by Archer, Jill
We stared at each other for a few minutes. Then he nodded and kissed my forehead.
“Know what they’re roasting for dinner tonight?”
I shook my head.
“River slugs.” And then he laughed and pulled me in the direction of Vodnik, his followers, and the fire.
* * *
Thankfully, even in the Shallows where food was extraordinarily scarce, there was more on the menu than just river slugs. There was also bloodfish, bonemeal grits, and stewed swamp greens. I don’t know what Burr or Alba would have made of it all. It was hard to complain when these people so willingly shared their food with us.
The campfire was lined with huge logs that had been pulled from the swamp so long ago the bark had been worn down to a shiny smooth surface. I estimated that there were a little over a hundred and fifty people gathered around the site. A core group of about twenty congregated around the fire and the rest ate on logs, blankets, or just while standing, in groups of threes and fours all around the edges. It looked like the outer groups were families, catching up with one another after being apart for the day.
Their cooing, warbling, whistling, and trilling were infinitely preferable to the dry clacking and wet snuffling sounds the rogare demons made at night, but I did wonder what they were all talking about. It wasn’t like they were complaining about the Lethe commuter ferries or the amount of work that was still waiting for them back at the office. But then again, none of them had that frazzled, harried, one-beat-short-of-a-heart-attack look that most New Babylonians had either. Maybe we were all on our way to an early grave and it was just a matter of how we wanted to accomplish it.
After choking down a bowl of swamp greens and a few bites of bloodfish, I suggested that Ari keep Vodnik occupied so that I could speak with some of his followers. He agreed and I walked over to where Rafe stood to enlist his help. Even if some of these people spoke the common tongue, it was clear that Avian was their preferred language.
“What are they all saying?” I said without preamble when I reached Rafe. “You never translate anything they say verbatim. I want to know what they’re talking about.”
Rafe looked at me quizzically. He always seemed to be evaluating me. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
“Do you think it would help your investigation?”
“Maybe,” I said, turning toward the settlers.
Rafe gave me a funny little smile. “Verbatim’s not a word in their vocabulary.”
“Well, what is?”
He looked around, assessing candidates, and finally zeroed in on a young couple standing at the edge of the group. They were facing each other, speaking Avian in low chirps and long sonorous notes. Rafe listened intently to them for a few minutes and then turned to me.
He gently took my hand in his and placed it on his chest, as the young man had just done to the woman. The fire reflected back in Rafe’s bronze-flecked, fawn-colored eyes, making them look like shimmering bits of gold.
“Shelter with me tonight,” he said. I blinked, forgetting for a moment that he was repeating what the man had said to the woman.
When I didn’t react, Rafe leaned toward me until he was close enough for his breath to tickle my face. Then he winked and whispered, “She said, ‘Kiss me and convince me.’” He looked expectantly at me, like I might actually repeat his words and play the part.
I yanked my hand free. “You’re a terrible Angel, Raphael Sinclair. All I asked was for you to translate what some of these people were saying. And you can’t even do that without turning it into a joke!”
He grinned at me. “Who says I was joking? I was just doing my job. Translating, like you asked me to.” He motioned back to the couple, who were now kissing passionately, ardently.
I rolled my eyes. “Rafe, get serious. It’s time to work. I want to interview Zella Rust. Tonight. And Meghan Brun too if we can.”
He nodded and appeared to get serious (with Rafe you could never tell) and looked around the campfire area. We spotted the women at the same time. Conveniently, they were sitting together on a ratty-looking blanket near the edge of the clearing.
“Come on, then,” Rafe said, motioning me toward them. We walked over to where the two women sat eating their dinner (I saw that Zella had chosen the same meal I had, whereas Meghan had gone for the roasted slugs). Not wanting to get too close to Zella, I sat down on an empty log that was a few feet away from where they were sitting. They’d stopped talking when they saw us approach and now eyed us cautiously. I couldn’t blame Zella, but it was interesting that Rafe got the same look. Their body language was very unwelcoming. Zella gave Vodnik a nervous glance.
Uh-oh. Was she afraid to speak with us? If so, that was definitely another mark against Vodnik.
As we’d agreed, Ari was occupying Vodnik’s attention so he hadn’t yet glanced our way, but I had a feeling he knew I was over here. Vodnik could feel my signature same as I could his.
“Ms. Rust, I’d like to talk to you about why we’re here. Would you rather we speak alone?” I knew Zella spoke the common tongue. She’d written her demon complaint in it. Meghan, I wasn’t sure about. Our brief interactions earlier had been accomplished with few words, and those we had exchanged had been translated by Rafe.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Zella said. Her voice was so soft I had to strain to hear it. Scooting closer was out of the question, though. I glanced at Meghan. If Zella didn’t want to talk in front of her, she would have said so by now.
“You filed a demon complaint with the Council. Why didn’t you think someone would come?”
Zella took a while to answer. Finally she said, “We’ve never met anyone in Halja outside of the Shallows. Even our Boatman was raised here. He told me the Council existed and that there really were more people in New Babylon, but I wasn’t sure I believed him—until I saw you.”
I tried—and likely failed—to keep the surprised look off my face. To Zella, Maegesters were as legendary as Grimasca. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
“We exist. And we’re here to help. You said your sister was missing. I assume she’s still missing?”
Zella nodded, her eyes tearing slightly. I bit my lip and tried to think of the questions I wanted to ask. Seeing Zella’s face and imagining the eight-year-old Athalie either dead or out in the dark swamps alone made concentrating that much harder. But I was supposed to be the “legendary” Council Maegester, right?
“Zella, do you believe in Grimasca?”
Zella turned to Meghan and the two exchanged a look. Meghan grunted. She’d recognized the name “Grimasca” at least, or maybe she’d understood everything so far.
“I didn’t. I don’t know . . . Maybe I still don’t.” Zella sighed. “My father and husband were among the fishermen that disappeared that day,” she said. “I’ll never forget the sight of Vodnik and Stillwater returning home from the Meadow alone. I just knew something horrible had happened. And all Vodnik would say about it was ‘Grimasca got them.’ Lots of us were . . .” She struggled to find the right word.
“Skeptical?” I said. Zella frowned. Maybe she didn’t know what that word meant. “Doubting?” I prompted.
“Yes,” she said gratefully, but then grew immediately somber again. “Until the next day when Stillwater returned from the Meadow with Grimasca’s butcher knife and spice box.”
I cleared my throat. I found it ironic that I was about to make Ari’s argument. “Do you think Vodnik might have found those items somewhere else and then planted them there for Stillwater to find, so that he could blame another demon for the fishermen’s disappearances?”
Zella appeared to give this suggestion serious consideration. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She shifted on the ground, clearly uncomfortable.
“When is your baby due?”
“Any day now.” But she looked fearful instead of excited. I knew that childbirth could be risky, but there seemed more to it than that.
“Vodnik called
you his inamorata. When did that relationship start? After your husband disappeared? In your condition, you can’t possibly have consummated the relationship. Is he just hopeful for a future with you?”
Zella laughed harshly and looked away. Meghan squeezed her shoulder and spoke for the first time. Her voice wasn’t quite as raspy as Fara’s, but it was close.
“The disappearances weren’t your fault,” Meghan said, lightly shaking Zella as if to convince her. Zella blew out her breath and clenched the hem of her tunic in her fist. She struggled not to cry. I hated to press her, but she was the one who’d written for help. If she didn’t tell me what she knew, it would be that much more difficult for me to figure out what had happened here.
“Yes, Vodnik’s hopeful for a future with me,” she said. “But it’s not one I want.” Again, she glanced nervously at Vodnik, who was still sitting with Ari. Fara had joined them. Angels were natural bards and the practice of singing for one’s supper was practically pre-Apocalyptic it was so old. No one in the Shallows had ever even seen an Angel perform so, needless to say, Fara was in her element. Her crowd of twenty may as well have been twenty thousand for all the gusto, flair, and glamour she appeared to be putting into her story. No one would be looking over here anytime soon.
“Last fall we were celebrating the First Day of Darkening,” Zella continued. “I had too much bog water. Antony and I had a fight and he left the fire. Vodnik asked me to come back to Stone Pointe with him.” She looked up at me to gauge my reaction. I kept my face neutral. I thought I knew where the story was going, and I couldn’t say I would have encouraged her, but nor was I here to pass judgment on her sins. Besides, no one knew more than me how easily small slipups could become monstrous mistakes.
“So you slept with Vodnik,” I said softly. “And now that Antony’s gone, he wants you back. For good.”
Zella nodded. Meghan looked upset with me and fiercely protective of Zella. Somehow I just knew if she’d been born with waxing magic, Meghan would have been a Mederi to reckon with. But I had to ask my next question.
“Do you think Vodnik killed Antony out of jealousy?”
“No!” Meghan said. “Even if Vodnik was capable of that—and I’m not saying he is—he wouldn’t kill fourteen other men and her sister to cover it up!”
I looked up at Rafe, curious to see how he was taking all this. He shrugged. At first I thought that would be his only contribution, but then he said:
“Why did Athalie go with Vodnik to check the traps the morning she disappeared? If she suspected Vodnik of killing her father, uncle, and a dozen or so other men, why did she walk into the swamps alone with him?”
“I don’t know,” Zella said finally. “I was on the Blandjan dock checking lines when they left.”
“So she could have been forced to go?” I asked.
The two women looked at each other, considering. Then Meghan said, “I don’t think so. Not without someone noticing. But there’s something else you should know. I don’t know if it’s related or not. About a month before the fishermen disappeared, another group of men, a smaller group, was down in the Meadow fishing by the waertree—”
“There’s a waertree in the Meadow?” I said, surprised. Although I don’t know why. They had to grow somewhere.
“Yes,” Meghan said, waving her hand to indicate the waertree had nothing to do with what she was about to tell me. “Something bit one of the fishermen while they were fishing there. No one saw what it was, but the bite was big and nasty looking. They carried the man home. Cephas was his name. By the time they got him back here, he was already passed out from the pain. I cleaned out the wound and sewed him up, but he never woke up again. Just like your captain . . . What bit him? Do you know?”
My stomach suddenly felt like it was full of ice water and someone had stuck a pin in it. The cold leaked out from my middle and into my arms and legs.
“A hellcnight,” I croaked. “Where’s Cephas now?”
“After three months, his family gave him to Estes,” Meghan said.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They put his body on a raft and floated him out into the Lethe.”
“But—” Oh, Luck. He probably drowned, then. But thinking such thoughts was akin to blasphemy. I was a member of the Host. If anyone should believe in the existence of the greater demons, it was me, right? I realized then, though, just how small my sacrifices to Estes had always been. Drops of blood, small trinkets, tokens really, more representations of sacrifice than anything real. I couldn’t help wondering, though . . .
If it was my last resort, would I be able to float a sleeping, helpless person out into the Lethe in the hope that Estes might save them?
Probably not.
“People are saying we should do the same thing for Delgato,” Meghan said.
I was just about to demur, to say something tolerant and respectful while politely refusing, when Rafe beat me to it. But his response was seething with quiet fury.
“The Patron Demon of the Lethe will not save the Patron Demon of Shadows. If anyone here tries to float Delgato out into the river, I will turn them into a frog. And then I will step on them. Do either of you have anything else to add that may be helpful to Ms. Onyx?”
Rafe had clearly made an enemy of Meghan, but he didn’t seem to care. She looked insulted and upset. Zella just looked worried.
“Grimasca was a hellcnight, right?” Zella said, close to tears again. “If Cephas was bitten by Grimasca, then it’s possible that Athalie and Antony and my father and everyone else were too, and if so, they might still be out there, bitten and sleeping, instead of dead. I think”—Zella’s voice got even softer—“if it were me, I’d rather be dead.”
Chapter 22
The snap of a twig in the dead of night sounds as loud as the mast of a tall ship breaking at the base. A thousand times that night I awoke, covered in sweat, a shiver of fear racing down my spine, whorling around my waist and into my belly, and then bursting near my navel. A thousand times, I clenched my fist and pressed it into my thigh, willing my signature not to go supernova. Sleeping in the Shallows, for me, was near impossible.
We’d regrouped after the interview with Zella Rust and Meghan Brun and swapped information. Though unsurprising, Ari and Fara confirmed my guess that they’d learned nothing while distracting Vodnik. Rafe and I shared what we’d been told, including the fact that a former follower had likely been bit by a hellcnight the month before the fishermen disappeared. In light of this unsettling revelation and our continuing mistrust of Vodnik, we’d decided, cramped though it would be, to bunk together in a hut. Between the unfamiliar outside sounds, the noise of three snoring people (Russ had elected to stay in the med shack with Delgato) and a tiger inside, plus a running list of questions in my head that was as long as my leg, sleep eluded me. I pulled out Alba’s black onion and stared at it. What should I ask it? I could answer at least one of my questions right now. But which one?
What happened to the fifteen fishermen and Athalie? Did they drown or get lost? (That would be a waste of the black onion. There was no way I was going to ask it that.) Did Vodnik kill them? Did Grimasca? Did another hellcnight? Were they bitten? Were they still alive somewhere? If so, where? And then, once the questions started, I couldn’t stop them. They poured into my head like the river water had poured into the boat the night Cnawlece went down.
Did Curiositas really kill Cattus? Was Delgato Cattus? Was Grimasca real? Had he lived? If so, when? If he lived, was he now dead? Or was he just a bedtime story mothers told their children to make them listen?
Had Ebony been Grimasca’s lover? Had he killed her? If so, why? Why did Fara never quote the Book anymore? Would Rafe ever forgive himself for his brother’s death? Had Ynocencia really not known that Jezebeth was a drakon? Did waerwater really work? Could a demon survive a trial by waerwater and, if so, did that really mean that he was innocent?
Would this black onion tell me something that would act
ually help me? Or would it give me a vague nonanswer like Fortuna’s wisdom from the beginning of the semester? “When traveling into the unknown, sometimes the biggest danger is the one you bring with you . . .” What did that even mean anyway? Had we brought the hellcnight to the Shallows?
Would I ever remember the memory I lost when we passed through the Elbow? What memory had Rafe been given of me? Would Delgato ever wake up? Would we ever make it back to New Babylon? Alive?
I put the black onion back in my pocket. Questions were worse than a hydra’s head. If you answered one, a dozen more just sprang up in its place. Needless to say, I hardly slept that night. When we woke the next morning, low thunder was already sounding. But it seemed far off and no one (least of all me) wanted to put off the walk to the Meadow. After a quick breakfast of fried pieces of small insects and other critters I was glad not to have seen whole, we waited at Stone Pointe to meet Vodnik and his gerefa, Thomas Stillwater, who would be escorting us out to the Meadow.
We spotted Russ with Meghan. She’d apparently taken him under her wing and was now showing him how to draw water from one of the rainwater cisterns. Zella made a brief breakfast appearance and somehow managed to scarf down an entire plate of fried . . . spider legs? Lizard tails?
“I thought pregnancy made women nauseated,” I said to Fara, who was standing next to me. Among the drab brown and gray of our surroundings, Fara stood out like a bright bromeliad. Her glamour this morning was peacock-patterned pants paired with a short silk cranberry red blouse and matching lip gloss. Her dowsing stick was back too.
Fara deepened her frown while watching Zella and was on the verge of responding when Vodnik approached with a man I hadn’t yet met. The man was stocky and strong looking with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a leather cuirass, the only one I’d seen in all of the Shallows. It immediately proclaimed him as a man of stature.
