Ричард Морган - The Cold Commands

She wrestled her feelings down into something approaching rationality. “As the Helmsman tells it, this city moves in and out of what we understand as reality in the same way that the Ghost Isle does. It has a technology to equal the magic of the dwenda at their height. So who knows where it may be grounded when it is not manifest in our world? Maybe, in studying the dwenda, the clan Halkanirinakral found a way to travel back and forth between worlds that did not involve taking to the veins of the Earth again.”

“And chose not to share it with your father’s clan?”

She shrugged. “Contact was cut off between An-Monal and An-Naranash for centuries, as far as I can ascertain. The Helmsmen are vague on the why. We still don’t know where the Lake Shaktan Kiriath actually went when they abandoned their city. Who’s to say that the same or worse did not occur with An-Kirilnar?”

It got her another crooked look, another musing murmur, but he said nothing to dispute. Nothing to stamp out the bright small flame kindled in her belly.

“Look, Mahmal, even if there are no actual Kiriath left in this city, Anasharal says the place materialized some weeks ago and has been there ever since. That suggests working machinery. And there’s no one to come plundering, the way there was in Shaktur. The Hironish isles are barely inhabited—you’ve got a scattering of fishing villages and whaling outposts up there at most. No cities, no learned men or wealthy shipowners. If anyone’s seen this place, they’ll be hexing like crazy and staying well away.”

Shanta smiled. “I think you underestimate the toughness of fishermen, Archeth. The ocean is a hard mistress at the best of times, and up there she is cold as well. Anyone who pulls a living from those waters won’t scare easily. And as I understand it, the whalers run back and forth to Trelayne quite regularly. Word will inevitably reach learned men and wealthy shipowners, if it hasn’t already.”

“Then all the more reason to go there ourselves, fast, before the League can make its move.”

“Hmm.”

He got up, a little stiffly, and made his way to the port-side rail, as if drawn by the muffled tumult below. She watched him for a moment, then followed.

They leaned side by side for a while in easy silence, gazing down at the tangle of activity along the wharf below. Porters and mules, couriers and freight agents, cargo marshals and their slaves, all mixed up and rubbing one another the wrong way in the bright morning heat. A couple of gesticulating shipmasters in altercation with liveried customs officials, a noble’s carriage jammed in place amid the bustle. Soldiers, sailors, and beggars claiming loudly once to have been both or either. Bangled, painted whores, sleeves pushed up, hair and shoulders defiantly on display, one foot set daintily on a crate or mooring iron, arms akimbo and turning sinuously to and fro at the waist so the bangles chimed. The obvious, sidling pickpockets and pimps.

“Have you approached any of the others yet?” he asked her.

“No, not yet. Was up all night saving your scrawny neck.”

A slight exaggeration. She’d gotten away from the palace not long after nightfall. Ate at home, with Kefanin and Ishgrim for company. Kef had been dressing the girl up again, lots of floaty satin and lace, hair washed and plumped up, netted and beribboned. It made Archeth feel like a dead, lightning-blasted tree when she stood next to her. She made an attempt to be gay, nonetheless, tried hard not to stare down the northern girl’s cleavage too much, deflected questions about what had gone on at An-Monal. That last part proved easiest of all. Conversation was largely taken up with a breathless narration of the Dragonbane’s run-in with the Citadel picket outside the front gate while she was away. The way Kef and Ishgrim told it struck Archeth as overly dramatic. On cross-examination, she discovered neither had actually seen the fight, and were depending on the gate guard for the detail. But since the Dragonbane wasn’t around to answer for himself, she had to take their word for the tale.

In fact, it transpired, no one had seen Egar for a couple of days now. Kefanin had fed him the morning after the punch-up, but that was the last time he’d been home. The Prophet only knew what chaotic shit he was up to in the meantime.

Might wander up to see Imrana this afternoon, see if he’s camped out there. About time he started getting laid again .

Let’s hope he is .

Truth was, she should have seen the trouble coming. Egar had been in a foul mood ever since Knight Commander Saril Ashant got back into town and started claiming his marital rights. Abruptly deprived of Imrana’s attentions, the Dragonbane had been spoiling for a fight, any kind of fight, with anyone. Natural consequence of a pair of unmilked balls and a lifetime killing other men for a living. Sure, you should have seen it coming, Archidi. But in the end it’s an invigilator, a fucking priest and his bully boys. So do you really give a shit?

She knew, of course, that the ripples from what the Dragonbane had done would end up rocking her boat sooner or later. The usual diplomatic outrage, the gibbering representations about offended faith, the wearying declamatory statements from prayer towers and pulpits. Still, she couldn’t make herself angry with him.

Mostly, she just wished she’d been there to see it.

“Something amusing you, my lady?”

She put her smile away. “Old news. Something I heard last night.”

“Hmm. Yes, well, I can tell you right now this isn’t going to be the jaunt you evidently expect it to be.”

He’s in. He’s hooked . The smile tried to leak out past the corners of her mouth again. She faked a yawn.

“I don’t doubt there will be difficulties along the way.”

Shanta snorted. “There’ll be difficulties right here in Yhelteth. Just putting Tand and Shendanak in the same room is going to be trouble, for starters. Have you thought about who’s going to ride herd on this lot?”

“His majesty has assigned me a squad of Throne Eternal under Noyal Rakan.”

A grunt. “Young. Very young to be pushing rich old men around.”

“He’s a good man, they say.”

“A lot of that is his elder brother’s reputation rubbing off. Seen it happen before. I don’t know much about his war record, so I wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions. But I’m not convinced he’s the ideal choice.”

“He isn’t,” she said bluntly. “He barely saw service in the war. But Jhiral wants this kept among as few people as possible, and Rakan’s squad have already had sight of the Helmsman.”

“So, presumably, have Senger Hald’s marines.”

“Yeah, they’re coming, too.”

Shanta raised an eyebrow. “Throne Eternal telling marines what to do. That’s going to be interesting. Anyone else been invited to this party that I ought to know about?”

“Lal Nyanar and his crew. Hanesh Galat, the invigilator.”

“Nyanar?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that? Nice stroke of luck, seeing as how his father’s on the list anyway.”

“Nyanar’s a riverboat captain, Archeth. I doubt he’s been out of sight of land more than half a dozen times in his whole career. He certainly never saw combat at sea—old Shab made sure of that much.”

“I’m sure he’ll make an acceptable first officer.”

“That’s your considered nautical opinion, is it?” But he was grinning at her behind the growl. “Archeth, this is a bag of live eels you’ve trawled yourself here. We’re going to need at least a couple of ships to do this, probably three or four. Now, I will gladly take squadron command, but Nyanar will still have to captain his own vessel, and that means he’s going to have to convince actual seamen he knows what he’s talking about. Good luck with that. Then you’ve got the military side of things. Leave aside for a moment the question of whether Rakan can get Hald’s marines to take him seriously—what’s more important is that at least a couple of the rich men on that list of yours are going to want to come along for the ride. They won’t put up the money otherwise. And you can bet they’ll want to bring their own hired swords with them.”