Of Dawn and Darkness (The Elder Empire: Sea Book 2) (31 page)

The girl’s entire outline shook briefly as she shivered. “Ah. That’s not. I have...” She held up a wine bottle and shook it. The liquid within sloshed, and as it did, it glowed a pale orange.

He was no alchemist, but he suspected that wasn’t actually wine.

“You needed.” She didn’t finish the sentence, but instead made an explosion noise and moved her hands apart, demonstrating a blast.

Calder eyed the bottle. “That’s not going to explode, is it?”

She shook her head vigorously, and then jerked her head at the big metal box beneath her. Reaching her hand down, she gave the side a slap.

Just as before, the top lifted with a steady hiss, this time carrying her along with it.

“Look,” she said, now from overhead.

With a hesitant glance up at the lid—if he leaned in to look and the top crashed back into place, he was afraid it would smash his head like a grape—he peeked inside.

It wasn’t the dump he’d expected. Only one corner was walled off to contain garbage, with about the same capacity as a trash-bin. The shattered remnants of Lampson’s cylinder lay in that section, liquid pooling at the bottom but not spreading to the rest of the box. The six-legged cat was nowhere to be seen.

Outside of that partition, the space looked like a miniature alchemist’s workshop.

Rows of colorful potions were displayed on a short rack against the far wall, and a pair of goggles sat next to a pair of gloves on a folded apron next to them. A stack of books bore titles like,
Effusions of the Various Kameira in the Southwest
and
A Lexicon of Philters,
while a miniature table and stool dominated the remainder of the floor. The table was covered in notes, diagrams, and sketches, while the stool was padded with a small cushion. A half-eaten sandwich rested on a plate.

Of all the things Calder had imagined might be inside the mysterious metal box, he had never considered this.

His attention turned back to the desk. With the lid closed, even someone six inches shorter than Calder would have to work with their neck bent. Calder himself would have had to lie halfway over the table, if he were seated on the stool. It would be worse than working in a closet.

He glanced up at the girl, and this close, he could tell that the complex alchemical scent was coming from
her
, not from her lab. He could also see her face in much more detail, and she was looking at him with a childlike expression of apprehension. Waiting for his opinion.

“Are you an alchemist?” he asked as steadily as he could.

She smiled a little, nodded, then reconsidered. After another few seconds, she shook her head. “Not Guild,” she whispered. “I was an apprentice.”

He wouldn’t ordinarily ask for the personal history of this strange back-alley alchemist, but she’d already shown him her home. He could use a few more details. “What happened?”

She fidgeted, avoiding his gaze. “Delivery to the palace. I messed it up. Imperial Guard didn’t want me...” she trailed off again before picking the sentence back up. “...back here. The alchemists let me use what they don’t need.”

Calder still wasn’t sure how she’d ended up in a sealed mechanical box, but he could piece the rest of the story together well enough. She’d continued her alchemical studies, obviously, but she couldn’t work for the Guild if the Imperial Guards were after her. He couldn’t imagine how she did any business in the Capital at all, in a situation like that.

“...quicklamps?” she asked. He missed the first half of the question.

“Do I
have
quicklamps? Yes, on the ship.” Quicklamps were effectively glass jars of glowing liquid, and they could be brightened or dimmed to almost nothing by adjusting an alchemical valve. They were much safer than traditional lanterns on a ship, for two reasons: first, quicklamp glass was tempered by alchemists, and could withstand impact that most lanterns could not. Second, quicklamp fluid on its own was difficult to ignite and put out very little heat. So no one could be burned by a quicklamp, and if it
did
break, it wouldn’t light the ship on fire. There would just be some luminescent paint on the boards for a while. It would only go up in flames if they were struck by lightning or attacked by some sort of fire-breathing Kameira—a dropped match wouldn’t do it—and in those cases, the ship was in danger anyway.

You could buy fifty lanterns, a cask of oil, and a crate of candles for the price of one quicklamp, but no solution was perfect.

“Fuse?” she asked. “Powder? Alphidalious extract? Black amber resin?”

“Fuses and powder, but extract...can you spell that for me?”

She shrugged and slid off the lid of her box, slipping inside with the fluid motion of a stage performer. “Okay. I have it. With all that, I can make a bomb.”

Calder had been waiting at the bottom of a cold, black hole, and now he was watching a rope ladder slowly drift down from the heavens. “You’re willing to make explosives for me?”

By this time, she was scuttling around her little cabin, packing everything she could into a cloth pack. She carefully slipped a pack of sealed tubes into a pocket, buttoned the pocket shut, and looked up at him. “Favor,” she said firmly.

So she’d heard him already, and she was ready to take the deal. He would have preferred a skilled Guild alchemist, but anyone who would work without deepening his debt was a miracle to him. “Of course, yes! I’ll have a contract drafted up, if you like.”

She pushed a book into her pack before looking back up at him. “Take me with you.”

He hesitated. Except in the unbelievably unlikely coincidence that she wanted to go to the city of Axciss in Izyria, anywhere he could take her would be out of the way. “I have urgent business in Izyria,” he said. “I need to put your explosives to work. But if it’s somewhere close...where would you like to go?”

“Somewhere,” she whispered, then shook her head as though correcting herself. “Anywhere.”

She hugged her pack to her chest, looking at him like she expected him to object.

On the contrary, while it was out of his expectations, this was better than he could have hoped. He could take her, she could do her alchemist’s work on the journey, thus saving them time in the Capital. And then he could dump her in Axciss and be done.

Well, maybe not in Axciss. There would be a hunt for unregistered alchemists in Axciss after an explosion at the arena. Somewhere else on the Izyrian coast, then.

“I’m certain we can find you somewhere. My...a woman of my close acquaintance is from Vandenyas.” At this point, he wasn’t sure how to describe his relationship with Jerri, so he skipped past it. “We can set you up there, where it’s warm, after we’re done in Izyria. Unless you’d prefer—”

She cut him off by spearing him with her eyes. This was the most resolute he’d seen her, and suddenly she looked years older. “Take me with you. On your ship. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

That
should have required a little more deliberation, and he certainly should consult with his crew. Jerri might enjoy having another woman onboard, or she might not. And Andel wouldn’t appreciate having to spread their already-meager income around further. He was already being surprisingly agreeable about this daring plan to rescue Urzaia, considering that a daring rescue plan is what had led to Calder’s debt to the throne in the first place. Foster...Foster would grumble about anything, but he was actually the least likely to raise a real objection.

But the one asking him was a young girl dressed in rags who was forced to practice alchemy in what amounted to a giant garbage bin. Sympathy made the decision for him.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly.

“Petal.”

There was one other thing he had to know, just to make sure he didn’t add kidnapping and endangerment of a child to his growing list of Imperial crimes. “And how old are you, Petal?”

She cast her gaze down to the street as though embarrassed. “Twenty-three,” she said.

Calder stared at her. Light and life. She was older than he was.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From the moment Guild Head Kern joined the battle, our troops were no longer required. I would call the destruction ‘absolute.’

—From the official report of the South Sea Rebellion

~~~

In the last week, Calder had spent more time in carriages than in the entire rest of his life combined. They weren’t nearly as comfortable as he thought they should be.

He paused with his pen halfway to the page, looking to Andel. “How do you say, ‘I’m sorry my wife killed your assassin?’”

“Not like that.”

Calder, Andel, and General Teach were all riding together, and even though this carriage had been constructed to the Emperor’s specifications, it was still crowded with that much armor. Teach took up more space than Calder and Andel combined, her armor filling the space with the smell of iron and oil.

These two were not the first people he’d ask for advice regarding a diplomatic letter, but they were all he had. He’d wanted a Consultant’s touch, but Meia was gone. The medical alchemists in charge of her care had come in to an empty bed, and the Imperial Guards outside the doors never saw a thing. A thorough search of the Imperial Palace afterward had revealed no trace of her. Once again, Meia had disappeared.

Though if she chose to pop up in the middle of this very carriage, he still wouldn’t be entirely surprised.

“An official apology would be a mistake,” Teach put in. She was watching the streets through a crack in the window, presumably looking for threats, but she had enough spare attention to criticize his letter. “It implies that you are in some way responsible. You can express your condolences, since you did not officially execute the Consultant, but it might ring hollow. Given that we’re preparing to attack their headquarters.”

That the Imperialist Guilds were gathering for an attack was common knowledge, even if their target was a secret. A secret to most, at any rate. Calder was certain that the Consultants would know exactly what they were planning, and would be coming up with some way to counter them.

“I’m still not certain I
want
to attack the Consultant’s Guild,” Calder said, though it was mostly an empty protest. The Navigators were recalling to the Capital and stocking up on supplies, the Imperial Guards had begun training for naval warfare, and the Magisters were bringing up what weapons they could. The Witnesses had published an article in the news-sheets exonerating the Imperialist Guilds for “any attacks they may conduct in the pursuit of justice.” The tide was going out, and Calder could see it.

But he couldn’t fight the feeling that he was playing straight into someone else’s hands.

Teach didn’t respond to his words, but she shook her head faintly as she kept watch out the window. Andel was the one to speak up, and surprisingly, he did so without a trace of mockery. “You should recognize when a battle is lost, Captain.”

“If the battle’s already lost, I can’t imagine why we’re still sending our troops.”

Andel didn’t rise to the bait. “Not that battle. Yours. The Guilds are moving out, and your only hope of maintaining your position is to move with them.”

Calder turned to him, and out of respect for the man’s forthright honesty, he responded in kind. “Even if this is an Elder plot? Even if this is Othaghor dividing us up piece by piece, to be devoured one at a time?”

Andel leaned forward, the White Sun of the Luminians swinging at the end of its silver chain. “‘The educated man embraces the inevitable.’ Sadesthenes, I believe.”

“I hate it when you use Sadesthenes against me,” Calder said.

“Imagine how the rest of us feel.”

He was right. Calder was still trying to fight yesterday’s battle, something most of the ancient scholars would have counseled him against. “So I should just give up, then?”

Predictably, Andel had an answer for that, too. “We’re fighting them, whether you like it or not. So if there’s going to be a battle, we may as well figure out how to win.”

Kelarac’s gold-capped smile appeared in Calder’s mind. He was sure that the Great Elder would have been delighted with the way events were proceeding. But that didn’t mean Andel was wrong; if they really were cornered by the Elders, the only way out was through.

The only thing worse than getting forced into a battle was getting forced into a
losing
battle.

“Very well,” Calder said, nodding to Andel to concede the point. “Then we’ve already taken our first step toward victory. We’re heading to see Kern.”

Teach sighed. “Which will either lead to victory or to your gruesome death.” She had been very much against Calder personally coming on this little carriage ride, and had agreed only on the premise that she accompany him.

“If you’re worried that it will be too dangerous, you could have brought more Guards.”

“They wouldn’t help. Baldesar Kern is loyal and stable enough, but if he decides to kill you, I’m the only one that can hold him back long enough for you to escape.” She didn’t claim that she could kill him, Calder noticed. Only that she could temporarily keep him in check. That said everything he needed to know about Kern’s ability.

“I’m sorry to worry you,” Calder said. “But while I’m at it, I should tell you that I’ll be leading the attack on the Gray Island.”

Teach turned from the window at last to glare at him, and her attention carried the baleful, deadly aura of Tyrfang’s Intent. It was hard not to shrink back. “Absolutely not. Two minutes ago you didn’t want the attack at all.”

“I can change my mind quickly, when necessary. I’m decisive.”

“That’s a flattering word for it,” Andel said.

“As long as we’re trying to win, then I need to be there. I captain the fastest ship in the Navigator fleet, I can use the Emperor’s crown, and I need a reputation as someone who handles my problems personally. I won’t fight if I can help it at all—”

“I was worried for a moment there,” Andel murmured.

“—but I have to be there. If only to show the people that I can do something myself.”

“If you want to do something, then find a way to use the Optasia,” Teach insisted. After Lucan’s testimony, Calder had demanded a more thorough investigation into the state of the Emperor’s throne. Finally, they had taken a volunteer Reader from one of the Imperial Prisons and allowed him to briefly use the Optasia—under careful supervision—in exchange for a commuted sentence.