The largest grotto was virtually filled by the schoolmaster’s bulk.
The creature was huge; its head was as wide as Cynthia’s outstretched arms, its eyes as large as dinner plates, and the mouth could engulf her whole. She knew that many fish species grew as large as their food supply would allow, and the schoolmaster had obviously eaten very well indeed. She could detect no details, either with her sea sense or in the faint light from the glow stones, but one thing was clear: it would take a brave or foolish undine to risk the teeth of that huge mouth in an attempt to get to the more vulnerable body, which was as protected in its grotto as a knight in full armor. She swallowed reflexively as she and the mer were ushered forward.
Chaser began signing with an undine stationed beside the schoolmaster’s grotto—a steward, perhaps—but it was too dark for her to discern their words.
They’re not keeping me out of this conversation
, Cynthia thought as she withdrew the packet from her belt and carefully unwrapped it.
White light exploded from the simple glow crystal, illuminating the chamber in stark relief. Mer and undine alike snapped to guard position, weapons bristling at each other. The pupils in the schoolmaster’s plate-sized eyes constricted to bare pinpoints, and his huge eight-fingered hands rose to shade them.
*What magic is this? * the undine steward signed as he moved in front of the schoolmaster.
Cynthia settled the chain that held the glow crystal around her neck to free her hands, then signed, *It is only light. I cannot see your signing in the darkness, and I must be allowed to converse with the schoolmaster.*
*Douse your light, landwalker!* the undine steward insisted.
*This is Seamage Flaxal Brelak,* Chaser signed, *whose offspring was stolen along with Trident Holder Broadtail’s son. She must be allowed to see our conversation.*
*Douse your light, or your flesh will feed our schoolmaster!* the spokesman signed before gesturing the undine guards forward.
As they closed in, Cynthia drew on her power and lashed outward. A pressure wave shook the cavern, knocking the undine steward and guards back, stunning them. The schoolmaster only flinched, withdrawing into his grotto until just his face and arms showed, his huge eyes narrowing at Cynthia in scrutiny.
*Know this, Schoolmaster of the Undine: I will keep my light, and I will not be threatened, or I will kill all the undine in this grotto.* Cynthia maintained a pulsing sphere of power around herself and her mer escort, ready to lash out again and crush the undine against the rough stone walls. *My son has been taken from me and I need your help to find him. In return, I will become your ally. If you refuse, I will leave, and I will become your enemy. And I would make a
formidable
enemy.*
A tense moment passed after Cynthia’s pronouncement, and all the while she stared steadily into those huge eyes. There was no fear left in her, only determination and anger. She would not kowtow to the undine as she had to the mer.
The undine steward and guards shook their heads as they recovered their senses. Glaring at Cynthia, they brought their weapons to the ready. The mer, meanwhile, raised their own spears and encircled Cynthia.
*We will tolerate the seamage’s light…for now,* the schoolmaster signed as he edged forward from his grotto. *I would know what you demand of the undine, Seamage, before I decide whether or not to have you as our enemy. But know this: we will not fight your battles for you, for what difference if we perish fighting you or fighting your enemies?*
*I have no need for the undine to fight for me,* Cynthia signed as she also moved forward, out of the protective circle of mer. *I can fight for myself. I simply require two of your most adept trackers to help find my son. Trident Holder Broadtail recently requested that you track those who had taken his son. Your scouts found their trail, which led into the Sea of Lost Ships. The mer, Eelback, and his school also have my son. They have taken him to the dead city of Akrotia, where they intend to use him to resurrect the city.*
*Can they do this?* the schoolmaster asked with signs of disbelief.
*I do not know, Schoolmaster of the Undine, but I do not intend to allow them to attempt it.*
The huge creature made a deep thrumming noise in its throat, startling Cynthia until she realized that it was merely a noncommittal grumble of deep thought.
He
must
agree to help
, she thought desperately, though she kept her face blank.
All I’m asking for are a couple of scouts; it’s the only way to find my son!
She waited, impatiently swirling her hands through the chill water.
Chaser tapped her shoulder and made a covert sign of caution, then signed, *The master of the undine will not be commanded, Seamage Flaxal Brelak.*
*Neither will I,* she signed back, clear enough for everyone to read. *I have not commanded him, only requested his help in my task. The decision is his.*
*Yes,* the schoolmaster signed, abruptly moving out of his grotto until his entire bulk was visible, *it
is
my decision, Seamage Flaxal Brelak, and though you are powerful, so are the undine. We will aid you this time, but know that you are no friend of the undine.* He snapped his cavernous jaws so close to her that the resultant current actually rocked her backward, then he retreated back into his grotto. *We, too, make formidable enemies, Seamage. Choose your enemies with more care than you choose your friends.*
The schoolmaster gestured, and two small undine swam forward from another grotto.
*These are two of my best scouts. If they perish in your service, Seamage, you will have chosen poorly in your selection of enemies.* The Schoolmaster waved a huge hand in dismissal. *Go now, and may the gods of the deep aid you, or grant you a quick death.*
Chaser tapped her on the shoulder again and signed, *We should go now, Seamage Flaxal Brelak.*
*Yes, Chaser, * she agreed, *we’ve gotten what we came for. Let’s go back up to the light.*
Chapter 5
Transitions
A tap at the door roused Emil Norris from a light slumber. The early morning sun glowed through the mosquito netting draped across the archway to his balcony, gently rousing him as it brightened. At first he thought the noise had been a dream, until another knock sounded, firmer but still tentative. He rolled over…and froze.
A cascade of crimson hair flowed over the pillow next to him, framing Camilla’s lovely face, only inches away.
What in the name of…
His mind raced, then the memories of the previous evening flooded back.
With the letters for the emperor safely en route to Tsing aboard the
Flothrindel
, a huge weight had lifted off of their shoulders. Emil and Camilla had toasted one another with a fine red wine and watched the sun set. Their responsibilities to Cynthia Flaxal and the Empire of Tsing fulfilled, they had nothing more to do until His Majesty sent another ship, or Cynthia returned.
Camilla had arranged a fabulous dinner: lobster fresh from the lagoon, thinly sliced papaya, and a half dozen other treats he scarce remembered. The wine—strong, heady and plentiful—had encouraged conversation. Words had flowed easily as a river, at first slow and trivial, then building until they rushed so hard and fast that the walls each of them had erected around their wounded souls broke like a dam before a flood. How little they had truly known about each other. Her tears had wetted his shoulder as she told him of her long years imprisoned by Bloodwind, of how he had finally broken her will, of the death of her father. Only when she confessed to thrusting a dagger into Bloodwind’s vile heart with her own hand, had her tears ceased to flow and her voice gone hard.
In return, he told her what he had admitted to no one else in the world. He acknowledged the wracking guilt he had felt over the loss of his family, how he had convinced himself that it was his own fault, that if only the empire had been a safer place, they need not have died. His own personal crusade had led him here to Plume Isle, determined to root out evil even where it, apparently, didn’t exist. And he had shed his own tears when he considered the thousands of sailors and soldiers on the
Clairissa
and
Fire Drake
who had paid with their lives for his misguided hubris.
The crescent moon was high in the sky before they fell silent, their secrets revealed, their tears spent…then there was no more need for words. Two injured souls found solace in one another, shared the miseries of their pasts and, together, become whole again.
Another knock, and Camilla’s eyes fluttered open. Startlement, recognition, then memory flashed across her beautiful face over the span of several heartbeats. He smiled rather sheepishly, and her wonderful, sensuous lips curled up at the corners in answer.
“Someone’s at the door,” he whispered, moving to rise. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”
“But it’s early! Who would be…”
“I don’t know, but don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” He reassured her with a smile while donning a robe, and left the bedroom.
The sitting room was a shambles: plates, glasses, two empty wine bottles, and a platter of half-eaten sweets cluttered the low table, and articles of clothing were strewn all over the furniture and floor. Emil quickly gathered up Camilla’s discarded dress, corset, petticoats, and assorted undergarments and draped them over a chair out of sight of the doorway. He then straightened his robe and reached for the door. That was when he got his second surprise of the morning.
“It be about bloody time, yer Countship!” Paska declared, elbowing him aside and striding into the suite. “I be knockin’ half de day!” She bore a huge tray laden with covered plates, pots, and bowls, as well as an entire tea and blackbrew service. Behind her, two brawny men carried in a huge copper tub, followed by an entire train of grinning native men and women bearing steaming buckets, towels, soap and brushes.
“What in the name of—”
“Dis is just oua way of sayin’ tank’e to you, yer Countship. You done de one t’ing I been tryin’ to get done fer near two year now, and you done it wit’out even tryin!” Paska handed him the tray, put her strong hands on his shoulders, and turned him around. “Now you just take dat right back to bed and tell Miss Cammy to eat hearty.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Oh, yes you done did, yer Countship!” She laughed loud and hard, clapping him on the shoulder with such force that he almost dropped the tray. “You two done worked up an appetite, I don’t wonda! Now eat up and come out fer your bath before de wata get cold!” She pushed him into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. The sound of laughter and buckets of water being poured into the tub sounded clearly through the closed portal.
“How did they…” He looked to Camilla, who was sitting up in bed, the coverlet drawn up to her neck, a mirthful smile on her beautiful face.
“It’s a small island, Emil,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “Everyone knows everything about everybody else here. Come and sit, before you drop the tray.”
He sat as ordered and placed the huge tray between them. “I still don’t understand how that woman could have known that we…that you and I…well…you know.”
“What I don’t understand is how they managed to get all this done before daybreak,” she said, setting aside the cover of one plate. She picked up a slice of mango and one of cheese, then took a bite of each, closing her eyes in bliss as she slowly chewed. Then she uncovered more plates, revealing poached eggs, fresh biscuits, butter, a pot of preserves, a rasher of bacon and a pile of sausages.
“Well,” she said with a smile, “are you going pour some tea for me, or just sit there with your mouth hanging open?” She cut a bit of sausage, dredged it through an egg yolk and force-fed it to him.
It was, he had to admit, utterly delicious. He poured her tea as he chewed, and was spreading a dollop of preserves over a hot biscuit when a sudden thought occurred to him, and he wrinkled his brow.
“Do you think Tim knows, too?” he asked before taking a bite.
“Probably,” Camilla said as she poured a cup of blackbrew, added some milk, and handed it to him. “But don’t let it worry you, Emil. He’s been around the natives long enough to know what happens between men and women.”
“He has?” he said, nearly choking on his biscuit. He washed down the bite with blackbrew. “But he’s only…”
“He’s old enough,” she said, sipping her tea and smiling at him. “Don’t worry, Emil. They’re happy for us, that’s all. Now eat! I don’t want the water to get cold before we can bathe.”
“Before
we
can…” If the previous surprise had disconcerted him, this one delighted him. Emil dug in to his breakfast, finding that he had indeed worked up an appetite.
≈
“Tipos! Wake up!” Keyloo grabbed his foot and shook it. “You gotta see this!”
“See what?” Tipos asked, noting that it was barely light outside. “It’s not my watch until mid-morning!”
“We’re passing Rockport, and there must be a dozen warships in the harbor!”
“Warships!” That got him out of his hammock faster than if the boat had been sinking. His bare feet slapped the companionway steps and he held out his hand for the viewing glass, then squinted into the morning sun. A glance confirmed Keyloo’s claim, but his estimate of their number had been low. “More like a dozen and a half,” he said as rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked again. But they were already sailing beyond the great rock that had earned the harbor its name.
“Wear ship, Keyloo. I need to see this.” His orders were followed without a word, and
Flothrindel
jibed sweetly, her boom sweeping over the little cockpit, the sail filling with a crack. They came around to a southerly course in the span of only a few breaths. “Good! Now bring her up ‘till she luffs.”
“Aye,” Keyloo said, steering while Tawah handled the sheets. As the boat came up into the wind, Tipos hopped up onto the low coach roof, grasped the mast and peered at the forest of spars that crowded Rockport harbor.
“Bloody hells,” he muttered, tallying the ships, estimating how many men were aboard them. “Three of ‘em are almost as big as that
Clairissa
! And there’s thirteen others, as well!” He lowered the glass and stared. “Must be near seven thousand men!”
“Seven
thousand
…” Tawah gaped at the number. “That’s more people than in all the Shattered Isles!”
“Aye, and they’re all warriors,” Keyloo said, his tone grim. “You suppose we should go in there and present the count’s package to their leader?”
“It’d be a sight shorter trip than goin’ all the way up to Tsing,” Tawah agreed, “and it might keep ‘em from doin’ somethin’ bad. Somethin’ very bad.”
“Somethin’ like slaughterin’ every man, woman and child on Plume Isle,” Keyloo suggested.
Tipos shook his head, perplexed by this unexpected situation and disturbed by his mates’ visions of doom. “There’s no way that ship
Lady Gwen
even reached Tsing yet, never you mind her coming back with all these warships. These must have been here already…waiting. The question is: do they know what happened? If they don’t, and we tell them, will these letters ever get to Tsing, or will we be dancing from a yardarm?” Silently, he weighed his options. If they hurried, they could reach Tsing in five more days, talk to the emperor, convince him not to destroy their people, and return in another week. Would the commander of this fleet stay his hand that long? If he didn’t…