“I understand,” Mari said. “I don’t want to get into a fight if we can help it. I hope we can scare off the galley instead, or at least avoid letting it come to grips. If all of us are shooting we’ll have four rifles in use at once, and that is a lot more firepower than commons are used to facing. The Syndari Islands are also more likely to forgive us for frightening off one of their ships than they are if we sink it, and we’ve already got enough enemies at the moment.”
“Why not tell them that you’re the daughter?” Alli asked.
Alain saw Mari grimace and look away before answering. “I think they already know, but are chasing big enough rewards that they’ll find reasons to believe I’m not really that person.”
“They could believe it,” Bev pointed out, “and still want you under their control. As long as the commons and Mages believe that you’re her, you’re like the queen on a chessboard.”
Mari gave a scoffing laugh. “Maybe. That’s the closest to being a queen that I’ll ever be, though. But it doesn’t matter exactly why the Syndaris are chasing us. What matters is that they are.”
“Fair enough,” Alli said. “I bet it still feels weird to be looked at that way, huh? Hey, Bev, let me look at your rifle once we’ve got them. I want to make sure the ejection mechanism isn’t sticking.”
“Yes, honored Mechanic,” Bev said, making a joke of the phrasing usually required of commons, and hurried off to get the Mechanic weapons.
Alli shook her head at Mari. “Some of these standard-model repeating rifles are over a century old. The parts are so worn the things rattle when you move them.”
“Every one of them hand crafted,” Mechanic Dav said, looking out into the fog. “Just like the bullets. I had a friend whose aunt suggested some faster methods of fabricating ammo. The aunt disappeared soon afterwards.”
“The Mechanics Guild doesn’t want a lot of rifles and bullets in circulation,” Mari said. “They want just enough to be able to parcel them out one or two at a time where needed to help any commons doing what the Guild tells them to do, or to hurt any commons disobeying the Guild. We’re going to change that.”
“Is that necessarily a good thing? I mean—more rifles, more ammunition, won’t that make wars even worse?”
Mari paused, looking troubled.
Alain answered. “Mechanic Dav, I have already seen many die at point or edge of sword or from a crossbow bolt. I cannot see that it is different from dying as a result of one of the Mechanic weapons. And having seen what was done at Marandur, I think that it is why weapons are used or not used that matters, not which weapons are used.”
Mechanic Dav gazed at Alain and nodded slowly. “I guess that’s true. War is going to be terrible, no matter what. And like Mari says, wars up to now have been all about keeping the Great Guilds in power. At least we’re fighting for a better reason than that.”
Mage Asha came up to stand near Mechanic Dav, her expression still void of any feeling. “If we are to fight, I will stand here,” she said in the emotionless voice of a Mage.
Mechanic Dav looked over at her and smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.
Asha inclined her head very slightly toward him, then looked back out to sea.
Mari leaned close to Alain and whispered. “What is that about? What is Asha doing?”
“Mage Asha is showing great interest in Mechanic Dav. I am surprised how blatant she is being.”
“She’s—” Mari stared at him. “Is Asha flirting with Dav? Is that how Mages flirt?”
“I do not know what flirt means,” Alain said. “But her interest in him is obvious.”
“Obvious? Seriously?”
“Does this bother you?”
“No. Not really. Not that.” She gazed north as if able to see through the fog and the distance. “I’m… nervous, Alain. Not just scared because we’re facing another fight, but nervous about how everyone is asking me what to do. Until Altis it was just you and me, and that was bad enough, wondering if some snap decision of mine would end up trapping us. And at Altis I was just responding to events, trying to keep ahead of things, without time to worry. But now we’ve got three other Mechanics and two other Mages, and they’re not only depending on me to make decisions, they’re also in major danger just because they’re with me. So are the crew of this ship. And how many others, Alain? How many commons are going to die because they believe I am that person they’ve been waiting for?”
Alain knew that the impassive expression he was trained to project was the wrong thing at a time like this. He tried to show concern, hoping that Mari would see it. “You have heard the commons speak of this, Mari. They have been dying for centuries for no greater purpose than to ensure that the Mechanics Guild and the Mage Guild continue to rule this world. Without you they would still die, and without you almost all of them will die.”
“I’m under enough pressure already, Alain! Where’s that Syndari galley now?”
Perhaps he should have said something else. Or perhaps this was one of those times when nothing said would really help. Alain gazed into the mist and saw nothing but the hanging curtains of off-white fog. “I cannot tell. There are faint noises which say the galley remains in this area, but my foresight is not working now.”
Mari exhaled angrily. “Is it because of me? Did your foresight stop working because I’m so tense?”
Alain, who still had to work at revealing his emotions, had no problem in showing surprise. Then he shook his head. “No. That should not be involved.”
“You’ve told me that foresight requires a personal connection to someone else, and if I’m not exactly encouraging close feelings at the moment…”
“Such a connection does not vary so quickly,” Alain assured her. “Nor do my feelings vary so much, especially when I know you are under the strain of being responsible for so many things. This is not your fault. Do not blame yourself for my lack of foresight. You know that my gift has always been erratic, Mari.”
She leaned on the rail, gloomily looking into the mist. “I know. But somehow I think of it like another machine. A Mechanic device. Something that I can turn on and it’ll work when I need it to work. Which is kind of funny, really, because I know plenty of machines that don’t always work when they’re needed. But this is part of you, and you’re always there when I need you.”
“Thank you.” Those words had grown easier to say. Mages were taught not to use them, not to consider any courtesy. Alain had once forgotten those words and what they meant. But she had reminded him of the simple phrase, far away in the desert waste outside Ringhmon when they had first encountered each other.
“I take you for granted,” Mari said. “I know I do. And I yell at you when you don’t deserve it.”
“We are not living an easy life,” Alain noted. “But you often show your love for me. I cannot imagine wishing to be with anyone else, whether in peace or conflict, and especially amid the perils we have faced together.”
She reached over and grasped his hand. “And here we are facing danger again, my Mage. At least we’re not facing it alone.”
Apparently he had said the right thing this time. Alain turned to look along the deck, almost immediately spotting instead a dark blot against one part of the mist. “It is there. The galley lies in that direction.”
Mari looked intently where Alain had indicated. “I can’t see anything, but your foresight is obviously working again. After I made nice to you, I might add.”
“That—” Alain paused, thinking. “That is not supposed to matter. The Mage elders—”