Decrypted

by Lindsay Buroker

  “What are you looking for then?”

  Good question. “I’m hoping I’ll know it when I see it.”

  Liusus didn’t look suspicious exactly, but she did appear concerned. Tikaya groped for a way to lessen that concern before leaving.

  “Who was it that thought I could actually seduce a man?” she asked.

  Liusus blinked a few times. “Professors Iolas and Koaneoa.”

  “Ah, one man blind and the other eighty years old. That explains much.” Tikaya smiled and waved.

  This time she made it to the doorway before Liusus’s words made her pause.

  “You’re not homely, Tikaya. You’re just tall.”

  “Yes, well, it’s good that I found someone who’s... proportional, eh?”

  Tikaya left Liusus making choking noises that might have indicated surprise or laughter or both. She strode through the sprawling Polytechnic library, a three-story building of volcanic stone walls and banyan tree wood. Though the Kyattese generally preferred symmetry and logic when it came to construction, the library was one of the oldest structures on the island and had grown and evolved over the centuries, leaving it something of a maze to newcomers. Tikaya knew it well though and found her way to the northern wing on the second floor. A sign on the Oceanography room door made her pause.

  Closed for repairs.

  “Repairs?” Tikaya tried the door and found it locked. “What kind of repairs could a library possibly need?”

  Nobody was around to answer her question.

  • • •

  As Tikaya strode up the cracked walkway of the Pernicious Miasma, lizards, rats, and other verminous creatures skittered in and out of the overgrown clumps of grass on either side. Stuck in the middle of a shallow basin, the inn was not the benefactor of any tropical breezes, so the smells of the nearby harbor—seaweed, fish, and the burning coal from someone’s steamer—hung in the air. Warehouses arose on all sides, further hemming in the one-story building. A driftwood sign, half hidden by the tall grass, proclaimed it the Pragmatic Mate, but someone had painted Pernicious Miasma across the front in bold red letters. A piece of paper tacked to the side read, “Turgonians welcome” in the imperial tongue, though the nightly and weekly rates listed at the bottom were twice the normal prices.

  When Tikaya grasped the doorknob, something sticky licked at her palm. She yanked her hand away with a grimace, wiping it on her dress. If the world were fair, the proprietor would be paying Rias to stay there.

  A potted plant with more brown fronds than green nearly thwacked her in the face when she walked inside. Rusty iron bars covered a window to the left of the narrow hallway. Nobody sat at the desk inside the cubby, so she picked up a metal wand and rang a triangle dangling from one of the cross bars. Three lizards scurried across the floor and disappeared into cracks in the wall.

  Several moments passed before a curly-haired blond man limped into the hallway, leaning on a staff as he walked. “Help you, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Yes, did a Turgonian named Rias check in here last night?”

  “Along with an older Kyattese practitioner? Yes. Most unlikely pair I’ve ever seen. We don’t discriminate, but I didn’t know whether to give them the local rate, the Turgonian rate, or the hourly rate.”

  It took Tikaya a moment to get past the image his words birthed, then come up with a response. “What rate do you charge the lizards?”

  “They eat the flies and crickets, so they stay for free.”

  “I see. What room is Rias in?”

  “Three, but I don’t think they’re in. They left early this morning. Surprising since they were out so late at the gambling hall.”

  “The gambling hall?” Tikaya hadn’t known there were gambling halls on the island—the Book of Akahe frowned upon such vices—though she supposed the waterfront businesses thrived by catering to visiting foreigners.

  “Yes, after the big man asked for directions, they were gone for hours last night.”

  “Any idea where they went this morning?” Tikaya asked.

  “Nah, I don’t pry into my guests’ personal lives. Are you interested in a room?”

  “No, thank you. Is there any chance you can let me in to see if he left a message?”

  “Go ahead.” The man unlocked the door to the tiny office and shuffled inside.

  Tikaya waited to see if he would pull out a keychain and escort her to the room, but he sat down and pulled out a magazine full of pictures of nude women. Maybe Rias had left his door unlocked....

  She turned into an even narrower hallway, this one bereft of attack shrubbery lining its walls, and searched for Room #3. None of the doors had locks. She supposed that explained why the proprietor hadn’t felt compelled to show her to the room personally. The catch was broken on Room #3’s door, leaving it ajar, and Tikaya pushed it open without needing to risk touching any sticky residue that might lurk on the knob.

  The tiny windowless room—closet might have been a better word—claimed a dearth of furnishings. It didn’t even have a bed. She was on the verge of cursing her cousin for recommending the place when she found the missing bed folded into the wall. A piece of wire stretching across one corner at the right height to garrote Tikaya held two hangers. Rias’s trousers dangled from one. A crate in a second corner served as the only other piece of furniture. There was a pen on it, but no note to suggest where Rias might have gone. She checked the pockets of the hanging garment, even as she wondered what clothing he’d found to replace the military trousers, and smiled when she found a note folded in the pocket.

  It held a pair of nonsense words. She tried the same key as he’d used with the previous note and decoded it: Shipyard 4.

  Tikaya hadn’t realized there were more than three shipyards in the harbor, and double-checked her decryption, but it appeared correct. Perhaps Shipyard 4 was near the privately owned docks at the far end of the quay.

  She hustled out of the room, worried she’d miss Rias if he and Yosis had indeed left early that morning. The proprietor had pulled the curtains on his booth. She decided not to say anything in parting in case he was... busy.

  Outside, Tikaya almost crashed into a big man heading up the walkway with canvas totes full of tools. A big Turgonian man, the bronze skin, muscled arms, and determined brown eyes suggested. Apparently in a hurry, he nearly strode right through her.

  Tikaya gulped and skittered into the grass to let him pass. Though she doubted she was in further danger of being kidnapped, the role she’d played in thwarting the Turgonians’ conquering aspirations meant she’d always be wary when one approached. This one had a grim, fierce aspect as well. Marine, she guessed, though perhaps a former one, since he wore loose cotton and hemp island garb.

  “Oh, pardon, ma’am.” He stopped to look her over. “Are you all right? Sorry, I was in a hurry to, uhm...” He eyed her more closely.

  Uh oh. What if flyers were being passed around to Turgonians all over the world, displaying pictures of the “cryptomancer” with offers of reward? She glanced around. Nobody else was in sight.

  “Pardon, ma’am,” the Turgonian said again, “but are you the admiral’s Kyattese woman? He said she was tall. And smart. And you look like both.”

  She looked smart? None of her family members or colleagues would say that, at least if recent events were anything to go by. Of course, spectacles seemed to be rare amongst Turgonians, so maybe that fit their definition of “smart.” At least this fellow sounded more like an ally than an enemy.

  “The admiral’s Kyattese woman?” Tikaya asked. “I guess that’s more or less accurate, though he’s somewhat... retired now.”

  “I know,” the man groaned. “He didn’t explain it all, but I can’t believe it. I thought, er, we all thought that he was dead. To know that he’s here and alive, and—” the man’s face, one she’d been thinking of as grim and fierce a moment before, split into a broad grin, “—he talked to me! He asked about what ship I’d served on in the war, and he knew
all about the action we’d seen and even about the way Captain Levk used to sing when he was deep in his cups.” The grin turned into a fond chuckle before the man seemed to remember Tikaya was standing there. “Oh, do you know where he went? These are for him.” He hefted his totes, and equipment clanked, everything from saws and hammers to metalworking tools. “And don’t tell that shifty bloke who’s following him around, but my boss at the steelworks said he could come by anytime to use our Bragov Converter. My boss used to be a marine too, you know.”

  “I... am sure Rias will appreciate your support,” Tikaya said, mildly stunned by the deluge of information. It didn’t surprise her that Rias was already attempting to make allies and gather resources, but she hadn’t realized it’d be feasible. It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be Turgonian ex-patriots living on the island who held useful positions. “What was your name, sir?”

  “Oh, Milvet.” He thumped his fist to his chest and gave a bow that surprised her with its depth. She wasn’t certain of the exact nuances but knew the degrees of torso inclination were adjusted based on the rank, military or warrior-caste, of the person receiving the bow. She had a feeling she’d been granted a lot of status on Rias’s behalf. Didn’t this Milvet care that Rias had disobeyed orders and was in exile? Or maybe he didn’t know exactly. “Real good to meet you, ma’am. Do you know if I should leave this in his room or is he around?”

  “I believe he’s in one of the shipyards at the quay.”

  “Already setting to work, eh?” Milvet winked.

  “Uhm, I suppose so.”

  Was Rias truly going to start building his submarine right under Yosis’s nose? Surely not. That’d be asking for trouble, assuming the government even let him get started. Besides, he’d need a lot of good Turgonian steel to craft the hull, and that wouldn’t be in large supply. This steelworks Milvet had mentioned was probably the only one in Kyatt and surely only worked with scrap metal rather than fresh ore. The volcanic islands didn’t provide anything like that.

  “I’m heading down there now,” Tikaya said. “Do you want me to take those bags to him?”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask a lady to carry my dirty tools. I’ll go with you, ma’am.”

  Tikaya doubted it would be in her best interest to be seen wandering around with Turgonians, but she didn’t see how she could turn down the earnest fellow. She certainly didn’t want to dissuade anyone from becoming an ally to Rias; he’d have precious few of them here.

  “Right,” Tikaya said. “This way, then.”

  As they wound through the streets toward the waterfront, Milvet handled all of the talking, or perhaps one might call it burbling as he extolled Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s virtues and spoke of all the times his own ship had been in the vicinity of the admiral’s flagship. They’d reached the quay, and Tikaya was searching the signs for mention of a Shipyard 4, so she almost missed it when Milvet asked a question.

  “Do you think he’ll be coming back to Turgonia?”

  “Huh?” Tikaya asked.

  “Both of you, that is.”

  “Ah, I don’t know what he told you,” Tikaya said, not wanting to trample on whatever story Rias had given the young man, “but you do know that he’s...?”

  “In exile? Oh, sure, he told me that. And made me promise not to tell the world that he’s alive if I travel back to the empire, but he’s going to want to come home eventually, won’t he? The emperor’s powerful, sure, but if the admiral showed up in the capital, he’d have legions of people who would stand at his back and make it right clear that it’d be in the emperor’s best interest to give him his lands and title back, if you see what I’m saying.” Milvet offered a sly comradely smile, as if he were ready to sign up for one of those legions right then.

  “We’ll... have to wait and see what the future holds.” Tikaya wondered if this young man was naive or if Rias truly could raise an army, one that could be used to coerce the emperor into rethinking the exile declaration. If it were a possibility... Well, it was sobering to think that Rias might be choosing Kyatt, where her people only wished to torment him, over returning home. “He said something about being more interested in helping the world than the empire the last we spoke of it,” she said as they passed the last of the three shipyards she was familiar with and entered a tangled snarl of old wooden docks jutting out into the harbor. Where was Shipyard 4?

  Milvet trekked happily along at her side, muscles bulging as he carried the gear. If the long walk with his arms weighed down tired him, he gave no indication of it. If anything, he looked tickled to have this opportunity to work for Rias.

  “What’s the dock number?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for Shipyard 4,” Tikaya said.

  “That’s the little one down at the end.” Milvet waved toward the end of the quay where a dilapidated block-and-tackle hoist system straddled an empty bay. “It’s the original one for the island, isn’t it?”

  Tikaya squinted in the direction he was pointing. Compared to the private and public shipyards they’d passed, each capable of housing multiple vessels in various stages of completion, the spot ahead appeared to be little more than another dock. As they drew closer, she could see that the channel was enclosed with a gate at the end, but everything from the hoist system to the dock itself looked like something suitable for the maritime museum rather than actual use. It didn’t even have a sign, just a crooked, sun-faded “4” carved into a weathered post at the head of the channel.

  “Is this privately owned?” Tikaya asked. Strange perhaps to ask a foreigner, but Milvet seemed more familiar with the docks than she. Her own work hadn’t brought her down here often.

  “Think so,” Milvet said. “I know the Dukovics control some of the old docks down here.”

  “That’s a Turgonian name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. After the war, my people weren’t real welcome here, even those who’d made homes here long before the fighting started, and suddenly they weren’t allowed to dock their ships. Someone talked a native into buying a block on the quay and signing a contract to rent the berths out to Turgonians.”

  Tikaya hadn’t realized there were that many Turgonians on the islands.

  “I wonder if that’s the ship the admiral mentioned.” Milvet waved to the dock next to the tiny shipyard.

  The only “ship” Tikaya saw was a giant pile of junk hunkering against the waves. Twisted metal arms and cranes rose from the deck of the old tug. At least it had been a tug once. Now, the entire deck was canted with water lapping over one end, and the vessel appeared about as seaworthy as a boulder. Rust coated the monstrosity like powdered sugar on a rum cake, except without any of the appeal.

  “Are you sure that’s... a ship?” Tikaya asked.

  Milvet set his bag down, scratched his jaw, and said, “I might have been more flattering than I intended in using that word, ma’am.”

  Tikaya would have turned around, certain she’d decoded Rias’s message incorrectly, but she spotted Yosis sitting in a deck chair next to a gangplank—a knotty old board—leading onto the dilapidated tug. Head back, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, he appeared to be sleeping. The hem of his white robes flapped in the breeze, revealing hairier legs than she cared to see. Yosis didn’t stir to adjust his robes. Maybe Rias had worn him out with all his traipsing about the night before.

  “After you, ma’am.” Milvet nodded.

  The man didn’t look anything like Agarik, but his polite ma’ams were starting to remind Tikaya of him. For all that Turgonians might be warlike brutes, imperial mothers did seem to raise their boys to be polite, most of them anyway. She thought less fondly of Sergeant Ottotark and Captain Bocrest, though even Bocrest’s crustiness had seemed less harsh in the end.

  “Thank you,” Tikaya said and walked up the dock.

  She was close enough to shove Yosis’s chair into the water—and she contemplated what punishment she might receive should she do just that—before he snapped his mouth shu
t and opened his eyes. The withering look he gave her made her wonder if he was a telepath.

  “Good afternoon,” Tikaya said, smiling to wipe any vestiges of a guilty expression from her face. “I’ve come to see Rias.”

  “You should not be allowed to collude with him. I’ve sent my first day’s notes off and made my recommendations. I’ll hear back shortly.”

  From whom, she wondered? The police? Or was he answering to another institution? “I can’t wait to hear the results,” Tikaya said, though his words roused concern. They couldn’t truly keep her from seeing Rias, could they? She was a free citizen. And he was... They hadn’t decided yet apparently.

  “I doubt that,” Yosis grumbled.

  Clanks came from the bowels of the half-sunken vessel. A moment later, a hatch clanged open, and Rias’s head poked out. All manner of rust flakes, dust, and cobwebs cloaked his hair, and a large smudge of grease adorned his cheek. Though Yosis had cast new worries into her mind, Tikaya couldn’t help but smile at this sight.

  He smiled, too, when he saw her, pulled himself onto the tilted deck, and crossed the gangplank in a single long stride. Elloil’s handiwork was evident in his new attire, a sleeveless yellow shirt that wrapped across his torso, leaving a large open V below his throat, and vibrant green plaid clam diggers. She dearly hoped the garb represented an attempt to appear innocuous and didn’t reflect his true color preferences. If it did, she might have to return him to the Turgonian marines, just to get him back into a uniform. Though, she had to admit that as vile as she found the colors, they didn’t look bad on his olive skin, and the sleeveless shirt revealed a lot that was—she swallowed—worth revealing.

  When he reached her, he swept her into a warm hug, though, after a quick glance at Yosis, gave her only a chaste kiss. The depth of Rias’s smile and an eager I-have-news light in his eyes suggested she may not have gotten much more anyway.

  “Milvet, thank you for bringing the tools. That’s far more than I hoped for.” Rias gripped the Turgonian’s arm with one hand while keeping Tikaya close with the other.