CHAPTER 6
THE SCHOLAR TURNED UP THE NEXT DAY. The meeting at the guardkeep was not precisely auspicious.
Caliban, Brenner, and Slate walked to the guardkeep. Caliban was pleased that he could do so without a halt in his step. The flap of tarps in the marketplace elicited no more than a twitch.
He was pretty sure that Brenner still saw the twitch, mind you.
What Slate saw was anyone’s guess.
The guards, who had looked through him the last time, saw a Knight-Champion this time—out of armor, but carrying the sword. They saluted. Brenner snickered. Caliban discovered that his jaw was aching and had to consciously stop gritting his teeth.
The Captain of the Guard’s office was overcrowded, holding all three of them, the Captain, and the scholar.
The scholar was a young man with an open, thoughtful face. His current disagreeable expression did not sit well on it.
“Why are we bringing a woman?” he asked, peering down his nose at Slate. “I will not travel with one of their sex.”
Slate’s jaw dropped. The Captain put a hand over his eyes.
“I beg your pardon?” said Slate, clearly unable to believe what she had just heard.
“It is granted,” said the scholar, flicking his fingers outward in an abbreviated gesture of blessing. “Go forth and sin no more. Captain?” He turned away. “I believe I asked—”
Caliban and Brenner, acting with rare unity, reached out and grabbed one of Slate’s arms each, before anyone could learn what her sudden lunge in the scholar’s direction might mean.
“Let me go,” she hissed. “I’ll kill him. The tattoo can only eat me once.”
They exchanged looks over her head. Three days had not been enough for the men to establish more than an uneasy truce—the sparring had helped, but not much—but it seemed they’d just found another bit of common ground. Neither one let go.
“Err,” said the Captain. “Learned Edmund, this is Mistress Slate. She will be in charge of your mission.”
“What?” said the Learned Edmund, turning to look at Slate.
“Learned Edmund is a dedicate of the Many-Armed God,” said the Captain, making furious little head-jerk gestures at the man in question.
Ah. Of course. Caliban stifled a groan. The Many-Armed God was portrayed carrying six pens, one in each right hand, and six books, one in each left.
His scholars lived rigidly monastic lives, copying out ancient libraries.
They were breathtakingly brilliant men, one and all—the Many-Armed God simply didn’t take anyone who wasn’t a genius.
The key word, though, was men.
Unfortunately, their rigid lifestyles tended to leave them xenophobic, misogynistic, and anything else one could care to name—but very, very brilliant.
The sad thing, thought Caliban, is that he’s probably exactly the sort of scholar we need to get to the bottom of this. Not that it may matter…
Learned Edmund stared at Slate. Slate stared at Learned Edmund.
“Why am I not to lead this mission?” asked the dedicate, turning back to the Captain.
“The Dowager has placed Mistress Slate in charge, on the understanding that she is the most knowledgeable at orchestrating such…clandestine operations.”
Brenner’s probably at least as good, but I can’t imagine the Dowager spending thirty seconds in his presence. There’s me, of course, but what I know about breaking and entering can fit in a thimble.
“I am not comfortable with a member of the distaff sex leading us,” said Learned Edmund.
Slate’s arm twitched in Caliban’s grip. He was surprised her feet were still on the floor, and more surprised that people still used the phrase, “distaff sex.”
“And I don’t see why I am not in charge,” the scholar continued, oblivious. “These three are, after all, criminals, are they not?”
“I’m an assassin!” said Brenner brightly.
Caliban put his free hand over his mouth. The Captain suffered a sudden coughing fit.
“Indeed,” said Learned Edmund, giving Brenner a dismissive look. Apparently subtlety was lost on him.
Brenner gave Caliban another look, which clearly said, I tried. Your turn.
The paladin sighed. “I am Knight-Champion Caliban, of the Temple of the Dreaming God.” He cleared his throat, the immensity of the falsehood nearly choking him. “Former Knight-Champion, I should say.”
Learned Edmund seemed to loosen a bit. “Oh. A spiritual brother—I see.” He offered a hand.
Caliban flicked a glance at Brenner, who casually slid his foot between Slate’s ankles.
It’d have to do. Caliban dropped her arm, clasped the scholar’s hand, and bowed.
“It is an honor to serve beside a dedicate of the Many-Armed God,” he said.
Brenner rolled his eyes. Slate got herself back under control and shook the assassin off. She was absolutely expressionless, except for a certain tightness around the lips.
“Yes—an honor, but still—”
“Are you from the monastery in northern Ghaston, Learned Edmund?”
“I—yes—”
“I traveled there once, some years ago. A lovely area.”
“Yes, very. And you’re changing the subject, Knight-Champion. I am still not comfortable traveling with a woman on such an important mission!”
Damn. Well, I tried…
“I promise, we’ll keep her from ravishing you in the night,” said Brenner.
The dedicate flushed. Slate said, “Shut up, Brenner.” The Captain had his hand over his eyes again.
Into this dreadful moment, the knock on the door fell like a stone into still water.
Everybody looked at the door. Finally the Captain called, “Come in.”
It was a guardsman: young, looking a little grey.
“We have a situation out there, Captain.”
“I’ve got a situation in here at the moment—nevermind. What is it?”
“Another case of blight, Captain.”
The Captain frowned. “We’ve got procedures. Keep people away from the body, and call the bonepickers. They’ve got orders to burn them—”
“Captain, it’s a kid. The mother won’t leave it. She’s been holding it for a couple of hours, and there’s no way we can get her away from the body without one of us getting exposed.”
The Captain’s face went a little grey himself. Caliban felt a shudder lurking at the base of his spine. Ah, gods, sometimes there are no right answers…
“Several hours?” said the Captain quietly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then she’s already exposed.” His voice was very flat. “Go over to the crossbowmen and have them draw straws—”
“I’ll do it,” said Brenner.
The Captain stared at the assassin. “You?”
Brenner shrugged. “Yeah, I’m scum. But none of your boys will shoot half as straight, and there’s nothing I don’t know about quick and clean.”
“He’s very, very good with a crossbow, Captain,” said Slate, almost inaudibly.
The Captain’s nostrils flared. For a moment, Caliban thought he would throw the proffered help back in Brenner’s face, and small blame if he did. What a deal with the devil that is…
Then: “Very well. Smithkin, get this man a crossbow and take him to the scene.”
Smithkin looked even greyer.
Brenner paused on the threshold, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “If the blight gets worse, you’ll want to get a sharpshooter. Probably a couple of them.”
The Captain nodded slowly.
The door shut behind them.
There was a long, brittle moment. Caliban waited for Slate to either catch it or smash it into a million sharp-edged pieces.
Slate drew herself up to her full height, which put her only a little below the scholar’s eye-level. “I believe, honored dedicate, that we have gotten off on the wrong foot.”
Learned Edmund opened his mouth, and Slate lifted a hand to forestall him.
“Believe me, I realize that this is not an ideal way to proceed, for any of us. Had we the choice, we’d perhaps choose differently.
Nevertheless, we’re what you’ve got to work with.
Now, I am certain that we all share the same desire, do we not? ”
“Do we?” asked Learned Edmund skeptically.
“We do. The defense of the Dowager’s kingdom against the Clockwork Boys is uppermost in our minds, believe me.”
That’s true, anyway. After a fashion.
Learned Edmund nodded. “My temple has charged me to assist in this matter. And, if I may, to ascertain whether Brother Amadai still lives.”
“Brother Amadai?” said Caliban.
“The scholar in Anuket City,” said Slate.
Ah. The one who had gone missing. Caliban vaguely remembered something about that, although he’d been distracted by the tattoo being inflicted on him.
Learned Edmund clearly did not like agreeing with Slate, but said “If he is still there, yes.”
“I believe that our goals align, then,” said Slate. “We all wish to reach Anuket City swiftly and as safely as we can.”
The dedicate narrowed his eyes. “I do not wish to deal with unseemly displays of emotion on the road,” he warned.
“I’ll attempt to keep my weeping and vapors to a minimum.”
It was probably a good thing Brenner had left. Caliban wondered how long it had been since the Learned Edmund had exchanged words with a woman at all. He was guessing a good decade.
The dedicate swung around and looked at Caliban. “And you have no objections to placing yourself under this woman’s command, Knight-Champion?”
The Knight-Champion doesn’t think it’ll matter a pig’s eye who thinks they’re in charge, Caliban thought, but aloud he only said “None whatsoever, Learned Edmund.”
If we get out of the city gates without killing each other, the gods will have granted us a miracle.
“Very well, then,” said Learned Edmund. “If we must.”
The Captain pried his hands away from his eyes, and looked over the group.
“ Well now,” he said, with false heartiness, “now that that’s all settled.
We’ve arranged horses—I believe you’ve seen to your own supplies.
I’ve gone over your planned route and I have papers so that you can cross the border at Archenhold…
assuming you can get there.” He favored Slate with an ironic smile.
“Not that you couldn’t have seen to your own papers, I’m sure, Mistress. ”
She smiled faintly and inclined her head. “I’ll let you know if I think of any improvements on yours.”
“The army is expecting you. They are under orders to render all reasonable aid.”