[redacted]
No, I understand, you’re right. For what you’re paying you’re entitled to talk about whatever you want. But like I said, I don’t want you to get all crazy-religious on this stuff. It’s just a drug. I don’t want you to wind up dead. That’s why I’m being practical … trying to turn you off from all this Sslia-legend-shit.
[redacted]
Uh, sure. Nenuln
[redacted]
You could use Sslia, you could use Nenuln. Whatever you like better. No one in the north is going to know what they mean anyway.
[redacted]
No names please. Will you strike that? Thanks.
Anyway, back to the tinctures. This is your second time with them so it’s going to be less painful. It gets easier every time.
[redacted]
Is it a dangerous underworld drug? Yes. With repeated use, will it eventually cook your brain from the inside out? Yes. You signed the waiver.
But is it also a sublime concoction capable of drawing on humanity’s collective past and personalizing it for you in a way that provides inspiration, insight and possibly even epiphany?
Maybe, yes. I think I’m offering that service.
Others are going to tell you that shuwt tinctures reveal hidden dimensions and enlighten you as to the actual nature of the universe. I don’t say that. I suggest a conservative approach to the aftermath of a shuwt journey. Remember the ratio: ninety-nine percent meditation, one percent action.
[redacted]
Right. Let’s finish up with a legal recap, shall we? First offense will get you …
[redacted]
Iycestoke is far worse. I don’t know what they do in Bablemum but once the treaty takes effect I’m sure they’ll follow the same laws as Pandragor.
[redacted]
I agree. It’s just arbitrary legislation as far as I’m concerned. But they can’t legislate my culture out of existence. Veydens have been doing this spirit guide thing for centuries.
[redacted]
Yes, but see, that’s precisely why I don’t offer those services. You shouldn’t take tincture without a guide. But this whole movement of getting a dream shaman? I mean, that crap about the answers being inside of you is just a convenient way to sell things to people that don’t have any friends.
[redacted]
Because we’re talking about transcendence. And I’m of the opinion that you cannot transcend without permission. Without help.
That’s the one part of the Sslia legend that I can buy into. I don’t believe the notion that shuwt tinctures offer some kind of passage to divinity, but I do like the idea that, in the end, the Sslia doesn’t really seem to succeed. The Sslia just disappears. Why? In my opinion it’s symbolic of taking something to the extreme. It’s symbolic of obsession, of elitist rhetoric, of going down the wrong road on your own. That’s what happens. You fucking disappear.
[redacted]
Good. Right.
[redacted]
Yes. Use them but not more than once every other day and no more than twice in a week. Three doses in a ten-day period will probably set your brain on fire. So go two in a week and then stop. And I mean stop.
Cold.
I’ve never seen anyone take a third-day dose and not end up tied to a bed for the rest of their lives, assuming they survive.
[redacted]
Yep. I’ll get you a copy of the session. No problem. Two-week rest intervals.
[redacted]
Yep.
[redacted]
Yep.
[redacted]
All right. Take care. I’ll see you in three.
CHAPTER
45
The papers were smudged. Their margins were also badly crumpled as if they had been carried around for a long time, pressed inside a small book with their edges hanging out. They were at least a year old based on the political reference.
The questions pertaining to how Sena had gotten access to these personal papers and why she had placed them here made Caliph uneasy. A soft knock on the door brought a further lump to his throat. “Come in?”
The door slid open and much to his relief the familiar face of Dr. Baufent leaned in. What he didn’t like was that she looked nervous, and not a little afraid.
“What’s wrong? Where are we?”
“Bablemum.” She didn’t elaborate but inflected it as if to lay blame on him.
“How did we get here?”
Baufent looked at the papers in his hand. “Found those, I see?”
“Yeah.”
The physician withdrew her head as if toward a sound from outside the room. Her hand came up, finger raised while she listened. All Caliph could hear were the dripping branches, the frogs and leaves and buzzing static of the city. A weird night bird also called from just outside the window.
“Yes. He’s awake,” Baufent called out to whoever had spoken. Her voice launched the unseen bird from its perch. Its wings sounded large and leathery and Caliph caught a glimpse of its head—an anvil-shaped aberration— as it flew away. “He’ll be out in a moment.”
She stuck her head back inside. “You’ll be out in a moment?”
Caliph considered exercising his authority. Part of him wanted to bark at her, demand a full account of what was going on, whether Sig had been found—even though he knew that answer, didn’t he? Instead he nodded and let her go.
He tossed the papers back on the small table and slumped into a chair by the window. He closed his eyes and Sig’s face was there, teeth chewing at that ridiculous patch of hair. Caliph let out a silent, volcanic wheeze, hot and angry and cathartic. He allowed himself a few seconds of grief.
It wasn’t enough.
Sig deserved more than stifled sobs. He deserved life.
Another knock at the door.
Caliph lashed out. “What!”
Baufent’s voice was firm on the other side. “I forgot to tell you not to turn on any lights,” she said. “It’ll draw attention.” Then her footsteps scraped away.
Caliph stood up, furious.
He inhaled the lukewarm humidity deeply, then wiped his eyes. There was a set of clothes laid out for him. He dressed violently, thrusting arms and legs through holes. He took his anger out on the seams.
Fly buttoned, boots buckled, he marched toward the door, eager to confront the unknown.
A lit octagonal hatch ten feet down the hall guided him toward the only possible destination. Tremulous
