The Year of Our War (20 page)

“To hit a distant target one must aim high. I do support her, if she really means to relieve Tornado and the Lowespass fyrd.”

I was silent as what he said sank in. I examined the letters I had been writing to organize our operations; now everything had changed. I raised an eyebrow. “The Emperor needs Mist, because with Staniel on the throne, only Peregrine manor will keep you from taking over Awia.” Probably females have nothing to do with it, I thought.

“No! Since Mist owns Peregrine? No! How
dare
you? I suppose you don’t know. Listen. There is much you don’t know, Jant. Peregrine is my land, as well; the manorship was mine. Mist is no more Awian than you are. His family are lying thieves, they only aspire to what they cannot be.” He sighed, gave me a shrewd look. “It is hard to talk about the past,” he said. “So spare me. I had to sell Peregrine manorship in the Bad Years. I didn’t want my people to go hungry, and the coast was doing well. Shearwater had ships that brought us supplies. I lost Tambrine, and Donaise was completely deserted. I put vineyards there, where there had been houses, which is how I managed to buy Tambrine back. The Insects destroyed it last month…

“Shearwater kept Peregrine, although I pleaded for him to return it…
If you stick that needle in your arm again I’ll thrash you!
”

“I, uh, wasn’t going to. Would you like a coffee?”

“Please. And light the bloody fire; it’s cold as an Insect’s backside in here. What I am trying to convey is that the Shearwaters have always been opportunistic parasites without an ounce of morality between them. Thank you. Peregrine Micawater was my eldest brother. There were eight of us, and I had one sister. Peregrine was a traveler, he was a little like you in that way. He was a brilliant archer also. He visited Hacilith, and saw the Emperor’s birthplace. He spent most of his time at the coast, where he built a mansion that we called Peregrine. It was under his orders that ships were first built, in order for him to sail between the islands. Previously Awia had no fleet. My brother wished for Awian ships to be the best in the world. Hence we have Awndyn, and the Aver-Falconets, and Shearwater, all owing to the power of ships.

“When Mother died Micawater was willed to Peregrine. I was in the Circle by then but to give the Palace directly to me would have caused some unrest. Besides, I was slightly out of favor with my mother’s side of the family. He kept the lands well, although I realize his heart was sold to the ocean. Just like Ata. He added to the Palace as much as he could, because he knew that before he died, he would give it to me. And I could preserve it forever. I saw them all grow old and die or slain by Insects; Shira, you have not had that agony.

“My second eldest brother was still alive. He believed that he was next in line, and he wanted the Palace. Peregrine declined to give it to him. He did not respect Peregrine’s wishes, and asked me for it. I refused and we had a terrible row. I said he was responsible for killing my sister. I regret that. His family changed their name.

“Shearwater Mist refused to bring his betrothed with him when he came to the Circle, believing he could have an eternity of young lovers, the selfish bastard. Now he goes through life with none at all, and serve him right!”

Lightning stopped, and gazed at me. He had been on a rush; the past’s a drug for him. He did the weird gesture with his arrow hand again, the scar showing like a white ribbon.

I shrugged. “We should be fighting Insects, and not each other.”

“God, I like you, Jant. So deep and meaningful. Fighting for Ata’s cause might be the only way to beat them.”

“You love her, don’t you?” I was rolling the sleeve back on my other arm.

“Not properly. It’s all right, go ahead. Do it.”

“What?”

“Oh well. You treated Swallow, and you need a rest. Can I stop you?”

“It’s more relief than reward,” I said, but Lightning had removed the thrill of guilt. I put the syringe down, still loaded.

He was digging in a pocket of his embroidered red coat. “I have here a letter from Ata to her husband,” he said, offering me a square envelope addressed with very feminine script. “I hardly wish to speak to him, so I would be grateful if you would deliver it.”

“Where do I find him? Harcourt?”

“In the Hospital. Rayne is mending his broken ribs.”

“Oh,
Saker
!”

“Nobody draws a sword to me, Comet. You should know that by now.”

Lightning seemed more lighthearted now that he had unburdened himself of a piece of history. He left, full of thanks, asking to see me soon. He thought he had an ally in support of Ata. He strode down the spiral stairs, and away in the direction of the stables. I shut the door, barred it, and began to fill the hopper of my still with fresh water. I had to figure out a way to steam this letter open.

I
nsects were advancing into Tanager and Wrought manors. Tern told me that the Wrought people were packing and moving out along the coast to Hacilith. I directed ten fyrd divisions to Eleonora Tanager, and sent a letter from the Emperor advizing her to move west, and telling her how best to protect the people.

Next, I wondered how I could stop all this talk of caravels and fortunes. I wanted to stop Mist and Ata destroying each other when the Empire needed them both. And I would rather have a blow job from an Insect than go anywhere near a ship.

I sorted out clothes, soap, and a massive meal of inoffensive things that I would hopefully be able to keep down, and then went to court, where I discovered that San had no inclination to stop Ata’s Challenge. Then I flew to the Simurgh Passage and, hanging on a convenient breeze to the entertainment of quadrangle people, I figured out which windows were Lightning’s, and which one of those had the curtains drawn. I landed on its windowsill, and tapped on the glass.

Ata’s face appeared disembodied between the curtains. She swept them open and wrestled with the catch. One cheek was swollen and purple; her lower lip was split in the center, a wide red gash. The face that launched a thousand ships. She was pallid and looked ghostly, but the fire of resentment in her eyes would have fueled hundreds of phantoms. “Queen of Ships,” I said, looking with horror at the bruises her makeup could not conceal. “Did Mist do this to you? I’ll kill him myself!”

“Yes, he did, but there’s nothing you can do.”

Not face to face, perhaps, but I can put him and his fyrd in a bad position when we next fight Insects. I can talk Rayne into giving him some really nasty potions.

I produced the letter. “I’m just checking that you still want me to deliver this.”

“Aye,” she said, her mouth twisting.

“I just have a slight feeling—call it a hunch—that you might have been very angry when you wrote it.”

“How—?”

“In fact, never since you were a fledgling in gingham have you written such a furious letter.”

“I—”

“A letter so sharp you could gut fish with it. A note, succinct, but boiling with such execration and castigation that it would mean conflict between husband and wife, all-out civil war as well as Insect war in Peregrine, havoc and carnage and a fight to the death.”

“Come back when the drugs wear off,” she said.

“So you don’t regret it?” I asked. “You know him well, and you understand the effect that words such as might be contained in this letter would have on him. You’re calling his bluff, or mine; that’s fine, I only live here—” The platinum blonde reached out and pushed me off the ledge. My spread wings caught like hooks on the steady wind and I hung there, on a level with her teary eyes, slipping the note into my jacket.

“Give him it!” she spat. “You’re afraid of everything! Jant, the Emperor encouraged me. Why is Shearwater being so obstructive? Because it proves I’m a better Sailor! He’s a sea trader, doesn’t consider the opportunities that being a river rat might bring—I can do both! Frost says it’s possible, theoretically on a spring tide. She’s the best architectural engineer there is; she uses the river to control Insects, her maps are very reliable.”

“Ata, that means we only have ten days. It’ll be hard to mobilize enough fyrd, but I’ll try.”

“Nothing will stop me.”

I nodded. “Lady Dei, I beg you to give me one more command. Would you like me to fly to Grass Isle and ensure the Sute Towers are yours? I can ask Bittern Diw to lay in supplies.”

The ghost gleam in her eyes became searchlight strong. “Aye.” She beamed. “I’ll never trust you, though. Come back tonight and there’ll be letters ready.”

“Can’t wait,” I said, angling my wings so I was flung straight up, like a kite. The wall sped away, shrank, and soon I was looking at the moss-green Castle roofs. Now I knew something that the Archer didn’t; how dare he say, “You deserve an explanation”! I had to know more than him about what was going on; it was a heavy habit to feed.

S
hearwater Mist was the only man in the Hospital, so he was receiving Rayne’s attention in full. I think she was inventing things to do to him. I had been the subject of her experimentation before, with my Rhydanne need for eight-thousand-meter-altitude air and my heart rate that goes down below fifty. I knew how thorough Rayne could be. She showed me where he was, sitting up in a starched white-sheeted bed. Gray eyes watched me woefully; he breathed through a dry, open mouth, little sips like a dying animal. Gray chest hairs like wires poked over the bandages. The bandages were wound around his muscular chest under his white shirt and pale yellow cravat. Rayne must have stood on him to pull them that tight. “Hello, waif,” he gasped. “You’re looking smart. I should have dressed up. Beggars. Choosers.”

“I’m not staying long,” I said. “I am here to give you a letter from Ata. She requires no immediate answer.” I handed him the envelope, checked my exits and stood well back. It lay on Mist’s injured leg, looking tiny. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Jant,” he sighed, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Never—”

“That this happened to me. Pride. Fall. Lightning is a quite excellent swordsman. When Rayne lets me leave here I’ll confront him again. This time without such an audience. Flies. Shite.”

I was nettled but kept calm. “On the other hand if you want a neutral go-between, I’d be happy to oblige,” I offered, dodging his sundial nose as he shook his head.

“Horse. Water. You’re known for disobedience, and I should think that Lightning has told you his side of the story by now.”

“He has.”

“I hate him. Him and his bloody hunger to call all Awia ‘Micawater’ and leave none for the rest of us. Dog. Manger. The problem is people believe the richer side to every argument. I know I have no support. He’s greedy and loud; though I keep stating my case no one listens. Head. Wall.”

“I would preferably describe him as acquisitive not esurient.”

“What?”

“I understand your side to the story. It’s far more reasonable than Lightning’s.”

“Really?”

“I looked it up. He sold Peregrine to your father in the drought of the 1580s. It seems a fair deal to me. In fact it’s despicable to bear a grudge for so long; it’s affecting his judgment. Everybody knows how fiercely Lightning conserves Micawater, believing he owes it to his family. I had no family, so I don’t understand his need. The other issue doesn’t concern me. I’m Rhydanne. We’re not fond of prying. What you and Ata do is between yourselves.”

“Yes.” The wedding ring on his index finger, a battered stripe of gold. “At least I
had
a wife. Bird. Hand.”

I gave him the thin benefit of a cat-eyed stare. He couldn’t meet it. When I was in Hacilith I always avoided eye contact. I dropped my gaze to the floor when passing men in the street. I craved obscurity, knowing that they would gape in amazement, or throw names and stones after me. Now, difference seems to be a source of power.

“Can I rely on you to join me against the Insects?”

“Of course, waif. By land, out of Rachiswater. Safety. Numbers.”

I said, “Now you sound like Staniel.”

“He’s a fool but he’s a King,” Mist said, regret in his veteran smoker’s voice. “Who’s to say he won’t be a fool with Eszai behind him? It’s our best base to strike north; he has over fifty thousand men in Rachis town. I have the future of my manor in mind. I don’t want it to suffer Staniel’s displeasure. One hand for yourself and one for the ship, as they say in Diw.”

Mist coughed, and winced. “Jant, why won’t San trust me? Live longest. See most. I told him, about seven meters’ depth is what you need, and you don’t get such margin in a river. An unloaded caravel draws five meters in salt water; loaded, and in fresh water they displace more, of course. San listened to Ata because she’s loud, not because she’s right. Squeaky wheel. Grease. The Oriole bay’s all tide races and sand bars. Ships above five hundred tonnes don’t enter, they discharge at Summerday. These are ocean-going caravels, not bloody barges. Book. Cover. They’re fouled with weed and all kind of dross; they’ll drag in a river current like they had sail underwater. If Ata tries it she’ll be beached, drowned or torn to bits by Insects. But, desperate diseases. Desperate remedies; no one will dare Challenge me again.”

I told Mist that was why I was here. Ata seemed very angry with you, I said. I seem to remember she has fyrd in Diw, as well as on Grass Isle at the moment. I finished these musings with a suggestion: “Should I order her fyrd to Awndyn? I’m sure you would rather not face three thousand Islanders if things get rough.”

Shearwater thought for a while. “Do it,” he said.

“At your word. Is there anything else?”

“Er. No. Not yet, waif. Thank you.”

I made my way out of the Hospital as his nicotine-stained fingers began tearing at Ata’s envelope. I resisted an urge to dash, but found myself walking faster and faster, with ever-longer strides until I reached the relative safety of the bleached white corridor. I paused there, head on one side, and a scream then a stream of abuse and cursing in Plainslands ricocheted down the corridor and burst around me like flame. Sailor’s swearing could melt lead.