CHAPTER 6 #3
“It was code,” said Slate, gulping whiskey and stifling her cough with the back of her hand.
“A cascading code, which is a thing the Many-Armed God people do sometimes when they want to prove they’re smarter than anyone else.
But without all the supposedly unimportant bits, and without the misspellings, we don’t know where to start or what the keys are.
The temple sent back a nice note saying that it was now gibberish and did they still have the original?
Which they’d sent off with the second group of idiots.
I was so mad when the Captain told me about that that I could spit. ”
“So we need to find this journal,” said Caliban.
Slate sighed, her anger fleeing as rapidly as it had come.
“Maybe. And maybe we do and Learned Edmund finally translates it, and it’s mostly recipes for boiled cabbage.
I can see why you wouldn’t write, “To Break Clockwork Boy, Hit Here” if you’re in Anuket City, mind you, but just because something’s in a complicated code with scary pictures doesn’t mean it’s going to be any good. ”
Caliban stared into the bottle.
After a moment, he set it aside and picked up the stone dog.
“So which way are we going, then?”
Slate scratched her chin. “I figure we’ll follow the trade road to the army blockade and see what they can tell us.
Possibly we’ll find out something about the second group on the way.
The Captain’s sent word to expect us. It’s possible they’ll know a route through, or be able to clear us one.
At the very least, they’ll have more up to date intelligence than we will. ”
“And then?”
“We wing it.”
Caliban put up an eyebrow. He was watching her face in a way that made Slate vaguely uncomfortable. Well, I did just outline a plan that’s nothing less than suicide…
Any further conversation was drowned out by a loud thumping on the door. Caliban got up and drew his sword again. Slate sighed.
It was Brenner, with his arms full of metal. Caliban pulled the door open just as he had lifted a foot to kick at it again.
“Where’d you get that?” said Slate, quite astonished, as the assassin dumped a pile of armor in the middle of the room with an unholy clatter.
“I mugged a paladin.”
“You did not.”
“Fine, but it would have been easier. Took days to find this stuff. I was afraid it wasn’t going to come in before we left.”
Caliban reached down into the pile and tugged a piece loose. It was a shoulder guard, embossed with the stylized closed eye of the Dreaming God. He turned it over in his hands, his expression unreadable.
“This is temple armor,” he said.
Brenner grinned. It wasn’t a kind expression.
That was meant to be a painful gift. Damn Brenner, anyway. Slate stifled a sigh. Oh, well, they can work it out themselves. I suppose it doesn’t matter if they kill us or we kill us, at this point.
“I am not allowed to wear this any more,” the paladin said, almost to himself.
“Well, I’m not going out again,” said Brenner, pouring himself a shot of the whiskey. “Hey, this is the good stuff!”
“Gift from the Stone Bitches.”
“Bless their vicious little hearts.” He clinked his glass against Slate’s.
Caliban crouched in the pile of armor, picking each piece up and setting it down carefully, his fingers lingering over the metal. It didn’t look as heavy as Slate had expected—chain and leather, rather than shiny metal plate. Perhaps that’s just the ceremonial armor. Hmm.
There was a heavy chain with a silver disc on the end. The closed eye gazed out sightlessly from the center.
“It’s stolen, if that makes you feel any better,” said Brenner cheerfully.
Caliban snorted, running the chain through his fingers. “That seems about right…gha, ha, ngha…” He coughed, and covered his mouth with his hand.
“Try it on,” said Brenner, his eyes bright with malice. “See if it fits.”
“I’m sure it does. You got the clothing well enough.” His lips twitched. “Have you ever considered giving up killing people and becoming a tailor?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t like people unless I’m stabbing them.”
Slate snorted and kicked him under the table. Brenner grinned and took another shot.
The knight glanced at them with ill-concealed contempt. Slate huffed. Fine, if you’re going to be like that, see if I feel sorry for you.
He started pulling on the armor. It took longer than Slate would have expected. Her mother used to dress the same way, one piece at a time, layered for battle.
Slate herself had traded skirts for trousers, since they were going to be on the road. It had taken her probably a tenth the time to get dressed as it took Caliban to get his armor on.
“This is a lot easier with a squire,” he said, trying to get a recalcitrant buckle across his back.
Slate and Brenner, acting as one, leaned back in their chairs and crossed their legs.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Brenner poured out another shot and drained it, then pushed a package toward Caliban with his foot. “Got you a cloak, too.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s white.”
“Of course it is.”
Caliban got the last piece on. His back was so straight she could have ruled a column of figures with it.
He held up the tabard. It had the sigil of the temple on it.
He looked at it for what seemed like a long time, and then he folded it reverently and set it aside. Slate did not know that she had ever had a lover touch her with as much tenderness as the disgraced knight handled the cloth.
“This I can no longer wear,” he said simply.
“Oh, come on—” Brenner began, and Slate kicked him hard under the table.
“It looks good,” she said. Not a useful observation, but what the hell do I know about armor? It did look good though. He looked more like a heroic statue than an actual human. She could see why the temple knights never lacked for female company. “You look great. A regular ladykiller.”
Brenner blew whiskey out of his nose, yelped in pain, and clapped his hands over his face.
Caliban stared at her, his brown eyes draining of warmth until they were the color of cold liver.
Oh…my…god. Did I just say that? Slate put a hand out as if she could grab the words back. “I didn’t—ah, crap, I can’t believe—I didn’t mean—”
I’m drunk. Oh god, I’m drunk, and I actually forgot…
He picked up his sword, and walked out the door without looking back.
“I can’t believe I said that,” said Slate into her palm.
Brenner finally stopped choking and howled like a hyena instead. “I can’t believe you did either!”
“Shut up, Brenner,” said Slate.
“Oh, relax. It’s not like the stick up his ass can get any stickier.”
There wasn’t anything much she could say to that. Slate got up and went to her room.
She paused by the window, which overlooked the yard behind the inn. There was an armored figure below, taking cuts at his shadow in the moonlight.
She thought of going down and apologizing, then thought better of it. At this point, I’ll just make it worse.
Oh, well. We probably won’t make it to Anuket City, and even if we do, then we’re all going to die anyway…