The Great Rift

by Edward W. Robertson

  "We could do that," Blays said. "Or we could use my perfect idea."

  "Which is?"

  "We send a letter to Cassinder asking for an audience. While you grovel and apologize for Narashtovik's insubordination, I take a look around and see if there's a way in. Or a way to take care of Jocubs then and there that isn't too obvious."

  "That sounds awful. What's so perfect about it?"

  "Two things," Blays said. "First, it attacks Cassinder's arrogance. There's no way he'll turn down the chance to watch you prostrate yourself."

  "I think I know the second thing," Dante said.

  "Second, you'll hate every moment of it."

  "I knew the second thing." Dante glanced between the others. "Anyone have a better idea? Please have a better idea."

  If they did, they kept it to themselves. Dante stayed up late composing the most polite and beseeching letter he could stomach, then dispatched it to Cassinder at Jocubs' home first thing in the morning. While he waited for the boat to come back with a response, he raised Cally on the loon. They hadn't spoken in days, and it took Dante several minutes to bring him up to speed. A carefully explicated speed—Dante told him nothing of their plans regarding Jocubs.

  "Unfortunate," Cally said. "No doubt the king offered the damn lake-traders a better deal than we could ever swing. You ought to just burn down the whole valley and be done with it."

  "That would show them," Dante said. "Have you heard anything new from the world? The norren?"

  "No. And if the clans are hoping that ignoring the ultimatum will slow Moddegan down, they'll have to hope harder. He's raising troops across the north."

  "What are we going to do, Cally?"

  "Don't worry, son." The old man laughed. "If they come for Narashtovik, we'll build a boat and sail to the north star. Or die heroically! We're never forced to face a single fate."

  Dante knew "son" was just a phrase, but Cally had never used it towards him before. He opened his mouth, ready to tell Cally the rest of the plan to overthrow Jocubs and sway the lakelands back to their side, but the loon went silent.

  Cassinder replied in the afternoon. He was happy to hear from Dante, and would welcome his visit two days hence. Dante was glad the invitation wasn't for that same day. The cold glee in Cassinder's response had Dante ready to blast a hole through the wall. Or through Cassinder. Or, to kill two birds with one stone, to blast Cassinder through the wall instead.

  Lolligan produced a vial of clear, odorless poison. Before crossing the waters to Jocubs', Blays sealed it with wax and concealed it in his underclothes. This turned out to be uncannily wise—when they stepped off on Jocubs' docks, the guards searched them top to bottom, taking Blays' two knives. Dante smiled internally. Two small blades were nothing compared to the poison in Blays' underpants, the nether in his own veins.

  The stately terraces of Jocubs' home were strangely quiet. Dante was led to a small den heavy with carpets and wall-hangings that helped insulate it despite the lack of a fireplace. On the pretense Dante wanted to speak to Cassinder alone, Blays waited outside.

  Cassinder took thirty minutes to arrive. He entered as quietly as a knife, closing the door without a click, not bothering with the formal one-step retreat of greeting under such circumstances. His smile didn't warm his eyes. "This can't be easy for you."

  Dante stood. "How's that?"

  "To admit to a man's face that you wronged him. That's why you're here?"

  "Among other things."

  "Good. If it weren't, this conversation would end now." Cassinder sat on a backless chair, his spine straight. "Then let me hear it."

  "The raid on your household was a mistake," Dante said, managing not to clench his teeth. "The norren we were with deceived us. We deceived ourselves, too. I let things get out of hand."

  "Are you sorry?"

  "That's what I just said."

  "You didn't. You danced around the words like a three-legged dog. I wonder if you mean them."

  Dante stared past Cassinder's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

  The man touched two fingers to the blond stubble on his head. "And there it is. What now?"

  "I would hope my mistake hasn't endangered the long relationship between Narashtovik and Setteven. We support the norren in many ways, but it feels like Gask is two steps from civil war. How has it come this far?"

  "Because we let it," Cassinder said. "We indulged. We did not make our expectations clear. Our subjects in the southern hills did what helps themselves rather than what builds the empire as a whole. It is now our responsibility to correct them."

  Dante's eyes narrowed. He forced his face to go blank. "What is your proposal?"

  "Before the Settives took hold of this country, we followed a different set of laws. When a man killed, we didn't kill him. We made him a servant to the family whose son he had taken. When he went, his older brother went with him. If he had no older brother, it would be his younger. If he had no brothers at all, it would be his best friend. The killer became a simple servant, but the older brother had a higher responsibility. If the killer didn't rise on time, his brother would beat him. If the killer misfed the family's cows, and one of the cows died, his brother would whip him. And if the killer grew frustrated, and killed another member of his new family, then his brother would kill him."

  Cassinder held his gaze, perfectly still. "The norren have sinned. Can Narashtovik be their older brother?"

  The nether stirred in Dante, licking along his veins. "If that is our responsibility."

  The young lord stood, adjusting the hem of his doublet. "That is how we keep the peace."

  "My lord..." Dante said, hoping to stall him, to give Blays as much time as possible to continue his rounds of the house, but Cassinder didn't turn. He closed the door behind him, as if Dante weren't there at all. His feet whispered down the carpeted hall. A servant arrived moments later.

  "I am afraid the house must be vacated," the man said. "We'll find your friend and bring him to you on the docks."

  As he was led from the house, Dante examined every doorway, nook, and staircase in sight, but there were no obvious weaknesses, no flap-doors or person-sized cracks large enough to wiggle through with no sign of entry. Guards stood by the outer doors, some wearing Jocubs' colors, others wearing the pine green of Cassinder. By the time Dante reached the pier, he was ready to fling himself into the water and let it take him where it may. Ten minutes passed before Blays appeared on the path to the docks, escorted by two guards and looking as relaxed as a three-hour nap. The pair rode back to Lolligan's in silence.

  Inside the house, Blays grinned hugely. "If your face is any indication, your meeting went just as poorly as expected. Also, you're ugly."

  "Oh dear. How will I ever convince you to marry me?"

  "Maybe you can get rich?"

  Dante flopped down in a chair. "It would be much easier than trying to do good. How did your search go?"

  "Pretty great!" Blays said. "I took a highly illuminating shit."

  "Did your brains go with it? You were supposed to be searching for a way in!"

  "It's funny. There I was, perched on this wooden bench, when I discovered a strong draft doing strange things to my nethers. Once I finished up my first priority, I braved my health and sanity and stuck my head down the same hole my ass had just occupied."

  "Really? And how did the family reunion go?"

  Blays stretched his arms wide. "The crapper was as wide as a chimney! Dark as one, too, but I could still smell. You know what I smelled?"

  "The inside of a toilet?"

  "Yeah, but a surprisingly not-awful one. Then I started listening. And you know what I heard?"

  Dante pressed his palms against his forehead. "My endless screams?"

  "Splashing. Soft, gentle splashing."

  Dante lifted his head. "How wide did you say it was?"

  "At least four feet by three," Blays grinned. "As far down as I could see. Did I mention the bathroom was on the same floor as Jocubs'
bedroom?"

  "I think it's time to find Lolligan."

  According to his majordomo, the salt merchant was on business in town. When he returned, Blays explained his suspicion that the toilet opened straight into the lake. Lolligan's mouth fell open with laughter.

  "I have no doubt it does. Why didn't I think of this to begin with?"

  "Because it's disgusting," Blays said. "We're going to need some more clothes. Preferably something you won't mind having covered in shit and then dropped in the lake as we swim home."

  "How soon can we make this happen?" Dante said. "Ulwen, has she hired her troops? Will she be ready to move if Jocubs' supporters smell a rat?"

  Lolligan nodded, smiling sharply. "There's hardly an idle mercenary in town. Everyone's been hiring new help and it hasn't raised an eyebrow. Unrest is coming, you know."

  "You don't say." Blays bent at the waist to touch his toes, grunting as he stretched. "Guess we'd better practice climbing up a toilet."

  One of the five-story terraces that made up Lolligan's home had been disused since the previous summer. Including its chimney. The next two days, while they weren't coordinating with Ulwen and the woman in blue, Dante, Blays, and Lira spent their time clambering up and down the wing's largest chimney, a square vault roughly three feet to a side and some thirty feet high. As it turned out, the enclosed space was just tight enough to make climbing easy. By bracing two or three limbs against the sooty bricks at any one time, Dante could push himself up the flue without the use of a rope or tool. Blays and Lira were more agile yet, scaling the vertical rise in less than two minutes.

  That left two wildcards: finding the lakeside entry to the toilet, and widening the hole through the boards at its upper end enough to climb through. After discussion, Dante decided not to try to advance-scout the entry's location—either they would find it on the night of the attack or they wouldn't. As for the boards up top, through experimentation in the chimney, Blays discovered he could brace himself securely enough with two feet and one hand to use his remaining hand to pry loose or saw through a wooden plank with minimal noise or time. It was even easier if he could secure a rope to the seat and dangle from that while he worked. All told, Dante estimated they could swim in, climb up, break through, deliver the poison to Jocubs, and climb back out in no more than fifteen minutes.

  "I want to kill Cassinder, too," he said once he made that calculation.

  Blays lifted his brows. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

  "Extremely."

  "Let me put this another way. Do you think that's more or less likely to get us exposed or killed in the middle of this ridiculous mission?"

  "Cassinder's a duke, something like ninth in line for the kingship—with no concern or sympathy for the norren. If he winds up the general in charge of a legion, he'll massacre them. I'm sure of it."

  Blays gritted his teeth. "If one fat old man dies, well, that's what fat old men do. If a fit young duke dies on the same night? That'll stink worse than the route we're taking to get there."

  "You're right." Dante let the idea slip away like a pleasant dream. "But if the chance pops up, I'm taking it."

  That was all the more preparation they needed. They let Lolligan know they were ready; Lolligan let Ulwen know they would move that night.

  Dante napped through the day, waking for dinner. He dressed in a black cap and shirt and skirt and socks. The bells of midnight rolled over the inky waters. For another two hours, they gazed through the windows at Jocubs' island, where a pair of torches continued to burn with a strange white flame. A crescent moon barely outshined the stars.

  Lolligan went with them to the dock. After Dante, Blays, and Lira settled into a small rowboat Lolligan had stripped of any decorations, the old merchant untied the rope and knelt on the planks of the dock. His wrinkled face was taut, as if he were finally realizing the significance of the hour to come.

  "I hope we're doing the right thing," he whispered. "Good luck."

  He threw them the rope; Blays caught it and coiled it in the prow, then shoved off and grabbed an oar. Lira took up the other. Dante knelt up front, watching the black water. They rowed slowly, the splashes of their paddles no louder than the ripples and gentle waves. As slowly as a mounting storm, Jocubs' island grew in size, a black mound lit at its lakeward-facing point by those two white lights. The rowboat swung wide around the dark side of the island and angled in to where the five-layered house sat flush against the water.

  Miles across the lake, a white light bloomed in the darkness, riding many feet above the surface. Dante hunched forward and squinted until he was certain the light was moving against the steady backdrop of the far shore.

  "There's another ship out there."

  Blays pulled his paddle from the water. "What kind?"

  "It looks big. Too far away to tell."

  "Then we'll keep moving."

  The boat crept forward. Dante split his attention between the distant vessel and the approaching island. He could make out the manor's curling eaves now, the glint of its windows. Once, a man paced along a balcony, and Dante coiled the nether in his hands, ready to strike the man dead if he called out a warning. The figure disappeared inside.

  Blays steered the boat to within a few yards of the short, rocky cliffs supporting the house, where a guard would practically have to lean off a deck's railing to spot them. An outlying face of the house ran straight down into the water. Somewhere below it, a hole would open into the flue of the toilet.

  Dante glanced back across the lake. The vessel had cut the distance between them in half. He still couldn't make out its hull. Just that strange white lantern hanging from its prow.

  A light that matched the ones on the northern tip of Jocubs' island.

  "That's what Jocubs and Cassinder have been waiting for," he whispered over the wash of the waves. "That boat is coming here. It'll land within an hour."

  15

  Blays shrugged off his cloak, grinning grimly at the distant ship. "Then I suppose we'll have to hurry."

  Dante twisted to face him. "You still want to go through with this?"

  "Do you think the contents of that boat will make this any easier tomorrow?"

  Above, the house was silent, dark. "No. This is our best chance."

  "So quit arguing and let me go climb up that toilet."

  Blays shucked off his cloak and shoes and slipped over the side of the rowboat. He paddled along the flat rock of the house, then bobbed up, filled his lungs, and disappeared beneath the black water. Two bubbles popped to the surface.

  Water soughed against the land. Toward the city, the buoy clanged to itself, as far away and irrelevant as childhood. Dante loosened the small leather bag around his neck, fished out his loon, and turned the brooch to Mourn's setting. He pulsed it once. Two seconds later, he tried again.

  "Yes?" Mourn answered softly.

  "There's a ship coming this way," Dante whispered. "I don't like the looks of it."

  "What should we do about it?"

  "Get ready."

  "That's unhelpfully unspecific," Mourn said.

  "Tell Lolligan and our masked friend," Dante said. "I'm sure they'll come up with something."

  He cut the connection. The talk had distracted him from the fact Blays still hadn't returned; the water was open, silent. Dante's gaze leapt to every splash and ripple. How long had Blays been gone? Well over a minute. Closer to two. What if he'd gotten caught underwater? Stuck in a pipe or a grate? Dante leaned over the lip of the boat, rocking it. Stars shimmered on the water. Should he dive in? He returned his loon to his pouch, where it clicked against the wax-sealed vial and cloth-wrapped lock picks. He stripped off his cloak and took three long breaths, flooding his body with air. He filled his lungs a fourth time and threw one leg over the side. Below him, a pale face broke the water. Dante tipped back into the boat, banging his ribs on the bench.

  Blays grabbed the edge of the boat and peeped over the edge. "Found it."

  Dan
te righted himself, glancing at the house's balconies. "How do you know?"

  "Because it smelled like shit and I wanted to die. Pass me the bag and I'll get the rope up."

  Dante handed him the bag with the rope and pry bar. Blays tucked it under his arm, saluted, and disappeared under the water. Lira paddled to keep them away from the rocks while Dante watched the white light across the lake. The boat it was attached to was a dark blot on the moonlit waves. It had advanced fractionally by the time Blays returned and gestured them into the lake.

  The cold water gripped Dante like an unrelenting hand. He fought not to gasp as his head slipped below the water. Beneath the surface, Blays' kicking feet churned a trail of bubbles. Dante followed them like a lifeline. A broad shadow loomed ahead; Blays dove deeper, disappearing beneath it. Dante's ears popped. His heels banged and scraped against something hard and scratchy. The ceiling pressed above him, an unbroken plane of rough-cut stone. Air bubbled from his mouth. He flattened himself against the stone, struggling, as if he believed he could swim through rock as easily as the black water. The last of his air burst from his nose. He rolled over to hammer at the stone. A hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward. He rose into a tight square, brushing between two warm bodies and bursting from the water with a gasp. The stink hit him a moment later, a choking scent of feces in all stages of aging.

  Blays and Lira crowded beside him, breathing through their mouths. Something brushed Dante's face. He pawed it away, felt the wet rope. He could barely see his own hand. High above, the sliver of moon trickled through a skylight above the square hole of the seating platform. Small things bobbed around his arms and chest. He was glad for the darkness.

  Blays maneuvered around him and grabbed the rope. A foot bonked Dante's face. The rope swayed in the water, stirring the trapped sewage. Dante craned his neck to keep his face clear. Above, Blays scrabbled against the slick walls. Something plopped into the water. The rope jiggled. Blays gave a soft whistle. Dante grabbed the rope and climbed up, the spatter of water echoing up the flue. The rope swayed, banging him into the tight walls, dislodging sludge and coating him in foul stink. He breathed shallowly but could still taste it on the back of his throat. He paused halfway up to gag.