“There it is,” said Nemi, slowing Myrkur as they came to the familiar greasy smudge on the earth where nothing would ever grow … a circle not unlike the one Best had stepped inside, back in an empty church in the Haunted Forest. “I could carry you farther—we’re taking Purna’s friends all the way down to the Serpent’s Circle, so adding another few days won’t make much difference.”
“This is where we met, this is where we part,” said Best. “I will walk the rest of the way alone.”
“Well, shall I let Purna know so you can say your goodbyes?” asked Nemi of the Bitter Sighs, a far more sentimental sorceress than Best had presumed.
“Farewells are for the dead, and we may yet meet again in this world,” said Best, taking her old pack and her new spear and dropping from the wagon. The impact sent a jolt of pain through her still-mending arm, and the pain made her smile—it reminded her she had warred against the very gods and lived to sing the song. Then, for the first time since meeting these strange companions of hers, she reached out and stroked the horned wolf. She found herself barely able to stop, once her fingers were running through Myrkur’s pelt, the feeling of a live one so much different … “But I know you put stock in such words, and so I once more say good hunting to you, Nemi of the Bitter Sighs, and to this one as well.”
“Good hunting, Best of the Horned Wolf Clan,” said the witch, adjusting her pince-nez on her nose. “And if in my sojourns I travel through Flintland perhaps we shall indeed meet again.”
“You will not find me there,” said Best, shouldering her pack. “I go only to warn my clan they have been deceived by the Burnished Chain, and to meet any in the Honor Circle who would stop me from leaving once I have had my say.”
“Well!” said Nemi, no doubt as impressed by Best’s candor as Father Turisa, the Poison Oracle, and the council of elders would be. “Where will you go after that?”
“Where else?” said Best, casting her gaze back the way they had come. “Like my father before me, I shall go to dwell with my child until the last of my days.”
CHAPTER
39
Zosia walked her dog down the quay, admiring all the damage being diligently repaired by teams of tarshirts, listening to the three-copper opera of lusty shouts and pounding pegs and sawing wood. There was scarcely a ship in Othean Bay that wasn’t in a bad way from their run-in with the leviathans of the Tothan navy, but Zosia was headed for one of the few that had escaped unscathed.
Well, almost unscathed, the replacement of the bowsprit nearly complete. They had supposedly lost it when the fearless captain had steered her vessel out from under cover of fog and sailed straight into the back of the greatest sea monster seen at the Battle of Othean, a titan that had risen from the waves to pluck sailors off the Azgarothian ships in its many wavering arms and snapping claws. Now that same captain straddled the new bowsprit, fiddling with the stays … and looking up with obvious alarm as Zosia hailed her.
“That’s what I like to see!” called Zosia as Choplicker flopped down to warm his lazy belly on the sunny quay. “A good captain always double-checks everything herself, makes sure there’s no loose ends on the yards.”
“Why, if it isn’t the pipemaker Moor Clell!” said Bang, clambering back toward the prow. “Hold on, I’ve got your piece right here. Been keeping it safe for you.”
“For me or from me, Bad Bang, and are we talking briar or a crossbow you’ve got stashed up there?”
“My but you’re one suspicious pipemaker,” said Bang, and reaching over the lip of the prow, retrieved the pipe Zosia had given up for lost so long ago. “Would you believe this beauty made it clear up to Jex Toth with me? And that I lost it in the wreck, only to have your boy Maroto come swimming out of the Haunted Sea with it clenched in his jaw? How’s that for luck?”
“All my pipes have a devil’s own,” said Zosia, pulling the cabernet-finished masterpiece she’d carved in her cell back at Diadem out from the apron of her dirndl and puffing the caldera back to life; she hadn’t wanted to alert the pirate to her arrival, being downwind on the dock. “And Maroto never was my boy. I’ll say he tried to do good. Sometimes. But that doesn’t cancel out the bad.”
“Well,” said Bang, “there’s bad and then there’s—”
“You know what I found on his body?” Zosia asked, her throat closing up all over again, Choplicker’s tail beating on the boards. “After he refused to see me on his deathbed, so I only got to say goodbye to his corpse? A letter, from him to me, confessing he was the one who set Imperials on my town. Not a lot of detail how, and certainly not a word of why, but I’ll tell you this—I thought I knew him, but reading that … reading that I knew he meant every word he wrote. Oh, and did I mention he betrayed our whole race to the monsters who just tried to sacrifice the Star? So no, he’s not my boy.”
“Well, he was mine, and whatever your trouble with him I’m not ashamed to say it,” said Bang, and if she was lying she was a better actor than the departed. “He was clumsy, though. I gave him this pipe, see, since he recognized it was one of yours and was coveting it from the first, but the poltroon broke it. I found the pieces in his pouch when I was up in that same sickroom as you, and seemed a shame to let them go up in the pyre … especially since I knew it weren’t really his. It was yours.”
“What’d you fix it with?” said Zosia, not really wanting to know but having to ask.
“Well, first I tried whale wax but when it heated up that didn’t do, so then I worked in some birch tar, and—”
“Keep it,” Zosia decided, letting go of another sliver of her long-broken heart. “I carved that for my husband, Leib Cherno. He was murdered, and it was all I had left of him in the world.”
Bang looked genuinely taken aback. “I … I never thought …”
“No, pirates never do,” said Zosia, and when Choplicker whined at her she sighed. “Most of us don’t, as a matter of habit. But we can choose to start. I’m not chopping off your arms and legs today, Bang Lin, nor putting out your eyes. Remember that the next time the Star seems dark and cruel and hopeless.”
“And you’re letting me keep the pipe,” said Bang, scratching her greasy tattooed brow with the stem carved from the antler of the first buck Zosia had shot on their mountain, when she and Leib had first come to Kypck. Let it go, old woman, let it all go.
“And I’m letting you keep the pipe,” agreed Zosia. “I lost someone who held it, but so did you. A gift for the grieving.”
“Thanks,” Bang said as Zosia turned back down the quay. “But hey, don’t you want to claim your prize before you go? I promised you a kiss if you ever caught me, and I’ll not have it said that Bad Bang don’t keep her word.”
“You said you’d kiss me anywhere I liked, if memory serves,” said Zosia. “So you can go ahead and kiss my ass.”
“Ha! Fair enough!” Bang called after her. “And where are you retiring to, then, in case I ever need to commission a new briar from the greatest carver in the Star?”
“I’ve had my fill of retirement,” said Zosia, waving her new pipe over her shoulder in farewell. “It’s time to get back to work.”
The first order of business was exorcising the ghost of drugged tubq that Boris had sullied her pipe with … and on its very first bowl, too! Even in the service of busting her out of prison the crime was almost too terrible to be forgiven, but then the last time she’d seen him he hadn’t seemed long for this world, and Zosia had too many troubles with the living to waste any more energy harboring grudges against the dead. Besides, her old superstition about the inaugural bowl somehow defining the fate of the pipe was just that, and best discarded.
This beautiful briar had been tainted from its very first flame, true, and for now the cheap aftertaste of whatever pungent all-sorts blend he’d used to cover up the poison impregnated the wood even if its soporific effects didn’t, yes … but then she’d barely begun to break the pipe in, and so long as she kept it well fed with the good stuff from here o
n out that badness would soon fade into nothing. This rhum-kissed twist of the best brown vergins from the far fields of Hoggawith and figgy pu’rique fermented in Saint Pease’s Parish would bless the briar with a hard black cake, and even now the lingering funk of Boris’s blend only really intruded on the tongue when she let herself notice it … so she tried not to, focusing on the sweet yet tangy tingle of the smoke, smiling to see how the sea breeze carried off her modest clouds to join their grand cousins in the sky. Every true puffer knows there’s nothing more important than making the most out of every pipe you’re privileged enough to enjoy, in savoring every sip … but every true puffer also appreciates that neither a briar nor a blend are defined by a single smoke, and while not every bowl can be the best one’s ever had, well, the one we pack tomorrow just might be …
Lunting can make a philosopher out of most anyone, but the problem with walking and smoking a pipe and letting your mind wander on a busy quay is it’s awfully easy to let your feet wander, too; Zosia almost strolled right off into Othean Bay before she caught herself. Waving away her fragrant halo and looking clear up the docks, she took in the glory that was the Winter Palace. Towering high above that Star-famous monument to human skill and hard work was the colossal Gate-ash that had sprung up in an instant, a testament that no matter how hard mortals might struggle or how high they might climb, their achievements could never hope to touch the mysterious powers pulsing just beneath their feet. Or at their heel, as the case may be.
Anyway, it was a big fucking tree.
As she dropped her eyes from the inscrutable heavens to where Indsorith sat waiting for her on a bollard in the distance, Zosia’s old knees ached anew at the prospect of all the day’s activity still ahead of them. Ever since that final battle in Jex Toth she’d been losing the youthful vigor Choplicker had granted her, the twinges and arthritis returning, but if that was another price for peace she was happy to pay it. After all the time she’d spent convincing herself that he wasn’t just some animal, here at the end of the song it turned out devils were indeed just like dogs—you couldn’t let them get away with eating whatever they wanted all the time or they’d get fat and spoiled. Looking down at the old monster she was saddled with for the First Dark only knew how many more years, she figured it was time to put him back on a diet.
It was a long way back, so Zosia did the only thing she could and picked up her pace.
CHAPTER
40
A yawn. A scratch. A scratch for Prince. A yawn from Prince.
Diggelby rolled over in his velvety den, giving his dog a great big contented sigh—what could be better than waking up every day next to your best friend? Oh wait a tick, Diggelby knew the answer to that puzzler—being able to do that, and be Black Pope! Though really, if he had to choose only one miracle, you could bet your bottom button he’d take his devil over his day job.
Not that Prince was his devil anymore … he didn’t think? It was all frightfully queer, as befitted a supernatural entity in the guise of an Ugrakari spaniel turning up one morning in your bed, ages after you freed the beggar the first time. He even tried firmly telling Prince to go home, just in case there was some confusion about the fact that Pope Diggelby did not keep devils against their will, but the darling had merely whined and licked the papal ring with his stubby little tongue. Status of Diggelby’s heart at that moment: melted at such high heat it evaporated into a delicate mist.
He knew he really ought to get out of bed, chockablock day as he had ahead of him, but why be pope if you couldn’t sneak a quick mope? Meeting with the Holy See was hard work, half the clowns on there not knowing Chainite scripture from a Trvevian aphorism; why didn’t he promote Bishop Boris to cardinal? Technically clerics were supposed to have a familial connection to the church to hold such an exalted position, but if that’s all it took, well, there was nothing stopping Diggelby from adopting the fellow as his son, was there? Having someone with such creative interpretations of doctrine sit on the Holy See would be sure to stir up some healthy debate.
And that was what being alive was all about, wasn’t it, asking the really difficult questions? That was why the Fallen Mother had given mortals their curiosity—if she had ever even existed at all, of course! If the point of being alive was the great eternal ponder, then the best part was that there were no real right or wrong answers, just a whole lot of wondering, and then plop. The joy to life is that there are questions in the first place.
“Here’s a serious query for you, Princey,” said Diggelby, lifting his lapdog up to hover above his chest. “Should we start our day by promoting that angry little amputee to cardinal, or should we drop graveworms and go looking for holy visions in the stained glass windows again?”
Prince barked twice, which might mean let’s do both or might just mean put me down, peasant, but either way, what a great morning to be alive in the Star! Huzzah for Prince! And huzzah for Pope Diggelby the First!
EPILOGUE
The Goddess Thief hugged the western coast of Jex Toth, now a solid week farther out than any craft from the Star had yet ventured. The coast of Jex Toth. Captain Bang shook her head, still scarcely able to wrap it around where she was, and what she was doing. When she, Dong-won, and Niki-hyun had absconded with this boat and a pair of others just before the Battle of Othean it had been with the express purpose of sailing in the opposite direction of this place, but then the gods of wind and sea had apparently had other ideas …
Well, if not the gods of wind and sea, then certainly the gods of fucking Bang Lin sideways: a massive Raniputri fleet had appeared on the southern horizon before her trio of ships were more than a few hours into their getaway. Who knew the Dominions even had a fleet? They had done a quick about-face lest the Raniputris try to conscript a few more tubs into their navy, threading east through the Isles to shake them off … and then running smack into more trouble when they hit the Bitter Gulf, this time in the form of a fast-moving Flintlander flotilla. Who knew the Noreast Arm even had a flotilla?
Nothing for it then but to try to lose them in the brewing tempest to the north, but the persistent peckers followed them every splash of the way, until the next thing Bang knew they were rounding the upper end of Othean. Niki-hyun had begged her not to sail into that ominous fog, too, arguing they’d be better off slowing down and trying to talk terms with the pursuing Flintlanders, but that just went to show why Bad Bang was the captain: because she was always right. Now admittedly, when they had careened out of the mists and crashed directly into that sea monster Bang had momentarily doubted herself, but in the end that happy accident had earned them the eternal gratitude of several nations who would have otherwise paid to see every member of her crew hanged, so there you had it.
The captain is always right.
It bore repeating, especially in the face of such madness as the verdant seaboard they currently surveyed, Jex Toth was not only back from the briny deep but apparently here to stay. Who would have believed such a thing could not only come to pass in her lifetime, but that a fisher girl from the Cuttlefish Cays would be the first to chart it? Dong-won, ever the pragmatist, had pointed out that cartography probably didn’t pay quite as well as piracy, but Bang had her suspicions that the first accurate map of the fabled land would be worth a fortune to every power on the Star. Peace was fine and dandy, but like most dandies she’d met it had a bad habit of slipping into the drink after a few of its own, and when that happened everybody was going to want to know the inlets and outcroppings of the Risen Kingdom.
Except by now they were well past the supposed borders of the Tothans’ territories and still the coast kept going and going, and that was really what gave Bang the itch. Anywhere they put in now would be completely unexplored territory, and from the look of it the jungles here were as vast as the sea, and even thicker with potential plunder. That ruined city she and Maroto had discovered on their first foray into the interior had stoked her curiosity, especially since the moon-touched, basement-dwellin
g Tothans apparently didn’t give a toss about their own ancient civilization, or material treasure in general.
She loved the sea so much it flowed in her very veins, albeit stained crimson from all the Azgarothian port she’d put away over the years, but exploring this strangely beautiful and exhilaratingly dangerous land had thrilled her in new and exciting ways … and the high probability that there were forgotten cities from the Age of Wonders ripe for the looting stirred a very familiar thirst in her purse.
But a woman had other thirsts, and other purses for that matter, and turning away from the spires of rock crowning the most recent bay she scanned over the ship, looking for a suitable candidate. As she did she unfurled her tubq pouch and packed her cutty with a coconut brandy-cased mixture of burly, lemon vergins, and sweet leaf, but then the stupid gum she’d tried to bond the pipe with came loose and the stem popped free. Again. She was still trying to reset it when the handsome new mate they’d taken on in Othean saw what she was doing and offered to help.
“If you can get it on there good this time, you can be part of my party when we go ashore,” said Bang, the wildborn holding up the bowl to peer in the shank.
A War in Crimson Embers Page 62
