Ship of Smoke and Steel (The Wells of Sorcery #1)(14)

I’m having trouble breathing, and my heart is beating very fast. “That’s not … you have no idea if I even have a chance. You can’t hurt Tori—”

“I can,” he interrupts. “I will. This is not a negotiation. I am telling you what the consequences of your actions will be. If you dislike one of the possible outcomes, I suggest that you apply your talents to avoid it.”

There’s another long silence. Slowly, I get my anger under control. Naga just stares, inscrutable behind his glasses. He peels off another slice of orange and pops it into his mouth.

“I will kill you for this,” I tell him. “I don’t know how. But I will. I swear to you.”

He heaves a sigh. “Ms. Gelmei. Do you have any idea how many people like you have told me that? And yet.” He spreads his arms. “You may have to wait in line.”

Another pause.

“Nothing else? No further impotent threats to make? Very well.” Naga brushes off the front of his coat and gets to his feet. “My men will be here to transport you to the docks at sundown. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”



* * *



For a girl who grew up on the docks, I haven’t spent very much time in boats. My gaze was always landward, to the walled wards of Kahnzoka rising tier after tier on the hill. The sailors who flooded in and out of the harborside taverns and restaurants were a crude lot, and they’d only interested me when I could relieve them of their coin.

Now, as I leave Kahnzoka probably for good, I find myself regretting not spending more time out on the water. The city, my city, which had always reminded me of nothing so much as a bloated animal corpse teeming with ants, has a certain beauty to it from the harbor at night. Lights march up the slope of the great hill, marking the ward walls in a regular grid, while smaller lamps are scattered between them like earthbound stars. Along the docks, the lanterns twinkle as they’re eclipsed by the forest of masts.

There are six Immortals in the boat with me, four rowing and two keeping watch. It’s just possible I could escape. I can swim, and the harbor is calm. I could probably surprise the guards, kill one of them, jump overboard, and hope they can’t find me in the dark. But then I’d be racing them to shore, betting that I can pull myself out of the harbor and get to the Second Ward to grab Tori before word gets back to Naga. No chance.

Naga’s “take control of the ship” scheme is obviously crazy. But he’s given me a year. All I need to do is find a way off Soliton before then and return to Kahnzoka without him finding out about it. Then I’ll extract Tori and disappear. I have contacts, money salted away, favors owing. I can beat him.

Assuming I can get off the ship. Assuming I survive the first few hours on the ship, that it isn’t some monster out of legend that devours its sacrifices whole.

Even in summer, it’s cold out on the water. I shiver and wish this were over with.

The farther out we go, the more the fog closes in. The lights of the city are a vague blur behind us now, and the stars overhead are invisible. Even the steady splash of the oars is muffled, like we were wrapped in an enormous blanket. There’s no longer any sense of movement, as though time has been suspended. I wonder if this is what oblivion is like, the non-life that waits for the wicked after they die. Just endless nothing, alone in the darkness forever.

I’m not alone, though. The head Immortal, a slim woman under the black armor and chain-link mask, sits ahead of me and concentrates. It would be hard to see in daylight, but there are lines of power around her head, faint streams of yellow energy circling her in constant, liquid motion. Yellow is Sahzim power, the Well of Perception. She mutters to the other guard, at the tiller, directing our course with her enhanced senses. I wonder what she sees.

It takes me a moment to realize we’ve reached our destination. There are no lights, no shouted greetings. Just a dark wall rising out of the water in front of us, as though we’ve come to the edge of the world. The oarsmen turn our little boat, bringing it side-on to the barrier, which extends upward and in both directions as far as the lantern’s light reaches.

The head Immortal reaches out and slams her fist against the wall. It makes a hollow, metallic sound, like a gong. I wonder if Naga was lying to me all along, because this can’t be a ship. It’s too big, too dark, and it sounds like it’s made out of metal. You can’t make a ship out of metal; metal’s heavy. It would sink, right?

The term “ghost ship,” which I’d used so blithely a few hours ago, comes back to me. I shiver again.

For a while, there’s silence. Then a demonic screech echoes down through the fog, like some enormous bird of prey. It’s followed by a rattle of chains. I picture an army of the damned, bound and fettered with spectral steel, descending—

There are no ghosts, I tell myself. Dead is dead.

What finally lurches into view is a cage, lowered on a rusty iron chain. It comes down a bit astern of us, stopping a few feet above the water. The oarsmen push our little boat up beside it, and I can see that the door is open. It’s big enough for three or four people to sit in, though not tall enough for them to stand. Thick, rusty iron bars are spaced only a few inches apart.

“Get in,” the head Immortal says to me. Her voice is harsh, flat. It’s the first she’s spoken.

Last chance for a daring escape. But all six of them are looking at me now. I get to my feet, unsteady on the shifting deck, and take hold of the bars of the cage. It sways under my weight. I lift myself in, carefully, the cage rocking and squeaking on its chain. The head Immortal shuts the door and throws an iron bolt, then slams her hand against the vertical wall again with a boom. A moment later, the screech is repeated, and the cage begins to rise.