Black Bottle

She felt herself shooting across the crisp blue sky and leaned back on her palms, letting her legs open. She stared dazedly up at the blue and white shapes moving overhead.

Eventually the rice paper fell from her trembling hands. The beggary seeds dropped into the dry weeds like tiny coals while her scream released a combination of ecstasy, boredom and anger, like a hot blast of factory vapor aimed straight up. She lay back on the steps laughing. “Thank gods there’s no one home!” The fields east of Kub Ish were wide and deep with sugar plants.

“Are you going to touch me?” the boy asked.

“I can’t. I’m going to be a priestess someday.” She laughed.

His face twisted. He grabbed her by the hair and pushed her head down until her forehead hit the cement steps. Then he got up and walked away. Taelin was still laughing as she pulled out a little tin of beggary seeds with one hand and used her other to touch her scalp. Her fingers came away red. She rolled another cigarette and smiled.

The little tin was in her hand now. She had pulled it from a deep pocket—where she hid it even from herself. With it came the gleaming bottle of poison her father had sent her.

A shadow passed over the stateroom’s window and the room darkened. Taelin shoved the tin and the bottle back into her coat. A fist of wind struck the airship, which did not sway the room but produced a litany of sounds. She heard the metal creak. The casing of her window groaned. She heard the hum of cables; the subtle bending of the ship as joists and panels flexed.

Just the wind, she thought.

She pulled the tin out again and rolled a tiny cigarette. She pulled the poison out too and set it on a little table by her bed. It stood upright, like a finger pointing, underscoring the answer to all her problems.

“I can’t,” she whispered and touched her grandfather’s necklace. She had heard an old man’s voice, as if fabricated from the airship’s low-toned sounds. It told her to do it.

Another gust of wind made her cabin creak. Taelin was breathing hard. She checked her watch. She had been crying off and on for two hours when a soft knock sounded at her door.

Hurriedly, she opened the window and fanned the smoke out. “Just a minute,” she called. She hid the tin and the bottle and dabbed her eyes. When she answered the knock she found Specks floating in the hallway. “Hi,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Taelin smiled. “Why do you ask?”

“I heard you crying so I brought you a tissue.” He held out one crumpled square.

Taelin felt warm embarrassment surge through her. Had everyone on the ship heard her? “Come in, Specks,” she said.

Specks floated tentatively past her, scraping against the door frame. “It stinks in here. Blech!” He stuck out his tongue.

“Sorry.” She noticed the smoke still hanging near the window.

“I have to help in the kitchen,” Specks was saying.

“Oh?”

“The High King is having lunch.”

Taelin’s hand curled around the bottle in her pocket. “It’s a little early for lunch.”

“Yeah. But it’s a meeting.”

“Who is he meeting with?”

Specks shrugged. “Are you crying because we’re in the desert?”

Taelin sat down on the edge of her bed. “Now why would I cry about that?” She watched a drop of blood fall from the boy’s wrist onto her floor.

Specks made a mmmhh sound, then asked for the tissue back. “I’m sorry,” he said. He let himself down, legs crumpling, pain crossing through his face.

“It’s okay.” Taelin moved to help him up. He was already cleaning the blood from the floor. She reached down, lifted him, light as a bag of twigs in her arms. She held him close against her chest, feeling his warmth, his frailty.

His little-boy smell made her think of her missing son.

Specks squirmed. He pushed softly against her shoulders, trying to get away.

“I’m sorry.” She let go, once again embarrassed. He floated backward with an apprehensive crinkle around his eyes. “There’s blood on your shirt,” he said.

“Specks, don’t apologize for that. I don’t care. You’re fine. You’re better than fine.”

Wind hit the side of the ship and Specks looked toward the open window nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Taelin asked.

“I’m not opposed to talk about it.”

“Does it have to do with us being in the desert?”

Specks nodded. He reached up and sorted through his thick dark hair. “One of the cooks didn’t want to be here.”

“Does your dad want to be here?”

Specks shook his head. “A storm’s coming. My dad said it’s a big one. He says we need to go home where it’s safe.”

Taelin’s eyes went out the window. The sky was bright and clear but the wind was certainly strong. She didn’t doubt the captain’s instruments or that he might confide in his son.

Caliph Howl was a cruel bastard, using people’s lives to advance his own selfish agendas. He had let witches onto the ship. Now a storm was coming. He was endangering his crew. He had murdered her father.

“It’s going to be fine, Specks,” Taelin said. “Don’t you worry.”

Specks smiled. “Yeah, I guess. I should go.”

“Are you going to serve the High King lunch?”

Specks smiled proudly. “Yes I am.”

“Can you take me to the kitchen with you?” asked Taelin. “I need something to drink.”

“Sure.”

Specks led the way.

The Bulotecus’ kitchen was a steaming, cramped eggshell-white facility with standing room for four people. Currently, however, there was only one man in the room. The kitchen’s ceiling was riddled with pipes. Bolted to the walls were dark chemiostatic coolers with gauges and glowing green cells that revealed the quality of each battery’s charge. Small countertops provided workspace while above and below, anchored to the walls, hung a garbage chute, an oven, several lamps and an array of cutlery. There was also a sink.

On the countertop sat a silver tray loaded with drinks and appetizers. The cook looked up at Taelin and smiled. “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Taelin. “Thank you. I need something to drink.”

The cook opened one of the coolers. When his face disappeared behind the metal door, Taelin leaned forward. She used her body to shield Specks from what her hands were doing. She panicked. What should I do? She dumped a little poison into each of the three drinks on the tray. When her bottle was empty she slipped it back into her pocket. She couldn’t believe what she had just done.

The cook’s face leaned out from behind the cooler door. “Hello?” he said, still smiling.

“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said we have loring tea. It’s the High King’s favorite.”

“Oh, yes. That would be fine.”

The cook brought out a jar and poured her a glass. “Cream? Sugar?”

“No,” she said. Oh gods, what did I do?

Her body had gone hot and rigid. She was sweating profusely.

“Specks? Can you manage the tray?” asked the cook.

Specks floated forward.

“It looks terribly heavy,” said Taelin. “Maybe I should help you.”

“I can get it,” said Specks.

“Here you go.” The cook handed her the glass of tea. Taelin didn’t want it. She needed her hands free. She