Tentacles tickled his right cheek as Shuffles checked his expression. “DARK,” the Elderspawn said, in its version of a whisper.
Inexplicably, even this presence—the presence of something that had just been giving him waking nightmares—settled him down. He reached up, letting the tendrils curl around his index finger. “Yeah, it’s dark. But we’re free, now. We’ve made it.”
Shuffles grumbled, not caring for his optimism.
The tenth and final passenger of The Testament stomped over to Calder, eyeing the Elderspawn through one pair of spectacles. Duster had declined space in a cabin, choosing to sleep on deck.
“You seem to like Elders, for somebody who doesn’t treat their worshipers so well.”
“‘Through understanding, we control the unknown,’” Calder said. “That’s one of the Blackwatch creeds.”
Duster grunted. “I’ve been checking your cannons.”
“And?”
“Lend me your shoulder, and I’ll push them into the water right now.”
Calder was too tired to laugh, and his limbs felt hollow. Nonetheless, he managed a weak smile. “Only had to use them once, and it turns out we didn’t need them.”
“Not too many naval battles among Navigators, I’d guess.”
“We don’t need the cannons for ships,” Calder said. “I’m more worried about other things of a similar size.”
“THINGS,” Shuffles rumbled.
Duster tugged on his beard before he spoke, avoiding Calder’s eyes. “You know, I was just passing through Silverreach.”
“Then you have Nakothi’s own timing.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have anywhere in particular to go. Give me meals, a bunk, a few silvermarks when we go ashore, and room to work, and I can take care of your cannon problem. Might be able to upgrade the rest of your equipment while I’m at it.” He flicked his hand at the pistol Calder wore as though brushing away dirt.
Calder all but froze, like a man afraid to startle a deer back into the woods. “We could use a gunner, as long as you can hit an Elder the size of a whale at a hundred paces.”
Duster snorted. “Son, at a hundred paces, I could shave you clean.”
Shuffles chuckled into Calder’s ear. “CLEEEEAAAANNN.”
“That’s a disturbing image, Duster, and I’ll thank you not to repeat it. And I’ll have to consult with the crew, such as they are, in the morning. That said…” He stuck out a hand for Duster to shake. “I expect nothing but a favorable response. Without you, we’d still be on dry land.”
The older man hid a smile behind his beard, but it quickly vanished. He didn’t take Calder’s hand. “One more thing you ought to know. I don’t intend to go into the hows and whys of it, so don’t ask, but I’ve never trusted the Guilds. Nor the Empire, and I have my reasons. As for the Emperor…let’s say that your Luminian wouldn’t like what I have to say about him.”
“Mr. Duster, believe me when I say that you are free to speak ill of the Emperor on this deck. Andel’s asleep now, anyway.”
“Keeping it polite, the Emperor is as distant and malicious as any Elder. Were it in my power, I’d see him stripped naked and quartered in the heart of the Capital at dawn tomorrow, and I’d take a saw to him with a smile on my face.”
Duster had stone in his eyes, as though daring Calder to contradict him.
After a few seconds, Calder let out a laugh and extended his hand again. “Welcome aboard The Testament, Mr. Duster. I can see we’ll get along.”
The older man shook, bewilderment on his face. An instant later, he was the one to hesitate. “And about this ‘Duster’ business, well…that’s not exactly my given name.”
Calder staggered back in an exaggerated display of shock. “What? Off the plank with you!”
Unamused, Duster plowed on. “I’m trying not to spread it around, so keep it to yourself, but I used to be from the Capital.”
“I’ll tuck that away in my vest and hold it there. You can trust me never to divulge that you were from the most populous city in the world.”
“…where I was a gunsmith,” he continued, ignoring what Calder considered perfectly delivered humor. “Name of Dalton Foster.”
Calder suddenly knew how his ship felt, snapped to a halt by the unbreakable grasp of the Lyathatan’s chains. He stood speechless for a moment before saying, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
“Yep.”
Of the dozen questions floating around in his mind, he only had the presence of mind to blurt out one. “Are you sure you want to work for me?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Any Reader can investigate the truth of a crime, or the history of an artifact. But the experience of a Reader is singular, and the rest of us must take their reports on faith. It becomes vital, therefore, that an organization exists to vouch for the veracity of its Readers and to keep those Readers under close scrutiny and control.
For with the exception of the Emperor himself, it should not be that Readers rule over the rest of the populace by virtue of their extra-natural powers.
“As your first official address as Imperial Steward,” Teach said, “you’ll be explaining to the upper crust of the Capital why there’s a crack in the sky. Here are your notes.”
Somewhat numb, Calder took the sheet of paper from Teach even as a flurry of servants draped layers of shimmering green cloth around him. Like this, he looked more like the Emperor than ever; they’d even found a thick silver chain to loop around his neck, a reminder of the jewelry that the original Emperor had always worn.
For the first time, he wished the Emperor was still around. Calder could use some advice, or at least some more information.
Looking up, he could see the crack. It was a jagged line in the center of the clear sky, like a black lightning bolt, making it look like they were all underneath a great sky-blue eggshell.
“You know, ancient scholars believed that the sky was a dome,” Calder said, staring upward and ignoring the speech in his hands. “They determined that it spun around the earth, with the sun on one side and the stars on the other. Now, we know it’s a layer of gas around our planet…and then it cracks.”
Teach crashed her gauntleted hands together, glaring at him with ice-blue eyes. “Focus. These people are highly educated and influential, but they’re as panicked as anyone else. It’s your job to reassure them.”
“I’m starting to wonder if the ancient superstitions were right. Would they find that reassuring, do you think?”
Mekendi Maxeus, Head of the Magisters, burst in the dressing-room, his gray staff in one hand. He turned from Teach to Calder. “They’ve gathered, sir Steward.” No one was actually clear on the appropriate form of address for Calder, but Maxeus had apparently settled on ‘sir Steward.’
Teach looked to the clock on a nearby mantle. “They’re early.”
“They’re frightened. If there was just something sitting in the sky, we could pass it off as a rare astronomical phenomenon, but the entire city shook when it appeared. Perhaps more than just the city. They know it’s Elders, and this is our opportunity to show them that we are the ones defending them, not the Regents.”