Scott Lynch - Red Seas Under Red Skies

Rodanov hooked his thumbs into his sword-belt and looked down at the darkening water, the ripples where his pale ankles vanished into it. "I was generous when I should have been cynical."

"So you fancy yourself the only one who had the power to forbid this?" "I could have withheld my oath."

"But then it would have been four against one, with you as the one," said Colvard, "and Drakasha would have gone north looking over her shoulder all the way." Rodanov felt a cold excitement in his gut.

"I" ve noticed curious things, these past few days," she continued. "Your crew has been spending less time in the city. You" ve been taking on water. And I" ve seen you on your quarterdeck, testing your instruments. Checking your backstaffs."

His excitement rose. Out here alone, had she come to confront him or abet him? Could she be mad enough to put herself in his reach, if it was the former? "You know, then," he said at last. "Yes." "Do you intend to talk me out of it?" "I intend to see that it's done right." "Ah." "You have someone aboard the Poison Orchid, don't you?"

Though taken aback, Rodanov found himself in no mood to dissemble. "If you'll tell me how you know," he said, "I won't insult you by denying it."

"It was an educated guess. After all, you tried to place someone aboard my ship once."

"Ah," he said, sucking air through his teeth. "So Riela didn't die in a boat accident after all." "Yes and no," said Colvard. "It happened in a boat, at least." "Do you—"

"Blame you? No. You're a cautious man, Jaffrim, as I am a fundamentally cautious woman. It's our shared caution that brings us here this evening." "Do you want to come with me?"

"No," said Colvard. "And my reasons are practical. First, that the Sovereign is ready for sea while the Draconic is not. Second, that two of us putting out together would cause… an inconvenient degree of speculation, when Drakasha fails to return."

"There'll be speculation regardless. And there'll be confirmation. My crew won't bite their tongues for ever." "But anything could have happened, to bring one and one together on the high seas," said Colvard. "If we put out in a squadron, collusion will be the only reasonable explanation."

"And I suppose it's just coincidence," said Jaffrim, "that even several days since you first spotted my preparations, the Draconic still isn't ready for sea?" "Well—"

"Spare me, Jacquelaine. I was ready to do this alone before we came here tonight. Just don't imagine that you" ve somehow finessed me into going in your place."

"Jaffrim. Peace. So long as this arrow hits the target, it doesn't matter who pulls back the string." She unbound her grey hair and let it fly free about her shoulders in the muggy breeze. "What are your intentions?"

"Obvious, I should think. Find her. Before she does enough damage to give Stragos what he wants."

"And should you run her down, what then? Polite messages, broadside to broadside?" "A warning. A last chance."

"An ultimatum for Drakasha}" Her frown turned every line on her face near-vertical. "Jaffrim, you know too well how she'll react to any threat: like a netted shark. If you try to get close to a creature in that state, you'll lose a hand." "A fight, then. I suppose we both know it'll come to that." "And the outcome of that fight?"

"My ship is the stronger and I have eighty more souls to spare. It won't be pretty, but I intend to make it mathematical." "Zamira slain, then." "That's what tends to happen—" "Assuming you allow her the courtesy of death in battle." "Allow?"

"Consider," said Colvard, "that while Zamira's course of action is too dangerous to tolerate, her logic was impeccable in one respect." "And that is?"

"Merely killing her, plus this Ravelle and Valora, would only serve to bandage a wound that already festers. The rot will deepen. We need to sate Maxilan Stragos's ambition, not just foil it temporarily."

"Agreed. But I'm losing my taste for subtlety as fast as I'm depleting my supply, Colvard. I'm going to be blunt with Drakasha. Grant me the same courtesy." "Stragos needs a victory not for the sake of his own vanity, but to rouse the people of his city. If that victory is lurking in the waters near Tal Verrar, and if that victory is colourful enough, what need would he have to trouble us down here?"

"We put a sacrifice on the altar," Rodanov whispered. "We put Zamira on the altar."

"After Zamira does some damage. After she raises just enough hell to panic the city. If the notorious pirate, the infamous rogue Zamira Drakasha, with a five-thousand-solari bounty on her head, were to be paraded through Tal Verrar in chains… brought to justice so quickly after foolishly challenging the city once again—"

"Stragos victorious. Tal Verrar united in admiration." Rodanov sighed. "Zamira hung over the Midden Deep in a cage."

"Satisfaction in every quarter," said Colvard. " "I may not be able to take her alive, though."

"Whatever you hand over to the Archon would be of equal value. Corpse or quick, alive or dead, he'll have his trophy, and the Verrari would swarm the streets to see it. It would be best, I suspect, to let him have what's left of the Poison Orchid as well." "I do the dirty work. Then hand him the victor's laurels." "And the Ghostwinds will be spared."

Rodanov stared out across the waters of the bay for some time before speaking again: "So we presume. But we have no better notions." "When will you leave?" "The morning tide."

"I don't envy you the task of navigating the Sovereign through the Trader's Gate—" "I don't envy myself. I'll take the Parlour Passage." "Even by day, Jaffrim?"

"Hours count. I refuse to see any more wasted." He turned for shore, to retrieve his boots and be on his way. "Can't buy in for the last hand if you don't get there in time to take a chair."

Feeling the hot sting of sudden tears in his eyes, Locke slipped his finger away from the trigger of the alley-piece and slowly put it up in the air. "Will you at least tell me why?" he said.

"Later." Jean didn't lower his own weapon. "Give me the crossbow. Slowly. Slowly"!"

Locke's arm was shaking; the nervous reaction had lent an unwanted jerkiness to his movements. Concentrating, trying to keep his emotions under control, Locke passed the bow over to Jean. "Good," said Jean. "Keep you hands up. You two brought rope, right?" "Yeah."

"I" ve got him under my bolt. Tie him up. Get his hands and his feet, and make the knots tight."

One of their ambushers pointed his own crossbow into the air and fumbled for rope in a jacket pocket. The other lowered his bow and produced a knife. His eyes had just moved from Locke to his associate when Jean made his next move.

With his own bow in one hand and Locke's in the other, he calmly pivoted and put a bolt into the head of each of their attackers.

Locke heard the sharp twak-twak of the double release, but it took several seconds for full comprehension of its meaning to travel from his eyes to the back of his skull. He stood there shaking, jaw hanging open, while the two strangers spurted blood, twitched and died. One of them reflexively curled a finger around the trigger of his weapon. With a final twak that made Locke jump, a bolt whizzed into the darkness. "Jean, you—" "How difficult was it to give me the damn weapon}" "But you… you said—"

"I said…" Jean dropped the alley-pieces, grabbed him by his lapels and shook him. "What do you mean, "I said," Locke? Why were you paying attention to what I was saying?" "You didn't—"

"Gods, you're shaking. You believed me? How could you believe me?" Jean released him and stared at him, aghast. "I thought you were just playing along too intently!"

"You didn't give me a hand signal, Jean! What the hell was I supposed to think?"