The girl was lying on her bunk, still wearing her spectacles. She turned round as Briana came in.
‘Hungry?’ Briana said.
Ianthe ignored her.
Briana set the tray down on a small table beside the bunk, then sat down on the stool opposite. Steam rose from the bowl of shrimp, filling the cabin with the vaguely unpleasant aroma of detoxified seafood. The room was large and airy with freshly painted white clapboarding and a floor of crushed pearl. On the wall beside the wardrobe hung a painting of the Guild Palace at Awl – its black and pyrite towers and minarets in striking contrast to the deep greens of the surrounding forest. In the background rose the mountains that formed the spine of Irillia, their layered peaks blurring into a gaseous blue haze. Briana looked at the girl. ‘Must you wear those things?’
‘What do you care?’
‘Actually I do care. They’re Unmer, so they’re probably dangerous. I don’t want you running to me when your brain starts trickling out through your nose.’
Ianthe grunted.
Briana took a sip of her coffee. Gently, she reached out with her mind again, gliding across the abstract plane of the Harmonic Reservoir until she found the same glitch she’d discovered earlier. This time she approached more cautiously, stopping when she felt the pull of the void beyond. It wasn’t like touching the mind of another psychic, but more like exposing herself to a crack in the substance of perception itself. Beyond lay powerful forces, and yet they seemed raw and utterly mindless. It was like standing on the edge of an abyss with the wind howling at her back; another step and she’d lose herself completely. She backed away quickly, afraid to go further. Ianthe gave no sign that she’d even noticed Briana’s presence in that other realm. But she had noticed before, Briana recalled. Did you just do something?
‘Your father told me you’re good at finding trove,’ she said.
‘He’s not my father.’
‘He seemed to think he was.’
‘I don’t care what he thinks.’
Briana set her coffee down again. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Ianthe said. ‘I can’t read minds.’
‘Very few psychics are born with any demonstrable ability,’ Briana said. ‘It takes years of training to develop the skill. But we always find some indication of potential in raw recruits, some quirk of personality that gives them away.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Have you ever guessed what someone was going to say before they said it, or been thinking about someone you haven’t seen in a while, and then suddenly bumped into them in the street?’
Ianthe turned away and folded her arms. ‘No.’
‘So finding trove is just a lucky guess?’
The girl continued to stare at the wall through those etched Unmer lenses.
‘An odd little talent like that could be indicative of a greater sensitivity,’ Briana said. ‘I mean, I’m not mocking you. A gift for treasure-hunting is always going to make you useful to people like Maskelyne and your father. You might even make a good living from it yourself one day. But I think that with the proper training you could be capable of so much more. Wouldn’t you like the opportunity to develop your abilities more thoroughly, in comfortable surroundings, with girls of your own age?’
Ianthe snorted. ‘You don’t know anything.’
‘That’s true,’ Briana said. ‘But what do you know about the Haurstaf?’
Ianthe shrugged.
‘We provide various services,’ Briana said, ‘intelligence gathering, communications, containment and security. Our clients range from humble merchants to emperors.’
‘Containment?’ Ianthe said. ‘You mean oppression?’
‘We contain the Unmer humanely,’ Briana said, ‘without the need for walls. Our psychics simply monitor their movements and punish them if they step outside their allocated territory. We certainly don’t kill them unless we have to.’ She looked at Ianthe. ‘Would you rather we allowed them to wander free?’
Ianthe’s arms tightened around herself. ‘You brought war to Evensraum.’
‘Hu brought war to Evensraum-’
‘But you helped him,’ Ianthe retorted. ‘You make it possible.’
‘We facilitate the implementation of our clients’ strategies, if that’s what you mean,’ Briana said. ‘But we never start wars. In fact, our presence in a conflict situation usually saves lives. The bombardment at Weaverbrook happened because Hu chose not to use a Guild psychic. He didn’t make that mistake a second time.’
The girl snorted. ‘I didn’t see any psychics on the Evensraum side.’
Briana was silent for a while. Finally she said, ‘The Guild protects itself, first and foremost. If that means adopting a mercenary attitude at times, then that is what we must do. Any other race of people would do the same.’ She finished her coffee and set down the cup. ‘I’m not your enemy, Ianthe. I’m trying to help you.’
Ianthe gazed at the painting on the wall. ‘We’re going to Awl, aren’t we?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What about Maskelyne?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t want him near me.’
‘That can be arranged,’ Briana said. ‘If it turns out he held a psychic against her will, he’ll be punished accordingly.’
Ianthe turned to face her. ‘Executed?’
‘Would you like that?’
Ianthe didn’t answer. She looked at the painting again. ‘But what if you discover I’m not psychic?’
Briana laid a hand on Ianthe’s arm. ‘Eat your supper before it gets cold.’
Briana woke to the sound of rain pattering against the windows and the ever-present chatter of Haurstaf conversation:… warlord Pria Ramad seeks to advocate his rights in Chal over… six thousand nomio on the twenty-first… state that any aggressors will be dealt with using the utmost… seven units hiding in the Fryling Bay… bring to 254 degrees 20 minutes… Briana tuned it out as best she could, then got out of bed and padded naked across the carpet to the window. The ship rolled heavily under her bare feet. It was a dull, blustery morning outside. Rain streaked the window panes. The sea bucked and frothed under a leaden ceiling of cloud.
Her stateroom stretched across the breadth of the ship’s stern from port to starboard, with duskglass windows on three sides. Normally light and spacious, today the chamber seemed as gloomy as a cave. Briana opened the shutters of her gem lanterns, brightening the room. From her wardrobe she chose a pair of white linen breeches, a spider-silk blouse and her padded woollen jacket from Losoto. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long time, counting every tiny wrinkle and imperfection on her skin. With every year that passed she felt more and more compelled to chart the process of age. It was like watching an enemy’s every manoeuvre: necessary, but depressing. She thought about Ianthe’s perfect skin and deeply lustrous hair and allowed herself a single, luxurious moment of hate.
Then she sat down and poured herself a glass of water, sharpened with a drop of poppy oil and a pinch of anemone.
… borakai nineteen six eleven passing through from… administer the final payments through an intermediary… would not be welcome… are you awake…? mark two two four, listening. .. out with his jurisdiction on the first…
Shut up!
The chatter stopped. Briana found herself shivering, suddenly afraid that her outburst would be recognized for what it was. A reaction prompted by the anguish of too many foreign thoughts passing through her head. The others would think that she was breaking down. Am I breaking down? Briana kept that thought to herself. She counted to five, slowly, trying to relax her thumping heart. Communication across the entire empire had momentarily ceased, and Briana could feel the Haurstaf network trembling with uncertainty. She swallowed hard and sent out another message:
Keep all communication on a peer-to-peer basis until further notice. The next voice I hear is going to find herself cleaning Port Awl horses with her tongue. She could almost hear a thousand groans reverberating through the ensuing silence. Yellow- and amber-grade psychics would be unable to maintain such intense concentration for long.