The Blinding Knife (40 page)

I punch him across the face. Motion to my men.

“Mot is being reborn even now, pirate!” he shouts, bleeding. “Can’t you feel it? We’re here to announce his coming! Your days are over!”

Mot, the blue god. I’ve got my hands full with one blue goddess already.

My men throw the captain and his brother over the side. They land with a huge splash, and bob to the surface by the buoyancy of the barrels, but then roll underneath the water by them. Have to fight to breathe, as do we all, every day.

The Angari men in the rowboats are shouting now. The galley’s oars dip and sweep, slow.

“That’s your captain and his brother,” I shout. “Save ’em or let ’em drown. It’s all the same to me.”

Giving the men in the rowboat the choice of rescuing their captain or coming after us divides their attention, gives us another few seconds. I see a couple of muskets come up. I duck.

The rattle of muskets. Ceres, I love the sound. A few men even blow chunks out of the wood. Excellent shots.

Wish I could have them on my crew.

The first rowboat has gone after the captain, the second is coming after us.

“Droose, tiller!” I order.

He takes it, and I leap up onto the gunwale and salute the men rowing after us.

“Good day, boys,” I shout to the rowers. “You’ve just been bested by Captain Gunner. Ain’t no shame in losing to the best. You’ll tell your grandbabies about this day. And you’ll live to do so! So turn back now. Because I’m Captain Gunner, slayer of sharks and sea demons, and I’ll add you to the tally if you want.”

I’ve made a makeshift grenado, but I’d rather not use it. The fuse is a rag with a bit of black powder rubbed into it. The grenado’s a flagon full of black powder with a piece of wood shoved hard into the top. It’ll just as likely blow up in my hand or not blow up at all. I need me a drafter. Magic makes me nervous as a virgin pillow girl, but sometimes even Gunner don’t get what he wants. Sometimes you oil your bung, sometimes you oil your bunghole.

The men in the boat start cursing me. They’ve already fired their muskets, but a couple leave off rowing to charge their muskets. Good. Less men rowing means less speed.

I laugh at them, and another leaves off rowing. They’re cursing at each other, screaming to row more, swearing they’ll kill me.

The galley slaves sweep their big oars again, and again. It’s enough. We pick up speed. I remove my hat with a flourish and bow, as the galley leaves its original owners behind.

A few seconds later, I hear a couple of gunshots. Love that musket music.

I’ve already turned to my men. “Take an inventory,” I order. “Captain Gunner wants to take another ship within the week. I need to know if I’ll have black powder for the job, or if I’ll have to do it with my giant personality alone. And what the hell do these barbarians drink? Mead? Break out the mead. A measure for everyone, and two more tonight if you keep me chippy!”

The thirty-five scrubs stood in neat lines, hands folded behind their backs, listening intently. Trainer Fisk usually handled their drills and conditioning, but today they were to be addressed again by Commander Ironfist. Two students had left after speaking with their sponsors about the impending war, but only two. Teia was proud of that; she was also keenly aware that being proud of ignoramuses who had no idea what they were getting into was probably silly.

Commander Ironfist walked to the front of the class, his head freshly shaven and oiled. His Blackguard garb, cotton fibers infused with luxin to make a stretchy second skin, showed the massive V of shoulders to waist, the gold piping down his sleeves emphasized arms as big around as some of his students’ waists, the thick butt of a man who could run down a horse, and legs like towers of the Chromeria itself. He was astonishingly beautiful. The man’s muscles had veins bigger than Teia’s muscles. And all loose, easy, relaxed.

Teia knew that the relaxed, loose composure of a warrior meant speed. Trainer Fisk was shorter and thicker than Commander Ironfist, but literally muscle-bound. His heavy muscles actually slowed his motion—compared with Ironfist. Compared to Teia, of course, the trainer was fast as a loosed crossbow bolt.

“Your training is the best in the Seven Satrapies,” Commander Ironfist began. No preliminaries, it wasn’t his way. “Your training is necessary and good and effective. But your training—even here, even among the best—can hamstring you. When we practice punches, we pull them short, because if we don’t, we’d lose you all to injuries. But when you pull punches ten thousand times, it’s hard not to on the ten thousand and first punch: the punch that you throw at a real attacker.

“Our necessary safeguards can make you bad fighters. Blackguards can’t be bad fighters. Your class will be called on to fight and perhaps to die, perhaps soon, and if you don’t know how to kill your opponents first, a lot of you
will
die. Your class may have fourteen pass. May. Not will. So your class’s training is going to be different. Accelerated. Harder. We will not allow you to be second-rate. There is no substitute for experience, so experience you will get. This experience will cost some of you injuries that will put you out of contention for
those fourteen slots. We’ve never done this before because it’s dangerous and it isn’t fair. But we’re out of time, so we’re doing what we have to. For some of you, the tests will be easy. For some they will be boring. For others, they will be literal fights to the death. These experiences will not be safe, will not be controlled. They may be too hard. You may be crippled or die. If you can’t accept this, you may leave. Now.”

No one left.

“Failure on these tests will not automatically bar you from advancement. But it will matter. You fail, you drop three spots. Blackguards deal with what we get, not what we want. Here are the rules: You and your partner will be taken to a point in Big Jasper in one of the worst neighborhoods. You’ll be given a handful of coins publicly, and then you must get those coins to the Great Fountain. You are forbidden to bring weapons or draft. To pass, you must bring back six of the eight danars you’re given. However many you bring back, you and your partner get to keep. If you don’t make it in three hours, we’ll come looking for you. But don’t expect any help. You’re alone out there.”

They drew straws for the order and an odd thing happened. The first team to draw drew number one, the second team number two, the third team number three. Trainer Fisk scowled and mixed the straws again. But the fourth drawers drew number four, the fifth number five. He mixed again, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He frowned, but said nothing, and they dismissed it as a weird coincidence.

Adrasteia and Kip got a straw that put them in the last third. Not an auspicious beginning. Then they walked across town, led by Trainer Fisk and several of the older Blackguard trainees. Commander Ironfist didn’t accompany them. He had duties elsewhere.

The first pair to go was the mountain Parian girl, Gracia. She was lean as a willow and taller than most of the boys. Her partner was another Parian, still tall and lean, but not so dark as Gracia, and a lot uglier, Goss. He was one of the best fighters, but he had a habit of
picking—
scabs, nose, earwax—and eating it. He was within a hair’s breadth of earning the obvious nickname.

A sizable crowd had gathered to see what these Blackguards were doing in a bad neighborhood, and not all of the faces were friendly. Most were wary, but curious.

Trainer Fisk bade Gracia and Goss come forward, publicly handed
them the eight danars, counting out the coins, then bound a red handkerchief around each one’s forehead. “Bring these safely to the Great Fountain. No one in the Blackguard and no one in the Chromeria is going to help you. If you lose these coins, it’s on your own head. You’re not allowed to use weapons. You’re not allowed to draft.”

Murmurs went through the crowd watching them. It wasn’t a fortune, but for an unskilled laborer it was as much as they could make in two weeks. And these children had it. And the watchers knew where the children were taking it, so they could guess what routes they’d take. And Trainer Fisk had just announced that the children wouldn’t be protected from on high.

Gracia and Goss were smart, though. Smarter than Teia would have credited. They
ran
.

If they went by a direct route, they would travel faster than the news could. In fact, depending on how long Fisk made the teams wait in between attempts, the same strategy might work for the first few teams. Anyone hoping to ambush the Blackguards coming through would have to hear the news and then have to take the time to gather their gang to do so.

After five minutes, Trainer Fisk announced it all again, bound the red handkerchiefs around the brows of the second team, and handed them their money. They ran, too.

The crowd of the curious continued to grow, but Kip was watching the edges of the crowd to see who was leaving, and Teia followed his gaze. She saw several young men go different ways, each looking furtively back toward the circle, as if afraid that their payday would leave.

The scrubs were talking among themselves, trying to figure out strategies. If Teia was doing the arithmetic right, she and Kip had almost two hours before it would be their turn. When she thought about how many thugs could be gathered in that time, her mouth went dry. They would come for money like sharks came for blood.

She was still thinking about it when she noticed that Kip had walked away.

“Where are you going?” Teia asked.

“Where all of you should be going,” Kip said.

“What?” she asked.

Every scrub’s eyes were on Kip, and no few of the crowd’s, now that he had been called out. “Scouting,” Kip said.

The scrubs looked at Trainer Fisk. He shrugged. “No rules but the rules you were given,” he said, bored.

Kip was brilliant. He’d seen it in a second: don’t obey what the rules mean, obey what the rules say.
That
was the test as much as getting the coins through safely.

Within another ten seconds, all the scrubs scattered, except those who were up next. Ferkudi and Daelos went from looking excited to be going so early to looking stricken, keenly aware of their sudden relative ignorance.

Teia and Kip made a slow circuit of the nearby streets. They didn’t speak.

After a while, they heard the sounds of a fight one block over. Teia ran toward the fight. Kip followed close after, though he was slower than she was.

“We don’t even have the money yet, you morons!” a wide girl whose name Teia didn’t know was shouting at some bloody-nosed tough on the ground in front of her. “Do you see the red kerchief?”

The girl’s partner, Rud, a squat coastal Parian who wore the ghotra, didn’t look angry or triumphant. He looked scared. He was bleeding from a deep gash in his shoulder.

“I should kill you!” the scrub girl shouted.

The tough scrambled back on all fours, then turned and ran.

Teia said, “We need to get you back to Trainer Fisk, Rud. Right away.”

He nodded, and together the four of them walked briskly the four blocks back to the square. Rud leaned on his partner and then on Kip, too, as his blood loss made him nearly faint. Teia walked ahead of them, on the lookout for threats.

On catching sight of them, Trainer Fisk ran to meet them. The Blackguard scrubs were only steps behind him. They took Rud, made him lie down, and instantly began tending to the cut.

Teia heard someone say, “Bite down on this, Rud. This is going to hurt.”

Then there was a quick flash of fire, and the stench of burned flesh and tea leaves and tobacco as they cauterized the cut with red luxin. Rud drummed his heels against the dirt and made a high-pitched whimper that trailed off quickly into deep, fast breaths.

One of the best boys in the class, Jun, came back into the square, pressing through the crowd. The next team was just about to leave, two skinny brothers who were in the bottom third of the scrubs.

Jun kept his voice down, but Teia heard him tell the brothers, “Don’t take Low Street. There’s a roadblock there. Twenty thugs, some of them armed. They already got Pip and Valor.”

Oh, lovely, that was where Teia was hoping to go. Well, that left only—

“Corbine Street’s blocked, too,” Jun’s partner Ular said.

Jun said, “The alleys through Weasel Rock looked clear, but they’re so narrow, two men could hold them.”

After making sure Rud was okay, and checking the wound, Trainer Fisk made his announcements again and handed the money to the Oros brothers.

“I’ve got a plan,” Teia said.

“Huh?” Kip said. “What is it?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “You’ll see.”

“Teia? Teia, you’re my partner. That means I’m
your
partner, too. You should tell me the plan.”

She grinned. “And spoil it for you?”

He glowered. “Fine, then. You have any food while I wait? I’m hungry.”

“No!”

“No, really, I am hungry. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“Don’t be thick,” she said.

Kip held his hands up to himself as if measuring his thickness. He sighed. “Can’t help myself.”

She cracked a grin despite herself. “Give me your coins, when we start.”