Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (18 page)

Outside once more, Pinetto said, “I see the Compass Star clearly and can tell you the angle. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel the power from the triple border where the kingdoms cross. We won’t get lost.”

She jerked the cloak from Tashi’s hands and handed it back to the wizard.

Tashi asked, “What do I do now?”

“Crawl below and hide. I’d recommend somewhere that reeks.”

“Why? Are you that angry?”

“No, but my mother is. That’s her image on the banner.”

Tashi uttered a scatological term.

“A good idea. She really hates you, and her sense of smell is incredible. The feces might help mask your identity if she gets that close.”

“What if you need help?” Tashi asked.

“I’ll ring the bell. If I see the dragon, I’ll run over what’s left of the cargo area lid. It should make enough noise to warn you away.”

“How long do I need to hide?”

“Mother doesn’t like daylight, but I wouldn’t take chances. I don’t know how long the trip takes. I’ve never been at sea before.”

****

They let Tashi risk a shift around noon. He took two full bits to crawl out of his hiding place and climb onto the deck. He got to eat at the start of his shift and again at the end. No one wanted to eat beside him because of the stench.

Near sundown, as they were skirting outlying islands, Sarajah and Erik rested in the wheelhouse until they neared the islands. A nervous Pinetto called everyone but Tashi up on deck. “Could you all come out here and help me watch? I passed a wreck a few bits ago, and I don’t see any rocks on the map. Erik, less sail. We need to slow. Something’s wrong here.”

Erik responded sluggishly. When the
Mallard
quieted, they could hear a faint bubbling in the water.

“Underwater volcano?” asked Karl.

“Did you check all the wards?” asked Sarajah, fear creeping into her tone.

“Only the one on the port side as I climbed over and the central pattern. I didn’t check the prow or the starboard other than by the anchor. I sort of had other things to do. I just assumed that a military vessel ready to sail would be fully . . .” The sound of something wet smacking the bow silenced the wizard. His left hand began to glow. “Karl, take the wheel.”

Erik took a harpoon from a rack. “Should I ring the bell?”

Pinetto ran to the front of the ship, chanting. When the creature poked its head above the railing, he gave a controlled burst. It shrieked and splashed back into the water.

“Fix that ward,” ordered Sarajah, taking out her sesterina-coated dagger.

Two tentacles poked over the edge. The wizard flashed energy at one, but the other made it onto the deck, groping around. “Keep that thing busy, then.”

The tentacle slithered toward Karl. “I think you should ring the bell,” he said, turning the wheel away from the beast.

She tossed the expensive dagger and it bounced harmlessly off the rubbery arm. Then she rang the bell frantically. “Hold it off for two bits!”

“For Legato,” Erik bellowed from the wheelhouse and charged the mysterious creature. The harpoon sliced off the barest tip of the tentacle. However, two more appendages knew exactly where to find the sailor when they squished over the edge. Erik struggled in vain as arm after arm wrapped him.

Pinetto hung from the prow by his knees. With the repulsion of his cape, he couldn’t reach the ward to charge it, but he didn’t dare use his hands to remove his only protection.

“What are you waiting for, witch? Hex that thing,” said Karl as it dragged Erik over the edge. They had a brief lull while the monster consumed the man.

“That’s not a spirit!” she replied.

“You killed all those men with your bare hands.”

“I don’t know the pain points on . . . whatever this is.”

“Learn fast,” said the wizard hanging from his knees, zapping anything that got close with charged coins. So much had fallen out of his pockets that he had little left to toss but a bottle of ink. “I’m running low on ammunition!”

She grabbed the lantern and ran to the edge. Screaming an ancient tongue, she dashed the oil lamp against a nexus of tentacles. It burst, catching a small area on fire. Now she could see how huge the beast really was. After Pinetto pelted the same spot with his last explosive missile, twelve tentacles thrashed in fury.

Tashi wasn’t going to make it in time.

A sudden wind blew Sarajah back from the edge, knocking her onto her behind. The angry creature’s swipes missed her.

There was a blur of motion and something plucked the giant squid out of the water, ripping it from the ship.

“Full sail!” demanded Pinetto, clambering back to the deck.

Karl aimed away from the squid. “Good spell.”

“That wasn’t me!’ said the wizard, running to help raise the sails completely.

Sarajah could hear Tashi thumping and climbing below. She thumped on the lid to the cargo hold desperately, praying he would stop.

The squid splashed back into the sea a few beats later. Then the dragon landed on their crow’s nest. “In these waters, be safe and sail in the daylight, daughter,” whispered Serog.

Sarajah fell on her knees and bowed before the dragoness, raising her voice so Tashi could hear. “Mother-goddess.”

Pinetto didn’t look up but pushed Karl to his knees saying, “Oh great Nightingale.”

The dragoness twisted her head, examining them both with a hiss of amusement. “You’re up to something. These men aren’t dressed like Sandarac’s crews.”

A stream of urine flowed from underneath Karl onto the deck.

“I have a writ of passage from him,” said the seeress.

“I notice you didn’t say you
showed
that writ to anyone.”

Sarajah blushed. “I was in a hurry.”

“Why do you wear the cloak of Archanos?”

“I’m his high priestess now, Mother. I have been granted the kingdom my sister Ashterah once held. The emperor has invited me to his coronation and promised to recognize my claim. This man is my . . . um . . .”

“Prophet,” supplied Pinetto, prostrate and still not glancing up.

“Blessed by Kiateros, he copies down my words and smites things that need smiting, that sort thing,” said Sarajah, praying silently that Tashi stayed put.

“How adorable, an Imperial working for the Fallen.”

“Is there anything you would add to the book our seeress has written about you?” Pinetto asked.

“About
me
? May I see, little one?”

Sarajah removed the
Book of Dawn
from her satchel and opened it to the Song of Serog.

The dragon sighed. “Scribe, add only that the Fallen know love and faithfulness more deeply than the gods. For your service, I mark you. If anyone slays you, I will avenge you if my daughter fails to.” Serog touched the base of his neck with a claw tip.

The wizard clamped his mouth shut at the sharp pain. Hair singed as a symbol burned there.

Turning to Sarajah, Serog said, “You have a gift for illustrating the essence of someone.”

“I wish only for others to know you as I do, Mother-goddess.”

A claw raised Sarajah’s head. “As an emissary of my ally, I grant you passage wherever you go in my realm. For this book, I will grant you a boon if you answer one question honestly.”

“I shall never lie to you.”

“Who’s the man with the blood-sword hiding belowdecks?”

She tried to control her breathing and not hyperventilate. “He bears the Defender of the Realm to Emperor Pagaose.”

“And?”

“He’s my favored, my consort-to-be. For my boon, I beg you to spare him and my pilot.”

“Why does he hide?” asked the dragoness.

“He’s killed scores of Sandarac’s troops to rescue me. We can’t let him be seen, but he insisted he should come along to protect me.”

“You don’t want me to see him.”

“I’m afraid you won’t approve of my choice.”

“I grant any sailors who carry you free passage. This one time, that includes your favored, but in the future . . . he must ask my permission in person. A man who is worthy of you would do no less.”

Don’t come out
, Sarajah prayed, gripping the book to her chest.

“Be well, daughter. I am proud of who you’ve become,” Serog said, then leapt into the sky and vanished.

“That went well,” said Pinetto, returning to the wheelhouse.

“You’re a smooth talker under pressure,” Sarajah noted. “How did that happen?”

“My father was a runner for the King of Zanzibos and my bride-to-be is a moody, pregnant diplomat trained to kill with a touch. Do I keep sailing Centerward?”

Sarajah answered, “Take us to the nearest island and anchor when we leave the Deep. Serog told us only to travel in daylight in this part of the sea. She doesn’t give advice lightly.”

Komiko the witch stood at the chalkboard in the classroom, lifting her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. In her mid-twenties, she wore businesslike robes that hid her feminine shape, but her voice was a husky contralto. “Highness, you’re hopeless.”

“He made that special ink from the eruption ash,” said Anna, trying to encourage the emperor.

“We’ve been here three hours since dinner. I agreed to tutor him in return for the new school, but he’s horrible at lightcraft, lenscraft, navigation, wards, shade theory—”

“Which is incorrect and I can prove it,” said Pagaose. “I passed the math parts, and I can draw the wards, just not power them.”

“Great, ink and math, you can be an accountant.”

“He wasn’t bad at weather prediction,” said Anna.

“That’s just his experience as a traveler,” said the witch. “As emperor, he needs to do some kind of magic.”

Frustrated, Anna threw her hands in the air. “He does miracles!”

“Those are costly and not parlor tricks. It’s more accurate to say that I have the gift of making my words come to pass, but this can take time,” said Pagaose. “What about being an artificer?”

The tall witch shook her head. “Nobody takes them seriously.”

“Artificers made the Emperor’s Road that rings the Inner Sea, one of our civilization’s greatest achievements.”

“The machines we had mothballed melted during the Scattering. We have drawings, but we lost the formula.”

“We could reconstruct it from supply records.”

“We’d have to start on a smaller scale,” Komiko advised.

“Bricks,” he said with growing excitement. “I want fiber-reinforced, glass bricks like the Pretender. It would raise revenue without taxes and enable us to make local building materials that are cheaper and stronger. If I’m going to dabble in magic, I want it to build our economy.”

“That’s possible, but it’ll take months or years to develop. What can we do now?”

Anna interrupted. “Bottles. We can make wine bottles for Bablios. Skins are a horrible way to store and deliver wine.”

The witch glared at Pagaose as if to say, “Make the cheerleader stop.” Out loud, she said, “Not magic. Since some of what we’re discussing is close to alchemy, we could make a case if we found the right application.”

“Anna, could you get some strong tea for us?” asked Pagaose. “I’m afraid the long hours we’re forcing Komiko to work are exhausting her.”

“Why don’t you just appoint her to another class that has less work?” asked Anna.

“I can’t interfere; the minister of curriculum in each school decides those things.”

“Someone would have to die or make a new school for that to happen,” explained the tall witch, rubbing her temple.

“I’ll see what I can do about arranging a suitable class schedule,” Pagaose said. “Once we resolve a few issues.”

Locking eyes with the emperor, the witch said, “A stimulating drink
would
be ever so helpful.”

The brewer woman raised an eyebrow, but did as she was asked.

They both watched her leave. When Anna was out of hearing, Komiko said, “She has cushion in all the right places, but no business in the throne room.”

“I say otherwise.”

“I agree she’d make a great bed warmer, but a lousy shark. You need sharks at your side, your highness.”

“In what way?”

“Can you do
anything
magic?”

“I can do a great deal. I could tap the same energies as Myron did and level the rest of this island,” he admitted.

Sitting on the desk, the witch’s breathing grew ragged. She adjusted her neckline so she could breathe easier. “If you could teach me that . . .”

Pagaose raised a finger to silence the offer. “I wouldn’t share that secret, even at that price. You don’t have the self-control to hold those energies in check. Even I don’t play with those forces. The only man selfless enough to trust with one tenth of that secret was Pinetto, the Vizier of Kiateros.”

She licked her lips. “Really? What would happen if a man lost control?”

“Just hearing the words, most men would explode, leaving nothing more than a crater and ashes.”

“Interesting,” she said, looking pensive. “That might work for both of us. Lord Burningsand in the school of warding is your strongest and most vocal opponent?”

“Yes.”

“I could leak part of your abilities to him. We get his vote in exchange for you whispering the secret in his ear. Boom—you’re emperor and rid of your biggest rival in one swoop.”

“That . . . would be murder.”

“Suicide, but his choice.” Her voice grew huskier as she imagined the possibilities. “Warn him never to try it. Tell him that it would endanger everyone. If he still uses the spell, he’s unfit to lead and deserves his fate.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“Is there anything I can show you in the meantime?” she said, leaning back on the desk.

Pagaose bit his lip. “I do have one problem I’ve been ashamed to tell Anna about. I’m not sure she has the experience to help me.”

Komiko gave a throaty chuckle. “Now you
have
to tell me.”

“I need to learn how to dance before the Festival of Spring.”

“I consider it my duty to the empire,” she agreed. She placed his hands and described the basics to him.

After a few fumbling attempts, he said, “It’s like a kata without the punches.”