"Jean, I would describe this turn of events as less than helpful,1 said Locke, and he looked as though he might say more, except that Jean's opponent chose that moment to take Jean's advice.
It felt to Locke as if sweat was now cascading down his face, as though his own treacherous moisture was abandoning the premises before anything worse happened.
"There. Three on one."Jean spat on the pier. "You gave me no choice but to cut a deal with the employer of these gentlemen before we set out — gods damn it, you forced me. I'm sorry. I thought thed'r make contact before they drew down on us. Now give your weapon over." "Jean, what the hell do you think you're—"
"Don't. Don't say another fucking thing. Don't try to finesse me; I know you too well to let you have your say. Silence, Locke. Finger off the trigger and hand it over.""
Locke stared at the steel-tipped point of Jean's quarrel, his mouth open in disbelief. The world around him faded to that tiny, gleaming point, alive with the orange reflection of the inferno blazing in the anchorage behind him. Jean would have given him a hand signal if he were lying… where the hell was the hand signal? "I don't believe this," he whispered. "This is impossible."
"This is the last time I'm going to say this, Locke." Jean ground his teeth together and held his aim steady, directly between Locke's eyes. "Take your finger off the trigger and hand over your gods-damned weapon. Right now."
BOOK III
CARDS ON THE TABLE
"I am hard pressed on my right; my centre is giving way; situation excellent. I am attacking."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Scourging The Sea of Brass
1
Jaffrim Rodanov waded in the shallows by the hull of an overturned fishing boat, listening to the waves break against its shattered planks as they washed over his ankles. The sand and water of Prodigal Bay were pristine this far from the city. No layers of night soil slimed the water, no rusting metal scraps or pottery shards littered the bottom. No corpses floated as grim rafts for squawking birds.
Twilight, on the seventh day of Aurim. Drakasha gone for a week now. A thousand miles away, Jaffrim thought, a mistake was being made.
Ydrena whistled. She was leaning against the hull of the abandoned fishing boat, neither too close nor too far from him, merely emphasizing by her presence that Rodanov was not alone, and that his attendance at this meeting was known to his crew. Jacquelaine Colvard had arrived.
She left her first mate beside Ydrena, shrugged out of her own boots and waded into the water without hiking up her breeches. Old and unbent Colvard, who'd been sacking ships in these waters when he'd been a boy with his nose buried in musty scrolls. Before he'd even seen a ship that wasn't inked onto a sheet of parchment. "Jaffrim," she said. "Thank you for humouring me."
"There's only one thing you could want to talk about at the moment," said Rodanov. "Yes. And it's on your mind too, isn't it?" "It was a mistake to give Drakasha our oaths." "Was it?"
Rodanov hooked his thumbs into his sword-belt and looked down at the darkening water, the ripples where his pale ankles vanished into it. "I was generous when I should have been cynical."
"So you fancy yourself the only one who had the power to forbid this?" "I could have withheld my oath."
"But then it would have been four against one, with you as the one," said Colvard, "and Drakasha would have gone north looking over her shoulder all the way." Rodanov felt a cold excitement in his gut.
"I" ve noticed curious things, these past few days," she continued. "Your crew has been spending less time in the city. You" ve been taking on water. And I" ve seen you on your quarterdeck, testing your instruments. Checking your backstaffs."
His excitement rose. Out here alone, had she come to confront him or abet him? Could she be mad enough to put herself in his reach, if it was the former? "You know, then," he said at last. "Yes." "Do you intend to talk me out of it?" "I intend to see that it's done right." "Ah." "You have someone aboard the Poison Orchid, don't you?"
Though taken aback, Rodanov found himself in no mood to dissemble. "If you'll tell me how you know," he said, "I won't insult you by denying it."
"It was an educated guess. After all, you tried to place someone aboard my ship once."
"Ah," he said, sucking air through his teeth. "So Riela didn't die in a boat accident after all." "Yes and no," said Colvard. "It happened in a boat, at least." "Do you—"
"Blame you? No. You're a cautious man, Jaffrim, as I am a fundamentally cautious woman. It's our shared caution that brings us here this evening." "Do you want to come with me?"
"No," said Colvard. "And my reasons are practical. First, that the Sovereign is ready for sea while the Draconic is not. Second, that two of us putting out together would cause… an inconvenient degree of speculation, when Drakasha fails to return."
"There'll be speculation regardless. And there'll be confirmation. My crew won't bite their tongues for ever." "But anything could have happened, to bring one and one together on the high seas," said Colvard. "If we put out in a squadron, collusion will be the only reasonable explanation."
"And I suppose it's just coincidence," said Jaffrim, "that even several days since you first spotted my preparations, the Draconic still isn't ready for sea?" "Well—"
"Spare me, Jacquelaine. I was ready to do this alone before we came here tonight. Just don't imagine that you" ve somehow finessed me into going in your place."
"Jaffrim. Peace. So long as this arrow hits the target, it doesn't matter who pulls back the string." She unbound her grey hair and let it fly free about her shoulders in the muggy breeze. "What are your intentions?"
"Obvious, I should think. Find her. Before she does enough damage to give Stragos what he wants."
"And should you run her down, what then? Polite messages, broadside to broadside?" "A warning. A last chance."
"An ultimatum for Drakasha}" Her frown turned every line on her face near-vertical. "Jaffrim, you know too well how she'll react to any threat: like a netted shark. If you try to get close to a creature in that state, you'll lose a hand." "A fight, then. I suppose we both know it'll come to that." "And the outcome of that fight?"
"My ship is the stronger and I have eighty more souls to spare. It won't be pretty, but I intend to make it mathematical." "Zamira slain, then." "That's what tends to happen—" "Assuming you allow her the courtesy of death in battle." "Allow?"
"Consider," said Colvard, "that while Zamira's course of action is too dangerous to tolerate, her logic was impeccable in one respect." "And that is?"
"Merely killing her, plus this Ravelle and Valora, would only serve to bandage a wound that already festers. The rot will deepen. We need to sate Maxilan Stragos's ambition, not just foil it temporarily."
"Agreed. But I'm losing my taste for subtlety as fast as I'm depleting my supply, Colvard. I'm going to be blunt with Drakasha. Grant me the same courtesy." "Stragos needs a victory not for the sake of his own vanity, but to rouse the people of his city. If that victory is lurking in the waters near Tal Verrar, and if that victory is colourful enough, what need would he have to trouble us down here?"
"We put a sacrifice on the altar," Rodanov whispered. "We put Zamira on the altar."
"After Zamira does some damage. After she raises just enough hell to panic the city. If the notorious pirate, the infamous rogue Zamira Drakasha, with a five-thousand-solari bounty on her head, were to be paraded through Tal Verrar in chains… brought to justice so quickly after foolishly challenging the city once again—"