‘Thinking?’ the girl said.
‘You’re not the brightest thing, are you?’
Mara paid them no heed. He picked up the staple punch and the scalp and calmly went to work on the Unmer patient’s head. The girl in the doorway looked positively sick, and it took a moment before she regained enough composure to form a mental reply.
This letter arrived for you, she said, holding out a soiled scrap of folded paper. An Ethugran fisherman brought it here. He’s waiting outside the palace. I think he expects some sort of payment for it.
Briana cast her mind out, but failed to sense the fisherman at all. He was no more psychic than a sewer rat, and therefore just as invisible to her from here. She took the letter and opened it.
To Sister Briana Marks:
My name is not important. I am a jailer in Ethugra who has recently, and legally, been granted incarceration rights to a powerful psychic. Given this person’s value to your Guild, I would be glad to hand them over in return for a finder’s fee of two hundred thousand gilders. If this is agreeable, please have a Guild representative (yellow-grade only) meet me at Averley Plaza on the 30th HR. I will find her.
Faithfully,
A Friend
‘Oh, this is extortion,’ she said. ‘Two hundred thousand gilders!’ She looked up at the girl. ‘How much did we pay for you?’
‘Nothing, Sister.’
‘Nothing,’ Briana confirmed. ‘You see how good we are at putting a precise value on talent?’
‘My parents thought it a great honour-’
‘Oh shut up,’ Briana said. ‘Your parents were lucky we didn’t have them executed for foisting you upon us. But this Ethugran jailer.. .’ she shook the letter in Mara’s face ‘… has the audacity to demand a fortune for a potential.’
‘Such is the world we live in,’ Mara said wearily.
‘We will war upon the Haurstaf,’ the Unmer patient added.
Briana growled. ‘Snip something, Torturer, please.’ Did they have any representatives in Ethugra? She broadcast the question to every psychic in the palace, and they answer came back at once: No.
She’d have to send someone.
But who?
As she gazed at the letter, thinking, she noticed something else. Somebody had scrawled something, very faintly, across the bottom margin. At first she’d taken the scribble to be a stain, but now that she looked closer she could definitely make out the words. They looked like they had been written in brine. There was a date, and a name. And she recognized the name.
Briana smiled. Hu would recognize that name too and pay the Guild a considerable sum to learn of its owner’s whereabouts. Prepare a carriage for me, she said to the girl. I’m leaving the palace at once.
‘Yes, sister.’
‘Wait,’ Briana added. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll arrange it myself.’ She gave the girl a long, clinical look and then turned to Mara. ‘Torturer, I was just thinking. Is it really necessary to let the emperor know the results of this anatomical exploration? I mean, aren’t we just fuelling his prejudices? Wouldn’t he be happier, deep down, if he believed that the Haurstaf – and by extension all humans – are completely unrelated to the Unmer?’
The Torturer made a gesture of non-committal. ‘He’s not convinced the Haurstaf are human. I believe his favoured term is brine mutants, although he has been known to use the phrase inhuman parasites. Of course, when he’s really angry he-’
‘Yes, yes,’ Briana said. ‘But look at that pretty little creature at the door. Does she look like a mutant to you?’
‘Of course not,’ Mara replied.
‘Then you agree. Keeping Hu in the dark would be beneficial for all concerned. Think of it as propagating peace and harmony between our communities.’
Mara grunted. ‘I’d be risking my position in his court.’
‘We’d compensate you for that.’ Briana inclined her head towards the young girl in the doorway. ‘I could offer you the opportunity to do a little more anatomical research?’
The girl glanced from the torturer to Briana. ‘Sister?’
Mara looked the young witch up and down, stroking his chin.
‘In more comfortable surroundings,’ Briana added. ‘You must stay as our guest for a few more nights. I insist.’
‘Hu’s gone to Lorimare for the summer,’ Mara said. ‘I could actually delay my return by several weeks.’
‘Take months if you like.’
The girl was turning red. ‘I will not,’ she said.
‘You absolutely will,’ Briana said.
The girl burst into tears and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.
A moment of silence passed before Briana said, ‘So ungrateful. We take them from the fields and slums, train them up and offer them a life of luxury and ease, and this is how they repay us. I blame the parents.’
‘Such is the world,’ Mara muttered. ‘Shall we just say five thousand then?’
Briana took his arm and led him away. ‘Let’s not discuss money,’ she said. ‘It’s so vulgar.’
The steel motor launch moved between the ships in the bay. Maskelyne followed her progress from a high window in his castle. He lost sight of her as she passed behind the older of his two Valcinder dredgers, the Lamp, and then spotted her again rounding the vessel’s bow. She was battered and rusty. From up here he could not make out her name or the name of her port painted on the hull, but he heard her engine rattling. He guessed she was from Ethugra. She looked like a jailer’s boat.
‘Is it Hu?’ his wife Lucille asked.
‘No.’
‘But it’s heading for our house dock.’
Maskelyne smiled. ‘The emperor would rather submit to torture than be seen aboard a tub like that,’ he said. ‘I suspect this is our Mr Creedy, come to negotiate his partnership share.’
She wilted against his shoulder and murmured in his ear: ‘Or maybe it’s your secret lover.’
Maskelyne raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Creedy is not my secret lover.’
‘I don’t like him.’
‘That seems like an appropriate and reasonable reaction.’
‘Will you kill him?’
Maskelyne turned to face her. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘To save money.’
‘I’m married to a sociopath.’
She turned away, drawing his arm after her before letting it go. ‘Aren’t men of your reputation supposed to murder on a whim? What do they call you now? Maskelyne the Butcher?’
‘The Executioner,’ her husband replied. ‘I don’t think Mr Creedy’s death would do much to enhance my standing among the city jailers. He is innocent of any crime, after all.’
‘He sold his friend’s daughter into slavery.’
‘Like I said,’ Maskelyne remarked, ‘innocent.’
The launch docked at the stone pier on the westernmost end of Key Beach. A large man wearing a grey whaleskin cloak alighted. The blue lens of his clockwork eye flashed in the sunlight. He was carrying an enormous kitbag over his shoulder. He tied up, then stood alone for a long moment, apparently watching the deepwater wharfs, where Maskelyne’s stevedores were unloading the Unmer chariot from the hold of the Mistress. Then he looked directly up at the the very window in which Maskelyne stood and waved.
‘It is him,’ Lucille said. ‘I’d recognize that eye anywhere.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I wonder what he has in his bag.’
‘Some sort of bomb, I imagine.’
Mr Creedy began strolling up the pier, but then he stopped again and stared down at the crescent beach to his right. Evidently he had noticed its unusual composition. A few of Maskelyne’s men were wandering across that strange silver shoreline, stopping every now and then to pick up likely keys from the tens of millions deposited there and trying them in the locks of boxes they carried.
Maskelyne smiled. ‘Now that will have him wondering.’
‘I’m going to check on Jontney,’ Lucille said. ‘I’m worried that he’s coming down with something. It’s not like him to behave this way.’
‘Have you spoken to the doctor?’
She shook her head.
‘Call for him anyway,’ Maskelyne said.