Page 102 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

I cross the room, raising more dust. Behind the table, there’s a set of shelves, and here the room shows signs of being recently visited. Another set of footprints is visible in the dust, and the ghostly imprints of objects that have been removed. Books, from the look of things.

“What in the rotting Blessed’s name is going on?” The rage bubbles up in me, all at once. I lash out, kicking the old table, and it goes over in a shower of dust and floating spores. The skeleton glares at me, its frozen expression disapproving.

“Now, now,” says the Scholar, from behind me. “That’s not a very nice way to treat poor old Mahjir’s furniture.”

I spin, blades igniting with a crackle-hiss. Before he can take a single step backward, I’m on top of him, Melos energy spitting a half inch from his throat. I watch him swallow.

“Only me,” he says. “Sorry to startle you.”

“What is this supposed to be?” My voice is low and dangerous.

“The Captain’s tower?”

“So where’s the rotting Captain?” I snap. “This bastard has been dead for a century.”

“His name was Mahjir Sepha,” the Scholar says. “I found his journal. He was a nobleman from Jyashtan, who came into his power young. A little mad, I think, if we’re being honest. He’d heard the legends of Soliton and determined to offer himself and some of his mage-blood retainers as a sacrifice.” He gestures at the room. “You can see that he liked to travel in style.”

“And?”

“He set up shop here in the tower. Seemed appropriate, since he wanted to be the ship’s master.”

“He became Captain?”

“He called himself Captain.”

I press the blade closer to the Scholar’s skin. Green lightning arcs to his collar, crackling down his robe. “Start explaining. Was this Mahjir Captain or not? What happened to him?”

“He died. I’m not sure exactly how. Obviously he didn’t write that part down.” The Scholar nods, carefully, to the corpse. “It doesn’t look like it was violent, though. This is just the way he was when I first saw him.”

“So the Captain is dead.” My throat has gone thick, tasting of dust and mold. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

“No, Deepwalker.” The Scholar sighs. “What I’m telling you is that there is no Captain. There never was.”

“That,” I tell the Scholar, “doesn’t make any rotting sense.”

“Karakoa never told me,” he says, “but I think it was Jarli who came up with the idea. She was the first one to come in here and find old Mahjir. By the time they brought me onto the Council, it was already … tradition.”

“The Council knows? About … this?”

“Of course.”

“Then why—”

“Think about it like this,” he says. “If there’s a Captain, then the officers are merely representatives of a mysterious, all-powerful force. If there isn’t, then they’re just a bunch of high-and-mighty bastards who are unaccountably in charge.”

“It’s all a lie?” My hand is trembling, which makes him flinch. “Just for your convenience?” I shake my head. “That still doesn’t make sense. Does the Council control the angels, then? Who sets the ship’s course?”

“You still don’t get it?” Beads of sweat stand out on the Scholar’s forehead. “The ship runs itself. It goes where it wants. The angels do what they want. None of us, no human, has ever been able to command it or turn it or change one rotting thing.”

“You mean it’s alive?”

“Some of the others think so. Karakoa seems to regard it as a kind of god.” He shrugs. “I’ve seen the Eddica energy that drives it. I told you, it’s a machine, made out of steel and magic. It’s not alive any more than a … a clock is alive, or a waterwheel. It’s just a thing, doing whatever it was built to do.”

For a moment, all I can do is stare. The Scholar coughs uncomfortably.

“If you’re not going to kill me,” he says eventually, “would you mind…”

“Why shouldn’t I kill you?” I force a savage grin. “You lied to me. I took my pack to find the dredwurm because you said you could get me to the Captain, and now you tell me there’s no such thing. Which means Berun died for nothing, so you could have some trinket.” I press closer, and he flinches as crackling energy singes his skin. “Talk fast, Scholar.”