Authors: Scott Lynch
“What would you have us do, Zamira?” Rodanov folded his arms and scowled.
“We possess the means to strike back at the archon.”
“We
can’t
fight the Verrari navy,” said Rodanov. “Nor can we storm the damn city, summon lightning
from the sky, or ask the gods to politely dispose of Stragos for us. So by what means
may we ‘strike back’? Wound his feelings with vicious letters?”
“Ravelle and Valora are expected to report directly to him when they receive their
antidote.”
“They have access to him,” said Colvard. “An assassination!”
“For which they suffer the blame, assuming they live,” mused Strozzi.
“Good for them,” said Rodanov. “And what, you wished our consent to take them back
to Tal Verrar and let them loose? By all means let fly. I’d be happy to lend them
a pair of knives.”
“There is, from the perspective of Ravelle and Valora, only one minor complication.
That they would prefer to acquire a permanent antidote, and
then
do away with Stragos.”
“Alas,” said Rance, “we so rarely realize our desires in life—”
“Tell them that we have an antidote,” said Colvard. “Convince them that we have the
means to free them from their condition. Then set them loose upon the archon.… Whether
they survive the assassination or not will be of no consequence.”
Ezri opened her mouth to disagree, and Zamira fixed her with the most withering glare
in her long-practiced arsenal.
“Marvelously devious,” said Zamira, when she was certain that Ezri
would mind herself. “But too convenient. In their position, would you ever believe
such a claim?”
“My skull is beginning to spin,” said Strozzi. “What the hell do you wish to do, Zamira?”
“I wish,” she said, enunciating each word very carefully, “for none of you to be alarmed
if I should find it necessary to raise a bit of ruckus in the immediate vicinity of
Tal Verrar.”
“And thereby call down our destruction,” shouted Rodanov. “Do you want to see Port
Prodigal sacked like Montierre? Do you want to see us scattered halfway across the
world, and our unguarded trade routes filled with angry Verrari warships?”
“If I do anything,” said Zamira, “discretion would be—”
“Impossible,” growled Rodanov. “This will finish the job Stragos began when he crushed
the Free Armada. This will destroy our way of life!”
“Or
preserve
it.” Zamira put her hands on her hips. “If Stragos is determined to push us, he will
push us, whether we would dance his tune or no. I have aboard my ship our means, our
only
means, of taking the fight to him. If Stragos is knocked aside, the archonate falls
with him. And if the Priori rule Tal Verrar, we can loot this sea at our own merry
pace until the day we die.”
“Why,” said Strozzi, “would you want to play along with the archon’s design, even
with … discretion?”
“Ravelle and Valora aren’t saints,” said Zamira. “They’re not looking to throw their
lives away for our benefit. They want to live, and to do that they need time. If Stragos
believes they’re hard at work on his behalf, he’ll grant them the weeks or months
necessary to find a solution. And in the meantime, he’s likely to stay his other plans.”
“Those weeks and months may instead be time enough for him to rouse his city,” said
Rodanov.
“You must trust me to be delicate,” said Zamira. “As brother and sister captains,
that’s what I’m asking in the end. No matter what you hear from Tal Verrar—trust my
judgment.”
“A significant request,” said Colvard. “You ask no aid from any of us?”
“I can’t think of anything that would be
more
counterproductive than for all of us to show up one morning off Tal Verrar, can you?
The archon would have his war in about ten minutes. So leave this task to me. A risk
to my ship alone.”
“A risk to us all,” said Rodanov. “You’re asking us to put our fates, and that of
Port Prodigal, in your hands. Without any oversight.”
“How has it been otherwise, these past seven years?” She stared around the circle
at each captain in turn. “Each of us has
always
been at the mercy of the others. Any one of us could have raided too far north, attacked
a ship carrying someone’s royal cousin, murdered too many sailors, or simply grown
too greedy to ignore. We’ve been in peril all the way. I’m merely doing you the courtesy
of pointing it out in advance for once.”
“And if you fail?” asked Rance.
“If I fail,” said Zamira. “There’ll be no penalty for you to levy. I’ll already be
dead.”
“Our oaths of noninterference,” said Colvard. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? A promise
to keep our swords in their scabbards while you throw the most important rule of our … association
out your stern window.”
“In lieu of any better alternatives,” said Zamira, “yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking
for.”
“And if we say no?” Rodanov spoke quietly. “If we, four against one, forbid this?”
“Then we come to a line that we all fear to cross,” said Zamira, matching his stare.
“
I
won’t forbid it,” said Rance. “I’ll vow to keep my hands off you, Zamira. If you
sweat for my gain, so much the better. And if you die in the process, I’ll mourn you
not.”
“I’ll give my oath as well,” said Colvard. “Zamira’s right. Our collective safety
at any given time depends on whichever one of us is the bloody craziest. If there’s
a chance to kick Maxilan off his pedestal, I pray for your success.”
“Obviously Zamira Drakasha votes with Zamira Drakasha,” Zamira said, turning her gaze
to Rodanov and Strozzi.
“I don’t like any of this,” said Strozzi. “But if things go to shit, no ship afloat
on this sea can run like my
Osprey
.” He smiled and cracked his knuckles. “What the hell. You wave your skirt at the
archon and see if he’s up for a fondle. I won’t be anywhere near it.”
“It seems,” said Rodanov once all eyes had turned to him, “that I have the opportunity
to be … unsociable.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think any of this
is wise—but if I may take your promise of discretion to be as binding as my oath of
noninterference … very well. Go spring this insane scheme.”
“Thank you,” said Zamira, feeling a warm flush of relief from head to toe. “Wasn’t
that easier than cutting one another to pieces?”
“This needs to stay between us,” said Colvard. “I don’t ask for an oath; I
expect
it. Stragos may have other eyes and ears in Prodigal. If this gets out to anyone
not standing here, the time we’ve spent at this meeting—not to mention Zamira’s mission—will
be an utter waste.”
“Right,” said Strozzi. “Silence. All gods as our witness.”
“All gods as our witness,” the others echoed.
“Will you leave immediately?” asked Colvard.
“My crew needs a night ashore. I can’t ask them back out without that much. I’ll send
them in halves, sell off the rest of my swag as fast as I can. Clear the harbor in
two or three days.”
“Three weeks to Tal Verrar,” said Rodanov.
“Right,” said Zamira. “No point in any of this if our lads drop dead en route. I intend
to be hasty.” She stepped up to Rodanov, put one hand on his right cheek, and stood
on her toes to kiss his other. “Jaffrim, have I ever let you down?”
“Never since the war,” said Rodanov. “Ah, shit. Even that was a poor thing to say.
Don’t put me on the spot like this, Zamira. Just … don’t fuck this up.”
“Hey,” said Colvard, “how can I get some of that attention?”
“I’m feeling generous, but keep your hands to yourself if you prefer to keep them
attached.” She smiled, kissed Colvard in the middle of her wrinkled forehead, and
gave the old woman a hug. Gingerly, because it took pains to accommodate all the swords
and daggers the two of them were wearing.
Always thus, thought Zamira. Always thus in this life.
UTGAR WAS the one waiting at the entry port to offer a hand when Zamira and Ezri went
back up the side of the
Poison Orchid
. It was half past the tenth hour of the evening.
“Welcome back, Captain. How you be?”
“I’ve spent the day arguing with the Shipbreaker and the council of captains,” Zamira
muttered. “I require my children and I require a drink. Ezri—”
“Yes?”
“You, Ravelle, Valora. My cabin, immediately.”
Once in her cabin, Zamira threw her coat, sabers, Elderglass vest, and hat haphazardly
onto her hammock. She settled onto her favorite chair with a groan and welcomed Paolo
and Cosetta onto her lap. She lost herself in the familiar smell of their curly dark
hair, and gazed with absolute satisfaction
at their little fingers as she caught them in her own rough hands. Cosetta’s, still
so tiny and uncertain … Paolo’s, growing longer and more dexterous by the week. Gods,
they were growing too fast, too fast.
Their familiar chatter calmed her to the marrow; apparently Paolo had spent the afternoon
fighting monsters that lived in her sea chest, while Cosetta now had plans to grow
up to be king of the Seven Marrows. Zamira briefly considered explaining the difference
between a king and a queen, and deemed it not worth the effort; contradicting Cos
would only lead to days of circular argument.
“Be king! Seven marers!” the little girl said, and Zamira nodded solemnly.
“Remember your poor family when you come into your kingdom, darling.”
The door opened, and Ezri appeared with Kosta and Valora … or should that be de Ferra?
Damn these layered aliases.
“Lock the door,” said Zamira. “Paolo, fetch Mommy four glasses. Ezri, can you do the
business on one of those bottles of Lashani Blue? They’re right behind you.”
Paolo, overawed at his responsibility, set four small tumblers out on the lacquered
table atop the sea chests. Kosta and de Ferra found seats on floor cushions, and Ezri
made quick work of the waxed cork sealing the bottle. The smell of fresh lemons filled
the cabin, and Ezri filled each tumbler to the brim with wine the color of the ocean
depths.
“Alas, I’m bereft of toasts,” said Zamira. “Sometimes one merely needs a drink. Have
at it.” Holding Cos with her left arm, Zamira downed her wine in one go, relishing
the mingled tastes of spice and citrus, feeling the prickles of icy heat slide down
her throat.
“Want,” said Cosetta.
“This is a Mommy drink, Cos, and you wouldn’t like its taste.”
“Want!”
“I said—oh, very well. Can’t fear the fire if you don’t scald your fingertips.” She
poured the merest dash of the blue wine into her tumbler and handed it carefully to
Cos. The girl took it up with an expression of the utmost solemnity, tipped it back
into her mouth, and then dropped it on the tabletop with a clatter.
“Like
piss
,” she hollered, shaking her head.
“There are some drawbacks,” said Zamira as she caught the tumbler before it went over
the edge, “to raising children among sailors. But then I myself am no doubt making
the largest contribution to her vocabulary.”
“Piiiisssss,”
yelled Cosetta, giggling and immensely pleased with herself. Zamira shushed her.
“I have a toast,” said Kosta, smirking and raising his glass. “To clear perception.
I have just now, after all these weeks, realized who the
real
captain of this vessel is.”
De Ferra chuckled and clinked tumblers with him. Ezri, however, left her wine untouched
on the table before her and stared down at her hands. Zamira resolved to make this
quick; Ezri clearly needed to be alone with Jerome.
“It’s like this, Ravelle,” said Zamira. “I didn’t know I’d be arguing for your plan
until I found myself doing so.”
“So you’re taking us—”
“Back to Tal Verrar. Yes.” She poured herself another tumbler of wine and took a more
conservative sip. “I’ve convinced the council not to panic if stories come down from
the north concerning the mischief we’re about to work.”
“Thank you, Captain. I—”
“Don’t thank me with words, Ravelle.” Zamira sipped her wine again and set the tumbler
down. “Thank me by keeping your side of the bargain. Find a way to kill Maxilan Stragos.”
“Yes.”
“Let me make something else clear.” Zamira carefully turned Cosetta in her arms so
that the little girl was looking out across the table, straight at Kosta. “Everyone
aboard this ship will be risking their life to give you your chance at this scheme.
Every single person
.”
“I … I understand.”
“If time passes, and we can’t find a solution for what Stragos has done to you … well,
your access to him can’t last forever. I’ll do everything in my power to help you
before it comes to that. But if there’s no other alternative, if time runs out and
the only way you can take him down is to sacrifice yourself—I won’t expect to see
you again, do you understand?”
“If it comes to that,” said Kosta, “I’ll drag him to the judgment of the gods with
my bare hands. We’ll go together.”
“Gods,” said Cosetta. “Bare hands!”
“Piss!” shouted Kosta, hoisting his tumbler toward Cosetta, who nearly came apart
at the joints with the resulting fit of giggles.
“
Thank you
, Ravelle, for this gift of a daughter who will now be up all night repeating that
word …”
“Sorry, Captain. So, when do we leave?”
“Half the crew goes ashore tonight, and the other half tomorrow. We’ll be scraping
them up in heaps the day after, those that want to stay with us.
Hopefully we can be rid of our swag tomorrow. So … two days. Two and a half, maybe.
Then we’ll see how the
Orchid
flies.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“And that’s all,” Zamira said. “My children are up too late, and I intend to claim
the privilege of snoring as loudly as I wish once you’re all out of my cabin.”
Kosta was the first to take the hint, draining his glass and leaping to his feet.
De Ferra followed, and was about to leave when Ezri spoke in a quiet voice. “Jerome.
May I see you in my cabin? Just for a few minutes?”