Child of a Hidden Sea (28 page)

“Sophie, come on,” Verena said. “We'll get him back.”

She ignored this.

“Garland, you should see a doctor.”

Parrish nodded, absently, as if this was a great idea, something he should definitely get to in the near future.

Verena was right about that.

“Get up!” Sophie wiped her face messily. There was something in her hand—she'd torn one of the buttons off his frock coat. Tucking it into her waistband, she hitched a hand under his arm, pulling upward like a mule. “Up, up. Get up!”

After a few tugs he relented.

“Where's the nearest doctor?” Verena addressed a patrol officer who'd planted himself a little distance away, with the apparent goal of being helpful. The patrolman jerked his head—follow me, he meant—and they trooped off, single file and moving against the throng, which parted politely. People looked at them, but didn't rubberneck. They respected authority here, Sophie thought, filing away the observation and feeling absurdly guilty that she was still observing things now, with Bram gone.

Not gone, grabbed. By pirates and religious zealots. Homophobic, slaveholding religious zealots. What have I done?

They arrived at a little white house that couldn't have looked more like an old-timey military infirmary if it had been built by a Hollywood set designer: light green counters, silver instruments, smell of soap. All that was missing was a big caduceus on the wall. There was nothing electronic to be seen anywhere.

A medical clerk ushered them into a back room, where an old man clucked over Parrish's stings and mixed up a tub of chalky fluid that foamed like beer. “Soak those bites in this,” he said.

Parrish slid out of his coat and began to struggle with the buttons on his cuffs.

“Let me,” said Verena, rolling up his sleeves for him.

“You too,” the doctor said, plunging Sophie's left hand into the bath—she'd gotten a couple stings. After taking a second glance at her, he wadded a clean handkerchief into her right hand.

She soaked the one hand, wiped her face with the other, and spent ten more minutes crying herself out.

“Better?” Parrish asked when she stopped, not in an obnoxious
are-you-done-yet?
way, just asking.

“
Not
better.” She pulled in a long breath. “We'll have to go after the Heart of
Temperance
now. You see that, don't you?”

“The Heart's lost,” Verena and the doctor both murmured.

“Why does someone always say that?”

“It's the spell,” Parrish said.

“I figured that much, but what's the deal?”

“It's easier to demonstrate,” he said. “Verena, what do you know about the Heart of
Temperance?
”

Her brow furrowed. “Gale told me it lay in a sea cave on the boundary between the land of the living and the land of the dead. No. She'd never say something so fanciful. It must've been someone else.”

“Someone else is wrong, then,” the doctor said. “Yacoura beats within the chest of a lady woven of grass, who wanders the far foggy isles of the Outlands.”

“Please, Kirs.” Tonio had pushed his way into the treatment area, over the protests of the doctor's clerk. “It was swallowed by a giant bird. She laid it within a ruby egg in a nest atop a mountain where nothing but flamingos live.”

“The type of inscription involved is called a Legend.” Parrish's hand brushed Sophie's, within the tank of bubbling remedy.

Sophie stepped back automatically, but the doctor caught her, pushing her wrist back down with a stern “Tsk!” Her fingers tangled with Parrish's within the bath. He had a dead wasp caught in his hair, his knees were muddy and his collar was open. The skin under his eyes was darkened, almost purple. His skin, even through the foaming water, was noticeably hot—heated by his immune response to the venom, probably.

Sophie curled her fingers into a loose fist, claiming a little space.

“Come to think of it,” Verena said, “I remember hearing the Heart was hidden in a chamber within the anchor of some ship
Temperance
sank.
Lucre?”

“You see how the inscription works?” Parrish said.

For once, Sophie was almost grateful for his aplomb. “Everyone has their own story?”

“It's remarkable if you ask the question in a crowded tavern,” Parrish said. “There are a thousand stories about the Heart.”

“But you're not affected—why? Oh! Because you helped lose it.”

“Sophie, it may be better if it stays lost.”

“Not up for debate,” she said. “They have Bram, they want the thing and you, apparently, are honor-bound to do what I say.” Her voice had risen, and though he didn't quite come to attention, something in him snapped to, stiffening into a more formal stance. “Isn't that right?”

“You're in charge on paper—” Verena protested.

“Until my brother's not kidnapped, I am totally in charge.”

“Very convenient,” muttered Verena. “Parrish, you're not going along with this?”

He met her gaze squarely. “Until Sophie can relinquish Gale's estate,
Nightjar
answers to her. As do I.”

“You could resign,” Verena said. “If you cared—”

Oh, this is hitting the edge of nasty.
“Bram,” Sophie said. “The point is Bram, Bram, Bram. Now, I'm not telling weird tales about Yacoura. Is that because I'm an outsider? Or does the spell have something to do with me?”

“Seas! The world revolves around you, doesn't it?”

“Either it's about the magic purse and Gale's job, Verena, or it's about Beatrice.”

Verena's scowl dissolved into surprise. “Mom's not involved in this. She's nothing to do with Stormwrack anymore.”

Parrish wheezed, rippling the roiling, blood-tinged foam of the medical bath. Personal sheened his face.

“Are you okay?” Sophie said.

“A little feverish, perhaps.”

“Doctor?” she called. “How much venom would have been in those bites?”

He looked at them both carefully, peering into Parrish's eyes, and went digging through his cupboards for a flask. “Drink,” he told Parrish, holding it to his lips, slapping his arm back into the tub when he reached for the glass himself.

“Why not hide it with Beatrice?” Sophie said to Verena. “She's out of the picture; nobody can find her. If she could disappear a whole baby, she could certainly tuck an inscription or two in her attic.”

“Garland?”

He was starting to droop.

The doctor lifted Sophie's hand out of the bath, wrapping it in a towel. “Captain Parrish needs to rest.”

“No,” Parrish protested. “We're in a hurry.”

“Young fellow,” the doctor said.

“Will he be all right?”
Bram grabbed, Bram grabbed by the Ualtarites, raging homophobic zealots, Bram in danger and it's my fault, all my fault, and now if Parrish isn't okay, what will we do?

“He'll recover, don't worry. You, young man, help me—” Tonio caught Parrish by the arm as he staggered; he and the doctor muscled him over to a starched white cot.

“Just a few minutes,” he mumbled.

“Parrish? Am I right?” Sophie said.

He looked drowsy and thoroughly unhappy. “Yes. The key to finding that certain inscription lies with your mother. Verena will have to fetch her from your homeland.”

“Go,” the doctor said, shooing everyone out into his waiting room. “Come back a' morning. He'll be fine.”

“Don't go far,” Parrish said. “I'll join you—”

The doctor shut the door in their faces, leaving the three of them gaping awkwardly at each other.

Finally Sophie said, “I shouldn't have pulled rank like that. I just—”

“He's your brother,” Verena said stiffly. “I get it.”

“Thank you.”

Verena stared out through the doctor's front window, at a square where some of the Tall were seated in groups of two or three on painted white benches that had been set up around a bandstand; they were munching the things in their dinner pails and chit-chatting. “We're going to need to fetch Mom and sail out of here before the Watch shows up. They'd order us to find some other way, to leave Yacoura alone.”

“We might have more time than you think,” Tonio said. “Someone's damaged all the blotting paper at the clarionhouse. I couldn't express a warning to the Tiladene, and we're not going to be able to contact the Fleet.”

“Excuse me?” Sophie said. “They don't have more paper?”

“It's magical … it has to be prepared,” he said. “And you won't catch the Tall restocking until they've thoroughly assessed the security breach. They're very bureaucratic here. I had a scribe copy me six versions of the dispatch on ordinary pages. We can post them on outgoing ships.”

Verena frowned. “We're going to have to split up, then.”

“Why?”

“Someone
has
to tell Annela what's going on,” she said. “Whatever's happening, it affects the Cessation. And Bram's kidnappers are without honor.”

“Of course they're without honor!”

“No, it's—look, Sophie, it's so serious here to break your word; you can't guess how much of a taboo it is. Even kidnappers and blackmailers generally stick to their agreements, especially in cases like this, where their motives are political. Because they're acting for their Island, see?”

“To be labeled a people without honor would be a devastating blow for any nation,” Tonio agreed. “At the very least, there'd be a move to stop trading with them. The risk they're taking is immense.”

“I'm not following you. They're kidnappers,” Sophie said. The stings on the back of her hand were throbbing.

Verena said: “What happened with the Tiladene fellow and the racehorse, the people booby-trapping that inscription to blow up … what was the guy's name?”

“Lais Dariach,” Sophie said.

“It's unusual. Generally speaking, if someone gets blackmailed and they pay the ransom, everything comes out okay.”

“Verena's right,” Tonio said. “Under normal circumstances I'd say that if we got … that certain inscription, we could swap it for Bram without much fear. But if the same people involved in this are the ones who tried to kill your Kir Dariach—”

“It's all connected,” Sophie said dully. She was more certain than ever. “All part of the same conspiracy.”

“We can't trust them to make the switch honorably.”

It was stupid to be upset about this, Sophie knew. She'd been watching cop shows since she was a kid, and at home you could
never
trust kidnappers. If they hadn't said anything, she'd probably have assumed the people who'd snatched Bram couldn't be relied upon to let him go. Now, finding out that they should play fair but simply wouldn't—

Verena gave Tonio a look that probably meant:
Don't get her crying again.
What she said was: “One of us has to go home, and the other has a duty to go report to Annela.”

“They'll never believe me,” Sophie said automatically.

“Annela will believe Garland. Besides, you convincing Mom…”

“Oh, good point.” She thought back to the total disaster that was her last conversation with Beatrice, and then imagined having to tell her that first, Gale was dead and second, she needed a favor.

Verena was right. It would be easier to go with Parrish and try to sell Annela Gracechild on a big political conspiracy.

“It'll be quick for me to go home,” Verena said. “I can transit by myself, and I have an open travel permit. If you went back to Erstwhile, you might not be allowed to return.”

“Screw that. I'm not leaving here without Bram.”

“I should never have brought you guys.” Verena rubbed her face. “I've made a complete mess of everything.”

“It's my fault,” Sophie said. “I stole your purse.”

“And now you're going off to the Fleet to report in,” she said. “Sorry. I don't mean to be self-centered. Of course your brother is the priority—but it's going to cement your hold on my position.”

“Please, forget what I said before. We'll get the you-know-what, rescue Bram, and then you can challenge me. I'll forfeit and if the purse doesn't like it, we'll tell Annela to go at its zipper with a scalpel.”

That got her a tired chuckle.

“Seriously. Challenge away, any time you want.”

“I believe you.” Verena nudged her ankle with one booted foot.

She nudged her back. “All I want is to take my brother and go home.”

“We'll get him back,” Tonio said.

Verena was looking at the two welts on the back of Sophie's hand. They had begun to ooze a thin, gold-orange fluid. Wasp venom, presumably. She had nothing to sample it with. “Do they hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” Sophie said, but then she realized it wasn't true … it just felt that way because of Bram. “No. They tingle a little, like licking a battery. Or … there's a noodle house near Berkeley that makes a hot mapo tofu that sort of has this electrical burn…”

“Shalin?”

“Yeah.”

Verena handed her a strip of cloth, seeming to expect Sophie to dab at the venom.

“We can ask the doctor how sick the venom will make Parrish,” she said. “If you're worried.”

“He just needs to sleep it off, as
Dottore
said,” Tonio said.

She felt a pang, a sense of let-down. She'd suggested it for Verena's sake, but now she wanted to know, too. She touched her fingertips again, remembering the unnatural heat of his skin in the foaming bath. Remembered him running over the rooftops, graceful as a cheetah, bent on saving Bram.

Tonio broke her chain of thought by adding: “Anyway, it'll do Garland good if it's a bit painful.”