Voyager of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The east side of the city was laid out in regular, straight streets at precise intervals, and finding the plaza-street was so easy she wanted to weep in gratitude to ungoverned heaven for making one thing go right in all of this. Of course, if heaven cared at all about her, it had a funny way of showing it. Heaven probably wanted her to show self-reliance.

  She had no idea how far she was from the harbor, couldn’t do anything but keep her head down and put one foot in front of the other, over and over again. One more step. One more step. No one spoke to her or called out accusations in Karitian. She refused to feel encouraged. Time enough for that when she was on the island. Premature celebration could get her killed. Again.

  Gradually, the hot, wet air took on a briny smell, and she imagined she could feel salt brushing her cheeks, and then it was incredibly hard to keep from feeling eager. Zara glanced up. Ahead, the great street narrowed to go through the arch leading to the harbor. No doors stood open to welcome visitors; there were no doors at all. Maybe Dineh-Karit was so confident in its military might it didn’t fear any attack that might come by sea. Or maybe it was arrogance rather than confidence. Either way, seeing a pirate fleet sail into the harbor to sack Manachen…no, she wasn’t callous enough to wish that on any city. But it would have cheered her to see red and blue nakati run screaming.

  She slowed her pace as she neared the arch, then veered to one side and ducked behind one of the shops lining the road. She tossed her bundle into the space behind the shop and quickly combed through her hair with her fingers, straightened her stolen tunic, and emerged, stiffening her spine and holding her head erect. She strode toward the arch confidently, focusing her gaze on a ship far out in the harbor. She heard nothing but the sea birds, her shoes, and, finally, the creak of wood and the snap of sails and ropes. No one shouted after her.

  The heavy arch cast a welcome shadow over her briefly, then she’d left the concrete behind for hard-packed earth that kicked up in tiny puffs around her feet as she walked. Ahead were the warehouses, beyond that, the nakati houses, and then there were the piers and, thank holy heaven, dozens of brightly colored boats tied up to them. Cerise and her hat couldn’t possibly still be there, so she’d need to hire—

  Her reflexes, and her fear of discovery, kept her walking without a stumble or hesitation, but her body felt turned to stone. Ransom had the pouch full of gems. She had no way to pay someone to take her to Goudge’s Folly.

  She passed the warehouses with little more than disinterested glances from the men laboring there. Thank heaven there were some people in Manachen who didn’t feel it was their duty to harass foreign women. The nakat who’d sent them to Goudge’s Folly after Ransom had been imprisoned had just spoken to a pilot, hadn’t offered her any money that Zara had seen. Maybe Zara could convince someone to give her a ride on the promise of a lot of money when she got to her destination. And maybe I’ll strip down to one of those brassiere and loincloth getups and dance for the nakati in the middle of the street. But it was the only option she had.

  A nakat emerged from one of the little houses almost in her face. He glared at her and said in Veriboldan, “You should more carefully walk, foreigner.”

  “I apologize,” Zara replied, and backed away a few steps.

  “Stop.” The nakat took hold of her shoulder. “Where are your papers?”

  “I am a private negotiator. I have no papers.”

  “All negotiators have papers.”

  “Not the Tremontanans,” Zara said, switching to her own language. The man’s eyes narrowed. Zara guessed he didn’t speak Tremontanese. “I am returning to Tammerek. I will leave immediately and I will not speak to anyone while I am here,” she added in Veriboldan.

  “We will see of your credentials. You will wait for authorization,” the nakat said, and went back into the little blue house without shutting the door. Zara heard him speaking in Karitian to someone inside. The other person didn’t sound happy. Zara gauged the distance between herself and the piers. Casually, she began walking away, a fast walk that wasn’t quite a run, scanning the piers for what she needed. Any minute now, that nakat was going to come out of the house—

  Someone shouted in Karitian, then said in Veriboldan, “Stop now!” Without looking back, Zara broke into a run.

  Chapter Twenty

  Her feet struck the wooden pier, sending up echoes that harmonized with the slap of her sandals, THUD-slap, THUD-slap. Behind her came more shouting, far too close, and the thrum of running feet on the pier behind her. The rush of the waves, the cries of the birds, all seemed too loud, even as the roars and purrs of the boat Devices seemed too far away. She had no time to negotiate for passage, no time to argue, and no Karitian would help someone pursued by the nakati anyway. But there was one option she hadn’t considered, and it was the only one left to her.

  She jagged right, turned left, and threw herself into the bottom of one of the empty boats. It rocked, sending splashes of water over the side to dampen her knees. She grabbed the loop of rope tethering it to the pier and yanked it free, making the boat rock more and drift away with the waves.

  Five nakati pounded up the pier toward her, shouting. The boat Device was tilted at an acute angle, its tail waving idly in the air. She pushed on it, leaned her whole weight on it, and it slowly tipped toward the water, the tail submerging. Something went click and the Device became warm under her hands.

  “Stop or we shoot you!” one of the nakati yelled in Veriboldan.

  Zara fumbled around for the button to start the Device and mashed it hard several times. The nakati pulled out gun Devices and leveled them at Zara. She spun the wheel as hard as she could, and the Device roared and the boat shot forward, knocking Zara over.

  Projectiles sang through the air past her head and shoulders, then a sharp pain like the bite of the world’s largest insect erupted in her left arm. Her vision went blurry for a few seconds, then came into surreal clarity. She reached around and pulled out a dart the length of the first joint of her finger and as big around as a candle flame. It had the tiniest blue feathers that sparkled like diamonds, and the needle point gleamed silver. It was so beautiful Zara forgot to steer and heard cursing from another boat that had to swerve to avoid her.

  It’s poison. She gripped the tiller hard to focus. It would pass quickly; she just needed not to crash into anyone until it did. Or after, she thought, and giggled for nearly a minute at the thought of crashing into another boat.

  She thought to look behind her and saw two boats full of red and blue nakati coming up fast behind her. They want to be friends, her addled brain thought, but her fingers wouldn’t turn the boat around. They were not friends. They would try to take her back to Manachen, and there was no way she was going back to that dead, hot, silent city.

  She spun the wheel to full and steered wide around a ship coming into the harbor. She had a good head start, their boats didn’t seem to be gaining on her anymore, and there was no reason she couldn’t reach Goudge’s Folly before them, then run at top speed to the embassy and claim asylum. Unless the Karitians didn’t believe in the sovereignty of foreign nations. Would Jeffrey be willing to go to war over her? Would she let him?

  The spot where the dart had hit her was swollen and hard, and rainbow glitters outlined everything she saw. Her heart was beating rapidly, her stomach was sick, and her head ached as her body slowly converted the poison into something harmless. It wouldn’t kill her, it was probably just a powerful sedative, but if it incapacitated her… Her hand closed on the tiller so hard she was afraid she might break it. I am not going back there.

  The minutes stretched out into hours—no, that was wrong, it only took half an hour to get to Goudge’s Folly from the mainland. It was the poison, playing with her perceptions again. The rainbows really were beautiful, how they made the dull gray ships look bright and cheerful. Maybe everyone in Manachen needed a dose of that poison, just enough to make them see things differently.

  Zara glanced back at
her pursuers. They were still following her. Her fuddled brain tried to remember the laws about national jurisdiction over the waters a certain distance from a country’s territory. Was it two miles, or three? Though Goudge’s Folly didn’t belong to Tremontane, so maybe that didn’t matter. And Karitians might not have those laws at all. She was so lightheaded, tired and hungry and desperate, and she worked the wheel, but the boat didn’t go any faster. It was only her imagination that the nakati were getting closer.

  More minutes. Goudge’s Folly emerged from the misty distance, and she thought she could see the Tremontanan embassy from where she was. The rainbows were dimmer; the poison was working its way through her system. She glanced back for the hundredth time. The nakati were definitely closer.

  She should have made Ransom show her how to do that trick with the motive force. With her luck, she’d only blow herself up. Maybe if she were in a million pieces, she could finally die. The thought cleared the last of the fog from her brain. She didn’t want to die, not that way, not any other way. She was eighty-seven years old and she wasn’t ready for death. She steered the boat more directly at the island. If they were going to take her, she would make them work for it.

  More projectiles whistled past her head. She ducked, letting the Device shield her. Thank heaven they don’t have bullets. I wonder if it’s occurred to them that destroying this Device would let them capture me easily? She made the boat swerve from side to side, and the projectiles stopped. She was so close she could make out the little Device-powered boats tied up at the piers, zipping around the mouth of the harbor. So close.

  “Stop now and we will let you live!” The voice echoed strangely, sounding much like Jeffrey’s had through the communication Device. Zara looked back to see one of the nakati holding what looked like an oversized coffee cup with no bottom and speaking into it. “We will punish your country if you stop not.”

  Zara ignored him. Dineh-Karit was already angry at Tremontane; if they hadn’t attacked its property on Goudge’s Folly yet, they weren’t going to go to war over one escaped Tremontanan. The boat was slowing, not much, but she could feel it, as if she’d pushed the Device beyond its capacity. She steered a straight line again, straining to see a place where she could dock. She wouldn’t have time to make it to the embassy. She’d have to try for the harbormaster’s house instead, and hope the woman would be willing to defend her.

  The piers were approaching at an alarming rate. Zara grabbed the wheel and prepared to slow. She didn’t dare look behind her at the oncoming boats. Almost there…

  She spun the wheel all the way in the other direction, shutting down the Device and letting momentum carry her to the pier, where it slammed into the posts with a sharp, grinding crash. Zara pushed off from the crippled boat and dragged herself up and over the edge of the pier, and then she was running, pushing herself past the limits of her endurance, willing her body to replenish itself enough to keep her going.

  Behind her, the nakati boats thumped against the piers, and she could hear them following her. She dodged sailors and pilots, tripped over a crate and rolled to her feet and kept going. Where the hell was the harbormaster’s house? They’d come in on the other side of the docks the last time, none of this looked familiar, she was going to be caught because she was too stupid to pay attention to where she was going.

  Her legs burned with exhaustion. Her chest felt as if someone had rubbed her lungs with sandpaper. Her eyes watered with the pain. Everything was blurry, even the brown and green signs… There it was. The brown and green triple peaks of Tremontane. She put on a final burst of speed and flung open the harbormaster’s door, bowling over the person who was about to exit and tumbling with that woman to the ground.

  “You again,” the harbormaster said. “Why are you always in such a rush?”

  “Help me,” Zara said. “The nakati are after me. I’m a Tremontanan citizen and they want to imprison me.”

  “Get off me, or I’ll help them,” said the woman she’d knocked over. Zara rolled over and lay panting on the floor. “Nakati, here? You’re delirious. Looks like they shot you with one of those fletchers of theirs.”

  The door flew open again. Five nakati shoved past the woman who had just risen from the floor, almost knocking her over again. “Do not to interfere,” said the one in the lead. “She is prisoner.”

  “What’s she done?” the harbormaster said, as casually as if armed nakati burst into her offices every day.

  “Nothing,” Zara said, getting to her feet and backing all the way to the far wall. “I’m a negotiator and they think I was there illegally. Send word to the embassy, they’ll tell you I’m telling the truth.”

  “Why run you, then?” the nakat said. “You guilty. You will come. Do not to interfere.”

  “Please don’t let them do this,” Zara said.

  The nakati all raised their weapons at once, pointing them at Zara. The harbormaster had backed away behind the counter. Zara kept her eyes on the nakati. What would being hit with all those darts do to her? Nothing good.

  “Walk away to us,” the nakat said. Zara pressed herself flat against the wall. She was not going back.

  There was a click, and the sound of metal sliding against metal. Zara saw the harbormaster lift a rifle Device to her shoulder and sight along its barrel. “I’m not letting you take a Tremontanan citizen off what’s Tremontanan soil for the next thirty-eight years,” she said. “If she’s done wrong, our government will make amends. Until then, get out.”

  “You do not to shoot us all,” said the nakat, whose weapon didn’t shake.

  “I’ve only got two shots, it’s true,” the harbormaster said. “But that means two of you might be going back to Manachen in shrouds. So you maybe want to think hard about whether you want to take a chance on being one of those two.”

  Zara continued to watch the nakati. Their leader’s face was growing red, and his hand had started to shake. Finally, he lowered his weapon and gestured to the others to do the same. “You will be punished,” he said, and Zara couldn’t tell whether he meant her or the harbormaster. Then he turned and left, followed by the others, the door slamming behind them. No one moved. Then the harbormaster lowered her rifle Device, and Zara slumped against the wall, sliding down it until she was sitting on the floor.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The harbormaster put the rifle away behind the counter. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to scare off those red and blue bastards. Hence the rifle. It’s good and dramatic and tends to make my point for me.”

  “Did you really break their law?” the other woman said.

  “Only by being there without proper permission. But even that can land you in prison.” Zara leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I’ll get out of your way as soon as I’ve rested for a bit.”

  “Stay there and I’ll send a messenger to the embassy,” the harbormaster said. She tilted Zara’s chin. “Looks like you’ve had a rough time. There’s blood on your face.”

  “It’s nothing.” She must not have been as thorough cleaning herself as she’d thought. It was a miracle she’d made it out of Manachen. “Really, I can walk.” She pushed herself up, then wobbled and sat down hard on the floor. “Or not.”

  “Sit. They’ll send a carriage for you.”

  Zara nodded and closed her eyes. The harbormaster’s house was warm and muggy, but it smelled pleasantly of salt brine, and the floor was soft, and so was the wall. She slid down to lie curled up with her formerly injured cheek pillowed on her hand and fell into a not-quite-asleep state. Birds were chirping all around her, not sea birds but sparrows and blue jays, some of them with deep voices and some of them lilting sopranos. Someone huge lifted her and began bouncing her on his knee as if she were an infant, then she was floating along through a chilly field, skating on ice, and she fell into a pillow of a snowbank and finally fell asleep.

  ***

  When she woke, it was full dark, and moonlight struck the foot
of her bed, turning it silver and charcoal. She lay there, eyes open and staring at the squares of the paned window, thinking of nothing as she listened to her heart beating. It made a nice slow rhythmic counterpoint to her breathing. She wasn’t disoriented, as she’d been when she woke up from being dead; she guessed this was the embassy because the room was as cold as an ice cave. The light blanket covering her did nothing to warm her. She rubbed her bare feet together to warm them, then stretched. It was so nice not to hurt anymore.

  Something hard moved against her leg when she shifted. The tracking Device. She reached into her pocket and fingered the irregular edges of the gears and coils. She should get this to Theo—no, she needed to tell Blackwood what had happened to the communication Device first. She sat up, then closed her eyes against dizziness. She wasn’t as well as she’d thought.

  She waited a few seconds, then stood and felt around for the lamp switch. She could make out dim shapes, something that might be a wardrobe and a lower rectangular box that was probably a dresser—had they put her in the room she’d slept in the night before? If it was the night before. She still had no idea how long she’d been dead.

  The light clicked on, blinding her because she’d inadvertently been staring directly at the bulb. She sat back down and rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty and her hair was filthy, and there was still dried blood on her chest. Talk to Blackwood, talk to Theo, and then a bath was in order.

  The hall outside the room was empty and still, and she shivered, not from the cold but from the reminder of Manachen’s silence. Surely there were people here, and they were talking and laughing and not walking around with their heads bowed as if weights were bearing down on their shoulders. This was the room she’d been given, so the stairs were to the right.

  Her bare feet were silent on the carpeting, the thick gray pile swallowing up all sound, and she walked faster and faster until she was running and she could hear the faint thudding of her feet on the stairs. Around the curves she went, her hand trailing along the well-waxed banister, until she was on the first floor with its hardwood tiles and her feet made reassuring slaps across them.