Decrypted

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Inspection?” Tikaya guessed.

  Rias’s eyes had grown tighter. Someone who didn’t know him probably wouldn’t have noticed the change, but he was worried. “Sent by your government, yes.”

  “You must have anticipated that they’d check up on you.”

  “I was hoping they’d send someone like Yosis, not experts in the field.”

  “But you were prepared in the event that they didn’t, right?” Tikaya asked as the men stepped off the gangplank and made their way through the crowd toward Rias. They were gesticulating and chattering to each other—definitely excited about something.

  “We’ll see,” Rias said.

  Tikaya chewed on her lip as the men and women approached. What would happen if the high minister learned Rias had never planned to build a ship?

  The shipwright and an engineer named Professor Yaro jostled for the position directly in front of Rias. In an impressive bit of elbow jabbing, the professor captured the spot.

  “It’s not a steamer,” he blurted.

  Tikaya winced.

  Rias glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, then focused on the professor. “No, it’s not.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Yaro said. “None of us have. There’s no boiler at all. The machine for powering the engine, what do you call it?”

  Rias glanced at Tikaya again, this time with one of his am-I-understanding-the-language-correctly looks. She shrugged back at him.

  “Are you referring to the generator?” Rias’s tone made it sound like he thought this a trick question.

  “The generator?” Yaro asked.

  “Yes... It would have been inefficient to build a boiler when that orb’s energy can be converted into electricity.”

  “Into what?” Yaro looked to Tikaya for a translation.

  Except that she didn’t have one. She’d heard the term, but couldn’t think of an equivalent in her tongue. “Like what the shock eels produce? Or more like a static charge?” She shuffled her feet and poked his arm to demonstrate.

  Rias blinked slowly a few times. “The Drokovic Jar hasn’t made it to the islands yet?”

  “The what?” Yaro asked.

  “It’s a device for storing static electricity between electrodes on the inside and the outside of the jar.” Rias pantomimed with his hands as he explained. “We used it for many early experiments on electricity. Generators—” he pointed to his ship, “—are relatively experimental themselves in the empire, but they convert mechanical energy, such as might come from a steam engine or in this case a battery into electrical energy that can power the motor that runs the propeller as well as other ship’s systems.”

  His explanation went on for a few more minutes, and Tikaya was hoping nobody asked for a translation, because she’d have to think a while to make up compound nouns that might work. But it seemed Yaro and the others were too busy devouring the concept to care that they didn’t know all the words.

  “You must share the schematics,” Yaro blurted at the end.

  His colleagues nodded vigorously. Tikaya wondered if any of them remembered why they’d been assigned to investigate Rias. The high minister would probably receive enthusiastic reports on the wonders of electricity when he asked for details on the craft Rias had made—and blank looks in regard to questions about submersible abilities.

  “Well,” Rias said, eyes narrowing, “that’s something we could talk about.”

  Tikaya might have struggled with the earlier terms, but she had no trouble translating “talk about” into “negotiate over” in her mind.

  “Ho, there, cousin,” came a familiar voice from Tikaya’s side. Elloil ambled into the middle of the conversation without worrying about whether he was interrupting anything important. He thrust a rum-filled coconut into Yaro’s hand. “What’s everyone being so serious about over here? This is a party.” He plucked more beverages from a tray a woman held and armed the rest of the professors.

  Yaro and the others frowned down at their drinks. “But we were talking about the—”

  “A subject for later discussion, gentleman,” Rias said, “and ladies.” He gave the two women a nod. “I must give Tikaya a tour and tend to my guests.”

  Tikaya doubted Rias planned to have anything to do with the guests, but the professors seemed to accept this excuse, and they trundled off up the dock, heads bowed again as they conversed with each other.

  “Maybe it’s fortunate you didn’t get Yosis after all,” Tikaya said. “He might not have been so easily distracted by a shiny new engine.”

  “True,” Rias said.

  “Now, now, enough of this boring people with engineering minutia.” Ell had produced two more coconut mugs and extended one toward Tikaya. “Have some rum!”

  “Tikaya does not find my minutia boring,” Rias said a touch stiffly, though Ell only smiled and waved the cup toward them again. The drummer’s beats had grown louder, and Ell probably hadn’t heard the protest anyway.

  Tikaya slipped her arm around Rias’s waist. “You can tell me all of the details later. Are we going to be able to try out the—what did you call it? The Freedom?—tonight?” She hoped he had more than floating around the harbor in mind, though she didn’t know how they’d be able to test the submersible feature with so many people around. “Once the crowd grows bored and wanders away?” Unfortunately, given the lively conversations and the amount of rum flowing, that might not happen any time soon.

  “That’s the plan, yes. How does one end a party on your islands?”

  “Wait for everyone to pass out?” Tikaya guessed. She hadn’t hosted many parties in her life.

  “That sounds time-consuming,” Rias said.

  “How does one end parties in the empire?”

  “Eventually a duel or a brawl breaks out, blood flows, and the sawbones is called. If enough people are injured, that dampens the festive mood and people wander home.” Rias extended his hand. “Ready for the tour?”

  Tikaya accepted his hand. “You Turgonians are a strange folk.”

  “Yes.” Rias smiled and led her to the gangplank, a drawbridge-type structure that looked like it could be folded back into the deck of the ship when not in use.

  “That’s clever.” Tikaya gave it an admiring nod as she stepped off. “A vast improvement over the rotting board.”

  “I hope you’ll find the rest of the ship equally clever. The enforced revisions gave me pause for a day, but I’ve been dreaming up parts of this since I was—”

  “Pork skewer?” Ell and a buxom raven-haired woman sauntered up with trays laden with food. “They’re fabulous.” He stuck one into Tikaya’s grip.

  “Uhm, thank you.” Tikaya tried to think of a polite way to shoo them away. Perhaps Turgonian fisticuffs wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “Not me,” Rias said with a wave when Ell tried to foist rum on him. “I’ll be piloting the ship out of dock soon. Why don’t you have the troupe pack up?”

  “What? It’s not even fully dark yet. This launch party could last until midnight. Or dawn.”

  “Move them to the dock,” Rias said, letting some of his old commander tone creep into his voice.

  “All right, all right. But at least give Tikaya the tour first. She hasn’t been out here yet has she?”

  Rias acknowledged this with a wriggle of his fingers and nodded for Tikaya to head for the wheelhouse.

  “And don’t bore her with engineering stuff,” Ell advised. “Show her the fun things. Like where the Science will be performed.” He grinned and turned back to his helper—or perhaps she was his date.

  Wanting to see how the craft could turn into a submarine, Tikaya chose down instead of up for their first stop.

  “Was that a euphemism for sex?” Rias held her refreshments while she descended the ladder into the cabin.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, because I did include a study nook where one can read texts or decipher ancient mysteries and such,” Rias said. “You c
an even extend tools to take samples from the ocean. I was thinking of calling the spot the science station, but... perhaps not now.”

  “Don’t alter your names because of one lewd surfer.” Tikaya found herself in a narrow low-ceilinged corridor brightened by soft, steady illumination. She touched one of the small jar-shaped lamps mounted to the wall. “Are these practitioner-made?” Few houses on the islands had such lamps because of the effort—and therefore expense—that went into crafting light sources. She’d assumed Rias would have been too Turgonian to add anything Kyattese besides the energy source.

  “Sort of.” Rias had dropped into the corridor behind her. “I noticed Iweue’s energy source was a touch bright.”

  “Like a small sun?” Kyattese practitioners all seemed to think brighter was better, perhaps so nobody could miss noticing the culmination of their efforts.

  Rias tapped the bulkhead. “There are mirrors back there that reflect the light into lamp receptacles.”

  “Good idea.”

  Rias dipped his head to acknowledge the compliment. “They can burn oil in a pinch, but I was pleased to come up with a way that—” he glanced at the companionway and lowered his voice, “—avoids consuming oxygen.”

  Tikaya hadn’t spent much time contemplating the problems that might come with traveling beneath the surface, but she was glad Rias had. “What about the oxygen we’ll consume?”

  “I have plans, but for now we just won’t be making any extended voyages beneath the surface.”

  Tikaya was sure her face didn’t portray any sort of disapproval—after all, it was amazing that he’d already accomplished so much in such a short period of time—but Rias rushed to add, “I’m working on a device that can eliminate carbon dioxide and moisture from the air, but I’m inventing it from scratch, so it’ll take a little time and experimentation. My people haven’t yet had a need for such things. And your people... well, the raw materials are scarce here. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make a container for pressurized oxygen out of coconuts and bamboo?”

  “I, er, did you actually do that?”

  “Let’s just say I found an alternative for the primitive, er, limited engineering supplies on the island.”

  Tikaya quirked an eyebrow at the word fumble. With her people so quick to dismiss the Turgonians as savages, and pride themselves on science and Science research and discoveries, it was strange to think that he might find the islands... provincial. Of course, had Kyatt been blessed with ore or other copious natural resources, history might have evolved differently.

  “We’ll be fine for short excursions,” Rias said. “Just, ah...” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Should you ever be interviewed about this, my maiden shipbuilding project, don’t mention the plants in the engine room, please.”

  “The... plants?”

  “As I said, the carbon dioxide eliminator is still incipient, but there’s all that light from the energy source, so I thought some greenery might thrive. I didn’t expect Virka—that’s Milvet’s wife—to bring quite so many specimens. She’s a horticulturist here, I’m told. And, well, just don’t tell any other engineers about my kludgy solutions, please.”

  “I’d never betray you so,” Tikaya said. But, kludgy? Please. He’d even impressed her people with his craft. Generations of would-be acolytes would be copying his ideas. “Now, I’m eager for the rest of the tour.”

  Rias guided her through the compact but plant-filled engine room, showing off his generator, motor, and other machinery. He explained everything, though he didn’t mention the one thing Tikaya was most curious about.

  “How does it dive?” she finally asked.

  “You can’t see it from the outside, but there are four sets of docking clamps. We seal everything, and the lower half of the ship simply detaches.” Rias waved his hands, as if to demonstrate on some smaller version of the craft that floated in the air before him. “I doubt the combined vessel would stand up to the rigors of the sea indefinitely, but we only need it to fool your people for a while.”

  “Are you saying the entertaining deck isn’t a permanent construct? That’ll fluster my cousin in his future party-planning ventures.”

  After leaving the engine room, Rias walked to an empty bulkhead in the bow. “The underwater navigation controls are behind here. I’ll show you when we’re alone.”

  “Is the wheel up top capable of steering the ship then?”

  “Yes, until the transition lever is thrown.”

  Tikaya had never fancied herself a naval enthusiast, but she found herself eager to see the craft in action. “This sounds amazing, Rias. I can’t believe you did all this in a couple of weeks. Have you slept any?”

  “Rarely. It’s hard to sleep when your brain is overflowing with ideas. As for the rest, you might want to wait to see if we successfully pull out of the harbor before you praise me.”

  “Speaking of that, how are we going to—”

  “How’s the tour going?” Ell called from the companionway.

  “We’re fine,” Tikaya called back, then finished asking Rias, “—escape all of these people?”

  “Once we make ready to pull away, I’m hoping the musicians and the barbecue chef will decamp.”

  “About my cousin.” She eyed the companionway, wondering if Ell was lurking just out of sight. She’d been careful to keep her voice low when asking about the submersible aspect, but had it been low enough? “How much has he been around?”

  “He’s come by most days.”

  “And been helpful?”

  “He’s been eager to please.”

  Tikaya couldn’t remember any teacher, mentor, or employer ever saying that about Ell. “Does he know...?” She waved at the walls.

  “Nobody except you knows.”

  “How is that possible? Weren’t some of them here every day, helping construct it?”

  “In the Turgonian factory, every laborer has a particular gear or cog that he’s an expert at making. He spends his days churning out his assigned pieces without ever having to know how it’ll fit with the other pieces or what the final product will look like.”

  “This ship isn’t nearly as big as a factory; I can’t imagine how you kept everyone from noticing what you were doing down here.”

  “Not easily. And there have been...” His gaze flicked toward the companionway. “Spies.”

  “Ell?”

  “I don’t know if he is or not. I don’t sense deception or subterfuge from him, but there have been nocturnal visitors to the site.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I left harmless booby traps that would be triggered if intruders came through. One morning they’d been tripped. After that, I built locking mechanisms for the wheelhouse and cabin. Also, there was the incident at the Pernicious Miasma.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” Tikaya said. “The newspapers mentioned a fire.”

  “In my room, yes. Someone was in there, searching for my schematics I’m guessing. One of the Turgonians staying there saw the door open and peeked inside. He spotted someone rummaging through my clothing. Being a Turgonian through and through, he attacked the intruder instead of questioning. They fought, and my man says he would have won but a second fellow came in and clubbed him in the back of the head. The intruders escaped, but, in the process of the fight, knocked lamps on the floor. Given all the rum vapors dousing the floors and furniture of that hostel, I’m surprised the whole place didn’t burn to ashes.”

  Tikaya listened to the tale grimly. She wished Rias were staying at the plantation. Though there seemed to be a spy within her own family, she’d worry about him less if they were sharing a roof—or a bed, as would be preferable. What if the activities of these spies escalated? If they figured out Rias had disobeyed the minister’s wishes and built a submarine, might he himself become a target?

  “Were these intruders Kyattese?” Tikaya asked, imagining minions sent by High Minister Jikaymar.

  “Nurian.�
�

  “Nurian?” Tikaya blurted. How many nationalities were a part of all this intrigue?

  “Yes, my witness was certain, though they did wear island garb, a more sedate style than I’ve adopted, I’m told.”

  Tikaya snorted. “Everyone wears a more sedate style than you. I didn’t even know you could buy lime-green clam diggers.”

  “Yes, just so you know, I’m not intentionally choosing such garish colors. My funds are limited and clothing options available in my size are even more limited. Also... I believe Ms. Eleke at Brazen Beach Attire is having some fun with me.”

  “That’s...” Tikaya plucked at one of the bone buttons on his shirt—each one featured a palm tree carving. “Very likely. Did the intruders find anything when they were there? Or did the fire make it impossible to tell?”

  “There’s nothing to find. The schematics are in my head.” Rias led her to a pair of hatches on either side of the steps leading up to the deck. “Last stop.”

  He twisted an inset handle and pushed a hatch open.

  A muffled cry of surprise came from within. A man and woman were sitting on a bunk, arms and legs entwined like the aerial roots of a banyan tree. The man tried to lurch to his feet, but with the woman’s legs over his, he ended up tumbling to the floor instead. He popped up so quickly he clanged his head on the low ceiling.

  “Sir!” It was Milvet, his hair mussed, his face flushed. “I thought you were, uhm, that you’d be... Uh.” He flung a hand toward the woman, a dark-haired beauty with the handsome broad, bronze features of people from the southern island chains. “You remember, Virka. I was just showing her around. She’d been wondering what you did with the plants. And why I’ve been working so much extra and didn’t have time for, uh, home life.”