Hush (Dragon Apocalypse) (46 page)

“You took it seriously enough to come out into the jungle.”

“Also true,” said Brand. “But after Gale fired me, all the princess and I had were the clothes on our backs. We need to raise some scratch to get back to the Silver Isles. What did we have to lose?”

“The princess?” Sorrow rolled her eyes. “He still thinks he’s Innocent Brightmoon? And you’re still humoring him?”

“Him?” asked Bigsby. “Who’s she talking about.”

Brand shrugged.

“I should just fill in this hole with both of you in it,” grumbled Sorrow. “The world has more than enough thieves.”

“Have a care, commoner,” said Bigsby, wiping a muddy strand of blonde hair from his face. “We don’t care for your tone or your accusations.”

“I’m not a thief,” said Brand. “I’m just lucky at finding stuff.”

“Like those shovels and pickaxes? You presumably didn’t acquire them honestly.”

“It depends on how you define
honest
. We bought them. We holed up on the
Black Swan
for a few days during the worst of the blizzard. I earned a few moons reading palms for the patrons.”

“You read palms?”

“To the extent that anyone reads palms, sure,” said Brand. “It’s a talent I picked up traveling with the circus.”

“He’s very good,” said Bigsby.

Sorrow clenched her fists. “You’ve no magical powers. I’d spot it in your aura if you did.”

“I didn’t say I knew magic,” said Brand. “Fortune-telling is ninety percent listening to your clients, and ten percent repeating it back to them with a twist.”

“So you swindle fools,” said Sorrow. “All the more reason the world won’t miss you if I fill in this pit.”

“I didn’t swindle anyone. My clients are very happy with my work. Let me do you.”

“I think not,” said Sorrow. “You’ve nothing to tell me about myself I don’t already know.”

“I can tell you you’re not going to bury us,” said Brand.

Sorrow sighed. “No, I suppose I’m not. I’ll let you out if you promise to leave peacefully. If you refuse, you know what I’m capable of.”

“How about this?” asked Brand. “We get out of the pit, we all eat dinner together, and tomorrow we work as a team to look for the treasure, whatever it is.”

Sorrow studied Brand’s face. He smiled at her, but this didn’t help his cause. She hadn’t much liked him when they traveled together on the
Freewind
. Brand was little more than a prostitute, a pretty young man who’d served as the sexual toy of Captain Romer, a woman old enough to be his mother. On the other hand, one reason that Gale had been so smitten with him was that Brand was a rather impressive physical specimen. Having a gravedigger with broad shoulders and a strong back could speed up her search.

“Fine,” said Sorrow. “But you’ll work as my employees, not my partners. I’ll pay you a set fee to dig graves. What we find will be mine alone. At least you won’t be digging blindly with the chance of winding up empty-handed. I’ll compensate you and Bigsby a moon for each grave you excavate.”

“I’m not Bigsby!” the dwarf shrieked. “Why does everyone keep calling me that? Has the whole world gone mad?”

Sorrow closed her eyes and rubbed them. The prospect of spending an extended time dealing with the dwarf was unpleasant. It wasn’t too late to have Trunk dismember them with his axe. She sighed. She’d always thought of herself as a defender of those outside of the mainstream of society. An insane cross-dressing dwarf certainly fell into that category. How much did she truly believe in her own cause if, when confronted by a person who was an even more of an outcast than her, her first instinct was to bury him in an unmarked grave?

“Sorry, Innocent,” she said softly. “I’m just tired. I got confused.”

“You’re still confused if you think you can address me in such a familiar fashion,” Bigsby said huffily.

“Sorry, your highness,” she said.

“The apology is accepted,” said Bigsby. “But we reject your offer. Any treasure we find is rightfully ours.”

“Hold on,” said Brand. “We only need enough money to get passage back to the Silver Isles. We’ll be rich once we’re home. Why be greedy?”

“That’s quite rational of you,” said Sorrow. “You wouldn’t be trying to trick me?”

“Nope,” said Brand. He grinned. “If you can’t trust royalty, who can you trust?”

“By the pure metals,” Sorrow said, shaking her head. “I’m probably going to regret this.”

She turned toward Trunk. “Help them out.”

Brand helped Bigsby steady himself as Trunk lifted him to the surface. Brand didn’t wait for Trunk to bend back again, but once more grabbed the root and scrambled out.

“If it was your map, do you have any idea of what it is we’re looking for?”

“Some,” said Sorrow.

“I don’t suppose we’re looking for very fancy knitting needles, are we?” Brand asked, holding up a slender jade shaft.

“You found one!” said Sorrow. “Where’s the skull that held it?”

“There wasn’t a skull,” said Brand. “If these pits used to be graves, any human remains rotted away a long time ago.” He pulled two more of the shafts from his pocket. “All we found were these rods of onyx and glass.”

Sorrow took the glass rod, feeling both excited and disappointed. She already had a nail of glass, and saw no benefit to adding a nail of jade or onyx. “How much do you know about my abilities?”

“We know you’re a witch,” said Bigsby.

Sorrow nodded. “More precisely, I’m a materialist. By using these nails, I can gain mastery over objects made from the same base materials.”

“How?” asked Bigsby.

“You really don’t want to know.”

“I do! I command you to tell me how to use these items!”

Sorrow drew back her hood, revealing her shaved scalp. “Fine. You take a hammer and nail these into your head.”

“Really?” Bigsby asked. “It’s that simple?”

“I wouldn’t call it simple. A misplaced nail can kill a Weaver. If you’re lucky enough to live, you’re marked forever as a dangerous heretic who can be legally put to death on sight. All power comes with a price.”

“But you could show me how to place one of the nails in my scalp?” asked Bigsby. “I could gain your powers?”

“Only women can do it. For reasons I’m not sure of, men always cripple themselves if they try.”

“Why should that be a problem for me?” Bigsby asked.

“It’s a problem because we’re royalty, sister,” said Brand. “We represent not just our people, but our religion. The Church of the Book says that witches are sinful; imagine the scandal if a princess showed up in court with a nail in her head.”

“Good point,” said Bigsby.

Sorrow had to admire the calm tone Brand used in addressing Bigsby. She wasn’t certain he was doing the right thing by manipulating the dwarf’s delusions, but he seemed good at it.

She said, “You can keep these nails. They might be of interest to collectors. The jade nail might be worth a hundred moons. What I’m looking for are nails I’ve never seen before. And skulls. Especially skulls.” She looked around the darkening forest. There were hundreds of depressions. She shook her head. “How did you choose to dig here?”

Brand pointed down the hill. “This is pretty much the highest point among the graves, so I didn’t think we’d have to deal with a lot of groundwater. The graves further down would probably fill up with water faster than we could dig.”

“Probably,” she said. “Still, I hate to think that our search is going to be so… random. This could take a long time.”

“Do you know anything that might let us pick the best targets?” Brand asked.

Sorrow shook her head. She glanced at the smoldering fire of their pathetic campsite. She said, “Why don’t the two of you get that fire going again while Trunk and I unpack? No point digging further tonight. We can eat dinner, get some sleep, then figure out the best way to tackle this in the morning.”

S
ORROW LAY AWAKE
through the night. Though she had pitched her tent twenty yards distant from the brothers, she could still hear Bigsby snoring. But, that wasn’t the main reason she couldn’t sleep. Partially, there was a sense of anticipation. She’d first heard about the Witches’ Graveyard almost seven years ago, and it felt unreal that she’d found something she’d been searching for after all this time. The fact that three nails had been found in the first grave was a good omen. Honestly, she hadn’t expected to find any nails. If these were the graves of victims of Lord Tower, the Witchbreaker, she would have guessed the nails would have been removed either before or after execution. Perhaps only valuable nails had been treated this way. Jade and onyx resembled colored glass; perhaps they’d been left in the grave by mistake.

Underlying her excitement was dread. There had been no skull, or any bones at all. What if she’d come all this way in vain? What if she spent the next year of her life digging for secrets and found none?

She was almost tempted to put Brand’s fortune-telling talents to the test. Almost. He’d admitted his skills were mere trickery, but perhaps there was some value in having someone listen attentively as she spoke. She’d kept her talks with the Romer family short and professional. They’d been employees, not friends. She’d opened up a bit with Infidel, but, in the end, they’d had little to say to one another.

She found it interesting that Brand might be such a good enough listener that other people paid for the service. Perhaps it was worth spending a moon or two for a demonstration.

Still unable to sleep, she turned on her side, lowering her hand to scratch her left ankle. Her nails slid along the hard, glassy surface of the scales without managing in the least to relieve the itch. She scratched with more pressure, and succeeded only in slicing open the tip of her finger along the edge of one of the scales. She sat up in her tent and reached for her belt. She used the hard surface of the buckle to scrape her ankle vigorously.

She stopped scraping as she heard someone laugh directly behind her.

She spun around and found a pygmy standing not a yard away. How had he gotten into the tent? At least he didn’t appear menacing. For starters, he was ancient, his face looking like wrinkled leather over his skull. He was so thin she could have counted his ribs. He was bald, devoid of any of scars that most pygmies sported. He was also missing the pygmy dyes that rendered river pygmies blue. He was white as cotton, save for his eyes, which were black, empty sockets in the dark tent. The skull-like quality of his face was enhanced by the way he was grinning, showing his teeth.

She reached out to grab him as she said, “How did you get in here?” He stepped backwards, and her fingers closed on empty air. He laughed softly, then sighed, shaking his head.

She lunged, this time trying to grab him with both hands. He jumped backwards. He laughed as he watched her hands flail uselessly in the space he’d stood a heartbeat earlier, but his back was now pressed against the wall of the tent. There was no more room to retreat.

“You aren’t going to think this is funny when I’m through with you,” she said, reaching for his throat.

He stepped backwards, fading through the tent as if it were made of fog instead of heavy oil cloth. Her hands smacked into it with a thump.

She stared at the empty wall. Had she been dreaming? Admittedly, she was exhausted, and had been drifting in and out of the antechamber of sleep. But she’d never had any difficulty mistaking dreams and reality before. She was certain her eyes hadn’t tricked her.

From outside the wall, the pygmy giggled.

She scrambled to the door of the tent and rose, wearing only the cotton slip she used for sleeping. She ran around the tent and found the pale pygmy glowing in the moonlight. He was standing a few feet in front of the heart-shaped boulder. He laughed harder as he saw her, tears running down his cheeks.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You,” the pygmy gasped, pointing at her. He spoke in the Silver Tongue, but she didn’t recognize his accent. “The demons in the Forest of Torment told me I should bear witness to the return of the Destroyer.” He wiped his wrinkled cheeks. “I can’t believe they mistook you for a threat.”

“Demons? The Forest of Torment? What the hell are you talking about?”

The pygmy shook his head. “There’s no point in explaining. You’re nothing but a desperate, foolish girl.” He sighed. “Demons. I should have known they were trying to trick me. The dragon will devour you and return to slumber.”

“The dragon?” she asked. “Are you talking about Rott? What do you mean, he’ll devour me?”

“You’re merely a flea; Rott is a dog. You may feast upon him only a little while before he catches you between his teeth.”

“Who are you? How do you know this?”

He turned away, facing the boulder. He glanced over his shoulder and said, in a serious tone, “I’ve had my fill of conversation with the dead this day. At least those other souls accepted their fate.” He took another step toward the boulder before looking back again. “Struggle if it amuses you. In the end, this is all there is of life. Take some comfort in the notion that your death may serve as a cautionary tale for others. Now, I must depart. I’m late for the Inquisition.”