The River of Shadows

by Robert V. S. Redick

  Finally, the Issár (through his scroll) humbly asked us to speak well of our treatment in Masalym should we ever stand before the Resplendent One in Bali Adro, & swore finally that our privacy would at all times be respected.

  “Our privacy?” said Rose.

  There were uneasy glances among the dlömu above us. The crowd along the basin’s rim was muttering, debating the long declaration. They sounded as skeptical as we were ourselves.

  Rose had had enough. “To the Pits with privacy,” he huffed. “Our ship is damaged, sir. We are taking on water. In a few days there’ll be nothing left for you to look at with civic pride but our topmasts. And one meal cannot make us forget our lack of provisions. We’re not beggars. We can pay for both—fairly, and in full. But we must request them without further delay. If you would consent to step aboard—”

  “DAAAK?”

  The voice was like an explosion. It was one of the drum-creatures again, louder even than before. I can’t imagine the word was really meant as a question, unless it was addressed to the Gods above, who surely heard it. Rose stared, affronted; he was not used to being shouted down.

  “What the blary—”

  “HAAAAAAAAAAN!” screamed the other creature, who had waddled up beside the first.

  “Prince Olik,” sputtered Rose, “kindly—”

  “DAAAK?” repeated the first creature, adding a boom on his drum.

  “HAAAAAAAAAAN!” replied the other, deafening.

  The soldiers struck the walkway with their halberds. Vadu & Olik bowed low. Then, as the two creatures stood gazing skyward, drumming & shrieking “DAAAK? … HAAAAAAAAAAN!” to wake the dead, the procession turned & marched away.

  Rose started forward, shouting. Olik glanced once over his shoulder, with a certain gleam in his eye, but moved on with the rest. We swarmed along the rail, shouting at their backs. Food! Repairs! Where are you going?

  “DAAAK?”

  “HAAAAAAAAAAN!”

  They left us with those screaming monstrosities. We could have scrambled somehow up to the walkway & given chase—but what for? We were inside a walled city in an alien land. A moment later the shore gate was sealed, & a heavy guard placed on it, & more soldiers stationed along the rim of the basin.

  A great argument erupted. Taliktrum flew into a rage, declaring that we were obviously being punished collectively for Rose’s “barbaric stupidity” in subjecting Prince Olik to the knife “as your very first act since being freed from confinement.” Rose to be sure had a ready comeback, & his wrath extended well beyond the ixchel. Why hadn’t Bolutu intervened, & why hadn’t he warned us that the royal family was a hive of lunatics? When were Pathkendle, Thasha, Hercól & “the rest of you schemers” going to uncover the lair of the sorcerer? Why had Alyash let the Ibjen youth jump overboard, when he might have served as ransom? And so on, while those two oblivious trolls went on screaming DAAAK? HAAAAAAAAAAN! until our minds were addled with it.

  I saw Bolutu pulling desperately at Rose’s sleeve, & drew close enough to catch what he said. But it just made things weirder: the Court of the Lilac, he shouted, was a colony of albinos, possibly mythical, & many thousands of miles to the east if it existed at all.

  “Albino dlömu?” bellowed Rose over the din.

  Bolutu assured him that was the case. For whatever reason, the Issár believed (or had anyway declared) that we were all dlömu. Just weird, colorless dlömu from unthinkably far away.

  “But they’ve seen us,” shouted Undrabust. “Prince Olik’s seen us up close, and so has Ibjen.”

  “Hundreds of dlömu on that walkway have seen us as well,” said Hercól, “but that does not mean the masters of this city will hear them. Sometimes those who wield great power come to believe that wishing a thing were true is enough to make it so: that nature must submit to their will, just as men do.”

  “And maybe he’s keeping us on the ship, Captain,” I added, “so that we can’t make it plain to the whole city that we are human. Just a few hundred of them saw us, after all, and half of them thought we were blary ghosts.”

  “What of the frog-things?” demanded Rose.

  Bolutu said they were mizralds, “perfectly respectable citizens,” found throughout the Empire & employed (no surprise this) as heralds & criers. The horrid bellowing, he added, was probably a mechine, a rite of welcome, though Bolutu had never heard of one being carried on & on.

  “They are silencing us,” said Rose, “and at the same time pretending that we’re dlömu.”

  “But why should they?” asked Pathkendle.

  “Think a moment,” said Thasha. “It was a disaster for the whole Empire when humans became tol-chenni. If we suddenly sail into port and start walking the streets, it could mean … well, anything.”

  Pathkendle would not look at her.

  “You’re right, Thasha,” said Fulbreech. “That old woman last night thought it was the end of the world.”

  “Perhaps a ship full of woken humans could make some think it is the dlömu’s turn to become tol-chenni,” said Hercól. “And that would be the end of the world, for them. At the very least it may seem a threat to rulers of a frightened city in a time of war.”

  All this was just speculation. We were trapped. Nor did the folk of Masalym provide us with another bite of food. They watched us, though, as the hours wore on: contingents of well-dressed dlömu arrived & studied us through scopes & field glasses; there was some argument & finger-pointing, too. Rose tried to signal our desperation, with shouts & flags & spoons rattling in empty bowls. He sent Bolutu to the fighting top with orders to beg loud & long in his own tongue. But the trolls’ infernal racket made all these efforts nigh impossible, & it occurred to me that this was, perhaps, the whole idea.

  The water in the hold reached thirteen feet. Of course we were pumping like mad, as we’d done for the last three days. But Rose was right: it was not going to be enough. And what if they have no means of beaching us, or no real will to try?

  Midafternoon, it rained. To our infinite delight the trolls scurried indoors. But we were still hungry, & the dlömu were still deaf to our pleas. We officers took refuge in our duties. For me that included breaking up a fight between the rival gangs (the issue was a hoarded slab of last night’s cheese), & getting the broken-nosed Plapp & split-lipped Burnscove Boy to shake & agree to donate the precious morsel to the steerage passengers. When the lads saw those hopeless faces, I declare they knew a moment’s shame. But they were glowering at each other before we parted.

  There was walrus oil left in my lamp, so I veered off to check the seams along the starboard hull. Seepage at the waterline, of course. I scratched at the oakum with my knife. Neglect, neglect: the word tapped at my thoughts like a luffing sail.

  I was on my knees in the carpenter’s tool room when I heard the door behind me close.

  I spun around. Facing me stood Lord Taliktrum. He was quite alone, & breathing hard from the exertion of shutting the door. He had his sword drawn & a leather sack tied over his shoulder. He was still wearing his swallow-suit.

  Hatred for the little tyrant welled up in me. I could have killed him then & there, merely by straightening my right leg & crushing him between the door & my boot. In another life—a life in which I’d never known Diadrelu—I would have.

  “Quartermaster,” he said, grimacing to bend his voice. “I must speak to you. It has been tremendously difficult to catch you alone.”

  “Most folk just barge into my cabin,” I said.

  He untied the sack & let it fall. Then he sheathed his sword. “I did not draw my blade to threaten you,” he said. “There was a scrabbling noise in the passageway. I am surprised you did not hear it.”

  “Mice,” I said. “The rats are well and truly dead.”

  He watched me, dubious. “Your position is unique on this ship,” he said at last. “Alone of all the officers, you’re an ally of the Pathkendle clan.”

  I said nothing. He’d have a reason for naming us a clan. I do
ubted it was a reason I’d care for.

  “Among ixchel,” he went on, “when two clans’ territories overlap, it becomes vital that they know each other, lest they compete and cause each other harm. As a first step, the clans send two elders to a safe house, and the elders play a game. We call it dueling with trust.”

  “I don’t care what you call it,” I told him. “I don’t speak for Pathkendle or Thasha or any of them. And you’re sure as snake-eyes no elder.”

  “I am more than that,” he said. “I am the bearer of visions, and of my people’s fate.” He spoke gruffly, sticking out his chin, as though desperate that someone believe him. That someone wasn’t me, I think.

  He untied the sack & spread it open on the floor. It held coins: four coins, which he lifted out in a stack. They were common Arquali tender: two copper whelks, two fine gold cockles. Then he reached into the sack again & brought out two pearls.

  I couldn’t help it: I whistled. They were the famous blue pearls of Sollochstol, each the size of a cherry. “You took those from the hoard we’re carrying,” I accused.

  “We did not,” said Taliktrum. “The pearls in the hoard are not so fine as ours, though there are crates of them. We carry these, the Tears of Iryg, as a measure of security, for we know what you giants are willing to do for them. We are not above bribery, when cornered. But I have not come here to offer a bribe.

  “The game is simple,” he said. “The elders take turns. One shares a secret of his clan; the other responds with a secret from his own. And if either believes that the other has told a lie, the game is over. The clans remain strangers, and wary. There is no friendship between them, and they may even come to blows.

  “The goal is a perfect exchange: I leave with your three gifts, you leave with mine.”

  He bent down & rolled one of the pearls toward me across the floor. I pounced on it, afraid it would vanish through a crack. It felt heavy in my hand. Back in Etherhorde, that pearl would be worth a small fortune—worth all the debt Anni’s family was in, perhaps. But then I considered the odds of seeing my Annabel again in this life, & felt like tossing the thing away.

  Taliktrum slid two coins in my direction as well. “The copper will stand for a secret of moderate worth. The gold, a more valuable secret. And the pearl—that is the secret that makes the game worth playing. You give the simplest gift first. Then, building on trust, the more valuable. Last of all, the pearl: a secret that it pains you to give. Among us, that might be the password that opens our house to strangers, or the location of unguarded food.”

  “When your elders play this daft game, what’s to stop them from lying through their teeth?”

  “Honor,” said Taliktrum. “But not honor alone. The key to a successful duel is this: that neither side agrees to play until they have spied on the other clan for a sufficient time. We are excellent spies, Mr. Fiffengurt.”

  “Hats off to you. But I’m not interested in crawly games. First, because I wouldn’t share the secret of a good cup of tea with the man who’d drug a ship’s crew in the middle of the Nelluroq. Second, because I don’t know anything that could possibly—”

  “The prisoners will soon begin to die,” he said.

  I drew a shaky breath. “You cur.”

  “This is not blackmail,” he added swiftly. “Fiffengurt, we are running out of the berries that keep them alive. During the battle with the rats half our stockpile was destroyed. In the forecastle house, we burn two ounces per day: any less and the prisoners will not have enough vapor to breathe. They will crowd around the smudge-pot, fighting one another. Those pushed to the margins will suffocate, after great pain.”

  “How much do you have left?” I asked, heart in my throat.

  But Taliktrum shook his head. He tossed his copper coin my way.

  “Aha,” I said. “We’re playing already, is that it?” Still he did not speak. I thought again about my right foot. But instead of murdering him I asked what he wanted to know.

  That caught him off-guard. He chewed his lip a moment, then said, “The old witch, Oggosk. Is she Rose’s mother?”

  “What?” I nearly shouted. “You’re the most twisted nail on this blary ship! Where’d you get that notion?”

  “By watching them. We keep the forecastle house under the closest scrutiny, for obvious reasons. The witch doted on him, when they were imprisoned together. She would comb out his beard—in the dark, when they thought no one saw. And she has a superior knowledge of Rose’s family, his childhood, although he tries to prevent her from speaking of it. And there are those insane letters he dictates—addressed always to his father, but with a respectful nod to his mother—although everything we learned of Rose before the voyage suggested they were dead.”

  I shut my mouth. He knew more than I did. But why did he care what Oggosk was to Rose, or Rose to Oggosk? How could it possibly matter? Unless—

  I went suddenly cold. Unless they’re trying to reckon who Rose will fight for, and who he’ll allow to die.

  “You’ve sailed with him before,” Taliktrum was saying. “You’ve sat through more meals with him than anyone aboard, except the witch herself. Wasn’t she always along on those voyages? Did they never reveal the truth?”

  I’d quit my gambling years ago as a promise to Annabel—& to stop her dad from quoting Rule Thirty each time we met.8 But the old instincts came back to me in a flash. You don’t reveal what you know, & even less what you don’t know. Mind your voice, mind your eyes. Starve the opponent for knowledge any way you can. That was my kind of dueling.

  “Rose had no use for family stories,” I said, “no matter how long a voyage we were on. I couldn’t rightly say.”

  “He found a use for such stories when he was our prisoner,” said Taliktrum. “Never mind: it is still your turn.”

  When I sat there, stone-faced, he added spitefully, “This was an invitation. No one is forcing your hand. But if you refuse me, or attempt to fob me off with a lie, you are spurning a chance that will not come again. Think, man. Help me help us both.”

  “Help you to do what?”

  “What do you think?” he snapped. “To save us all from evil. Your people and mine. What else can we hope for, at this stage?”

  “You’re hoping for a great deal more,” I growled. “You’re hoping—”

  I stopped myself. I’d almost said, You’re hoping this voyage ends on Sanctuary, your island; you’ll do anything to get there. But that would be breaking my own rules. Besides, I didn’t really know. That old yarn, the ixchel’s Sanctuary-Beyond-the-Sea, was just a suspicion I’d nursed since I learned his people were aboard. “You’re hoping I’ll betray my friends,” I ended vaguely.

  He just looked at me. “Are we finished? Are you so unable to give?”

  I closed my eyes. He was right, I did want to play. I wanted to take something back to my friends, something they could use. But I wasn’t going to get it for free.

  “Thasha has a book—” I began.

  “The thirteenth Polylex,” he interrupted. “We’ve been aware of that for months; so has everyone aboard who knows what the thirteenth edition means. That won’t do, Fiffengurt. Try again.”

  I was on unsafe ground. This was a delicate business, handing knowledge to Taliktrum—a fool & a proven killer. This was the wretch who’d spiked our water with a sleeping drug, after all.

  But he’d also fought the sorcerer with commendable courage.

  “Pazel,” I heard myself say, very softly, “has just one Master-Word left, and I don’t think it will be any use in a battle. It’s a word that blinds to give new sight. We haven’t a clue what that means, but Ramachni chose the word especially for him, so it must be worth something. Will that do?”

  Taliktrum nodded slowly. I tossed him a copper whelk: we were matched again. Then he said, “We have seen the mage—name him not; he has sharp ears for the sound of his own name!—walking of late on the mercy deck. He appears without warning, and slips quickly away. We have been unable to
follow him to his lair—but he has killed five of our guards.”

  “You little bastard,” I hissed, furious now. “You mucking swore he wasn’t in your part of the ship.”

  “Nor is he!” said Taliktrum. “There is not a chamber, not a crevice or a crate, that we have not explored. He has not made his lair in the lower decks, I say. He has merely passed through them like a shadow, gazing upward, as though to pierce the floorboards with his eyes.”

  “Up at the Nilstone,” I ventured.

  “Of course,” he said, & tossed his golden coin my way. “Your turn again.”

  I took a deep breath. “Hercól’s sword—”

  “Is called Ildraquin, Earthblood, Breaker of Curses,” he said. “Put in his hand by Maisa, the deposed Empress of Arqual, whose children Hercól murdered when still in the pay of Sandor Ott.”

  His bad news was beginning to feel like a hammer striking my skull. “Stanapeth?” I said dumbly. “Hercól Stanapeth killed Maisa’s children? Personally?”

  “Impersonally, I would imagine. Go on, you must find a better secret.”

  “It’s not my blary fault,” I said. “You’ve spied out everything I know.”

  “If that were true we would not be playing,” said Taliktrum.

  My stomach was in knots. What was I doing? I could betray them all with my urgency to help. Then in a flash it came to me. “Sniraga’s alive,” I said. “Undrabust and Marila both swear they saw her on the upper gun deck.”

  He didn’t take the news well. The cat was particularly hated by the ixchel; apparently she had eaten a few. “We should have fed that creature poison the day Oggosk brought it aboard,” he said. “My father wanted to. My aunt disagreed. She argued the witch would guess that ixchel had done it. But in truth it was just her softness, again. Dri always blinked when the moment came to kill.”

  “If she argued against poisoning a pussycat, it was for a good reason,” I said. “Your aunt never cared for anything, not even Hercól, as much as she did your clan.”