“That doesn’t mean you didn’t.” The Blue Lady crooked her finger. “Approach me.”
On shaking legs and feeling very fearful, Droust got to his feet and went forward. He hoped he didn’t throw up or foul himself as he had in the past. She always punished him for those instances. When she shoved a hand toward his face, he flinched.
“Stand still.”
This time Droust did as she bade, but it was a near thing because he didn’t know if his heart or his knees would give out first. Then her hand, like a thing of ice, closed over his face. He closed his eyes, and screamed silently in pain as it felt as though she reached into his brain.
Images flipped through his mind. Then he saw Farsiak, very quick memories of the man on deck and down in the galley. The multitude of remembrances stopped when Droust saw the man sitting in the sterncastle working on a journal.
“Is this the book, manling?”
“Lady, I don’t know.” Droust’s voice was an almost unrecognizable croak and a rasping pain through his throat. “This is a book I saw Farsiak with.”
The pain inside Droust’s head increased and he felt certain his skull would explode at any moment from the pressure of the Blue Lady’s grip. He prayed for unconsciousness or death. Either was preferable to his current agony.
“The book still exists.” Enthusiasm echoed in the Blue Lady’s declaration. “I can feel it. But there is something more. Something that connects you to it.”
“I don’t know what that would be, lady.”
“Did you ever touch it?”
“No. I swear to you.”
The Blue Lady was silent for a time and Droust could feel her raking talons through his thoughts. “You’re telling the truth, manling. I would know if you were lying.”
Droust doubted he had the strength to lie.
“But there is something of you within that book.”
Droust gasped as he tried to collect his thoughts and answer her unasked question. Anything to make the savage pain desist. “Perhaps it is only the fact that Farsiak mentioned my name in the book. That can sometimes tie a person to another thing.” Names had always held power.
Finally, the Blue Lady withdrew her hand and most of the pain ended.
Reeling on his feet, Droust slumped bonelessly to the ground.
The Blue Lady grinned. “There is more than just your name within that book, manling. There is yet another trap I can set. One that won’t be so easily escaped as Kouldar’s.”
Droust doubted that the wizard’s defenses and guardians had been easy to escape. Shang-Li the monk had to either be very good or very lucky. Droust didn’t know which to wish for.
The sea continued to rain the dead, some of them in pieces that fell close to the scribe.
“When you regain your strength, go and search the ship.” The Blue Lady swam upward. “You were in luck. The ship carried no scribes more talented than you. However, I do want to know what else it carried. When you have performed an inventory, find me.”
“Yes, lady.”
“And let your hired men know that I’m not happy with their progress regarding the book. Tell them I want the book found. And this monk. Perhaps he can help you with the riddle Liou Chang left regarding the gate.”
“Yes, lady.” Weak and shivering, Droust lay on his back and stared up at the blue depths of his prison. And, more than likely, his grave.
SSS ‹s› SSS SSS o-
“Be still.”
Shang-Li gritted his teeth and sat on a bench down in the ship’s galley. “I am being still.” He held his head at an awkward angle. His neck burned like molten metal had been poured on it. Before, he’d hardly noticed the pain. Beneath his father’s aggravating ministrations, though, he felt the throbbing ache now.
“You’re flinching.” His father gripped his shoulder and set him straight again.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Nonsense. Pain is only weakness making itself known.”
Shang-Li concentrated on the steady flame inside the lantern resting in the middle of the table. He pulled air into his lungs through his nose and pushed it out through his mouth as he’d been taught.
Shadows of his father’s hands played on the wall. They moved as delicately and smoothly as doves, and the string they pulled through the wound in Shang-Li’s neck appeared as thin as spider silk.
“Even a novice to the monastery handles pain more easily than you.” His father shook his head in disappointment. “You should have been more disciplined in your lessons instead of running through the forest with your mother.”
“I excelled at my lessons at the monastery. And I excelled in the lessons Mother taught me as well.”
“See? Modesty was one of the most important lessons you failed to learn. An immodest man challenges both friend and foe, and will know no safe harbor.”
Nor any peace from his father, Shang-Li thought and took a deep breath, pushing the pain further from his mind.
He tried to turn his thoughts to the journal lying in the middle of the table. Curiosity had always been his greatest balm. Unfortunately, it was also his greatest weakness.
To his surprise, his father had chosen to forego the opportunity to explore inside the pages and instead concentrated on tending Shang-Li. One of the sailors had rushed to get the old monk’s healer’s kit. Swallow had a cleric on board, but Kwan Yung had insisted on treating the wound himself.
“Be still.” His father hissed in frustration when Shang-Li flinched. “Even a novice to the monastery knows how to sit quietly.”
Shang-Li groaned inwardly and hoped that his father was soon finished. It felt like a hive of angry bees had taken up residence in his skin.
Presently, though, his father pronounced the wound properly cared for. After Kwan Yung put his medical things away, they turned their attention to the journal. Despite the pain in his neck, Shang-Li touched the bandage to find out how large an area it covered.
“Don’t touch that.” His father caught his hand and pulled it back. “You’ll foul the poultice.”
Shang-Li drew his hand back. “Thank you.”
His father bowed his head slightly. “You’re welcome, my son.” His hand trembled slightly as he finished wrapping his kit in a waterproof cover. “That arrow came close, Shang-Li. Another inch or two, or if it had been poisoned, you might not have made it back to us.”
Surprised by his father’s concern, Shang-Li hesitated a moment. He didn’t know whether to feel thankful or insulted.
He faced his father directly. “But I did make it back.”
“Yes. Hopefully this will be the worst of it.” His father shook his head. “If Grayling did not rest on the floor of the Sea of Fallen Stars somewhere, if she hadn’t carried the books we’re looking for, and if those books weren’t so dangerous, I wouldn’t worry any more. There are still a great many things that can go wrong.” He put the wrapped kit away. “Let us have a look at that journal you brought back.”
The journal’s author’s name had been Farsiak, an older sailor from Impiltur, He’d had a poor acquaintance with the written language, and poorer still with handwriting. The script was in the common tongue, mercifully not in a seafarer’s personal code, but the man couldn’t spell very well and often used the wrong word when he wasn’t writing about the ship or sailing. Shang-Li struggled through the tangled weave of letters to find the tale.
“Grayling took men and stores aboard in Impiltur.” Kwan Yung stroked his beard and made notes in his personal journal. “Many of the crew were from the area. Including Droust.”
Shang-Li was familiar with Bayel Droust’s life. He knew the scribe’s story probably as well as his father. Most of Farsiak’s comments were no surprise.
Except for the entry that was tucked away, nearly illegible, near the end of the journal.
By the time Capn Porgad chose to throw Bayel Droust over the side of the ship, it were already too late. She were coming for us. Werent nothing nobody could do.
