“Did you take part?” Nissim asked.
“Oh, no, sir,” he confessed. “The slayers did the hunting, the fighting. They’re the ones to be applauded.”
Seldom started forward, ready with a question.
Nissim warned him away with a glance. Then he nodded, and with a low voice, he said, “Tomorrow’s Girl.”
The crewman blinked, plainly impressed. “Oh, you heard what the Girl did?”
“Yes,” Nissim lied.
“A bunch of heroes on that good ship,” he said happily.
Soldiers knew better than expose the names of ships or their activities. But this wasn’t their ship or their problem, so they retreated to distant parts of the cabin, watching for enemies they could fight.
“Karlan,” said Seldom.
The crewman glanced at the boy, a trace of suspicion in his otherwise earnest, self-possessed face. “Who’s Karlan?”
“That boy’s brother,” said Nissim. “Our last news was that he was stationed on Tomorrow’s Girl.”
“I wouldn’t know either way, sir. But I heard half their crew is dead.” It was important to sound brave, which in his mind was the same as being caustic. “But the survivors are what helped win the corona, and they’re getting first honors cutting up that big ugly carcass.”
A second bloodwood was slowly, slowly approaching. It was as big and ancient as the Middle-of-the-Middle, and a sweeping portion of its trunk was recently cleared of homes and businesses. That was an Archon project, huge amounts of capital and labor focused on a single structure that was nearly as big as the palace. Its exterior was armored with scales and adorned with cannons, while the vast interior was built around the world’s largest room, lit with mirrors by day, and in the night, powerful lamps.
During peaceful days, coronas were butchered on the reef, the papio receiving two-fifths of the carcass. A few rough little abattoirs were scattered across the other Districts, but they were raided by the papio, and more and more targeted by bandits. Now the precious carcasses were brought to a worthy fortress, and List refused to be shy when it was time to take credit for this work.
Diamond approached the front window, fingers to the glass.
No soldier bothered to stop him.
A wide landing was perched at the bottom of the abattoir, eleven fletches moored in the air above. Some were damaged, and at least one engine was smoking. But none were Karlan’s ship. Probably the Girl towed the corona inside, but every door and window was closed. The only traces of activity were a few deflated balloons dangling on the scaffolding outside and one broad vent spouting a thick stream of fumes—the exhaust from hard-running motors.
Seldom joined him at the window.
“Hi,” they said in the same moment, with matching voices.
Something wanted to be asked. But the question remained hiding while Seldom stood tall, pushing out his long chest.
Diamond glanced over his shoulder.
Mother was sitting alone, carefully studying the floor.
Elata was standing beside the farthest window, hands wrestling with a leather purse as she stared back at the Middle-of-the-Middle. Nothing in front of them mattered.
Seldom groaned softly.
Diamond looked at his friend’s face in profile. Seldom was thrilled and terrified, and when he felt the eyes, he grimaced.
Diamond asked, “What?”
“Inside the corona,” Seldom began. Then he swallowed hard and looked into the sun, adding, “What if there’s a stomach full of children like you? What do you think you’ll do?”
Diamond inhaled. Suddenly and very clearly, he saw himself walking between cribs, and he was teaching odd creatures to speak and run, and in another instant he dared imagine a second King and another Quest. Then he blew out the long breath, imagining a human girl who became a woman so real that she had a name. In his mind, their lives were woven together, days without number, and these bloodwoods grew old, people mining out the wood before their cores fell, and holding hands, the two immortals watched new ranks of bloodwoods descending into the endless, wondrous days.
All that happened inside one gasp and sigh.
Then Seldom asked again, “What will happen?”
Just one answer deserved to be said.
Quietly but with all of his confidence, Diamond told his best friend, “My head doesn’t know, or it isn’t telling me.”
Tomorrow’s Girl was safe inside the abattoir and Karlan was alive.
Seldom wanted quite a lot more than that to be true, but he would happily settle for those two blessings. Losing this last shred of his family would be too awful, too unfair. His brother had to survive today and for ten thousand more days. But of course Karlan was a slayer and a warrior, and wishing for his survival, Seldom began to think in black directions, finding a keen awful hope that maybe the warrior had been wounded in some crippling but survivable way. His back was broken, maybe, but only his legs were dead, and now he was damaged and harmless and sure to live to be a very old man riding on a wheeled chair, and a selfish brother wouldn’t have to go to sleep every night wondering when someone else he loved and counted on would suddenly die.
Diamond was the safest friend.
His birth proved his invincibility, and every splinter and grievous wound since verified his endless strength.
Not that he was an easy friend. Diamond had a distant, dreamy way, always a little odd and sometimes deeply peculiar. And there had been changes since Marduk fell. Everybody else changed, but this was Diamond. Gashes could be filled in and vanish without scars, but that singular face couldn’t hide the sadness roiling inside. Loss after loss led him to one angry, vengeful act, and six hundred days later, Seldom was still arguing with the idea that the hand hanging at the end of the weirdly shortened arm had started a thousand awful battles.
Tragedy made Diamond seem more ordinary. And weirdest of all, being like other people made him only more difficult to be with. His silences weren’t just the earned right of a deity dropped into their midst. He was a person and should be dealt with like any person, and Seldom never felt smart when it came to understanding people.
Too many others were standing close, or Seldom might have offered words of understanding or maybe asked good sharp questions. But they as unalone as any two boys could be, and now this trip was done, their ship falling towards a bright plain of bloodwood boards and gun emplacements, and soldiers and slayers, big slayer fletches riding on the high moorings. Smaller fletches and little airships were tied to the abattoir’s landing. One ship had just settled—a blunt, underpowered balloon wearing an insignia of ten links of chain joined in an endless ring.
“That’s a prison ship,” Seldom said quietly.
Joining them, the Master said, “That’s what it is, yes.”
“But why is it here?”
Diamond took a breath, and it sounded like an important breath. But he said nothing.
“Maybe,” Master Nissim began. “Maybe the Archon has invited someone special to share this great day.”
Diamond straightened, as if a knife went up his spine.
Three passengers were embarking from the prison ship. None wore chains, but the little woman in the middle was easy to recognize.
“Prima,” said Seldom.
Haddi rose and joined them. She looked at the prisoner and then her son, and she sighed deeply, saying nothing.
The Master watched mother and son in profile.
Elata was still standing at the back of the cabin. Her arms were crossed. She didn’t care to join the rest of them. When Seldom looked at her, she turned away, staring back across at their tree. He assumed she wanted to be at the palace instead of here, but that was a funny way to be. This was an adventure, and Elata always, always liked adventures.
Their fletch slowed, and every hatch opened with a synchronized bang. Capable monkeys leapt to the landing with ropes in their mouths. Then the engines quit, and the monkeys and landing crew competed to see which species could warm the air the most with vivid, vicious cursing.