields in spring. She hadn’t seen fields like those for a long time.
Don’t be fanciful. What did it matter what he looked like?
He rubbed his chin, and stubble rasped softly against his palm. “It’s odd. You make Seawatch sound very secretive and private, but you have a tattoo which can’t be hidden, which makes you stand out anywhere. Why is that?”
To signify status was the reason she had been given, the only reason she wanted to accept. But whatever the reason, she didn’t want to talk about it with Captain Juell—he was just a little too perceptive.
“I thought you wanted to discuss our route to Lastland, Captain.” She hoped he wouldn’t make her repeat that a third time.
“Yes.” The corner of his mouth quirked in a way she didn’t like, a way that suggested he might revisit the subject later. “What route do you think we’ll take?”
Yerena grasped the new topic gratefully and traced their path on the map with a fingertip, since there was only one way to reach the islands. “We’ll sail south past the Greater Horseshoe.” The C-shaped island was the Denalait navy’s seat of strength, which meant Daystrider could dock and replenish its supplies. “Then we’ll round Cape Claw. Once we’re past it, we’ll be in the Iron Ocean, and from there I assume we’ll hold a northerly course to avoid any storms…”
She stopped when she saw the intense, speculative look on Captain Juell’s face. He didn’t seem to be studying a map as much as planning to draw a completely new one.
“No,” he said. “I don’t propose we go south at all. I want to take the Strait of Mists.”
Yerena wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. The Strait of Mists? The one no ship had ever passed through? The strait separated the mainland
from Dragonstooth, largest of the Denalait islands, and the thick permanent fog filling it was rumored to be the breath of dragons as well.
“If you and your shark can guide us through it.”
Without thinking, Yerena passed her tongue over dry lips, then felt annoyed at herself. Licking her lips when she was nervous was a habit she’d struggled to break, because giving any indication of weakness was wrong. She swallowed hard and imagined all her fears being forced down into the pit of her stomach, well away from her face.
“I’m not sure we can.” As far as she knew, Seawatch had never sent an operative into the strait, because there were more productive ways to die. “No one who’s entered the strait has come out again, have they? I have no idea what we’ll be dealing with, and even if a shark can navigate it successfully, a ship may not be so fortunate.”
Captain Juell nodded. “True. It’s up to you. I won’t take the strait without a guide.”
Yerena thought of everything that hung in the balance. Everyone. “If we don’t take it, if we sail south instead, there may not be anyone left alive by the time we reach Lastland. Is that right?”
“Yes. But it’s not the only reason I want to do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“You heard what Lady Lisabe said at dinner, that new ships are going to be designed and built in the near future. I won’t stand in the way of progress—and I doubt one person could do that anyway—but I want to keep Daystrider for as long as possible. If she can sail the strait and reach Lastland in time…” He breathed out, and she was close enough to hear that too. “Well, I might stave off her decommission for that much longer.”
Yerena had followed the discussion at dinner with interest despite not having anything of relevance to contribute. But if she had been asked what people like Darok Juell would do once their ships were obsolete, she would have shrugged. There would be newer and better vessels in the fleet, so surely he could find work on those instead?
The Deepest Ocean (Eden Series) Page 3
