More than one of the great classical philosophers had words of praise for the Consultants. If he could get one on his side, even if the rest of their Guild opposed him, that could be a huge advantage.
A distant door slammed open, and booted feet pounded down the hallway, toward Calder’s room. Meia eased the door shut, sliding away and over to the window. “Imperial Guards. They’ll take you somewhere safe.”
“Wait!” Calder called before she vanished. She froze, one foot on the open windowsill. “Why leave?”
She looked at him like he was asking why she sharpened her knives. “For the same reason I disappeared aboard your ship. Our Guilds are in conflict, and maybe soon open war. If they catch me here, they’ll try to take me into custody, and I’ll have to kill them.”
The boots were closer to his door now, and raised voices had begun to call his name. He motioned for her to stay where she was. “Stay there. Don’t leave.”
She gave him a doubtful look.
“Trust me. Please.”
He walked to the center of the room, casually putting himself between the door and Meia. If he wasn’t mistaken, they would jump to conclusions any second now.
Sure enough, a Guard with massive lion paws for feet kicked the door in a second later, brandishing a musket and bayonet in his hands. He looked past Calder and gave a shout, leveling his gun.
Calder showed his empty palms. “Lower your weapon, Guardsman.”
“Move out of the way, sir!” the man shouted, stepping forward as though to move Calder physically out of the way.
Calder walked into him voluntarily, so that the bayonet rested at the end of his chest. The Guard jerked the weapon away hastily. “This woman saved my life. He tried to kill me.” He jerked his thumb toward the Champion’s corpse.
More Guards poured into the room, and two immediately checked the body for vitals. “Slit throat,” one said.
“Champion,” the second responded.
“Good point.”
Together, they drew swords and hacked the limbs from the man’s body. Shivering, Calder turned away. “Excuse me, my friend and I would like to be taken somewhere else. I’m not feeling particularly safe in here, for some reason.”
The Guard’s gaze hardened when it moved over Calder’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir, we need to ask her some questions. Standing orders.”
“Why’s that?”
“She’s a Consultant, sir. One of the enemy.”
“Ah, I can see your confusion.” He stepped back, presenting Meia with one arm outstretched. “She’s not a Consultant at all. She’s a Navigator. A member of my crew, in fact, my new…cook.”
Meia’s eyes were back to a human blue, and she stared at him as though she could focus hard enough to Read his Intent. Maybe she could; was she a Reader? He had no idea. But if she was a Reader and a trained assassin and a warrior with enough enhancements to fight toe-to-toe with Urzaia Woodsman, that just wouldn’t be fair.
The Guard looked uneasy. Calder took advantage, pressing him while he was uncomfortable. “Let’s go, Guardsman. Lead me and my cook to safety.” He held a hand to his temple against a throb of sudden pain. “And a medical alchemist, as soon as possible. I’d like to kill this pain yesterday, if that can be arranged.”
While the Guard was uncertain when faced with Meia, he knew exactly what to do with an injured ally. They practically carried him down the hall, sending for the palace alchemists, and Meia followed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Half a year after delivering Urzaia to the arena, Calder was finally starting to learn his way around the ship. He could furl the sail without tangling it nine times out of ten, and he could steer his way through a predatory coral reef without putting his hand on the wheel.
More importantly, Jerri had taken to the work of a pilot—she scanned the horizon, charted their course, studied their position by the stars, and logged whatever deadly creature or impossible phenomenon they encountered during the day. She enjoyed, as she called it, “planning a safe route through an endless maze of horror and death.”
Calder had even grown used to the two monsters in his life: the Lyathatan and Andel. The Elderspawn, it turned out, existed in a perpetual state of malice and burning frustration. It had very little to do with anything Calder did. So long as he allowed the creature to snag the occasional shark and otherwise let it sleep, he and the Lyathatan remained on good terms. He still got the impression that it was plotting something ominous at all times, and that its service to Calder was but one step in some insidious game, but he was beginning to realize that its game wouldn’t end for another few centuries at least. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that.
Andel was a little trickier to handle, in some ways. The problem was, he was just too useful. He tended to assume responsibility for every problem as soon as it arose, so he would often have fixed whatever-it-was before Calder was even aware. This undermined his authority in the eyes of the passengers, so Calder tried to take charge whenever possible.
But having a crew member who was too skilled was a good problem to have, especially when the total crew numbered precisely three. Calder conducted most everything related to the handling of the ship himself, but passengers still ended up working for the duration of their journey.
Except this passenger.
Mr. Valette looked like a schoolteacher. He was thin as a fence post, with expensive spectacles and long gray sideburns, and he had a tendency to frown at Calder as though expressing deep, heartfelt disappointment. Only one thing ruined the impression: his long, black coat.
He refused to work, refused even to acknowledge it when Calder asked him to carry a box or tighten a line. He would simply frown and walk away. The passenger seemed to spend most of his time scribbling in a journal, which he kept tucked away in the inner pocket of his coat.
Two weeks into the journey, Calder finally mustered up the courage to ask his passenger a question. “If you’ll pardon me asking, Mr. Valette, what does the Blackwatch need in the town of, ah…” He had to glance down at the log to remember the name of their destination. “…Silverreach?”
Mr. Valette slapped his journal closed, glaring at him. “I would pardon you asking, Captain Marten, but I doubt my Guild Head would do the same. She would be irritated with you, in fact. If you had ever met her, you would know how terrifying a prospect that is. So let’s keep our questions to ourselves, hm?”
Calder still had nightmares about his first meeting with Bliss, but he couldn’t admit that to this Watchman. Valette wasn’t the only one who preferred to avoid sensitive questions. “That’s understandable, Mr. Valette, and thank you for the warning. But considering the nature of your business, this information could affect the safety of everyone onboard. I wouldn’t want to run into any trouble with Elderspawn, after all.”
The passenger scratched at one of his sideburns, considering this. “I do not anticipate trouble,” he said at last. He slipped the journal into his coat, rising to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in my cabin. The weather does not look like it will be kind to ink and paper.”
Calder glanced up to the stormclouds, which rolled in a slow, spiraling whirlpool. There was a storm on its way, but it wouldn’t be likely to harm his book. Clouds like those meant that the rain would come in reverse.
He headed over to Jerri, who was slumped over the ship’s wheel, an expression of absolute boredom on her face.