Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (38 page)

The presence folded in on itself and departed. Pinetto was alone on the fused and blackened sands. Everything except a narrow cone of protection around him looked like it had been through a forest fire, like the Scar at Center. He waited for the ground to cool before he walked back to the ship.

****

Sarajah didn’t climb aboard the
Mallard
until nightfall. She complained the whole way up the ladder. “I had to use a favor to get the panther to sail with us. Now we only have two.”

“What was I supposed to do?” asked Tashi.

“Menace him a little. He respects you.”

“He saved my life. I don’t repay comrades in arms by . . .” He sniffed the air and drew the Defender. It quivered in his hand.

Pinetto said, “The boss is gone. Please put that thing away. The six-armed freak infected the Defender somehow when it killed her. Archanos couldn’t get near it.”

“What’s that smell?”

“We had . . . words.”

“What did you do?” the seeress demanded.

Pinetto recounted the exchange in hushed tones, summarizing with, “He won’t kill me, but I may have pushed the limits. My cape is history, and I had to have my uncle trim my singed hair afterward.”

Tashi sheathed the magical sword. “I didn’t know he was a barber.”

“He’s not. The crew saw me get hit by the lightning. No one else will come near me now; they’re afraid I’m bad luck.”

“Sailors are a superstitious lot,” said Tashi reaching into his pouch for salt to throw.

“Put your goggles on,” she insisted. “Every time you recite his exact words, your eye tattoos glow.”

“Great,” Pinetto said, heeding the advice. “At least we have a destination now. If we bring back his weapons, he won’t hunt down Imperials anymore.”

“Your kind heart is going to get us all killed,” said Sarajah.

The panther leapt onto the deck. “Let’s not waste time.”

“You didn’t want to sail,” complained Tashi. “We couldn’t drag you on before.”

“Rivers are safer,” said Bagierog. “Besides, you heard him, the boss sent us on a mission.”

“At this rate, the journey from Center to the Tamarind River delta should take a week,” said the fisherman piloting the
Mallard
. The trip downstream was positively placid compared with the constant dangers of the Inner Sea. They met only a couple slow-moving barges from Innisport that they had to steer around. Tashi spent a great deal of time in the hammock they’d installed while at Center.

Pinetto said, “We need to stop at Wayside, the little town on the Bablios side of the Friendship Bridge.”

“Why is that important?” asked Tashi.

“This close to the capital of Zanzibos, they’ll have an embassy,” Baba Nesu replied. “That means they can give us an assortment of flags to replace the Pretender’s, as well as papers that allow us to carry weapons and hunt privateers. To survive, we’ll need to be able to change nationalities at the drop of a hat.”

“I’ll discuss that with the plague-runner after I test him,” said Pinetto.

“Why would a Dawn creature let itself get thrown into the emperor’s dungeon indefinitely?”

“What better way to guarantee a steady food supply of Door energy and spy on Center.”

“That’s tedious and dishonorable.”

“Gods have a different point of view, sweetie,” Sarajah said.

“Wayside will also have military intelligence officers. We can exchange information. I’m sure no one here knows about the siege of Center yet.” Pinetto stood by the door to the wheelhouse, arms folded. His cloak had burn marks in several places and no longer fluttered with a life of its own. “In the meantime, Nesu has agreed to fill us in on the ins and outs of the alchemy business.”

Baba Nesu grimaced until Sarajah batted her eyelashes.

“He’s right. It is a business. The margins are thin. If you aren’t an alchemist yourself, there are two ways to make money: control the supply of key ingredients or control the transportation of goods to market. The Arinaw clan on the Crooked Isle controls the second.”

“How?” asked Sarajah.

“The islands are metal-starved. You can only find it on the mainland. However, with the plague-land restrictions, we can’t loot metal from the nearby ruins. The closest other path to civilization is the Tamarind River, and the Crooked Isle blocks that. If you want iron, you have to visit the Exchange. Their stalls take in Sacred Amber or other magic items and pay people a few pieces of iron as big as your thumbnail. It takes over a week of scavenging for an islander to earn enough to make an eating dagger.”

“Fifty work hours for a few iron bits,” said Tashi. “Seems unfair.”

“Worse, they take the goods north and sell them for several gold weeks.”

“Wait, cylinders of iron stamped with the number one?” asked Pinetto.

“Yes.”

Pinetto laughed. “I think we know where all the small-denomination coins from Kiateros went.”

Sarajah smiled. “The ultimate achievement in alchemy: transforming iron into gold.”

“The bastards of the Arinaw clan use the exchange to rule the outer islands,” spat Nesu.

Tashi wrinkled his forehead. “If you hate them so much, kill them.”

“Someone greedier would take over within a month. The islanders have been slaves and scavengers for so many centuries they wouldn’t know how to run their own country. The king of Zanzibos keeps the Arinaw from abusing the natives too much, just because he doesn’t want to lose his cut.”

“So how did you make your money?” asked the wizard.

“The obvious materials like tiger’s-eye and amber are well controlled by now. What remains is to find interesting alchemical recipes and control the ingredients before they become well-known: nautilus shells, cuttlebones from an albino squid, honey made from poppies, rum mixed with blood, or slave bones distilled to their essence. Some things decay to dust, but the residue left behind can have interesting properties. I remember a frog that could put men into a deathlike state for twelve hours.”

“Why did you want the silk thread?”

Nesu said, “Ah, gossamer.”

“The fabric?” asked Pinetto.

“Exposed to the right process, colorless silk becomes translucent. I use the thread because pre-woven fabric can only be so big and fit in the kettles alchemists employ.”

“Why would anyone care about almost see-through fabric?” asked the wizard.

Tashi cleared his throat and loosened his collar. “Among other things, allowing light into a room you don’t want anyone seeing into, and . . . ladies’ night garments made of gossamer can be most alluring.”

Nesu chuckled. “A lot of bureaucrats who wouldn’t take a bribe would look the other way or warn me about a raid if I gave them a few yards of gossamer. Nobles pay quite well for the fabric. It’s a niche market, but I did well with it as a side business, as long as the empire and kings didn’t have to be cut in on the profits.”

“Why does everything with magic come down to killing or sex?” complained Pinetto. “Why not something that sucks salt out of seawater so that people can drink it?”

“That would make it too hard to control the slaves. Water rationing keeps them docile,” Nesu noted.

“You forgot money in your magical trinity. I’m sure they make sesterina, too,” said Tashi.

“Yes,” said Nesu, squinting. “I don’t know the recipe for that, though. Warlord Zorog has that monopoly.”

Tashi and Pinetto looked at each other. Sarajah chuckled. “Businessmen who are demons or want to be. Nice.”

“How do you know that?” asked Nesu.

“The name ends in -og,” explained Sarajah.

“Oh, all the more reason not to tell anyone, even the Babliosians, what your true mission is. Word will leak out to their brothers across the river, and they won’t let your ships come up the river.”

“What do we tell them? I don’t lie well,” admitted Pinetto.

“Tell them something close to the truth. Play the part of eccentric, religious zealots on a wild quest. Imply that the emperor signed your papers to get rid of you. Invent some holy pilgrimage that people will consider harmless, and let them tax you excessively on the goods you bring back. Then they won’t suspect that the real cargo is the ships full of pirates. How many will you need, by the way?”

Pinetto scratched his head. “How many men can fit on one of the pirate ships?”

Nesu shrugged. “Forty on a smaller cutter. They’ll know sea combat and swimming better than the Imperials. The Pretender’s troops are great on land, but useless packed into a bathtub.”

“Still, we’re fighting four hundred swordsmen per enemy ship; to take one enemy warship, we’d need at least ten. To take the whole fleet, maybe as many as fifty ships. With special weapons and a few Dawn creatures, we could reduce that a little.”

The old man held up a hand. “Then you need a
big
cover story. Rebuilding a temple with butter-soaked balsa wood or something.”

“Butter?” Sarajah snickered.

“The more outrageous you seem, the more they discount and ignore you,” Nesu said. “The cover story should also give us an excuse to hunt in the waters of the Antarean rift.”

“Rebuilding the emperor’s zoo?” suggested the former gamekeeper, speaking for the first time since boarding the ship.

“Close. Something exotic and elusive.”

“The sea unicorn?”

“Wouldn’t take fifty ships.”

“What if we’re looking for a rare sun bear and we need to transport the entire tree they live in to plant at the zoo.”

“Good. We could bring a whole forest.”

Pinetto mused, “If they’re the type that produce the resin that makes Sacred Amber, the emperor could actually use them. I seem to remember an earlier emperor importing pines from the south when he made the Emperor’s Road. As far as I know, they all burned down in the Scattering.”

“Perfect,” said Nesu. “Can you make me an old-looking parchment that has a legend about the emperor’s reign ending when the last pine tree dies?”

The wizard chuckled. “I’ll make it look authentic, even like it was plucked from the furnace of the great fire.”

“We’ll put a proper amount of larceny in your soul yet.”

“What kind of weird costume should I make?” asked Pinetto.

“You’re weird enough already. Why do you tie that ring around your forehead?”

“It’s my wedding ring. I want to remember my marriage every day and charge the tiger’s-eye stone in sunlight.”

“Why so often?”

“Because one day, I’ll have to descend into darkness again, and I’ll need it to guide me out.”

Nesu turned to Sarajah. “The high priestess—don’t mention the word queen to anyone—should cook up something truly flamboyant.”

She nodded. She closed her eyes, and suddenly, her cloak became a bloom of peacock feathers, complete with earrings and a huge ostrich-feather headpiece. The men in the room stopped breathing. Tashi stared at the two fans that barely covered her chest. “You like?”

The panther growled. Pinetto coughed.

“Impressive,” Tashi panted.

Nesu’s eyes bugged. “Sensational. How?”

“I just imagined something Lady Evershade wore to seduce Pagaose and exaggerated, eliminating the rules of good taste and fashion.”

Enjoying the effect the outfit was having on Tashi, she reached out for his hand. “Let’s discuss this in the cargo hold.”

They never left the crowded room. The moment her bare skin touched his, he sank to his knees in pain. A blood stain spread across the inseam of his pants. She fussed over him, but he waved her away. “Don’t touch me. Your mother’s curse. The claw wound reopens when . . . ouch.”

“But I’ve touched you since then.”

“Not when my sails were full. And seeing you bend over in that dress is filling them again, gods help me.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Damn my mother’s meddling.”

“That’s a cool chastity spell when you think about it,” whispered Pinetto.

The panther said, “I can keep her safe when she visits the embassy, no charge. This will be worth the entertainment value.”

“I can go after a few hours under the lens,” Tashi insisted, grunting in pain.

“And tell them what? It’s your time of the month? That’s more than a little eccentric,” said Nesu.

Tashi glared at the indignity, but said nothing.

****

When they landed at Wayside, Tashi stayed onboard to heal again and guard the plague-runner who refused to offer a drop of blood or allegiance. Pinetto played the eccentric assistant to the hilt, inventing all manner of protocol for the high priestess. Once men with flowers lined the streets, she walked down the ramp and took everyone’s breath away.

The ambassador held a feast for her that lasted well into the night. As soon as he heard that the Prefect was alive and the new emperor was resisting Sandarac, he sent a runner to King Borchart with the message, “The Pretender lied. Don’t surrender to Sandarac! We’re winning.”

In gratitude for saving them from certain disaster at the hands of Sandarac, the ambassador sent two skilled arborists with the expedition to help harvest the trees. “We specialize in grapevines, but these men brought pear trees into the valley to help give our wine its distinctive bouquet.”

Three hours after the meal began, during the after-dinner wine, Lady Jolia, the Regent’s consort, arrived.

“It is you!” squealed the tall courtesan from Silverton.

“You look fantastic,” cooed Sarajah. “Tall, dark, and handsome must agree with you.”

The pale-haired Jolia waggled her eyebrows. “An attentive man feels good for a change.”

Old friends, the ladies reminisced till dawn. Jolia promised to give Sarajah and her trees safe passage through Zanzibosian territory, despite any orders Sandarac may have given to detain her.

Soon after sunrise, Sarajah returned to the
Mallard
, and Jolia waved good-bye from the bridge. While Tashi pushed away from the docks with a long, hooked pole, he grumbled about the delay. Sarajah winced. “Relax and please don’t yell so much.”

“You weren’t so quiet last night; I could hear the laughter from the docks,” her favored complained.