“There is only one gate I care about,” Crasindra said. “Just make sure you put a watch on the village. If the rebels are coming, they will likely go through there.”
Again, Karloth nodded.
Crasindra sat on the chair by the stove and gestured for Karloth to bring her the small box. He did, then sat in the chair opposite.
She eyed him, then smiled. When had he started sitting himself down without her permission? She liked a man who did not cower away from her, but this would not do. She would have to stop bedding the man; he was getting far too familiar.
“You like what we have done?” she asked, waving her hand as though taking in the whole ship.
Karloth had not taken the shortcut up from Rieg, and thus had only been on the ship for maybe half a day when Crasindra felt someone using the gate. He had not seen the tower, or the machine under it, but she was eager to hear his opinion of her creation.
“A noble vessel,” Karloth said. “Worthy of the task.”
“You think so?” Crasindra asked. “You think what we do is noble?”
“I do, ma’am. And as we have no choice but act, I think your solution is… ingenious. Poetic, even. Not that I follow such trivial endeavours as poetry. Still, there is an elegance in your answer to the Legend of the Nine. To tell you the truth, knowing what I do now, I am surprised no one had thought of it before.”
“Beauty in simplicity,” Crasindra said, happy with his comment. “The Circle of Twelve would never see this the way I do, and neither would the mages. They are all too deeply absorbed in their tiny minds to look beyond the old teachings. The Trials of Halliar, indeed. The Lucien Cycle. Ordrin’s Bane – stories about old men, written by old men for more old men to read. Little wonder it took a woman to see through the lies.”
Karloth nodded. He likely did not have the first clue what she was talking about, but she appreciated the gesture.
Absently, she rubbed lightly at her neck, then glared at the pink powder which had come off on her finger.
Leave it alone, she told herself. You will only make it worse.
That thought made her grimace; it sounded like the sort of advice her mother might have given her.
“And what of the second alarm?” Crasindra said. “Did you manage to find them, too?”
“Another group moving south. We did not find them, but their tracks were similar. Three men and a woman, judging by the depth of their footprint. They kept to the Rieg road.”
“More traders?” Crasindra asked.
Karloth shrugged. “Traders… smugglers… nothing that need worry us.”
But smugglers do not leave deep footprints where they can be easily found, she thought. Does he not find that odd?
“That’s as may be,” Crasindra added, “but do as I say, pay attention to the village. And keep an eye on any new recruits, especially any who work aboard ship.”
“Already done,” Karloth said. “I have a spy in the kitchen and another in the bell room. If anyone so much as sneezes the wrong way, I will know.”
“Very good.”
Satisfied for now, Lady Zill turned to the small box still closed on her lap.
She lifted the lid. The light from her desk lamp flickered across the Dragon’s Eye. Another smile creased her lips as she absently wondered what the Circle of Twelve would do if they knew she had their precious bracelet – and what they might say if they also knew she had discovered its secrets. That thought almost made her laugh. She picked up the bracelet and slipped it on.
It felt warm against her skin – which was somewhat peculiar; she had never noticed heat radiating from the eye before. She moved it further up her arm – it was a little loose on her – then returned it to her wrist. Yes, it was definitely warm. Too warm for there to be a natural reason.
“You brought this straight to me?”
Karloth frowned, then nodded. “Of course. It has not left my hand since leaving the bell room.”
Crasindra glanced down at the bracelet. Was there something in the tower heating the Dragons Eye? Likely not, but still, best keep it away from the other witches, and definitely away from that thing under the tower.
“Maybe I’ve just been sat near the stove too long,” she whispered.
“What was that, ma’am?”
Crasindra stared for a moment, not really hearing the question. Then, “Oh, it was nothing.”
She took the bracelet off and put it back in the box.
Karloth reached out to take it, but Crasindra held it close. “I’ll keep it here with me, I think.”
Karloth just nodded. Likely sensing a dismissal, he stood and moved toward the door.
“Wait a moment,” Crasindra said. “I will accompany you on your rounds. It will give me a chance to show off.”
She stood, placed the small box in her desk drawer, then moved back over to the mirror. When she looked at her reflection, she noticed a lump of pink powder had congealed under her chin. She used the soft brush to flatten it down, but pushed too hard, and took off a long strip of powder. “Damn this damp air,” she told herself as she reapplied the powder. “Should have brought a thin scarf; I can’t spend half the day making up my face.”
It was no good; there was too much moisture in the air.
She turned to Karloth. “On second thoughts,” she said. “I’ve just remembered I have some reading to do. Perhaps tomorrow. I am keen to show you the machine; stay out of there until I can accompany you.”
Karloth performed a deep bow – he was still smart enough not to push once a decision was made, even a trivial one like accompanying him on a tour of the ship – and strode to the door.
Or maybe he would rather see the ship for himself, she thought.
He did another bow, then closed the door behind him.
“Cursed these sores,” Crasindra told the mirror.
Yes, she would have to buy some scarves. Maybe they sold them in Raff.
She cringed at the thought of visiting the village. If only she could find out why using the Voice underneath the Way nexus left her with sores on exposed skin. Again, she looked in the mirror – if they got much worse, even a scarf would not help hide them.
“What does it matter if you have a few red marks?” she asked the mirror. “It is not like anyone is going to point and laugh at you.”
There was a time when folk would point and laugh at her, she remembered, especially the older girls from her village. Gods, how she hated villages; everyone knowing everybody else’s business, no secrets, no choice but marry one of the half dozen men your own age. Thank the Nine she had learned the Voice; had she stayed in Garton, she would likely have gone mad. And she would not have married Kabel Aren, no matter what her mother said.
Her mother? What would she think if she knew Cassey Stower was calling herself Lady Crasindra Zill?
That thought made her laugh. “What do I care what that woman thinks,” she asked the mirror.
She started reapplying the power.
Maybe if I use less, she thought. Or a different colour.
She started going through her box of powders. She was not going to spend the next month cooped up in her sitting room!
* * *
The Master’s cabin was at the front of the ship.
Of course, Horric Karloth was not the Master, but until Lady Zill found one, he was happy enough to use the room.
“Will there be anything else, sir,” the cook’s boy asked.
“Did you include the skin this time,” Karloth asked.
“Yes, sir,” the boy said. “Cook left the skin on, sir.”
“And the wine?” Karloth said. “Is it chilled.”
“Err, I think so, sir. If that’s what you asked for, I’m sure cook chilled it.”
Karloth frowned. He picked up the goblet and took a sip. “Barely chilled,” he said, “but I suppose it will do.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said. “I’ll tell cook to make sure—”
“Do I know you?” The b
oy’s face looked familiar. What was he? Fifteen? Sixteen? He could not be a rebel. So why did Karloth think he had seen him before? Was he one of the rioters? “You look familiar. Are you from Rieg.”
“I-I’ve been to market a few times, sir. We lived south a Tofai over most of the summer. My da rented a small holding. I would help him take the produce to market, and when the crops were in, I took—”
“Yes, yes, that will do,” Karloth said. “I did not ask for your life story.” This boy was no rebel. He could barely string two words together. And look at him, he’s almost wetting himself just talking to you. “You may go,” he told the boy.
The boy bowed, then left.
Karloth would eat in the mess with the other folk, but there were so many new men and women, he did not know who was what, and he did not like their constant staring.
There were one hundred and sixty-five people on the Tower Ship, and he knew barely half-a-dozen of them.
“A nightmare,” he mumbled. How was he supposed to keep the ship safe with all those new folk milling about? Granted, some thirty of those new folk were guards, but, as far as Karloth was concerned, an untested guard was just another person for him to keep an eye on.
Why had Lady Zill not taken his advice and just left a minimal crew onboard? The forty or so wet witches would only need maybe a dozen women to keep an eye on them. They could have left everyone else in Raff. But no, Zill had insisted she should live on the ship.
Absently, Karloth wondered how many more of those unsightly sores would have to appear on her neck and face before she changed her mind and moved her party ashore.
No, the extra crew would have to go, at least half of them. Guards and witches were one thing, but there were cooks, cleaners, carpenters, ironworkers – an entire village lived on that boat. And what was that machine under the tower? How many more folk worked down there?
“Too many questions,” he told himself. “Too many questions and not enough time. We should have waited.”
He had no doubt who Lady Zill would blame should all go awry, but could he tell her to slow down? Of course not; sooner tell a wolf to save half his food for breakfast. The nexus was there, and Lady Zill wanted it – patience was not a factor; it had to be now.
“And what will happen if she is wrong?” he asked himself around a mouthful of chicken, then tried not to choke as he let out a mirthless laugh – if she was wrong, no one on the island would be alive to wonder much over what had happened.
* * *
Once the important people were fed, Morn made his way to the mess. Lupan was there, as were most of the chore boys.
“Find a place to sit,” Lupan said. “This is your hour, make the most of it. Once you’re done here, I’ll show you the stores and the hot room. We do the laundry there. Part of your job will be to gather the dirty linen, then take the clean back to the store. But eat now, while the stew is hot.”
The mess was a narrow room, with one long table running along the middle. Morn was going to sit with the other chore boys, but then he heard someone call out in his direction.
“Eryk,” Livvy said. “Come sit by me.” She had a big smile on her face, and was tapping the bench next to her.
Morn felt a flush burn his cheeks. Silently thanking the gods for the dim light in the room, he made his way over to Livvy. She shuffled along, and Morn climbed over the bench to sit down next to her, trying his best not to get his feet tangled – it would be just like him to make a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl.
And Livvy was pretty; dark hair, dark eyes, slim: she looked like a Surabhan princess.
There were six other people at that end of the table. Three were chore boys. There was a tall man sitting with a fat woman, and another man dressed in fine clothes. A dozen women were sitting at the other end. Morn recognised the red dress women, but not the skinny girl and her friend.
“Don’t look at them,” Livvy whispered. “Zill doesn’t like it when you pay too much attention to her wet witches.”
“Why not?” Morn asked. “Is there something wrong with them?”
There was obviously something wrong with them; the skinny woman and her friend were covered in sores. Their skin was pale, and they did not raise their eyes from staring down at their food. The red dress women did not look much better, but where the skinny woman was silent, they, at least, were talking.
One was making angry gestures, pointing over her shoulder and shaking her head. The other red dress women were trying to ignore her, their eyes fixed on their stew. Morn wondered what the woman was complaining about, and wondered if he could hitch along the bench until he was close enough to hear – Juran would want to know why the red dress woman was in such a bad mood, and why the others were ignoring her.
“Best you keep your mind on your own business,” Livvy said. “If one of the guards hears you asking questions, he’ll have you off the ship.”
“I thought you were a guard?”
“Yes,” Livvy said, “but I’m not a Kel’mau. I just guard the stores and watch for boats.”
Morn smiled. “You’ll be guarding me, then; I’m the new store boy.”
“Boy?” Livvy said, smiling. She edged a little closer. “You’re older than me, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. How old are you?”
Livvy raised a brow at that. “Old enough to ask a young man to sit with her at supper,” she said, grinning. “Are you old enough?”
Again, Morn flushed. He knew what she was talking about.
“I-I’m nineteen,” he said quietly.
“Really? You’ve got two years on me.”
Seventeen? Morn mused. They let girls into the guards at seventeen?
Livvy looked at him as if expecting him to say something. When he did not, she asked, “I hear you are saving up for a bride’s price. Are you really getting married? My mother told me not to think about marriage until I had seen all eleven islands and had spent at least a year in Bailryn. She said, not until I have seen the world would I know what I really wanted. Have you seen the world, Eryk?”
Morn blinked. He could feel the sweat on his palms. The hot flush was making him dizzy. He had no idea what to say.
Fortunately, Lupan chose that moment to slap a bowl of stew down on the table in front of him.
“When I said, find a place to sit, I meant, get your food first,” Lupan said, smiling. “We don’t serve chore boys, Eryk.”
“Oh, sorry,” Morn said. “And thank you.” He pulled the stew toward him and, taking a spoon from the pile on the table, he started to eat, thankful for the cook’s timely arrival.
Lupan sat in the space opposite. “Did you have a good look around? What do you think?”
“I’ve been helping him,” Livvy said. “I’ve already shown him the master’s cabin, later, I plan on showing him the crew quarters. You leave him with me, Lupan; I’ll see him right.”
Lupan gave a chuckling laugh. “Well, that is good to hear. I’m sure he is in…”
The cook said more, but Morn was too busy listening to the buzzing sound to hear it.
What was making that noise? Was it the Voice? Morn could not believe he was the only one who could hear it. But when he looked, none of the other folk at the table were paying attention to the sound. Abruptly, he felt a wave of nausea rush through his gut. What was happening? Was the ship moving? Swallowing, he put his spoon down and grabbed hold of the table.
“Are you well?” Lupan asked.
“Just… a bit… seasick,” Morn managed to say. “Maybe I’ll… go find the… the crew quarters.”
“Yes, maybe you should,” Lupan said. “Rest a while, then come find me.”
“I’ll take him,” Livvy said, grabbing Morn’s hand. “Come on Eryk, I’ll see you into bed, nice and snug.”
Morn wanted to go alone, but Livvy held tight about the wrist. He followed as she led him through the corridors.
What was that sound? What was happening?
He raised a ha
nd to his face. His skin felt wet. Was it sweat, or blood?
Livvy pulled him into another long room, this one full of hammocks. Morn felt his stomach flip; he was not going to get into one of those.
“Aren’t there any normal beds?” he asked.
“I have a normal bed,” Livvy said. “I suppose we could share.”
Morn felt too sick to argue. He let Livvy pull him toward the far end of the room, then through another door, then up a small flight of stairs and into a smaller room. There were five beds in that room, each one separated from the others by a hanging blanket.
“This is where the female guards sleep,” Livvy told him. “We are not supposed to bring men in here, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Morn let her pull off his shirt, then lay him down on the bed.
“You rest,” she said, laying down next to him. “I’ll wake you in an hour. Hopefully, you will be feeling better by then, and I can show you the rest of my… possessions.”
Morn was not sure what she meant by that, but asking would have to wait; he was asleep a second after closing his eyes.
CHAPTER 17
Damari’s Lot: Part Two
The Hall of Light – that is what the mages called the great hall which took up most of the ground floor of the White Tower – was beginning to fill up. It had been called that Hall of Light for some two thousand years. Damari had no idea why. Yes, at one time, the great hall must have been quite the sight; but now, the room was as depressing as a cheap tavern, and likely smelled as bad. The smell, everyone knew, came from the stream which ran under the hall. As with many builders of the time, the men who had constructed the White Tower thought it would be a good idea to build it over a river – the better for washing away all the inevitable waste, or so they thought. Unfortunately, those same men did not consider the effect two thousand years of damp cellars would have on the building. It was not exactly like working in a sewer, but close enough; particularly for someone like Damari who was used to working outside.
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