The Year of Our War (24 page)

The center ship hoisted a series of flags, which made Mist laugh. “That’s the
Petrel
,” he said. “She’s asking me to surrender. The cheek of that woman! Brazen bloody cheek.”

The brunette squealed. She looked over her shoulder to Mist, who said, “Starling, darling, why don’t you go below for a while and wait in the skylight cabin?
Not
the stern rooms—do you hear? I’ll join you when this is over.” She planted her feet in her sandals and scampered away. “And hang on tight,” Mist added. “If Ata’s body had her mind…Damn. This ship isn’t taut enough! Lengthen the topsail! Don’t look at me like I’m crazy—do it! Method. Madness. And I want archers fit for action.”

I could see archers in readiness on every deck. Only the ships directly on either side of us could use them, or they would be shooting over their own decks. We advanced toward the line at a shocking pace. I began to think surely we should be slowing now? Nausea paused me, undecided, then we were too close and I couldn’t take off for fear of the bowmen.

“This is suicide!” I shouted.

“Isn’t it?” He ignored the
Stormy Petrel
and steered for clear water between two smaller ships. Faces clustered along their lengths became progressively more agitated. There was a hasty argument on one and it began winding its anchor up, drifting slightly sideways and ruining the pattern of the blockade.

I could hear Ata’s anger borne on the wind. “
Curlew
! Hold the line.
Hold
the line!
Stay
there!”

“That’s it,” breathed Mist. “Get out of my way.”

We came at them, unwavering, faster and faster with the wind straight behind. “Have to trim the mainsail.” His fingers were white on the wheel. “It’ll never fit. Damn! I’d like to have some sail left.” All eyes were on him. “Take it up!” he yelled. “Take it up, take it up! Lose it!” Sturdy men on the main deck leaped at his word. They hauled on lines that ran up to distant heights in the rigging. The vast white sail flapped for a second, furled, revealing blue sky. The third mast was trimmed, the spritsail went down and we covered clear water in a second before—

The impact slammed me against the railings so hard I was nearly over them. My wings spread reflexively. Mist threw himself against the wheel to steady it. The terrible sound continued.
Honeybuzzard
pushed between the two ships, forcing them apart. The sound was deafening; snapping, rending, scream of planks running against planks. I saw astonished faces at their railings sliding past us. Archers bent bows and loosed straight across our decks. Arrows in a hard flat rain embedded in the
Honeybuzzard
’s side, in our masts, in flesh like thirsty flies. I curled up behind the helm as they cut across the prow.

Our sailors ducked behind their improvised fortification. Arrows thumped into the screen. Two or three men who were not fast enough were thrown back with arrows in their faces.

Mist waved at his archers. “Shoot at the rigging! The sail!” They had arrows with broad white flights and their points rolled in cloth. They touched the cloth to fire in a brazier and bent their bows, letting fly volley after volley up into the rigging of the ship on our left. The flights caught in the rigging and dripped burning pitch. Ata’s rain of arrows ceased abruptly, as all hands were called to quench the sudden flame.

Our momentum carried us through, wood squealing and moldings snapping, then we were stern to the prow of the starboard ship.

“Watch this,” Mist declared. I clutched the railings. He spun the wheel, holding it at full lock.
Honeybuzzard
slewed round and we slammed against their prow, crushing it. The glass windows and ornate carving at our stern splintered and broke, shining fragments of sculptures and gingerbreads falling twelve meters into black water.

The smaller ship’s narrow prow was sheared through. Her bowsprit snapped and she began to tilt forward, yawing away from us as water flooded into the lower decks. Our bowmen let out hoots and catcalls at
Curlew
’s crew not an arm’s length away.

The
Curlew
’s deck slid into the waves, spilling people off into our wake. It bellied up and its hull surged skyward, copper-coated, slick and dripping. As it rolled its high mast crashed onto the deck of the ship to its right, bringing all the rigging down. Ropes trailing over the side caught at floating planks. Mist started yelling again at his dazed men.

I swore, and kept swearing for fucking ages.

“It’ll stop her following me,” said Mist grimly. “I was fond of that boat. Jant, for god’s sake get off the floor.” We had run out of momentum and were sitting there, on the landward side of her net.

My worst fears realized, I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t watch, was crouched against the helm with hands over my eyes and didn’t stop shaking when Mist poked me in the neck with the square toe of his boot. He was exultant, scornful of my fear. He stalked to the top of the steps and looked down at the sailors who were stirring and returning to their stations. “Get the mainsail up, and let’s get out of here!”

Before any of Ata’s caravels could break free of the line and chase us, we set the sail and gathered speed for the clear run to Peregrine harbor. Ata must have been standing at the bow of the
Stormy Petrel
because her high voice carried through the roar of the sinking ship. Mist heard her and shuddered, drawing the blue cloak over his bandages.

“After them! No—forget
Curlew
!” A dark-haired man laid his hand on her shoulder to calm her. He asked for boats and ropes to be lowered to men in the water. “Forget
Curlew
! Raise the foresail!” She screamed at the archers to resume, but her Micawater fyrd was not accustomed to ships. The situation was too strange, Eszai against each other.

I took a peek through the balustrade to see her leaning over, white silk strands of her shawl sticking to the ship’s side. The two men accompanying her now had longbows. She urged them to shoot. She raved like a selfish child. The burly one with bronze-scale armor stepped behind her, shaking his head. This drove Ata into complete fury. “Are you trying to get in my backside?” she spat. “Where you came from? Give me that!” She landed a punch on his broad chest, grabbed the bow from him and flexed it, sending an arrow across to us. It lost height and stuck in the
Honeybuzzard
’s belly just above the waterline.

Mist moaned.

“Are you hurt?”

“They’re my sons,” he said slowly. “They both are. Flesh. Blood. It can’t be right that she turns my own boys against me. It can’t be right, Jant…”

“None of this is right,” I said.

“They do what she says. Wrapped. Little finger. She’s mad, waif. Hasn’t she got to be bloody mad? Insult. Injury.” Mist gave control of the wheel to his second-in-command. He coughed stickily for a while, grimacing. “I’m going below,” he declared. To “Starling, darling,” probably. “To check the damage.”

“I don’t think she’ll be damaged,” I said.

“Wha’?”

“Never mind.”

The sailors dragged their comrades’ bodies over the deck and down into the hold, knowing that they would be on dry land by the end of the day. I looked behind to see Ata’s fleet clustered around heaving water as the
Curlew
sank. I was amazed at how fast it went down. One caravel from the farthest horn of the trap attempted to give chase, but we left it far behind. Mist returned, helped the sailors on the main deck clear up, and then joined me. I was sitting with my legs dangling over the side, feeling the effects of the sloe gin. “What are you going to do now?”

“Put in at Peregrine quay. Reinforce the harbor. Do repairs.” He shrugged. “If I can find anyone to help me. If not I’ll do it myself. Where there’s a will there’s a way. I’ll pay the crew. I doubt any of them will come back. Bitten. Shy.” He handed me an envelope sealed with pale blue wax and addressed with his unsteady writing. “Take this to Awndyn,” he ordered.

“What is it?”

“Curiosity killed. It looks like a letter. You’re the Messenger. So just deliver it, will you?”

I stood up on the railings and unfolded my wings. Awndyn manor was on my way to the Castle. Uppermost in my mind was the fact I had to get back to court and relate these events to the Emperor.

“Shake?” He pressed my hand in a powerful grip. His arms were stocky as well, covered in wiry hair and thick gold chains. I liked Mist; no other Eszai would leave the courtroom for a quick smoke, go out on the terrace and bellow with laughter at my double entendres. I shook his hand with a bizarre feeling of melancholy. Mist must have felt it too, but he bit it back.

“I’d like to know what Ata thinks of me now,” he said, and smiled. “Bet that took the wind from her sails.” Gray eyes merry in a sea-sand–hard lined face, white twist of hair in a long charcoal frizz, compact wings on his broad back reached like folded gray fans to his belt.

“Shearwater,” I said, “thanks for letting me through the Castle gate back in eighteen-eighteen.” He knows I owe him that.

“You deserve it, waif. Don’t mention it.” But help me now, his tone implored. Trouble was, I didn’t know how. I wouldn’t be in Ata’s confidence after this. All I could do was deliver the letter. I took it from him, said farewell and kicked off. I was seized by the breeze immediately and cast thankfully toward the shore.

“Where are the Insects coming from?” The Emperor began to question me again immediately I knelt before him, as if no time had passed at all since my report two days ago. I had spent hours preparing for this audience, but my resolve vanished like straw in San’s furnace wrath.

“You don’t
know
? But I asked you to
find out
!”

“My lord, I tried. I’m sorry.” No one in the Fourlands knows where the Insects come from. I have asked Eszai, governors, and fyrd, and I heard only tales. Rayne said that two thousand years ago the Insects appeared in northern Awia, in an enclave the size of the Throne Room, with a Wall around it, which expanded like flood water.

We all knew this story, but nobody spoke of it in court. When the Insects appeared, the Queen of Pentadrica went to observe their paper enclave. The Insects killed everyone in her cortège. Only a couple of fragmentary documents survive to describe what ensued: half of Pentadrica was settled by Awian refugees fleeing the north, their beautiful towns buried under the Paperlands. Morenzia and the Plainslands fought over the remaining half in the first civil war. San united the countries against the Insects, and was proclaimed Emperor. He was given Pentadrica Palace on which to build the Castle and guard the remaining Fourlands.

“Tell me what you’ve learned,” San demanded.

“If I may speak candidly, if anyone in the Fourlands has a chance of knowing where Insects come from, it is my lord Emperor.” The Emperor smiled. I sighed and continued: “Most people say that Insects live underground. If I was to crawl down one of their tunnels I might see warrens and caverns alive with them, passages kilometers long, and chambers large as manor halls where they hide when conquered.”

“And none can substantiate this story?” San said, in an unreadable tone.

“My lord—of course not!”

“I sometimes wonder whether the current members of my Circle work hard enough to justify their immortality.”

Could the Emperor, who spends every day of eternity within the inner sanctum of the Castle, understand the carnage taking place right now throughout the Fourlands? Vexed, I said, “There are so many Insects that to set foot near the mouth of a tunnel would be suicide. That’s how Dunlin died. If I tried it I wouldn’t survive long enough to give a report.”

“Yes, Comet.”

“You can tell as much from Vireo’s letter.”

“Comet, I am disappointed that the Castle’s integrity has split between Mist and Ata, and now you disappoint me as well. How will I recompense our failure to save Lowespass and Awia?” The Emperor left his throne and walked toward the edge of the dais. I looked past him, unable to face the glare in his sky-gray eyes.

I concentrated on the red-gold sunburst behind the Emperor’s chair. Four thick columns supported the mosaic ceiling of the alcove behind the throne; one each of porphyry, azurite, hematite and jade. It was less awesome to look at these than at the Emperor himself. If my gaze could wear them away the columns would be thin as matchsticks. “Mist is on his way to the front. My lord, with a letter Castle-sealed I can force Ata to come to Rachiswater too and save her quarrel until later.”

“Leave Mist and Ata to finish what they’ve begun. Here is a letter for you to give to Ata. After reading this, she will cease her raids on our harbors. Tell the coastal manors that the Castle has safeguarded them. Then send all the troops they have to Rachiswater. I want the front to be solid; I want everyone to appreciate that we will protect Rachis Town.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Did Vireo Summerday give you letters to deliver to other governors?”

“No.”

“Good. It will be difficult to save the coast, but there must be not one Insect on the Eske road. They would have access to these very walls.

“Send Hayl and his fyrd, the Armorer and all the fyrd he can muster, to Rachiswater. We will concentrate our forces there; I think Staniel will make no objection. Go to all the manors, negotiate with them, I want every mortal who can bear arms out there, every immortal in the Castle to lead them.”

“Shall I stay in Rachiswater as well, my lord?”

“You? I have thought further about you. Recapitulate your account of the Lowespass ‘bridge.’”

Shakily, I described the white bridge, its smooth construction of Insect spit which was so strong it held the weight of the walkway on wire-thin strands, etiolated like a snake’s skeleton, stretching from the ground into the sky—where the Insects emerge—

“These creatures destroying the Empire come out of thin air!”

“It’s true. Lightning can verify it.”

“Comet. Find a way to stop them.”

I looked at my hands on the floor, in supplication, the long fingerless gloves covering my needle tracks. Bangles were pushed far up on my arms, and there was the rich embroidery of tiny vines on my shirtsleeves. My sword’s silver hilt was tight against my hip. How can one man solve the problem that has occupied the whole Castle for millennia? What is San talking about?

“You cracked the language of the Deirn Manuscripts in less than a year. You helped in the Carniss diplomacy. You should enjoy such a task, Comet.”

I didn’t answer. None of the Messengers before me would have been given this responsibility. San must want a reason to get rid of me, but of all times why now? Sure, I’ve been out of my face a lot recently, but that’s nothing new. None of the other immortals are treated so badly.

“If you cannot help…”

I caught my breath. I won’t be thrown out of the Circle. San must need me; no one else can fly over the Paperlands to the besieged fortress, and bring letters back. No one else can speak to Zascai so easily.

“…you will be expelled from the Castle. I asked you to think about this! You have not given the question a moment of your time. If the mortals believe the situation is out of the Castle’s control, they will band together against us, and then how long will god’s Empire last? A matter of months? Weeks? Insects spread through the world and engulf it. You have been irresponsible!”

“My lord.”

“Find out more about the Insects for me, Comet.”

“I’ll do all I can.”

“Everyone in the Fourlands talks to each other through you. The Castle depends on it. Your life depends on it.”

I bit at a perfect nail and ruined it.

“You can go now,” said the Emperor. “I
said
, you can go now.”

W
iping sweat from the cords of my neck, I left the court and walked slowly back to my tower. The clock in Great Court was striking midnight. I have had seventy-five thousand midnights, and I looked into a life outside the Castle Circle. What would it be like? Short. There was only fifty years left of my natural life to run. I had grown used to a fast flow of time, the way immortals see it. Fifty years would speed past, and I would watch myself aging. No, the Emperor couldn’t give me age and death back; it was the cruelest threat. I rubbed my hands over my eyes, massaging a withdrawal headache. I would rather die than watch myself aging, I thought. I ran up the spiral stairs in a dissonance of silver, kicked open the door to our chamber but my overwrought wife wasn’t there.

San can’t throw me out of the Circle unless the crisis passes, because then he will be missing a Messenger as well as a Sailor. But there was no way to second-guess the Emperor. He had been alive so long, he might already have a plan that doesn’t involve me. Facing uncertainty, I felt like a street kid again. I need some cat.

I got down on hands and knees, felt around under the four-poster for my needle case, which I had stuck to the bed slats with tape. Tern hasn’t looked here yet; it’s too dusty for her, and she can never bend down when fully dressed in whalebone hoops and skirts.

There is a pair of silver candlesticks on the cabinet, elegant and wispy. I unscrew the cold base of one candlestick; it is hollow inside, a glass phial slides out onto the palm of my hand. I sit and watch myself in the dressing-table mirror as I fill the syringe.

I strip off my suit jacket and light an oil lamp the better to see my familiar reflection. I’m used to this fox-face, ebony-black hair, deepset eyes; I couldn’t envisage how I will look if I age. I sketch on my image with imagination, adding lines under green eyes, around my lips, which smile twistedly on one side. I try to picture my pale skin wrinkled, not so tight. I might put on weight like an old Zascai soldier. The thought repulsed me. Please, no, I thought, feeling sick. I spread my wings for the mirror’s benefit, ripping my shirt neatly up the back.

If I am dismissed, I’ll take the future into my own hands: suicide. I hold up the syringe and tap an air bubble out. Live fast, die young. I made a very strong shot. San is going to expel me from the Circle. The ground under my feet started slipping away and in an avalanche of emotion I turned from the mirror and crawled onto the bed. The Castle towers’ moonshadows striped the bedroom like emaciated giants. I do what San says, whatever he asks. San trafficks time; I’ve been secure for so long I can’t leave now. All the successes I’ve piled up to bring me fame will be nothing; I’ll be nothing. My position in the Circle is all I have—to leave is to die, and condemn Tern too.

San knows when I lie. I’ll have to face him again and admit I don’t know how to defeat the fucking Insects, and that will be my death sentence. I craved Tern’s encouragement. Where is she when she’s needed?