Dentius shook his head. "If there were anything worth having out here, I'd have taken it and built a fleet to reconquer Aerie, years ago. Nobody brings treasure into winter. Anybody here who's got it, takes it somewhere sunny."
"I know," she said. "But that wasn't always the case. There've been times when convoys ran through winter regularly, shipping goods between the principalities of Candesce and the outer nations. And during those periods, there was treasure to be had."
Dentius thought for a while. His face, which had appeared that of a brutal simpleton just minutes ago, relaxed by degrees into that of a weary, disappointed man. After a while he said, "I've heard the fairy tales. We all have. There was even a time when I believed in such things." with a faint smile he added, "It's Anetene, isn't it? You're talking about the—how would you put it, 'the fabled treasure of Anetene.'"
Venera frowned past his tired skepticism. "I was," she said. "We were on our way to the tourist station, because that's where the map is."
Dentius laughed. "You've got to be out of your mind," he said. "Anetene's a legend. Sure, he lived and he was a great pirate.The less intellectually endowed members of my crew swear by him. But the treasure's pure myth."
"Maybe," she said with a shrug. "But the map to it is real."
His lips curled in sly indulgence. "And what would an admiral of Slipstream be doing hunting pirate treasure in winter?"
"As to that…" She looked away, making a faint moue. "Slip-stream's finances are not in the greatest of shapes at the moment, if you get my meaning. The pilot is not the cleverest of men when it comes to state funds."
"You've a deficit to pay off?" Dentius grinned.
"It's more like, the pilot has a deficit he's told the people about… and then theres the real deficit."
"You're wanting to forestall a political scandal, I get that." Dentius shook his head. "The whole story is preposterous on the face of it, and you know it. So why are you trying to put this one over on me?"
"Because the treasure is real," she said. "But I realize that I can't convince you of that." Now she hesitated: how far could she push this man? If she played the next hand, he might kill her. But if she gave in to fear he would have won; the bullet would have won. "There's another consideration," she said slowly. "I saw how you and your men fared during the battle. You have your own deficit now, Captain Dentius: you've just paid far more in men and ships than you've gotten back. Am I wrong in thinking that this is going to cause you some… political problems… of your own?"
Dentius's face flushed with anger. He stood up, knocking over the chair. "We're going to kill all of you for starters," he said. "Very bloody, very visible. My men will have their revenge."
"Yes but will that be enough?" Venera allowed herself a small, ironic smile. "You know that the other captains won't be impressed. You lost ships, Dentius."
He didn't answer.
"Killing us will be a good diversion," Venera continued. "But you need a better diversion. One that will last longer, until the memories of this debacle have faded.You've got to give your men hope, Captain Dentius, or else you may be out of a job."
"In other words," he said, "it hardly matters at this point whether the treasure of Anetene really exists…"
"As long as there's a map. Something to give the other captains." She nodded. "And there is a map."
Dentius leaned against the wall for a while; he was obviously not comfortable in gravity. Finally he nodded once, sharply. "Done. You show us to the map, you get to keep your life."
"And my virtue."
"Can't guarantee that. But let's say it's on the table." He grinned and turned to leave. "Cabin's yours. Anything else your grace requires?"
Life, not death, lay ahead—at least for now—so Venera decided to ask about the one thing that Dentius might be willing to indulge.
"There is something…"
Dentius turned, surprised. Venera knelt down and retrieved her jewel box. She plucked out the bullet and held it up, next to her jaw.
"We have a history, this bullet and I," she said. "If I live, and if someday I gain my freedom again, I want to know where it came from."
He was obviously impressed. "Why?"
There was no pretense behind her smile now. "So that I can go there," she said, "and kill everyone connected to it."
A BLACK WING lifted. Hayden blinked at a blurred jumble of shadows and silhouettes. Mumbles and tearing sounds came to his ears; someone was tugging at his shirt. He couldn't feel any surface under him so he must be weightless. He was also very cold. And in the distance, the faintly annoying two-tone sound of the Rook's engines rumbled.
That meant something bad. "Hey!" he tried to shout. The word came out slurred and weak.
"He's awake." He recognized the voice behind the tense whisper. "Pardon us, Griffin, we're sacrificing the hem of your shirt to a better cause."
"Wha—" Admiral Farming's voice had been dry, almost raspy. But why was he of all people here? Hayden shook his head, which filled him with an awful vertigo and a pounding pain that radiated forward from behind his left ear. Don't throw up, he beseeched himself. Don't throw up. There's no gravity today.
The gray blurs became a bit clearer. He was curled in the fetal position in some cramped space defined by metal bars. There was no light source nearby, everything was shades of speckled gray with no color. Crammed into this unlikely place with him were three men and a boy. One of the men was Fanning. Another—he wasn't sure—might be Venera's manservant, Carrier.
Hayden's stomach did another flip, but not because of his own pain. The third man held Martor by a hand and a foot, stretching him out like a sheet about to be folded while Fanning tried to staunch a dark liquid welling from his flank. Martor's foot stuck out one side of the cage, his hand out the other.
"He's… stabbed?"
"Shot," muttered Fanning. "The bullet's still inside."
The sight had brought Hayden alert like a dash of cold water. "We need to dig it out," he said, focusing on making his uncooperative lips form the syllables.
"Really?" Yes, that was Carrier all right, his tone dripping sarcasm. "Keep your voice down," he added in a hiss.
Hayden wanted to ask why they were in this cage, but didn't want to hear any of the possible answers. The strange electric silence of the ship, the way these men flinched any time there was a noise in the distance… But overriding that curiosity was the need to know that Martor would be all right.
"Cut the man some slack," Fanning said quietly to Carrier. "He's concussed." He turned to Hayden. "The problem is that I can't reach the bullet with my fingers. And the only other thing we have is a couple of splinters of wood I pried off the hull." He held up two sharp spikes of wood. "If I go noodling around in your friend's abdomen with these, I'm going to puncture something for sure, and probably leave some splinters behind. That's bound to fester."
"Maybe you can help," said the man who was holding Martor like a sheet. Hayden recognized him as one of Fanning's staff. "We could heat the wood to sterilize it—without setting it on fire, of course. If we could reach that." He pointed.
Now Hayden realized where they were: crammed into the framework of a rocket rack, somewhere near the stern of the ship. The rack was mounted to the hull and surrounded by boxes that blocked the light. But where the staffer pointed, the corner of one crate was brightly silhouetted. Just around that corner was a lantern. Hayden held out his hand and felt the faint movement of air coming from its wind-up fan.
A cough sounded nearby and gruff voices spoke. The men in the cage froze, only their eyes darting in the direction of the sound. Seconds ticked by, and eventually they all sighed as one and relaxed from their positions.