I look from the man to the woman and back. “Who, exactly, is in charge of your group here?”
“I am,” they say at the same time.
They look at each other, surprised. “He is,” said the woman, frowning. “Technically. He’s got the money.”
Fehris sighed loudly from his corner of the room. “You’ll notice it’s clear who is
not
in charge.”
“Fehris, shut up,” said Ercan and the woman, again simultaneously.
“Well, then," I say to Ercan. “Thanks for the great rescue and all. But if you could all clear off my ship, and get started back to wherever you’ve come from, I have a lot of work to do here.”
I put on a wide and innocent grin that is full of sharp teeth.
Color rises up in Ercan’s face. It's kind of cool to watch. “
Your
ship?” he says. “What
are
you, a devil?” His hand is on his knife, still in the sheath on his chest
“Don’t,” says Kjat, from the doorway.
She has her own knife in her hand, and points it in Ercan’s direction. Her other hand held two sections of grey wooden slats from the ancient boxes in the hold. “Don’t try
anything
.”
It’s a long, tense minute.
Then Mircada says “Ercan, settle down. He’s not Akarii. He’d be using a whole different set of matrices. I believe he’s a Hulgliev.”
“A what?”
“A devil,” said Fehris, shaking his head. “You're both right.”
“He is not a devil,” Kjat says, quiet but clear.
“A creature of legend. A stealer of dreams,” Fehris says. “A story mothers used to use to frighten their children at night. A devil. What’s the difference?”
“No, not a devil,” Mircada says, thoughtfully. “The Akarii would disagree with you, wouldn’t they?”
“That would just reinforce my thesis.”
I frown. “What’s that mean, exactly? And what are you three, if you’re not Akarii?”
“Kerul,” Fehris says. He points at Ercan. “He’s pretty high up in the Family. Getting higher every day. Every hour, probably.”
Kerul, I think. Well, it could be worse.
Ercan sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Who do
you
work for, Fehris?”
“Clearly someone very, very important. Sir.”
Mircada looks at all of us, shakes her head, and throws up her hands. She crosses the room, and kneels next to the body of the mage who’d been their pilot. She places her hand on the dead human’s forehead and slowly closes his eyes. Her expression is solemn. “Dear Mishna,” she whispered. “Oh, you dear, sweet man.”
There is long, embarrassed minute of quiet in which no one can meet anyone’s eyes.
I’m thinking of Josik and Pirrosh. Josik had a sister in one of the better sections of Tamaranth. I'd need to find her and tell her about him. I don’t think they were close, but then I never actually asked. Pirrosh claimed to have several wives and many children, all of them living in blimps off-lei, far to the south. We’d never actually believed him, but now I wondered.
I know they knew the risks, coming into Tilhtinora. We all did.
And yet I was the one who had sold them on the plan. It’s going to take me awhile to come to terms with that.
As I look at Ercan, I can see what might be similar thoughts moving across his face, too, as he looks at the pilot's body.
Outside, wind leans in against the ship, rocking it. Ercan clears his throat again. And then Mircada stands and turns to us and claps her hands together. “We all have some work to do, I think? Let’s be practical. We need to get the ship to port before it’s even an issue who it belongs to, yes? I’d suggest we work together on that since we’re all stuck here anyway.”
Ercan and I look at each other. Again, I think I could do worse.
“I’m good,” I say.
Ercan looks away, and then nods slowly. “For now,” he says. “If this
is
at all what Fehris believes it to be…”
“It is,” Fehris said. “Have I been wrong before?”
“…Then the Akarii won’t let it go lightly. We need to move pretty quickly.”
“They might think it’s just another recovered ship,” Mircada says. “Wouldn’t it be easier for them to dig out another?”
Ercan considers that. “Maybe," he says. "But we need to assume the worst."
“What, exactly, do you think this ship is?” I ask.
Fehris looks at Ercan, who shakes his head. Fehris says “What do
you
think it is, Hulgliev?”
“
My
ship.” I grin my innocent grin again.
I see Ercan’s eyes widen.
And then, without warning, he throws back his head and barks three loud noises that I think are meant to be a laugh. I can see all the gold caps on his back teeth.
“I think that I might like you some day, devil,” he says. “I think that I just might.” He holds out his hand to me.
“I’m really highly likable,” I say, mostly to Mircada. “Once you get to know me. Ask Kjat.”
The three of them look at Kjat who, startled, looks back at them with her pale violet eyes that clearly want to be anywhere else at this moment. “Um, yeah,” she says, sheathing her knife slowly. “I’ve heard that all the dogs of the Warrens are particular fans.”
The Kerul group look puzzled, but I can’t help laughing out loud. Then I take Ercan’s hand, pigment myself back to my normal grey-brown, and I let them think we have a plan together.
8.
O
utside, the ship isn’t pretty. Mircada and I walk around it, assessing damage.
While it’s nose-down in the lake, most of it is still on shore, and the impact of the fighting, the storm, and the landing is pretty clear. Long scorch lines from the Grohmn spheres blacken the hull, dents and gouges have battered the smooth lines. The rear hatch door must have been ripped off, and a series of cracks stretch outward from each impact of the Retriever cannons. Much of the finish looks like it’s been scoured away by the storm.
Now it’s looking more like something I’d actually own. Though it’s nowhere close to mine. Even if the Kerul weren't here, it's Capone who's paid my way out here.
“Mircada tiKerul,” she says, shaking hands. All the bracelets on her arms jangle. “Kerul’s fourth line, if that means anything to you.” It doesn’t.
“Blackwell,” I say. “Just Blackwell.”
Mircada and I walk away from the ship, out through the cover of snow. She’s trying to figure me out, I think. Me? I’m looking for corpse roads. The Tilhtinoran continent is supposed to be rich with them, and I’m keeping my claws crossed.
And, all right. I’m looking at Mircada too. Probably more than I should be.
Earth has countries. Kiryth has families. Earthers might call them gangs, but they're really much more than that. Families are houses, guilds, corporations, and governments rolled into one. They employ you, sell you things you need to live, feed you, entertain you, and bury you when you’re dead. Kerul is one of the big ones, like the Akarii. It’s supposed to be one of the better ones to deal with, if you have to deal with any of them directly. I’m not political, really, but you learn some things on the streets of Tamaranth. The Akarii are driven, direct, and vicious. Politics are fierce, assassinations are common, often carried out by poison, to the point that if a mid-level Akarii family operative dies, I’m not sure anyone would take notice. The Akarii hold sway over a number of other families, most of them on the far eastern continents, but it’s hard for me to keep track of all of the alliances, and to be honest it doesn’t make any real difference to me. I try and avoid all of them.
The Kerul used to be pretty well thought of. They’re more local to Tamaranth, holding loose ownership over much of the south parts of the western continent with the exception of a few free cities that stand on their own. They’re pretty spread out, not very well organized, and I’m told they spend a lot of time talking over things like trade policies between one trade federation and the other without actually getting much done.
In the current war, which is basically the Akarii against everyone else, different families are reacting in different ways. In the north, the Fjilosh are pretty staunch. They keep to themselves and kick most everyone else out of their lands, but they don’t seem to want to help anyone else out. To the far South, the Solingi are pretty much off on their own, and no one really seems to bother them. In the middle, the Kerul seem to debate on and on, and have left city governments to deal with Akarii incursions on their own. While that means more work for people like me, if there wasn’t an immense ocean in between the two big continents we’d probably all be living and working for the Akarii by now.
“Blackwell’s an interesting name,” she says.
“I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“What’s with that thing your drone mentioned about dogs?”
I shake my head and dodge the question. “Kjat’s a partner. I’m not into that drone thing.”
“She’s pretty young.”
I nod, and leave it at that. She doesn’t really need to know anything about Kjat. “So the three of you—sorry, four—were stealing a ship from the Akarii? What made you think a plan like that could ever work?” I grin.
She smiles back, and it’s a hell of smile. “You swear you’re not with the Akarii?”
I shake my head. "I'm not."
“I have this sense that I can trust you, Blackwell. Ercan’s been setting this up for almost a year. We bought Akarii identities, got ourselves hired onto the Retriever ship. With Ercan’s money, it was easier than you might think—even the Akarii don’t
really
want to go to Tilhtinora unless they have to. This was our third trip out. Fehris has some... ideas... about this ship. So we decided that this was our time.”
“They don’t want to go in to Tilhtinora. But they’re happy to wait for things to come out to them. They’ll be tracking the storm’s trajectory and watching the closest towns, you know.”
She nods. “I thought of that. Haven’t figured out what to do about it, though.”
“Me either. What was that comment you made about Hulgliev and the Akarii?”
“So you
are
one, aren’t you. A Hulgliev. I was right?”
I nod. “In the fur.”
“And you’re avoiding that question about the dogs, aren’t you.”
“I am,” I grin.
“One answer for another, then. I was just speculating that there are factions within the Akarii that would be really interested in meeting a Hulgliev right about now. You know the stories of Dekheret and Farsoth? How they unified all of the families together during a time of major wars?”
“Some of them.”
“Well, I’m sure there a bunch of well-placed Akarii leaders who would like to look like Dekheret these days. I’ve met a few, actually. And probably more who would like to keep others
from
looking like Dekheret, too. With the war, and old Golokhobiat getting very, very ancient, there’s a lot of maneuvering going on. You could probably be very rich or very dead, if you wanted to be. And the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that. Like I said, politics are not my specialty. And rich and dead aren't exactly on my list of career goals.
We’re walking around the small plateau. There are towers at two ends, where the cliffs drop down to the sea, and we’re heading toward the larger of them. “Now you,” she says.
“Dogs seem to have a particular aversion to me,” I say.
“How particular?”
“Chasing, biting, throat-ripping, limb separating. There’s something about me that will turn the smallest lapdog into a raging killing mech, a veritable buzz-saw of hatred and vengeance.”
She laughs, tucks stray hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I guess that’s not funny. I just had this image of you being chased by a pack of toy birdpoodles.”
I sigh. “I get that a lot.” For some reason, I'm starting to trust her.
We climb the ruined tower, Mircada’s bracelets chiming as she hoists herself up the disintegrating stair. Faded runes cover the rock, and I can’t read them—I’m not even sure what language they are. From the top, we can see signs of an ancient rail line that ran along the ridge. A series of stacked, rounded stones mark the way both north and south for the footpath that replaced it.
“Fehris would love this,” Mircada says. “Don’t get him started on it. He’ll probably speculate something about a spice road or a salt caravan, or some sort of elaborate smuggling ring for ancient artifacts.”
“Technically, I think we’re smuggling artifacts.”
“Well, I am,” she says. “I’m still not sure what you’re doing, exactly. Besides looking down my shirt a little, I mean.”
The hair on my face feels like it goes bright red. Damn, I hate that. “Sorry,” I say. “I, um…yeah.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t tell Fehris that, either. He’ll be overjoyed to know he guessed your gender.”
“Is it that hard to tell?”
“No,” she says. She leans toward me a little, tilts her head to the side, and my hearts skip a beat. “Not to me.”
Up here, the air is clear and sharp and the smell of salt coming off the sea reminds me of Tamaranth, despite the cold. I’m not sure what to say to her, so I take out the small eyeglass. In one direction, I can see the Dead storm, still roiling against this mountain range that rings the whole vast region where Tilhtinora came down. The other way is the ocean. The land there runs down to a line of snow-covered trees. The trees spread and grow in height as the elevation descends and the snow tapers off, and then a vast green expanse of hills undulates all the way down to the sea. A whole coastline stretches away to the north and south, a pretty fertile land from the look of it, edged by a thin line of black sand, and a bay that opens up in the distance to the north. The water is dark and grey, topped with whitecaps. A school of pepperwhales works its slow way up the coast, and I show Mircada the tiny spouts of white water through the glass. Off at the western horizon, I think I can make out the glowing of the
fluvare
we’d flown through in the podship. I’m not sure, and the colors are faint in the daylight, but something nebulous shimmers there, almost out of view.
“What do you think?” Mircada asks.