Tinker's Justice (24 page)

Harwick set down the bottle and fixed Anzik with an unfocused glare. He knew the look; Harwick was checking his Source with his aether-vision. Anzik had hoped not to find violence on his visit, but knew it was possible, given what he planned to reveal. He had never before shied from battle, but rarely was a battle so personal, so intimate, as the one that brewed in Harwick’s eyes. Anzik found that his stomach churned and clenched. Harwick was not so old and feeble as calendars said he should be, and he had decades more experience in magic. His Source was weaker, but not so weak that the prospect of facing him held any certainty of victory.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Harwick asked, surprising Anzik yet again with his insight. “Madlin used you as her cudgel.”

Anzik denied nothing. “Your son fell into the sway of Rashan Solaran. He became an obsessed devotee of the late warlock’s philosophy, but without the centuries of control over his power. Rashan was a force of politics and scheming, backed by violence. Danilaesis Solaran is that violence ruled by whim and spite. Dan was a shadow of the Veydran twin, but just as mad.”

Harwick slammed his glass on the table, sending up a spray of shattered crystal. “You dare show up in the middle of my sitting room, admit to murdering a son I never knew I had, then tell me he had it coming? What nerve, young sir. What nerve. You think you can get away with it because I’m just Telluraki? You can see my Source and assume I can’t fight back? Well, you—”

“I came as a courtesy,” Anzik replied. “You’d have found out eventually. I see that all the more clearly now, given your other surmises. I came to give you truth from the headwaters. I killed Dan because he is my enemy. I killed him because Madlin feared for her life even having him as an ally. I am responsible for the protection of Ghelk and all the Megrenn Alliance, and your son is the most destabilizing force in Veydrus at the moment. He is Rashan Solaran without the cruel, heartless cunning. He has nearly as much Kadrin blood on his hands as he has Megrenn.
You
failed him. He had nothing within him to resist the urge to destroy. My father was many things, but at least he taught me self-control.”

“Danil was always a handful, but his grandfather did his best,” Harwick said. “Blast me if I had the time to look after him. I was trying to keep the empire from collapsing in on itself.”

“It seems it might have been better in collapse, and with a better disciplined warlock to defend what remained,” said Anzik. “Now you are faced with an opportunity. I don’t want this war; few among my people do. But
you
might be able to talk sense into them. Dam the flood your son has caused, and you might save the Kadrin Empire. You’ve seen what the transport gates can do. It’s only a matter of time before the weapons the tinkers create are turned against Kadris itself.”

“If you think that, why would you want my help?” Harwick asked. “Seems your tinker friends might just be rid of us for you.”

“At what cost?” Anzik asked. “How many needless deaths will it take to stop Danilaesis Solaran’s war? How much better to end it by him seeing reason? I abide my principles, no matter the cost. You hate me because I have killed your son’s twin—who perhaps is the product of your own loose loins in this world. You probably think me a hypocrite, being the son of a pirate.”

“I didn’t know Zayne was twinborn until after it was too late to matter,” Harwick replied. “I’d have made the navy send more ships after him, had I known.”

“I killed him for you,” Anzik said. “Well, not for you specifically, but I could not allow him to continue. I needed him when I was younger; he taught me much, and he protected me in his own way. But I was not blind to his nature. If Jinzan Fehr was a man who made questionable choices with good reason, Denrik Zayne was a man whose choices served no one but himself.”

“Patricide doesn’t typically vouch for one’s character.”

“What about my father was typical? How many men live in the shadow of a father who is a blight on civilized society, yet they follow him and defend him out of a misplaced sense of filial duty?”

“You’re a strange one,” Harwick said. Turning his back on the Megrenn sorcerer, he poured himself the drink he had abandoned moments earlier. Anzik found the resumption of Harwick’s primary vice to be a positive sign in the negotiation. His odds of success seemed to have passed the break-even point.

“I have been told some variant of that same sentiment on more occasions than I can recall,” said Anzik. “And in general, I have excellent recall. So what is your answer?”

“What are my options? Kill you here and now? Sadly, I fear that option passed me two or three glasses back,” Harwick replied, throwing down the contents of a half-filled whiskey glass. “Tell you to go piss up a tree? I doubt you’d even find the humor in it, and it would get me nowhere. No, after all you’ve said and purportedly done, you still offer me the only chance I’ve heard to see my son again. Even Madlin didn’t offer me that.”

“You asked?”

“No, but I don’t think she quite trusted me. Now I know why,” said Harwick. He shook his empty glass in Anzik’s direction. “I’m warning you though, boy. If my son has not wandered the dark, bloody path you claim, we’re going to have a disagreement.”

“I am not unaware of the risk that you will pursue vengeance for the twin’s death,” Anzik replied. “But unlike many of
your
people, peace is my ultimate goal.”

Harwick filled his own glass, plus a second that he handed to Anzik. “To peace, then.” Harwick threw back his drink, and Anzik raised his in acknowledgment and took a sip.

The workshop was dark. Strange machines were visible as vague outlines of shadow upon shadow in the faint light that spilled in from the corridor. Anzik felt along the wall and found a metal box with a finger-sized switch and flipped it up. Harsh yellow light burst forth from a series of glass bulbs along the ceiling, bringing color to the conglomeration of iron, steel, and brass of the machines. Though he had seen them in action, he was only passingly familiar with their workings. Unless he ever had need to work them himself, he could content himself with ignorance on the subject.

The pages scattered around the drafting table made more sense, but still painted an incomplete picture. The annotations were a language of their own. Anzik could tell that they depicted a world-ripper of some sort, because he recognized the general form of one from the diagrams that the annotations swarmed around like flies. He scanned other documents, finding familiar shapes of pieces of the larger devices that had transformed the war with Kadrin, and Madlin’s own war on her world. Several were obscured by other sheets overlapping, but Anzik touched nothing. Any page that rested atop another was sacrosanct; even being in this room was an affront he knew, and he would not compound his transgression. He merely idled and took in as much as his magic-thinking mind could of the strange technology around him.

Footsteps in the hall quickened as soon as he heard them. They grew louder, so someone was on the way. Quiet yet insistent, the stomping feet of someone with soft-soles on her shoes and not enough heft to thump on the stone floor. Madlin. Kaia and Jamile were too meek. Greuder too heavy. Cadmus’s shoes had soles like wood. Anzik turned to face the door and meet the verbal lashing he was about to take.

“What in Eziel’s bloody footprints are you doing here?” Madlin snapped.

“I wanted to speak with you and I didn’t wish to wake you. I knew you would come here soon enough.”

“Wonderful. Now get out!” Madlin pointed to the door.

Anzik bowed his head and proceeded past Madlin into the halls. There were faint sounds from the kitchen, but Madlin pulled him aside into one of the storage rooms. It seemed she wanted to keep their meeting private. “I met with Harwick.”

Madlin frowned. “What did she do to convince you? I figured you’d wall her off like you do everything else.”

“She made a reasoned argument. At worst, I would have been forced to kill the twin of an enemy of my people. She made me curious.” There was no need to specify who ‘she’ was. Both knew it was Jamile who had been intent on meddling.

“So, what’d you do with him?”

“He’s quite alive and well,” Anzik replied. “I believe you’re confusing me with Dan. I don’t kill wantonly or impulsively. Harwick wants to see Dan’s twin, and I offered him the chance to end our war if he can talk sense into Danilaesis. He will continue his work on your books in the meantime.”

“How do you know he’s not going to give that information to the Kadrins?” Madlin asked. “You’re as much handing them their own copies of the books.” She shook her head. “I can’t allow that.”

“If you would grant me one thing, I think I can arrange that they do not fall into Kadrin hands.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to fire a shot from the
Jennai’s
gun,” said Anzik.

Madlin gave a single laugh. “Why would I let you fire it? Besides, it’s Cadmus you’d need to convince.”

“It’s your army.”

“People keep saying that, but he’s got say here,” Madlin replied. “What do you plan on shooting at?”

“You wouldn’t know it. A place in the Kadrin Empire.”

“I thought you wanted Harwick to help negotiate a peace,” Madlin replied.

Anzik smiled. He had to force it, and he hoped it was convincing. He had been practicing. “Every negotiation has an opening offer.”

The sun was low in the west, casting the city of Kadris into shadows. Among the few locations that stood tall above the sea of buildings was the Tower of Contemplation. Despite being the northwestern tower of the Imperial Palace, it predated the rest of the building by centuries. Its black marble was streaked with veins of green, carved with runes that kept it from aging, and unbroken by either seam or mortar. It was the very symbol of Kadrin magical might.

The air above it parted like a curtain, its edge crackling with a hint of lightning. A world-hole opened, and a second later, a sound like the sundering of a mountain split the air and shook the earth. Boats in the harbor were tossed on jolted waves. Glassed windows shattered across the city. Peasants panicked, screaming and seeking cover from a disaster whose nature they could not describe.

The ancient tower still stood, its runes holding it together when a lesser building might have crumbled. But a hole had been punched from roof to sub-basement and beyond. The hole in the sky closed, as if it had never been.

Chapter 19

“When in doubt, buy land. It will not spoil or rot. It never goes out of fashion. It will never wear out in your lifetime or those of any descendant you might imagine.” – Parjek Ran-Haalamar, trader

Birdsong filled the air, and dawn’s light glistened on the dew-speckled grass. There was an earthy smell, one that Madlin could barely recall anymore. It came to Tinker’s Island a few days a year, and mostly while she was still abed. But Khesh was vast, and aside from the depths of winter, there was at least some portion of the empire that had such mornings. With Hayfield and Jamile in tow, she marched across the untamed grass, which snarled and tugged at her ankles while leaving them wet.

“Why doesn’t anyone live here?” Madlin asked the fourth member of their group. He was a Kheshi of middle years, dressed more for a job of ink and paper than for a countryside jaunt. He wore his receding blond hair pulled back in a tail, and a pair of round spectacles gave him a superficial resemblance to her father.

“Lack of roads,” the Kheshi official answered in excellent Takalish. For Jamile’s benefit, Madlin had hidden the fact she spoke Kheshi fluently. He pointed to the north. “Three hours by horse to the Kurjin Trail, and that’s if you know the marshes. If you don’t, it’s quite hazardous. Lord Stilvaar hunts these lands, but your offer has given him pause.”

“It better have,” Jamile muttered in Korrish. She proceeded to translate the Kheshi’s comments to Hayfield.

“Are there any settlements that weren’t listed on the maps?” Madlin asked, tromping through a patch of wild blueberry bushes. It was better to ask than spend hours or days scouring the land with the viewframe. Some tasks—a small number, by her estimation—still benefited from good old-fashioned human interaction.

For all his prim attire, the Kheshi official kept up well, and showed no hint of complaint about the cross-country hike. “Nothing so grand as that, but there are two hunting lodges, and there is a warden’s farmstead down in the valley. He’s looked after the lands and done his best to keep away poachers and squatters the past fifteen years or so. It’d be a shame to see him displaced.”

“I don’t mind him staying on the land, but he’ll be out of a job. I plan on settling people here, not hunting it.”

“There may be outlaws or poachers still,” the official said. “We root them out when we find them, and tear down the hovels they build, but I cannot swear that we are free of them at the moment.”

After getting the translation, Hayfield piped up. “We’ll clean the place up, spit-shined and polished. A lot of this looks like pretty good farmland, and our folk can keep out the rough crowd.”

“I can’t help but notice the weapon you carry,” the Kheshi said. “Quite remarkable. A new Errol Company weapon, I presume. Is there any chance of including a number of those—?”

“I’m already offering you ten tons of gold,” Madlin said before the official could finish asking. “This place is nice enough, but it’s not worth a third of that. I’m overpaying because I want this deal done quick. And since you seem like you’re playing with your hand face up, let me lay this out for you. If you try to squeeze me on this deal, the next fastest way to get this done is to use these new Errol Company guns.”

“Pardon my asking, Miss Errol,” the Kheshi official replied with clasped hands. “It is my duty to Lord Stilvaar to get the best bargain for his land. Even yesterday, he was not expecting to sell it at all.”

“Friendly advice then: tell him to start spending it quick. I plan on buying a lot more land around Khesh.”

“How much more?” the official asked.

“Enough that there’s going to be a lot of gold floating around the economy,” Madlin replied.

Hayfield had wandered afield, and stood with Jamile at the edge of a precipice, looking down. Madlin ventured over and joined them, the Kheshi official trailing her like a puppy. The land dropped off sharply before leveling out into a forest of oaks and maples, old trees with a canopy that held room enough beneath for houses and roads. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees, and the valley floor still lay in night’s final throes.

“Your call, Hayfield,” Madlin said softly. It seemed somehow rude to intrude upon nature’s awakening. “You think you can convince deepers to live here?”

“Deepers are going to be a problem anywhere we put ‘em,” Hayfield replied. “Forest’s probably better than the open plains, and the sky-dwellers are going to love this place. Help from them world-rippers and we’ll have this valley built up in a matter of months.”

“You’ve always known how to deal with people,” Madlin said. “I’m counting on you to sell this place as a home, not a hideout. This is a one-way trip.”

Hayfield looked down into the valley and shook his head. “Leaving Korr … can’t quite believe it, to be honest. You sure about this?”

“Hiding and half-measures aren’t getting the job done. If everyone’s counting on me to win this war, I’m going to fight it the only way I know how. And I don’t want our people in the way when I do it.”

Kezudkan stood with his hands clasped atop the handle of his cane. Beside him, the Pillar of Runes looked on as Gederon worked the controls of the transport gate. Ever since the Kadrin boy had read the book on its operation, he had insisted that they use the book’s name for it. The pair of them watched in the target locator—once called the viewframe—as the countryside of human surface lands rushed by.

“Is this an appropriate use of such a grand machine?” the Pillar of Runes asked in a whisper, leaning close.

Kezudkan considered not replying. Muddy fools, the lot of them. The human boy Danilaesis was running amok, and none of them had the stones to stop him. But holding his tongue was never a course the old daruu chose easily. “Invite one rat, and they all move in.”

“Stop there!” Danilaesis said, pointing at the scene. His Korrish was stilted, but clear, and Gederon obeyed without hesitation. The daruu lad was four times the warlock’s age, but deferred to him as if he were an elder. “Move closer.”

The target locator descended upon a village of cylindrical houses with conical roofs, interspersed with patches of farmland. Animals grazed in the pastures, and pale-skinned humans in hats that resembled the roofs of their houses worked the fields. They used primitive hand tools, doing work that a proper steam tractor would manage on the move at a walking pace. Savages, even by human standards.

Kezudkan felt a twinge of aether, and the switch to the machine snapped closed. The target locator became a gate—Kezudkan had to keep reminding himself of the new terms, lest he pique the warlock’s ire by using the rebels’ terms, even though he had minted those terms himself. A breeze wafted into the chamber, carrying with it the sickening odors of dung, sweat, and pollen.

A stronger pull in the aether made Kezudkan grab at the stone floor. The bare flesh of his feet clung tight, rooted to the essence of the rock. He could have held firm against a bursting dam. But it was merely a sensation in the aether, with no real ability to pull him loose from his footing. Swallowing back the dread in his throat, he watched the spectacle unfold before him.

Danilaesis Solaran was a rune-thrower, something that Kezudkan had heard in legend and myth until his world-ripper had opened a path to other worlds. He wished with every corner of his mind that he could stuff that knowledge back into the stories from whence he had first heard them. Sleep was growing harder the more he witnessed the power of unbound runes. The physical sciences fell apart at their touch. Lightning crackled forth from fingers instead of clouds, with thunder absent. Humans and lesser beasts were thrown by unseen hands. Fire belched in gouts that consumed buildings and crops alike, but had no proper point of ignition or intermediary fuel. It was madness that painted destruction, and if it was directed at humans, it took only a paltry flex of Kezudkan’s imagination to see himself in the path of the flames.

Morbid fascination rooted him in place, as well as worry over Gederon’s safety. What Kezudkan would do should the warlock’s nitroglycerine temper fall upon the lad was a mystery to him. Were he not so old and feeble, he might get halfway across the chamber before the warlock struck him down. At best he could bear witness, and not hear about Gederon’s death secondhand.

But the lad was fine—for now. Nothing of the sort could be said for the humans through the gate. They hadn’t even managed to fight back, fleeing and cowering in the face of their doom. At the warlock’s command, the gate was closed and the search began for their next target.

“How long until we can get him working on your world?” the Pillar of Runes asked.

Kezudkan sighed. “The successor negotiated five days of his use of the machine for five days of his help with Korr’s half-breeds. I suppose we’ll find out in four days what that bargain is worth.”

“And what if he does not agree?” the Pillar is Runes whispered. The boy’s eccentricities and savagery were apparent to all of them.

“He isn’t unstoppable,” Kezudkan replied.

“Or deaf,” Danilaesis added, not turning from his vigil at the target locator. “I’ll kill your kuduks. Don’t worry. I’ll get bored with this before long. What I really want to find is missing.”

“What would that be?” the Pillar of Runes asked. As they spoke, Gederon continued to move the view across the Veydran landscape.

Danilaesis turned around, grinning lopsidedly. There was a glint in those eyes that Kezudkan had seen in one of his handymen, once. The man had killed two kitchen girls, and sat at the table with their bodies slumped across the chairs to either side of him, sipping soup. He hadn’t flinched when the guards came and shot him. Same look.

“The one who killed me,” Danilaesis replied.

The breeze from the Aliani Sea drifted past, languid with its own baking heat. Inland from the white sands, the tall jungle grasses shushed with the footsteps of unwelcome guests. Birds squawked from unseen heights, challenging the intruders, but the humans below had larger problems than the territorial rights of parrots and macaws.

“This is no way to run a war,” General Kaynnyn said. She had shed her accustomed earrings and necklaces, resorting to simple garb without adornment, such as a humble islander might wear. Still a large woman, she had slimmed down amid the primitive conditions and unaccustomed exercise. “We’re just hiding here.”

“The airships are mobile,” Anzik replied. He had shed his sorcerous robe in favor of a loose tunic and knee-length trousers that exposed skinny, pale legs. “Anything that stays put in this war is forfeit. Hiding and moving are the only ways to survive.”

“We need to mount an assault,” General Kaynnyn replied. The two of them walked along the jungle’s edge barefoot, within sight of the sea. “He’s wearing us down by the day.”

“I know,” Anzik replied. “I’m the one bringing you the reports. Don’t act as if I don’t understand what’s going on. Your army proved useless against the warlock. My airships only somewhat less so. The tinkers are our hope. Those guns of theirs can kill even a warlock, I think.”

Kaynnyn shook her head and scowled down at Anzik. “Is that a way to protect your people? Just hope that a tenuous ally sees fit to rescue us?”

They came upon a secluded beach, tucked away in a cove and sheltered from view of ships by a stretch of rocks. A young girl knelt at the waves’ edge, letting the seawater soak the skirt of her dress as she dug in the mud with her hands. She had wheat blonde hair and eyes like emeralds, with skin that had bronzed beneath the tropical sun. A number of guards kept a discreet distance with vigilant eyes on her.