Caliph felt an enormous hand clamp down gently over his shoulder. So large, it engulfed him. Grand Arbiter Nawg’gnoh Pag had come down from the balcony and crept up behind him. He leaned into view, beaming monstrously. “Hello, King Howl.” The arbiter’s words were profoundly deep and hollow and framed with vague contempt. “I’m Nawg’gnoh Pag.”
“From Bablemum,” said Caliph.
“That’s right. I wonder if I could borrow you for just a moment.”
Caliph glanced over his other shoulder at Alani. The spymaster was stiff, his eyes riveted on Caliph’s eyes. “I don’t—see why not,” Caliph said.
“Wonderful,” said Pag. “Let me get you a fresh drink.”
“Oh, I’m fine.” Caliph followed Pag a few steps away, behind a fountain of scarlet lilies. When the arbiter turned around, Caliph heard the watchdog whimper. Here, behind the lilies, Caliph found himself confronted more directly with the southerner’s startling proportions. For such a giant of a man, Pag’s eyes, nose and mouth seemed small. They were clustered at the center of his face, surrounded by a great empty expanse of golden flesh. His eyes were black, lips puffy and unnaturally static. Pag’s robes draped him as if he were a giant piece of furniture covered for the season with a cloth.
“How are you, King Howl? Did your mistress get the box I sent?”
Caliph recalled the box Sena had refused to open. The one he had sent to be buried in the bogs. He felt his back turn cold. “Yes. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it though.”
“Oh, that’s all right. It’s not important.” Pag’s voice was slow and deep and hypnotic. “I just wanted to take a moment to speak to you on Emperor Junnu’s behalf.”
“The two of us were just talking,” said Caliph. “I wonder why he didn’t speak for himself?”
“Delicate matters like this—” Pag gesticulated with his enormous hands, fingernails shining as if oiled. He almost seemed to lose his train of thought. “Listen, King Howl. Pandragor doesn’t have a solvitriol program.” He clasped his hands in front of him, reverently, just below his breast. “Thanks to you, our empire has avoided the sins of Iycestoke.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Well, it’s really like this, I’m afraid. Pandragor is prepared to come forth with certain litho-slides and documents that illustrate quite clearly what lengths you went to in order to win your civil war.”
Caliph finished his drink in one gulp but the alcohol failed to warm him. He knew exactly what Pag was driving at and pulled out his pocket watch. “I’m sorry Mr. Pag, I have another engagement—”
“I’m talking about the Glossok Warehouses,” said Pag. “About how you murdered your own citizens to make solvitriol bombs. Souls. Solvitriol tech runs on souls, yes? But that’s hardly common knowledge…”
“I’m actually quite late,” said Caliph.
“I do hope your talk for the conference is well in order,” said Pag.
“Fuck you,” whispered Caliph. He felt his restraint slip away. “You want war? With Stonehold? You think you can come through those mountains? Read a history book. When the Pplarians tried us they learned the hard way that Stonehavians are better kept as friends. They never tried again.”
Pag leaned forward, his huge frame balanced on the balls of his feet, his horrible face inches from Caliph’s nose. “We’re going to eat you alive,” he said. Then he turned and walked away.
Caliph excused himself. He met Alani outside.
“Wasn’t so bad,” said Caliph. He looked down at the moon-limned clouds reflecting in the brass below both their feet. “Get that thing off the dog before it bleeds to death.”
Alani crouched down and did as he was told. “Did Pag threaten you?”
“Of course.” Caliph brushed it aside. “We need to get up to Sandren.”
“I’m not sure we should be worrying about the Sandrenese right now, your majesty.”
“If we go up and see what’s happening in Sandren, I’m that much farther from all the people who want to kill me. Good idea, right?”
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
Caliph inclined his head in Alani’s direction. “So smile.”
CHAPTER
13
It was the fourteenth of Tes.
“I was falling. I fell off the airship!”
“You most certainly did not,” one of the doctors repeatedly assured her. “We had to sedate you,” she said. “Your injuries are minor. You’re going to be fine.”
Taelin took a sponge bath and then, with the doctor’s assistance, got dressed.
“Where are my crutches?”
The physician scowled. She handed them to Taelin with a terse expression.
Taelin promptly propelled herself out to the observation deck. Glasses mounted on the aft railing allowed her to get a reasonable view of the
“Now you’re just like me. ’Cept you can’t float.”
Taelin looked at Specks who had drifted out onto the deck, a fragile white marionette without any strings. He was sipping something warm. His backpack held the cuddly sarchal hound. “You sleeped a long time.” His high- pitched voice was vaguely scolding.
“Yes I did. I had to.” Taelin decided not to mention the attack over Skellum. She hoped he had slept through it.
“Cuz you got hurted? What happened to you?”
“Yes, Specks. I hurt my knee.”
He nodded. “Just like me. I bet you wish you could float.”
As he drifted closer, the sound of his ticking blue and copper bracer began to twitter rhythmically in Taelin’s head. The mechanized sorcery of the thing unnerved her, as did the trail of little red drops it left behind.
“I can’t float but I have a crutch,” said Taelin. “I could bat you right off this deck.” She brandished the crutch.
Specks laughed. “How far do you think I’d go?”
“Far enough.”
“I made you something.” His eyes were big and brown and beautiful as a girl’s.
“You need a haircut,” said Taelin.
“Do not.” His small hand patted at his mop.
“I can give you one.”
“No way!”
“What did you make me?”
He grinned. “Something.”
Taelin winced. Her knee hurt. She closed her eyes, but when she did she saw women’s faces crowding around her and the velvet gun biting into dead flesh on the deck of the zeppelin. She gasped, opened her eyes and hobbled to one of the dining tables where she collapsed into a deck chair. Specks floated after her. When her crutches slid off the wall where she had propped them, he picked them up for her and carefully repositioned them.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Dad says I need to be helpful.”
“You certainly are.” She saw another fresh paper lying on the table. “Could you hand that to me?”
“Sure.”
It was the
She read the headlines and tore the paper free of its waxen cover. Specks hovered close by—eerily—ticking and dripping as she spread the news out on the table and tried to ignore the pain in her leg.
