Balanced on the Blades Edge #2 Deathmaker (9 page)

Tolemek slipped an arm around her waist to help her to the chair. She straightened up, not wanting him to notice her spying, and leaned against his side. The support wasn’t unwelcome, though she probably should have pushed his arm away. One didn’t ask for support from the Deathmaker, right? But she was being nice, wasn’t she? To fool him? Just as he was trying to fool her by being a gentleman? She had barely started this new game, and her head already hurt. She was too simple for the intricacies of mind games and spy missions; she just wanted to fly and shoot things.

“I don’t think there’s any age where beatings feel good.” Tolemek guided her into the chair, then pulled up a stool. He pushed the lamp closer to her face, and she could feel its warmth. The pirate ship wasn’t cold—they were still in the tropics, after all—but the canvas bag she was wearing left far too much arm and leg bare for her taste.

“Probably not. Would you mind taking those spikes off your wrists before doctoring me?” She nodded toward his wrist braces—the prongs weren’t razor sharp, but they certainly had an inimical look to them. “I was a little concerned I’d get perforated during our walk across the room.”

Tolemek unfastened them and tossed them on the desk. He had the same bronze skin as the rest of the Cofah, but that didn’t mean he didn’t tan at all, and she found herself somewhat amused by the paler three-inch bands on his wrists. The Deathmaker had tan lines. Also not mentioned in the stories that circulated.

Cas stayed still as he dabbed her face, wiping her wounds and washing away the dried blood. It stung, but he was probably more gentle than that sawbones would have been. With his face close to hers, she had the conundrum of where to look. It seemed too personal—too intimate—to watch his eyes, but it would have been awkward to lean out to look around him. She settled for staring at the shark tooth necklace, though at some point, her gaze drifted to his collarbone and then down to the pectoral muscles visible beneath his vest. She supposed, if one could get past the I-think-I’m-really-tough pirate clothing, one might consider him attractive.
She
didn’t, of course, especially considering his plans for her, so she merely acknowledged that some people would.

Tolemek put down the rag and opened the ceramic jar. The grayish green color of the thick goop inside reminded her of the stuff that had been growing on the walls in those underground ruins. Its dubious scent smelled more medicinal than natural, but she wasn’t sure about having it smeared on her face.

“What’s that for?” she asked. “And does it have a more confidence-inspiring name than Green Goo Number Three?”

He rotated the jar so she could see the label.

“Healing Salve Number Six,” she read.

“It’s to assist the body in healing and also to prevent infection. There are antimicrobial compounds.”

Anti-what? “Oh, good. And it’s stronger than the first five iterations, I’m guessing?”

“More effective, yes.”

“It’s good to know—” Cas made a face when he touched the first cold, slimy dollop to a swollen cut at her temple. “Good to know some of the things you make are for helping people.”

Tolemek had been focused on applying the salve, but he looked into her eyes a moment, his face inscrutable.

“It’s not what your reputation is about,” she said, explaining by stating the obvious. As if he wasn’t aware of his reputation.

“I know,” he said softly. Now he avoided her eyes, dabbing goo to her cut lip.

It seemed like there was a hint of regret about him. But maybe this was part of the game too. Pretending to be someone decent, someone who cared.

“I suppose you have to keep your pirate allies healed up, so you have help—” Cas stopped herself from saying raping, pillaging, and slaughtering, but barely. Nice prisoners that could be trusted didn’t sling such accusations around. “—on your missions,” she finished. There. Wasn’t that tactful?

“Most of them prefer the sawbones’ sketchy draughts to mine,” Tolemek said. “The army too. I tried to send them some of this compound, since it’s superior to the crude antiseptic they plied us with when I was a soldier, but knowing it was from me, they wouldn’t take it. I even tried to sell it at an exorbitant sum, so they’d be more likely to believe there was something in it for me, but the medical general said no soldier would risk using something I had made.”

“So the Cofah hate you as much as the Iskandians, huh?” Oops, so much for tact. That had been rather blunt.

And he winced. “Yes.”

“It—what they think—bothers you?”

He had finished with her face and set the jar down. “It... serves me.”

Not quite an answer to her question.

“As Gor—the captain has always been quick to point out, enemies aren’t eager to pick fights with me. They, too—” he gestured toward the ship as a whole, “—leave me alone to do my work undisturbed. Reputations aren’t always founded in truth—the captain’s breastplate, for example—but there has to be
enough
truth to make it believable. The instant someone stops believing, he’ll try to kill you for your position and for your share of the earnings.”

Plunder, Cas’s mind replaced the word.

“In addition to worrying about rival clans and armies and lawmen, you have to worry about your own allies. The captain fends off assassination attempts from within every month or two. He owns the ship and a share of the outfit, and anyone who kills him, gets his stuff. That’s what passes for law in here. It’s like the jungle. Survival of the strongest and the most cunning.”

“Why stay in such a place?” Cas thought of the support and camaraderie she got from her unit back home. After the awkward discomfort she had always experienced with her father, it had been a delight to have a different sort of family, one with dozens of brothers and sisters to work with and talk to, people who did dangerous work and formed close relationships through the experience. Just thinking about it, about them, made her chest ache with homesickness.

“There aren’t many places available to me,” Tolemek said dryly.

“
Now
. You must have made a choice somewhere along the way.”

He leaned back, propping his arm on the desk. “You mean after the unit I commanded was decimated in an airship battle with some pesky Iskandian fliers?” He gave her a frank stare. Her first thought was that he was referring to the previous summer’s battle again, but this must have been something different. He wasn’t commanding anything here, was he?

“I was twenty-four and had just made captain at a ridiculously young age. My father was finally proud of me. I got orders to defend the
Starlight Sailor
, one of our greatest airships, made more so by the fact that it was carrying one of our most legendary admirals and two top diplomats to a treaty negotiation to enlist some of the jungle shamans from the south. Then, out of the clouds—” Tolemek stretched his hand toward the ceiling, fingers spread, “—comes Wolf Squadron. Somehow, they’d gotten intel about our plans and they swept in, strafing our decks with bullets, killing my men left and right. We had artillery weapons and took some of them down, but as you well know, they’re good at cat-and-mouse games. The
Starlight Sailor
went down, plummeted into the ocean. The admiral, the diplomats, a decorated airship pilot... all died. There were few survivors.”

Of whom, he was obviously one. His sarcastic bitterness was palpable, so she resolved to keep her mouth shut.

“For punishment, I was stripped of all my rights and privileges as an officer and discharged from the army.” He lowered his arm and stared down at his hand. “There was nothing to return home to. My father said I was dead to him. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. Eventually I got a letter of condolence from another former army officer, a Colonel Goroth who’d been my instructor at the officer proving grounds and who’d had a similar run-in with Wolf Squadron. He’d also been cast out of the army and had his family turn their backs on him. He’d always been a warrior at heart, even when he was teaching, and he couldn’t give it up. He was a mercenary for a while but eventually became a pirate. He invited me to join him out here, and feeling like I was practically a criminal already back home, I joined him.”

“Captain Slaughter?” Cas asked.

“So he eventually became.”

“Look, I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, but you—your people—chose this war.
My
people want to be left alone. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. We’re doing everything we can to keep our homeland.”

His forehead wrinkled. “You’re rebels who broke away from the empire, killing all of your rulers in the process.”

“We’re the native inhabitants of that continent. Your stupid rulers came and set themselves up without being asked. And all of that happened hundreds of years ago anyway. It’s idiotic that your people are still wasting resources trying to get us back. If they think we’ll ever be content little imperial subjects, they’re delusional.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Cas nearly jumped out of her seat. For a moment, she had forgotten where she was and that she was surrounded by a ship full of pirates who would happily slay her.

“Come in,” Tolemek called.

“Is this all right?” Cas whispered, lifting her un-shackled arms.

Tolemek flicked his hand dismissively as the door opened. A nervous cabin boy stood there, holding a tray with plates and a carafe on it.

“Come in, boy. Set it down.” Tolemek pointed to the desk.

The kid couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. What calamity had come to
his
life to bring him here? Maybe he was some pirate’s son. And here she thought
she
had been born into a disturbing family business.

“Yes, sir.” The boy glanced toward the terrariums—hah, Cas wasn’t the only one nervous about whatever the Deathmaker kept in there—then scurried to the desk. He set down the tray, looking like he would bolt for the door, but stopped long enough to point at one of the plates. “That one’s yours, sir. Cook made you more on account of you being bigger.”

“Did he.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.”
Now
, the boy bolted.

Slices of bread, fish and sauce, and an orange. There was nothing gourmet about the trays or the presentation, but Cas was hungry enough that she could have wolfed down ten or twenty of the nasty ration bars pilots took on longer missions.

After the door closed, Tolemek set the plate with the larger portion down in front of her. “If you’re hungry enough to risk the cooking, I’d try that one.” He put the other plate in front of him, though he didn’t pick up the fork or knife.

Belatedly, it occurred to Cas to find the boy’s words suspicious. “You think that one’s poisoned?” She nodded to the smaller portion.

“No, they’re not going to kill you. But based on a conversation I had with the captain, I wouldn’t be surprised if there might be a dose of a truth serum that would encourage you to answer my questions honestly.”

Huh. And he wasn’t going to use it on her?

“Truth Serum Number Three?” she asked. She had never heard of such a concoction, unless one counted the honesty-encouraging effects alcohol had, but his scientific interests seemed to be broad.

“More like seventeen. Affecting the human mind in a predictable way isn’t as easy as blowing things up.”

“How about affecting the human body? Killing people. Is that easy?” And did she truly want to know the details?

Tolemek looked away. “Killing people isn’t difficult. There are numerous substances in the world that are poisonous to humans.”

“Why seek them out? Why create something that...” Cas prodded a piece of fish with her fork. Hungry as she was, this conversation, and the fact that someone might have been playing with the food, had her worried about sampling.

“If you’ve ever wondered if the smith regrets forging the sword that ends up taking an innocent man’s life, the answer is yes.”

Cas had not wondered that, but she did now. With smiths, it would be rare for them to find out how and when their weapons had been used. Though, in making a tool for killing, there could not be much doubt that it
would
be used. A sword, after all, had no other purpose. No one blamed the smiths, she supposed, but what he had done—or, as it sounded like, allowed to be done with his work—was orders of magnitude worse. It
was
, wasn’t it?

Tolemek stood up and walked across the cabin to the clothes trunk. He opened the lid and pulled out a couple of tins of sardines and packages of crackers, brought them back, and set them beside Cas’s plate. “An alternative if you wish it.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. The packages were Cofah, but the Iskandians had similar types of travel rations, so she believed they had come from some general mercantile—or been plunder from some ship’s supplies—and were unlikely to have strange serums added to them.

“The wine is probably safe, and there’s water in that pitcher. If you don’t need anything else, I believe I’ll get some rest. Dawn is only a couple of hours off.”

He rooted in a cabinet and found a couple of blankets. He tossed one on the hammock, then spread another out on the floor. He blew out the nearest lamp and took the floor position for himself, lying down without a mention of shackles or a suggestion that she stay out of trouble and not wander off. A sign of trust? Or was he going to leave her to her own devices to see if he could trust her in the future? Belatedly, she remembered her mission had been to try and win that trust.

“Tolemek?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“My face feels better. Thanks for the salve. The Cofah army should have tried it before turning it down.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, and she wondered if her compliment had seemed out of character, and he knew she was trying to win him over. It was the truth though, even if she wouldn’t normally have admitted it. Whatever his salve was exactly, it was doing more than disinfecting wounds. Already, a cool tingling had replaced the pain in her face, and the swelling seemed less extreme.

“You’re welcome,” he finally said. “You’re the first woman who’s expressed appreciation for one of my formulas.”