No Present Like Time

Wrenn slid a scabbard over the rapier lying across his knees. “Perhaps San thinks Gio will sink, then he’ll be rid of the little plucker and two whole boatloads of bastards.”

Mist said, “No. He never leaves anything to chance. Sometimes I think even god coming back is just a story he invented to suckle us.”

Nausea rolled over low in my stomach. I wanted scolopendium and my hands were beginning to shake. “San can’t be allowing Gio to reach Tris. Tris is so peaceful. Gio intends to ruin it.”

“True, but if we save the island from Gio, it’s more likely to become part of the Empire,” said Mist. “What does Tris mean to San?”

“I don’t know. It must be more important to him than Gio’s rebellion is…” Then I figured it, and in a moment I saw time as San sees it. Its profound length funneled out before me. I stared into a black well, as linkages and patterns suddenly lit up across centuries. Even Eszai can’t see them; the Emperor plans them.

Of course I had no proof, but I was convinced that I was right. It was a feeling of falling as terrible as when the Circle breaks. One life was a second, a spark. No human can think back and forth over such an immense span. “Oh, my god! I’m absolutely certain…Gio is acting as the Emperor’s cat’s paw.”

Mist gave Wrenn a smile. “I know inspiration when I see it. Jant, what’s the real meaning of San’s command?”

“He’s sending Gio to Tris!” I jumped to my feet and pointed at her. “You didn’t discover Tris by chance, did you?”

She blanched, but stood her ground. “Comet, let’s work tog-”

“Did you? How stupid I am! One little island-the vast ocean! What are the odds on that? Petrel should have sailed straight past on either side! You weren’t just lucky; San gave you the location, didn’t he? He sent you to find Tris. San must have wanted to find the Trisians ever since they left the Empire in the first place!”

“What?” said Wrenn.

Mist said, “I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘in the first place’?”

“Ata, what were your orders? Why did you do it-to prove yourself? No wonder you even played the marriage card. San wants Tris back in the Empire at any cost.”

Mist admitted, “Yes, Comet. All he gave me were the rough coordinates and I tacked east until I came upon Tris.”

“The rough coordinates? You must have itched to ask him how he knew!”

“Yes,” she said softly. “But I can’t question the Emperor, and I practice self-control.” Her eyes were expressionless.

“Everybody knew, back then,” I said, awestruck. “Two thousand years ago, the whole Four-Fivelands knew there was an island in the eastern ocean. San wanted us to rediscover Tris.”

“But why give it to Gio?”

“Because every new problem is a solution to an old problem,” I ranted. “San has sent Gio to invade the island instead of us!”

Mist said, “Oh. Because he can’t be seen to do it himself?”

“Yes. Listen; San ordered me to tell the Senate, ‘Our Emperor has sent us to protect you from Gio Ami.’ He makes Gio sound like a formidable enemy, so that he has an excuse to send us!”

“Gio is a formidable enemy,” Wrenn pointed out. “I’m determined to prevent him and his scumbag highwaymen from destroying Capharnaum.”

My hand on the door handle. “Well, at last San has the means to reach the Trisians, to catch up. Tris is a loose end that must have bothered him for two thousand years! He gave you money to rebuild the fleet after the last Insect swarm, didn’t he, Mist? How does it feel to be one of his instruments? And Serein, what’s it like to be his Swordsman executioner? No better than Gio, who thinks he’s rebelling but he’s just San’s pawn. San wants the descendants of the fifth-century rebels returned to the fold; wouldn’t you? Oh, I really need a fix.”

“Come back!” said Mist. “Tell us how you know all this. Where are you getting it from?”

“A History of Tris. It’s…” I faltered. “I could do with some cat.” I ran to the hatch and down the ladder, heading for the sickbay.

The book I stole from the library recorded that a group of radicals left the Pentadrica to found Capharnaum. San must have known. I was sure that he wanted their reintroduction to the Empire, and Gio provided the means. I knew that we had to stop Gio. I also knew that I had just flown an awful, demanding itinerary all over the Plainslands and that being back on a caravel was not helping the fact I badly needed cat.

I ducked along under the low beams. Smells of gravy and hot flour rose from below. The ship creaked; the deck was gloomy. I paused and listened at the sickbay door lit by a single swinging lanthorn because a compassionate voice emanated from inside. It was the Doctor. I thought she was addressing Lightning, but no other voice answered or interrupted her. The old woman was talking to herself.

“Over time, Eszai are supposed t’ get worn out and replaced. You’re no’ supposed t’ live forever, really.” I heard her bustling about. “My dear, you like stories? Of course you do, you’re a romantic. Hard t’ believe once I was a lit’le girl with brown plaits and a patched skirt tha’ spun ou’ when I twirled. I was walking down the cobbled back streets in a Hacilith summer, and I heard music. That were before you were born, Saker, a long time ago. Such music! It were a shawm an’ sackbut, though there could’ve bin a hundred of each, the way they wove t’ most tempting tunes. T’ music were coming from behind a high wall, with an arched green gate in it. I tried t’ gate but i’ were locked. I shouted to t’ musicians, but nobody answered. I sat down on t’ cobbles and began to cry.

“Then along the road there came this crowd of people, dressed in t’ most beau’iful costumes, with plum- colored feathers and foil masks. They caugh’ me up in their masquerade, an’ I slipped in behind them when the green gate opened t’ le’ them through. From then on, I were lost among t’ drunken guests of an outlandish party, and I, only a lit’le girl with a calico skirt, became their amusement. They whirled tall and grotesque around me, an’ I stared in fright. When I tired of t’ constant noise and mysterious innuendo, I tried t’ run away. I tried t’ ge’ out of t’ ornate garden, but t’ high wall trapped me in. Ladies and servants bat’ed me away, their sharp heels ripped my skirt. Eventually I crawled under a bush covered with these massive waxy flowers and I fell asleep. When I woke up I found myself out in the stree’ again. I had been cleared up and put ou’ with all the refuse from t’ party.

“Saker,” she said tiredly, “I heard how men break wild horses; tie their back legs, and when they attemp’ t’ run, they fall. That’s how i’ was for me before the Circle. You saved me then and we’ve been friends since. I’m saving you now. I can’t do withou’ you. Simply, if you leave me, I shall be alone forever.”

The voice stopped and all was quiet behind the door. I pushed it and slipped inside. The Doctor was sitting beside Lightning, playing a game of solitaire with glass beads. She put her wrinkled finger to her lips.

Lightning lay on his side on a cot that was attached head and foot to the ceiling and swung slightly with the ship’s motion. His wings were open, one thoroughly bandaged, the other spread to stop him moving on the mattress. The feathers had been cut down in accordance with Rayne’s theory of cleanliness. He was asleep. The blanket rose and fell with uneven breathing but in the indistinct light he looked like a tombstone effigy.

Rayne followed my gaze to a half-empty brandy bottle on the floor. “Tha’s the strongest narco’ic I can get him t’ drink,” she said. “He’s feverish and t’ wound’s infec’ed bu’ he refuses t’ take painkillers. He’s afraid of them, I think, having seen what drugs have done t’ his friend.”

I hugged her; her face only came up to my chest. Wrinkles beneath her eyes overlapped like an oyster shell. Her plain cotton frock smelled of wintergreen oil and steam. In the small cabin she stood tall whereas I had to stoop.

“How is he?”

“In a serious condition. T’ wound won’ close. I’ will take a long time, stabs have t’ heal from t’ base up and this one’s deep. He los’ a lo’ of blood. He’s weak, but a’ least he’s eating. A blood transfusion is t’ las’ resor’. I told him, ‘Lie still or i’ will trouble you for a century.’ I’m treating his sprained arm as well. What about you? You look like you’re dependen’ again.”

“Yes…I’m…I’m back on the needle. Is there any way I can help Lightning?”

She seized my wrist firmly and pushed my loose sleeve back. “Shi’, Jant. T’ pet cat you’re keeping has been scratching your arms again. What a mess. Thought you’d beaten i’ las’ time. More fool me.”

I crouched down against one of the ribs that supported the deck above. If you use drugs, in time you grow unusually familiar with the corners of rooms. My own predictability sickened me: “Do you have any cat?”