Relic said, “My tale is difficult to believe, yet I know you have a Truthspeaker among you. Bring me to him, so he may judge the veracity of my words.”
“Why don’t you try your story on me first?” said Blade.
Relic nodded. “Very well. I am the sole survivor of the Vanished Kingdom. When I was young, a great nation had tamed this island. From shore to shore the land supported vibrant cities. Our harbors sheltered armadas of trade ships that brought treasures from the far reaches of the world. Truly, it was a golden age.”
Blade smirked. “I’ll give you credit for imagination. But, assuming you are thirty centuries old, how does this make you an asset for our mission?”
“This quest has been set in motion by the discovery of a map. I am the author of this document. I was an engineer for the king during the construction of what is now referred to as the Shattered Palace.”
Blade studied the ragged figure before him with a more critical eye. Even I was taking another look at Relic. Was he telling the truth?
“How is it that you have survived all these years?” Blade asked.
“Modern men are not the only ones to have gods,” said Relic. “The gods in those days were far more active in the affairs of this world. They would travel the kingdoms, disguised as men, granting favors to those who were kind, curses to those who were cruel. The god I met gave me eternal life; alas, he was not so kind as to grant me eternal youth.”
Blade rubbed his chin, contemplating Relic’s words. The invisible woman now stood beside Relic, staring at his burlap-covered face. Blade gave the slightest nod and the woman raised her hands to grab the cloth, no doubt to pull it away.
Relic said, “It would be unwise for your companion to touch me.”
The woman halted. Blade looked impressed. “You can see the Whisper?”
Relic nodded. “I’ve learned many arcane arts during the endless parade of centuries.”
“So you know a little magic,” said Blade. The Whisper’s hands still lingered only inches from the hood. She looked to Blade for further cues. “I still don’t see why we shouldn’t just pull your mask off to see what you truly are.”
“An understandable desire,” said Relic. “Alas, long ago, I contracted a disease that causes flesh to wither and rot. It cannot kill me due to my curse, but it has disfigured me horribly. I’m not contagious as long as my scabs are closed. Much of my garb is adhered to my skin. Tearing it free could expose others to the illness.”
“I see,” said Blade, as the Whisper backed away. “That certainly makes the thought of sharing a camp with you appealing.”
“I’m a difficult companion. But my knowledge outweighs the risks. Currently you have a map. With me, you shall have a living atlas.”
Blade finally turned his gaze toward Infidel, who stood quietly on the shore. “And who… or what… is that?”
Menagerie grinned ever so slightly at Blade’s confusion. Infidel couldn’t be tattooed; no needle could penetrate her skin. Still, Menagerie knew a thing or two about pygmy dyes. From scalp to toe, Infidel’s skin was now a pale silver-blue, looking more like metal than flesh. Her limbs were concealed beneath skin-tight leather armor, though her torso was mostly bare save for the shiny steel bra. Her face was also naked, though bold black dyes created the illusion of a mask around her eyes. Menagerie had assured Relic the pigments would last for weeks without streaking or smearing.
“This is my War Doll,” said Relic. “As an educated man, you may know that the engineers of the Vanished Kingdom have no peers in today’s world. We crafted clockwork animals that mimicked life in every way, only with skeletons of steel instead of fragile bone, muscles of wire instead of meat, and veins pumping oil instead of water.”
Infidel stared silently at Blade. The greatest flaw of her disguise was that to play the role of a machine, she would need to remain mute, and keep her face passive. A quiet, unexpressive Infidel was impossible for me to imagine.
Relic continued: “The men of my time were as blood-thirsty as the people of today. We constructed machines in the likeness of men to fight as gladiators in our arenas.”
Blade furrowed his brow. “I would hardly call this the likeness of a man.”
“We were lustful as well as blood-thirsty,” said Relic. “It pleased the king to watch women in mortal combat. The War Doll, and others like her, were far more resilient than a true woman. Her performances could entertain the king for hours on end.”
Blade looked skeptical. But he wasn’t the one who gave voice to doubt. Instead, it was Menagerie who said, “I’m not buying it. This is obviously just a painted woman. You can see her breathing!”
Relic placed his hand on the small of Infidel’s back and pushed her forward. “The engines within the War Doll produce heat. She inhales and exhales air to maintain an optimal operating temperature. When she’s active, she will appear to sweat; this is partially for cooling and partially aesthetics. She’s been designed to mimic life in the finest detail.”
“This is the biggest load of garbage I’ve ever heard,” said Menagerie.
“You have the power to ensure our veracity,” said Relic, ignoring Menagerie and addressing Blade. “Bring us to the Truthspeaker.”
“We don’t need to waste his time,” said Menagerie. He reached over to Ivory Blade and drew the dagger the albino carried on his belt. Before anyone could blink, Menagerie threw the blade with a grunt. The tip struck Infidel directly at the base of her throat, in what should have been a killing blow. The dagger bounced off, landing on the pebbles before her. She continued to stare impassively, not displaying the slightest discomfort.
Relic clapped his hands. “Demonstrate your strength.”
Infidel leaned over and picked up the blade. She thrust the edge into her mouth, clamping down on it with her pearly teeth, then biting through the steel before dropping the dagger. She spit out a half-moon fragment of metal. It clattered on the pebbles beside the damaged blade.
Menagerie stared, slack-jawed.
“What is your opinion now?” asked Relic.
Menagerie cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I’m not getting paid to offer opinions. I’ll shut up.”
The Whisper knelt and picked up the dagger and the wedge that had been bitten from it. She returned it to Blade, who sighed as he tapped the matching pieces together. “This was my favorite dagger,” he said, sadly. He gave Menagerie a stern look. “This will come out of your pay.”
“I insist on it,” said the tattooed man.
Blade gave Infidel one more long stare, before looking down at Relic. “I’ll probably regret this, but you’ve earned your audience with Father Ver.”
Blade led us further back into the cave, toward a broad circle of sunlight. A section of the roof had collapsed, leaving a large shaft to the sky. Blood-tangle vines hung from above, their leaves swaying in the wind. The rise and fall of the lagoon turned the cave into a bellows, with air flowing in and out through the shaft in gushes. The breeze and the sunlight made this area of the cavern less dank. It was here that the king’s men had made their camp.
I watched as the Whisper slipped into one of the tents to alert Father Ver. She moved with such grace that the tent flap showed only the slightest flutter. Still, since it had moved, I deduced she wasn’t intangible. That ruled out the chance she might possibly be another ghost.
Blade led us to the center of the circle and motioned that we should wait. Reeker wandered over to a large boulder at the edge of the sunlight. He reached into his jacket and produced a cigar as thick as Aurora’s index finger. He flicked a match against the rough stone. The tip sputtered to life — then was just as quickly extinguished as the Whisper leaned down from the top of the boulder and snuffed the match between her fingers.
“What are you doing?” Ivory Blade cried as he ran toward Reeker.
“Catching a quick smoke?” Reeker said, looking at his dead match with puzzlement.