“Who says it’s averted?” Coll, the chunky youth, returned. “Plenty of drakes still out there.”
“This city now enjoys a very special form of protection,” Kulvetch replied, casting a meaningful glance at Clay.
“This fleet will be sailing for Varestia once the harvesting is complete,” Hilemore said. “Whatever dispositions you wish to make after that are a matter for you.”
“You just gonna leave us?” Coll asked.
“I have discussed the matter with Mr. Torcreek,” Hilemore replied. “He will . . . consult with our allies, requesting that they leave a third of their number here to ward off future attacks.”
“There are those of us,” Jillett said, “who don’t want to stay here any more. What about them?”
“What?” Coll demanded but she ignored him, keeping her gaze on Hilemore.
“We can’t take children,” he said. “Or anyone not of fighting age. We’re sailing into battle, after all.”
“Then I want to volunteer,” she said, continuing to ignore the glowering reaction of her fellow Voter. “And there are plenty more who think like me. The real war needs fighting, and it isn’t here.”
“Very well,” Hilemore said, turning to Kulvetch. “Colonel? Any volunteers from your side of the falls?”
“Forget it, Captain,” Coll said as Kulvetch hesitated. “She’s just itching for you to leave with our best fighters so she can finally take the whole city.”
Kulvetch’s indecision faded abruptly and she straightened into a military bearing. “I will volunteer. Also, I’ve little doubt my Marines will follow me.”
“And they would be very welcome,” Hilemore said, turning back to Coll. “As for those who remain I recommend concentrating your forces in the east side and doing everything you can to fortify the outer wall.” He stepped back from the table. “Harvesting is expected to be complete within two days. Please be prepared to sail by then.” He nodded and started towards the door.
“You think we’re just gonna let you sail off with our best fighters?” Coll demanded, moving to stand in his way. “Our committee answers to the Voters Rights Alli—”
He fell silent as Hilemore’s fist slammed into the centre of his face. Coll’s head snapped back and he fell to all fours, blood streaming from a broken nose. “I have had enough of your infantile politics,” Hilemore said, very precisely. “After all your people suffered last night you still seek to play your games. Were you a member of my crew I would have you shot. In fact . . .” Clay stepped forward as Hilemore’s hand went to his revolver.
“I think that’s meeting adjourned, folks,” Clay said cheerfully, crouching to drag Coll to his feet and pushing him towards the door. “Nice coat,” he said as he hustled him from the room. “Where’d you get it?”
“Here,” Clay said, entering the cabin Kriz shared with Loriabeth. He hadn’t knocked but she didn’t seem to mind. “Gotcha a present.” He set the duster alongside her on the bunk. She had been sitting with her knees drawn up in silent contemplation of the vial of synthetic product. His cousin wasn’t present, which he didn’t find surprising. She and Lieutenant Sigoral hadn’t been seen much since they returned to the ship.
“It’s got blood on it,” Kriz observed, casting a brief glance over the duster. “Fresh blood.”
“Nobody died, don’t worry. And it’ll wash.”
“I thought only members of your . . . profession wore these.”
“Fella who had it before didn’t deserve it. Reckon you’ve earned it.”
He sat himself on the bunk and rested his back against the bulkhead, suddenly weary. It occurred to him that neither of them had slept for close on two days.
“I’m honoured,” Kriz said, her tone vague but genuine. She turned her gaze back to the vial, her other hand gripping the crystal shard about her neck.
“Still tempted, huh?” Clay asked her.
“I have to know, Clay,” she said, slipping into her own language. “Given what we’re about to sail into, there might not be another chance.”
“We already know a lot of it,” he pointed out. “One of the Whites you bred got free somehow. Zembi got Spoiled and Hezkhi flew off to Arradsia in the aerostat.”
“He wanted me to know,” she insisted, holding up the crystal so the light from the port-hole caught its myriad facets. “There’s knowledge in here, important knowledge.”
“Or a trap. He was Spoiled, remember? And he did try to kill you.”
“Part of him was still there, deep inside. I know it. Perhaps”—she gripped the crystal tighter—“in here, also.”
She’s already decided, he realised, seeing the resolve on her face. Short of tying her up there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Well, if you have to,” he said, shifting to face her. “But we do this together. You ain’t going in there on your own.”
Kriz seemed about to argue but then swallowed a sigh and nodded. They sat facing each other on the bunk, Clay seeing how she had to still the tremble in her fingers before she could remove the stopper from the vial. She unhooked the crystal from the chain about her neck and set it down on the bunk between them. “Ready?” she asked, vial poised before her lips.
“No, but as you’re gonna do it anyway . . .”
A smile ghosted across her lips and she drank, taking in perhaps a third of the vial’s contents. The reaction was immediate, Kriz stiffening with a sharp intake of breath. The vial slipped from her fingers and Clay’s hand darted forward to catch it before it spilled.
“Kriz?” he asked, receiving no response. She sat in rigid silence, eyes wide open but he knew they saw nothing. Clay blinked as something flashed. Looking down he saw the crystal shard pulsing with light, slow at first but the rhythm building rapidly until it emitted a constant bluish light. Clay returned the stopper to the vial and focused his gaze on Kriz’s blank face, finding the focus needed to summon the Blue-less trance.
It was different than before, Clay finding himself floating in a place without sensation. There was no ground beneath his feet and no air on his skin. The images he saw seemed to play out at a remove, like watching a play. Kriz stood in the chamber where they had found the ruined stone eggs, the place that had become the tomb of her fellow ancient Blood-blessed. When Clay had come here it had been a dark, dust-covered mess of rubble but now it was brightly lit by the crystal floating above the sleeping chambers. He watched Kriz move to each of the chambers, her hand playing over the stone surfaces.
“All the kids are still asleep, I guess,” he said, receiving no response. He called out to her but she didn’t seem to hear as she continued her inspection of the giant eggs. Repeated attempts proved similarly fruitless forcing him to conclude he would have to resign himself to the role of spectator rather than participant.
He saw Kriz start as the crystal flickered, stepping back from the chambers at the sound of grinding stone. The egg-shaped mass to her left began to come apart, leaking fluid over the floor. A naked figure tumbled out as the object became fully segmented. It was a young man, tall and lean, the light from the crystal gleaming on his athletic frame as he slowly rose to his feet
“Hezkhi,” Kriz said, involuntarily reaching out to him. However, this memory appeared both deaf and blind to her presence. His face, a handsome adult version of the boy she had once tutored in the Philos Enclave, was set in a preoccupied frown, his eyes constantly blinking and lips moving in a silent mutter. After a slight pause he returned to the segmented chamber and retrieved a set of sodden clothes, dressing rapidly, then bent to recover a belt holding four flasks. Donning the belt Hezkhi moved to the exit, then stopped, shaking his head as if in confusion. Then, slowly, he turned back and raised his gaze to the crystal hanging above the sleeping chambers.