Tides of Maritinia (13 page)

 

CHAPTER 17

“It's natural for an operaitive to sympathize with the local populatipn. But can I ever truly be ont of them?”

–
J
AKOB
B
RY
CE

I
put the claw to my lips and pulled out the sweet and stringy flesh with my teeth. I tossed the shell out the window like so many other shells Sali and I had picked clean. The crabmeat couldn't be called tender, but at least its sweetness added a little flavor to my bland Maritinian diet.

Sated, I rinsed my hands in one of the water-­filled basins that sat atop each table.

“Ready?” asked Sali.

The meeting. It was time to see the Falali Council of Interpreters. “Ready,” I said.

We stood and walked to the counter to pay. The restaurant owner, a tall Kwuba in silk robes, put up a hand to say he didn't want money. Still, I took some polished abalone shells from my pocket and dropped them on the counter.

We stepped onto the quay, a broad expanse of stone that gave way to a broader expanse of water sparkling under the noonday sun. A mammoth hauling a massive load of kelp labored into our path, legs pushing like tree trunks against a gale force. Bathed in the musty smell of damp wool, we waited until the beast lumbered by, then waited some more for its load of sopping kelp to drag past.

We stepped through the trail of kelp slime, careful to keep our footing, and met Dugu, grin on his face and firerod slung over his shoulder. Together, we marched toward the quay's far side, the three of us carving a path into the bustling crowd.

­People spotted me, and their faces lit with recognition. Stopping in their tracks, they bowed their heads and touched their hearts. An old woman dropped her bag of eels so suddenly I almost tripped over the squirming silk sack. Pushing forward, we sailed through the sea of Maritinians and left a wake of figures frozen in awe.

The novelty hadn't worn off for these ­people even though it had been almost two weeks since a cuda gave me its affectionate peck. Each day, my legend seemed to grow. The latest news was that the Falali Council of Interpreters had decreed the cuda's kiss a true blessing and an incontrovertible manifestation of Falal's will.

Time had done wonders for my cheek. The bruising had faded, and the scabs had sloughed away to reveal a pair of jagged, dotted-­line scars. Ugly as the bite mark was, I wore it like a medal. Unlike Kell's chest scar, this one was mine, and every time I brushed my fingers across the bumpy scar tissue, I felt more comfortable in this body. Putting my mark on it finally made it mine.

The crowd continued to part for us, dockhands and divers, travelers and mammoth trainers. With my fingers pressed to my heart, I asked Dugu, “Have you seen him?”

“Yes. He must be following. I saw him watching you from the restaurant next door.”

A man had been following me, no doubt one of Mmirehl's secret police, a short Kwuba man with a threadbare aquamarine silk robe. Dugu had been the first to notice him three days ago, and the man had been my blue shadow ever since.

At the far side of the quay, I let Sali and Dugu lead the way down a broad avenue. A pair of Mmirehl's PPF recruits came the opposite way with black sashes tied over their waistwraps. Having used up the last of the military-­issued clothing, Mmirehl's newest recruits had taken to improvising uniforms.

They strode past us, brandishing their knuckles as they touched fingers to their hearts. The one on the left had a strap of leather tied around his knuckles with bone spikes stabbed through the leather. And the one on the right's entire hand had been dyed to match the menace in his ink-­colored sash.

Sali and Dugu turned left, and I followed them into a narrow alley. We had to lose our tail before meeting the Falali Mother's caste of high priestesses. Another left took us into a narrow gap between buildings where, single file, we scraped our shoulders along the stone walls. Up a short set of stairs, we stepped over water sluices and ducked through wet laundry. Accelerating our pace, we hustled through clothesline after clothesline of damp silks, then ducked behind a curtain hung across a broad door.

Dugu dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the curtain. Sali tapped her foot nervously, waiting for Mmirehl's spy to go by.

I scanned the room: tiled floors and whitewashed walls with cerulean trim. Sunlight trickled down through webs of clotheslines, while water drizzled from robe tassels and waistwraps. Bare-­legged men and women stood in shallow pools, scrubbing clothes against washboards carved into the faces of large stones.

Dugu stood to tell us the spy had gone by before leading us through the workspace and out to a courtyard that connected to a bone-­carving shop. A pair of women stood inside, the same women from the ceremony, the ones who had scraped me raw with seashells.

“The council awaits upstairs,” said one of the women.

Sali and Dugu headed for the staircase, but I grabbed Dugu by the shoulder. “You don't have to go up there with us. If the admiral finds out about this, I won't be able to protect you.”

Dugu blinked and straightened his shoulders. “With all due respect, sir. Falal will decide my fate. Not you.”

“You sure about that?”

“We shouldn't keep them waiting.” He headed up the stairs.

The awkwardly uneven stairs led to a room jammed with worktables and floor-­to-­ceiling shelves stacked with mammoth femurs and ribs. Dim light filtered through windows coated with dust. The five high-­ranking priestesses known as the Council of Interpreters sat shoulder to shoulder around a pedal-­operated lathe.

Dugu took post before a table littered with bins of finely carved fishhooks and sewing needles. I squeezed onto a stool next to Sali, and, with no place else to put my elbows, I stretched forward to rest them on the lathe's battered surface.

“Greetings,” I said to the quintet of sober faces. “I want to thank you for coming to speak with me. I know some of you had long distances to travel.”

“Anything for the Bless-­ed Hero,” said the priestess seated next to Sali. “Have you seen the Dearest Mother?”

“I visit her every day.”

“How is she doing?”

“She's well. They allow her ample food and drink.”

“And her spirit?”

I saw how they longed for an answer, worry written in the lines around their pinched lips and etched into the furrows of their brows. I looked each and every one of them in the eye, drawing them all in before responding. “Her spirit is fierce.”

They nodded, almost in unison, the beads on their headdresses moving to and fro.

The same priestess spoke again. If I had to guess, I'd peg her as the eldest. “Tell us about these stories of assassination.”

“Lies,” I said. “She's in no danger. There are no assassination plots. The admiral simply refuses to free her until she makes a statement to calm the resistance.”

“There is no resistance.”

“I know, but the admiral believes there is.”

“He truly believes? Or is that another lie?”

“Captain Mmirehl is the real danger,” said Sali. “He's the one who whispers paranoid fantasies in my father's ear.”

“To what end?” the priestess asked of Sali.

“The man has nothing but darkness inside.”

The priestess looked to the others. “The situation is as we thought.”

“Yes, Sister Selmira,” said the priestess to my left. “The question is what we choose to do now.”

I lifted my elbows off the lathe and gathered a small pile of ivory powder into my hands. Tossing it into the air, I watched the cloud grow. “First, we must spread the truth.”

“I agree with you, Colonel,” said the priestess. “These lies must be expose-­ed.”

“And second”—­I closed my fists—­“if they expect a resistance, I say we give them one.”

Sali twisted the lathe's crank, and a long stretch of bone turned like a cart's axle. “We must keep up the pressure,” she said. “We need more demonstrations. Thousands of Jebyl and fair-­minded Kwuba have to take to the streets. My father can be a reasonable man. When he sees his ­people speak with a clear voice, he'll listen.”

“More than that,” I said. “What we really need is your help to organize a militia. A small force can take the Ministry and strip the admiral of his pow—­”

I felt a heel on my toes, felt it grind down until my toenails hurt. Sali's glare was blindingly intense, like a sun had gone supernova behind her eyes. My mouth still hung open, stalled midword. We'd talked about this over lunch, about how we needed to encourage a real resistance. What did she think I meant?

Pol's voice was laced with contempt.

“A militia is totally unnecessary, Drake.” Sali spoke slow, as if she were teaching a child. “You know very well my father is a reasonable man.”

said Pol.

Sali's heel lifted off of my boot, but she kept pressing with her voice. “We agree-­ed on peaceful demonstrations.”

I closed my mouth and damned myself for not seeing it sooner. Since I'd met Sali, she'd spent so much time railing against her father, I'd completely forgotten she still cared for him. Crazy or not, he was the man who raised her, and she was going to give him every last chance to see the error of his ways before resorting to anything so extreme as open rebellion.

I'd do no less for my father.

“Right, Drake?” said Sali. She stared into my eyes, expecting me to agree. I wanted to please her. I really did.

But Pol was right. A militia could distract the admiral's forces from the Empire's eventual attack.

I opened my mouth, but Sister Selmira cut me off. “Let me save you before you say something you'll regret, Colonel. It doesn't matter what you or Sali think we should do. We shall follow the way of Falal, the way of truth and righ­teous­ness. We shall spread the word that our Dearest Mother has been wrongfully imprison-­ed. Falal expects nothing less of us. But we will do nothing more.”

“But the Falali church is the only institution on this world with the structure and organization to rival the admiral's. I wouldn't ask you to take up arms. I just need somebody to help me recruit and facilitate a proper—­”

“Go no further, Colonel. We are simply translators. Our job is to interpret the signs of Falal in all things, water and stone, success and tragedy. We have no interest in power or politics. And we never will.”

I said to Pol.

A defeated word limped into my mind.

“Very well,” I said to her. “I respect your wishes.”

I looked to Sali, whose betrayed glare hadn't dimmed.

“Don't be too hard on him for wanting to organize a militia,” said Sister Selmira. “He's a warrior, after all. What did the soldier do when his wife hand-­ed him an awl and ask-­ed him to punch holes in her belt?”

Sali shrugged to say she didn't know the answer to the riddle.

“He use-­ed the awl to mark a bull's-­eye for his gun.”

The muscles in Sali's face started to loosen. Same for mine. A smile begging to break loose.

Dugu laughed first, his stomach rocking to mirthful joy. Soon the whole room was laughing.

Except for Pol.

 

CHAPTER 18

“Imagine a dmouse who makes a hoome in a nestof cobras. Now you know the life of an undrecover spy.”

–
J
AKOB
B
RYCE

I
carved an eye. A circular groove for an iris with a deep hole for the pupil. Finished, I raised the carved cuda to let it swim in the morning sunlight.

It was done.

I could do better, but overall I had to agree. I ran my finger along the cuda's body to feel the scalloped pattern of scales. Pushing my fingertip into its toothy mouth, I felt the sharp bite.

I hadn't done any wood carving since I was a teen, but I still had skills. If I hadn't succumbed to family pressure to join the E
3
, I would've been a good artisan.

I put the carving tools back in their box and closed it. Dropping to my knees, I used my hands to sweep shavings off the balcony. I couldn't let Sali see. For several days now, I'd risen early to carve before Sali woke.

Much as I wanted to show her this piece of me, the true me, Jakob had to stay hidden. The mission came first.

Today was the day I'd destroy the missile system. Today was the day I guaranteed the Empire's safe return.

I surveyed the contents of my bag one more time: two large stones, several wriggling glowgrubs, a knife, a coiled kelpstalk rope, and one comm unit just like the one Dugu had been using as a camera. I'd lifted it from the communications room three days earlier.

I asked.

I pulled an eel-­skin bag from my pocket. Made from a moray's tail, it had a broad opening on one end and tapered to a point on the other. I stuffed the comm unit inside and carefully folded over the wide end, then folded it the opposite way, as if I were making a fan from paper. Eight folds in, I stopped and used my weighted bag to hold it in place.

I stepped to the wall and reached for the closest of several crabs. Damn things were everywhere.

said Pol.

I rubbed my face with my hands. Arguing with Pol could be exasperating. A quick search of the balcony yielded no blue crabs, so I went to the rooftop and trapped three in the flag I usually wore as a scarf. I brought them back down to the balcony and dropped to my hands and knees. Carefully, I held the rear of the first crab's shell with one hand and directed its left claw with the other. Forcing the pincers around the folded eel skin, I pinched off the leg's last segment with a twist.

said Pol.

I gave the pincers a gentle tug, and they held firm. All I could do was shake my head. Every day, this world managed to find a way to surprise me.

I attached the crab's second set of pincers before apologizing to the declawed creature and tossing it to the sea. Two more crabs, two more pairs of pincers, and I had what should be a watertight seal.

I stuffed the comm unit along with my carving tools and bamboo cuda into the bag and stood before lifting the bag over my shoulder. Heading into the bedroom, I found Sali sitting up on the sleeping mat. “Are you going early again?” she asked.

“I fear what Mmirehl might do to the Falali Mother if I'm not there to be the voice of reason.”

She ran her fingers into her unruly hair. “I'll see you tonight?”

“Of course.” I tried to smile, but knowing I might never see her again, I only managed a brittle grin.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Just a little tense.” I went to the stairs, stopped, and took one last look back.

Her eyes were saucers brimming with concern. “Please be careful.” The words drove deep like a dart to the heart. I couldn't stand the thought of abandoning her. I had to survive the day. Had to.

I took the stairs slow and brushed the front curtain aside to step out. Dugu was there, sitting on the stone with his legs stretched straight out in a V. A little girl sat opposite him, the soles of her feet pressed against his, her legs forming the other half of a four-­legged diamond.

Dugu made to stand up, but I stopped him by putting up my hand. “Finish your game first.”

“Thank you, sir. This is Dory, my little sister.”

I crouched low to look her in the eyes. “Very nice to meet you, Dory. How old are you?”

She held up five fingers. Her face was round like Dugu's, and her eyes were similarly cheery. She didn't seem to know who I was, her attention already back on trying to toss a seashell into a circle of silk thread resting on the stone.

I stood up straight as Dugu tossed a shell that bounced inside the circle before skipping out to the squealing delight of his sister.

Right. Not productive.

Dory landed a shell in the circle and clapped at her good fortune. It must have been the winning shot since she and Dugu started gathering up the shells and string.

“Ready, sir?”

I nodded. Ready as I'd ever be.

“Dory's school is on the way to the docks.”

“Very well.”

Dory lifted her arm to hold her brother's hand, and after a bit of walking, I felt little fingers probing at my palm. Surprised by the unsolicited affection, I took her hand, and the three of us continued as a three-­linked chain. Soon I realized the unexpected hand-­holding had nothing to do with affection as Dory lifted her feet and expected Dugu and me to swing her. Happy to oblige, we saw to it her feet didn't touch the ground again until we reached her school.

Finally letting go of our hands, she ran for the door. Dugu stopped her with a loud clearing of the throat, then ducked low to receive a kiss on the cheek before telling her to mind her teacher.

Feeling wistful for nieces and nephews I might never see again, I walked the rest of the way in silence. Same for the boat ride to the Ministry. I watched Dugu much of the time, watched how he seemed to find enjoyment in most everything: the sun on his face, the sea spray in the air, the dance of undulating tentacles in the water.

I envied him, the simplicity of his life. I wished I could see things the way he did. I'd been a clock-­puncher once, free of all this duplicity and treachery, but the simple life left me wanting. Somehow I was incapable of finding happiness even when it was all around me.

Instead, here I was on this distant world, walking into the Ministry, shivering as I headed downstairs into the underwater coffin I'd grown to hate.

Dismissing Dugu so he could get some breakfast, I strode through the main dome. Water dripped on my head and shoulders. Puddles splashed under my boots. A sour knot gathered inside my belly. One mistake was all it would take. One mistake, and I'd pay the ultimate price.

I went through tunnel after tunnel, feet moving of their own accord. The baths weren't much farther. Time for my massage.

Every day for a week, I'd kept the same routine, setting up my alibi with an early-­morning massage followed by a nap.

I turned right, my fingers tingling with uneasy energy. I turned again and stopped in my tracks. Mmirehl was there, standing outside his mysterious hatch. The door was open, and a pair of black sashes came from the opposite direction, escorting a short Jebyl man with hands tied before him.

Beleaux.

My breath snagged in my throat like a fishhook. I hadn't seen Beleaux since the day I rented his boat. The day I killed Kell.

Mmirehl lowered his buzzard head for a beaky look at his catch. “Take him inside.”

Beleaux saw me. His eyes met mine, and my stomach wrenched at the thought he could recognize me.

Me. The man underneath this disguise.

“Bless-­ed, Colonel,” called Beleaux. “Please don't let them take me.”

“You are the champion of Falal!” he called, as they dragged him through the hatch. “You will rescue me!”

I coughed into my hand to cover the fact that I'd been holding my breath. Mmirehl turned to give me one of his steel-­eyed grins before disappearing through the hatch. Beleaux's desperate pleas continued to worm into my ears until the hatch door thankfully shut with a clang.

I didn't know what to feel. Relief I hadn't been recognized? Fear that Mmirehl had inexplicably inched closer to discovering me? Concern for Beleaux and the uncertain fate he faced? Guilt for thinking of Beleaux last?

I forced my feet forward. I gave the Falali Mother's hatch a longing stare as I passed, wishing I could spend the rest of the day in her calming presence.

said Pol.

I felt numb from the hairs on my head all the way down to my toenails.

I entered another corridor and passed another set of guards before turning into the baths. Greeted by a hot cloud of sulfur-­scented vapors, I walked across the damp rock floor. To my right, terraced pools of turquoise springwater burbled under bright lights. Like a tiered fountain, frothy overflow cascaded from one tiled travertine to the next. Overhead, a vaulted ceiling came together in a steamy fusion of stone and steel.

The pools were unoccupied except for one. Admiral Dii Mnai sat on the rim with his feet dangling in the water. His skin was slick and shiny from a recent dip. He was naked, knees apart, his stomach covering his private parts effectively as any bathing suit.

said Pol.

I walked alongside a chiseled rock gutter that collected freshwater into tanks. Mnai was flanked by two topless women sitting cross-­legged with bowls on their laps. The admiral reached for one of the bowls and selected an exotic fruit I'd never seen before. He took a bite of the round, red fruit and loosed a watery spray. I stepped closer until he spotted me, his smile dripping with juice and self-­satisfaction.

“Colonel!” he called, like I was the new arrival at a holiday bash. Behind him rested two wine bottles, one empty and lying on its side.

“Admiral,” I said with a nod. “I trust you are enjoying yourself.”

“The fruit is delicious,” he said with a wink and a vague wave of his hand that left me uncertain whether he was referring to the fruit or the breasts. “We're winning, you know.”

“Winning what?”

“The battle against the resistance. Captain Mmirehl has made much progress. It won't be much longer before it's completely crush-­ed. Stability will be restore-­ed. Isn't that what your precious Sire values most?”

“Yes. But he's not my Sire anymore.”

“No. You betray-­ed him, didn't you?” He wiped the smile from his face. “I'm not fond of traitors, Colonel.” He took a meaty chomp of his fruit as if it were a poor substitute for my hindquarters.

The two women kept smiling, but I could see discomfort in the way their spines had stiffened at his tone. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

The admiral spoke with a full mouth. “I hear you visit the Falali Mother every day. What do you talk about?”

I stifled a relieved sigh. Was that all this was about?

“We talk about life,” I said. “She's a very wise woman.”

He chewed on his fruit, and—­based on his downturned brows and squinting eyes—­he appeared to be chewing on my words, too. “Life? What do you mean by that?”

I carefully chose a response. “She coaches me on the ways of Falal.”

“She's trying to turn you against me, isn't she?”

“Of course she is,” I said without hesitation. “Did you expect anything else?”

He nodded, wary eyes weighing my words. “I'm glad you can still be honest with me, Colonel. Don't let that change. You've come for one of your massages?”

He knew my routine. I should've been elated my alibi was falling into place so nicely, but instead, my insides squirmed with the knowledge he'd been checking up on me. His message was clear: I'm watching you.

“Yes,” I said, forcing a smile. “My back has been bothering me since the cuda attack. The massages seem to help.”

He tossed his half-­eaten fruit into one of the bowls and rinsed his fingers in the water. To the women, he said, “I'm done here. Dry me.”

With a bow of my head, I moved past.