Prince of Storms (18 page)

When the lord remained quiet, Breund made an attempt to return to his report, but it was hopeless with the Tarig looking at him. He closed the scroll. Unfortunately that left them staring at each other.

Lord Inweer broke the silence. “When we came into form so long ago, we did not think this matter of ebb time dreaming important.” His long fingers tapped into the armrest of the pilot's chair, and Breund felt a slight course change. “But I have come to think it is a realm worth knowing.”

They were on the threshold of an actual conversation. Indeed, they had crossed into it. Breund ventured, “Dreams are a confused landscape, but a most interesting one.”

“The landscape reveals something of a sentient's secret hopes, ah?”

Breund found himself warming to this topic, a favorite of Red Throne
philosophy. “
The Twelve Wisdoms
say, ‘The more buried the desire, the more vibrant.' Often a dream is a way of perceiving wrong thoughts, brought forward for cleansing by the higher purposes of the mind.”

“Hnn. And when the thoughts are falsely introduced?”

The conversation swerved. “You speak of Inyx sendings.” Breund glanced at Inweer to see if he had it aright, but the lord remained passive. Inweer did not receive the dream visions, of course, but he knew of them. “In those cases there is little to learn of one's deeper being.”

“What was your dream, Breund?”

“Oh. It was…” He stopped, thinking that it was not suitable to reflect on anything against the regent. “They were improper dreams.”

Inweer went on, “In previous times, our servants told us of the things the Inyx promulgated about us. But now I have no insight into what dreams come. You can tell me.”

Breund hesitated. It was grudging not to answer, especially in this moment of openness between them. “Well. They say the bright will not last. And that the regent is to blame, because of silencing the engine.”

Lord Inweer gazed for a long while into the visual array that showed the midlands rushing by below. “And what do the dreams urge?”

The room fell into a heavy quiet. Finally Breund answered, “To rise up. For Sen Ni.” He turned a stern look on the lord. “But this will draw Rose aggression, and so the regent rightly prevents her from taking power.”

“Loyally said, warden. And would your fellow Jouts concur?”

“I do not ask my sway to inform my thinking. I give my bond where I see fit.”

“But would they concur?”

“Each sentient must pursue his path.” Ever mindful of opportunities to rehabilitate Lord Inweer, he added, “One could wish that you do not glean hope from treason.”

“This prison is my best hope,” the lord said softly.

Breund thought that well said. “Let its disciplines bring you peace.” He added, “The dreams of the rabble are not for you, my lord. You must rise above.”

Inweer gazed at the display of the primacy, racing by. “I have my own dreams, Breund, be assured.”

THE SHIP KEEPER MET
S
EN
N
I AT THE MAIN CABIN DOOR
. He was Geng De's new one, after the old one abandoned his post.

Barring the way, he said, none too civilly, “The navitar is resting.”

It had been a long time since anyone had been insolent to her. She realized with a small prick of surprise that she was used to people fawning on the mistress of Rim City sway.

“Rouse him.”

This ship keeper was Chalin, with the topknot, muscular build, and heavy boots of a military man. Many soldiers of the Long War sought peacetime employment, but with his aggressive demeanor, Sen Ni thought this one had not quite made the transition.

The ship keeper left her inside the dim passenger cabin, curtains drawn, muttering that he would announce her. He ascended the companionway to the bridge.

A movement near the galley startled her. Swerving, she spied a small form, a miniature shadow.

“De De?” came the high-pitched question.

A child? Sen Ni approached. In the thin light from the galley portal, she saw a Jout child, hardly taller than her knee. “Where are your parents?”

“De De,” he said again.

Sen Ni knelt beside the child. He had apparently risen from a nest of blankets in the galley, where he might have been sleeping.

She rose, moving to the nearest porthole, where she drew the curtain aside. The cabin had more occupants. Small lumps tangled in blankets: the sleeping forms of a half dozen small children. With growing unease, she went among the sleeping children—Hirrin, Ysli, Chalin—looking for Tiejun. Tiejun, because these were children from the orphanage. Children who were learning to call the navitar
De De
.

She found Tiejun on the long bunk under a row of portholes, curled up, thumb in his mouth, his hair sweat-slicked on his forehead.

From the bottom of the companionway came the ship keeper's announcement. “Master Geng De will see you.”

“Yes,” Sen Ni said, “he certainly will.” She pushed past him and moved quickly up the stairs, throwing open the door at the top.

Geng De sat in a chair. He spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

“What are these children doing here?”

The arms went back into his lap. “Good ebb to you, Sen Ni.”

“They're from the orphanage.”

“Of course. I took them on an excursion,” he said. “They had never been on a ship of the Nigh.”

“They're only babies. You don't take young children on
excursions
.” Then, more blamefully, “You brought Tiejun, and never told me.”

Impervious to her criticisms, he said, “You have so little time for our small castoffs. And I…I am sometimes lonely.”

“Lonely!” She didn't like the direction of her thoughts. “They must never come here without their nurses. Never bring Tiejun.” She enunciated those words with great restraint. If he had hurt Tiejun…she couldn't bear the thought.

“But Tiejun is one of my favorites.”

It was outrageous. He was so placid, so self-assured. But it could all still be innocent; it could all still be just a well-meant effort to provide the children a diversion. “Where did you take them?”

“Into the binds. That's why they're so tired, so I've let them nap. They'll go home when they wake up. We'll have snacks, first.”

“You took them into the binds?” She stalked toward him. “They could have been sick, or scared! You had no right. You took Tiejun....” She wanted to shake him.

“Sen Ni, please. I like their company. There's no harm.”

“There had better not be harm. Stay away from the children, Geng De. They won't come here again until I permit it.”

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “You do not grant or deny permission.”

“Yes I do. I'm mistress of the sway.”

Leaning on his cane he muscled himself to a standing position. He looked like he could not stand long, even anchored by the walking stick. “You are of the sway now, Sen Ni, but we move on to larger things. Have you forgotten? The Ascendancy. When we have it, we will stand side by side, no difference between us.” His expression darkened. “Do not say that you are my
mistress
. You are my sister. That is different.”

She gathered her composure with difficulty, deciding to turn the topic. “We have to approach the Jinda ceb Horat. Did you know that Ji Anzi has gone to them, hoping to influence them? Cixi's spies are paying attention, even if you aren't. We can't afford to wait any longer. I'll talk to them. I have a hoop that the old woman gave me when I stopped outside the minoral.”

“Venn.”

“Yes. I'm going to talk to their…” Upset, she had lost her train of thought.

“Manifest. They congregate in what they call Manifest.”

“Yes, Manifest.”

“Then do talk to them, much good it will do us.”

“You've ignored the Jinda ceb from the beginning. Are you weaving them? Are you even trying?”

He sat back down, wearily. “Yes. I have been trying. Every day. I have many strands, now. My hands are full of threads. You can't know what I suffer for you. You can't have any idea.”

They were falling away from each other. It felt ugly and dangerous. She stared at him, thinking about how little she knew him. They shared a goal— she thought that they did—and he had offered her his heady powers. They were powers she believed in implicitly, because of desperate need. After all,
how could a girl of the Inyx plains hope to command the Entire? She had the dream sendings for persuasion. Geng De offered her control—control of the future, control of the will of her enemies.

It gave her pause to jeopardize that now. “Geng De,” she whispered. “Have you touched these children?”

He sat down, sinking into his red robes, as though deflated and aged. “No.” He closed his eyes. “You go too far, Sen Ni.”

“As long as you don't,” she said, and swept out of the cabin.

The ship keeper was waiting for her in the central cabin.

“Your name, ship keeper.”

“Tan Hao.”

“Well then, Tan Hao, I'm taking one of the children with me,” she said. “Carry him to my litter.” She gestured to Tiejun's sleeping form.

The ship keeper obeyed, lifting Tiejun into his arms and taking him outside. Given that the child had been in the binds, she noted with some relief that he stirred.

Before stepping into the litter, she paused, looking back at the navitar's ship. What had been going on here? An excursion into the binds, he said. She would make sure the mistress of the orphanage never allowed the young ones on
excursions
again.

From the upper deck, Geng De watched her through the porthole. He had little doubt that she would try to stop the children from coming down to him, but he trusted that Mistress Hanwen would manage to disobey. Hanwen was enterprising and would have to find a way to send them in secret.

He needed the little ones. She was so wrong to keep him from his little charges.

The children were learning to love him.

“Drink your oba,” Cixi urged Sen Ni. The steaming pot sat on a small table between them.

Sen Ni stared at her cup. “Can he be such a beast?” Sen Ni had told her everything about her falling out with Geng De.

Cixi sucked on her teeth. “I've had worse villains for subprefects and legates. I have known spies, scoundrels, lying clerks, plotting legates, and smiling traitors of every sort. I handled and coddled them, if they were useful. Geng De is useful, even if his tastes run to the unsavory.”

Sen Ni shook her head. It was not a good time to have doubts about Geng De. Just yesterday Cixi's spies had reported that Ji Anzi had gone to the Jinda ceb minoral. Clearly she intended to persuade them to help Titus. She had lived with them. She had influence.

Next to the pot of oba lay the small hoop that Venn had given her. She hadn't used it yet, but it was time.

“I'm uneasy with Geng De, Mother.”

“Mmm. But you must still smile at him, no matter his tastes. It's the role of a queen. Get used to it, my dear.” She refreshed Sen Ni's cup. “You are so young to learn about evil.”

“I learned about it long ago, Mother.”

Cixi lowered her eyes. “My dear girl. Yes, you did.” When she looked up again, Sen Ni was startled to see her eyes rimmed with tears. “Remember the game we used to play, those first days?”

“Ball and sticks.”

Cixi nodded. “Bounce the ball and then grab a stick from the pile without moving any other stick—and all before catching the ball. It took delicate timing.”

“I was good at it. Did you let me win?”

“Oh, sometimes. But you
were
good.” Cixi gazed past Sen Ni, past the doorway, past the sea view veranda. “Then the Tarig sent you away. I worried for you, every day. I missed you so.”

Sen Ni reached out to Cixi, grasping the old woman's hands, papery and light. “It turned out all right.”

Cixi's voice went low. “In the game, some sticks were always left over. Some sticks we couldn't pick up.” She paused. “You have left some behind, dear one. Some loyal ones.”

Turning away, Sen Ni felt her heart tighten.

“He guided you. Taught you to be a leader.”

“Betrayed me to my father.”

“No. Mo Ti brokered an unwise alliance. He meant well.”

Sen Ni tried and failed to swallow. “No.”

A very small smile, the only kind she ever allowed herself, crept onto Cixi's face. “Ah. Well, you must judge.”

Sen Ni was left with no one to argue with. It was very effective. She thought of Mo Ti and knew that she had been wrong. When people love you, sometimes they hurt you without meaning to. She had come to learn that.

Cixi picked up the hoop and handed it to her. “Geng De—he is a different matter. When you take the Ascendancy, you can cut him away. Use the cunning and ambitious until a time comes when they intend to use
you
. Timing is everything. Just as in ball and sticks.”

She nodded at Sen Ni. “Now enter this Paion Manifest and make them our offer.”

It wasn't clear how a small hoop could bring her into their communication network, but she intended to find out. She brought up the hoop, tightening her grip on the handle. A circle snapped around her at waist height. Then it disappeared.

She stood on a wide plain.

“Cixi, am I still here?”

Distantly: “Yes, dear girl. You are sitting in your chair.”

The horizon lay gloriously far away, and a hard wind brought the scent of spike grass. She knew these golden plains: the steppe lands of home. In the far distance, a smudge of cliffs. Farther still, the black line of storm walls, far and low. She saw a movement to one side. She turned to it.

A man stood there. Or a woman with very short hair. He or she wore soft gray cotton with pants tucked into boots and a quilted jacket.

“Welcome.” The figure was very pale, a human. The hair wasn't short after all. In place of hair were swirls of skin.

“Where is this?”

“You are in Manifest.”

“Where is everyone?” She turned around. There was only the steppe as far as she could see. “I thought everyone would be here.”

“They are, Sydney, in a way. I am Avva ceb.”

“No one calls me Sydney.”

“You are also Sen Ni.”

“Why am I in the Inyx sway?”

“You are not. I selected it from your memories, as a place you would feel comfortable.”

“Well, then. Thank you.” She
wasn't
comfortable—it was too strange—but she wanted to be polite. “I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.”

“Speak your mind. Inquire. Learn. Teach. Accept. You may take much from me or little. I am Avva ceb.”