Page 105 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

“Jack?” I shake my head, trying to rouse myself. “What are you doing here?”

“I am charged with escorting you, so you might bear witness and understand. But I must have your word that you will not attempt to escape.”

“My word?” Back in Kahnzoka, I would have rolled my eyes at this, and happily made whatever promise she wanted. For some reason, here it brings me up short. “I … yes, I promise. I won’t run for it.”

“Well and good,” Jack says. “I would hate to have to kill you, but such is the fearsome duty that has been laid on me if you violate your oath. Now, bide a moment.”

There’s a heavy clunk as the bar is removed, and a metal screech as Jack shoots the bolts. I blink against the light from the corridor, which outlines Jack in her hunting leathers. The guards are nowhere to be seen.

“So you’re not breaking me out?”

“Only temporarily, I’m afraid. But I have every confidence you’ll be all right in the end.”

I stand up and stretch. At least the pain in my back has subsided a little.

“Have you heard what happened?” I said.

Jack catches my meaning. “I have. When Zarun made it clear to the Princess he knew the outlines, she confessed everything. I am sorry about Berun.”

“Me too.” I pause again. “And does Meroe … is she all right?”

Jack frowns. “I’m not certain, in truth. But she has emerged from isolation, which is something.”

“Good.” I swallow. “That’s … good.”

“Now come,” she says. “You wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, following Jack out of the cell. To my surprise, she doesn’t turn toward the entrance, but rather farther down the corridor.

“By secret ways, to secret ends,” Jack says. “More precisely, through a gap in the wall to listen at keyholes. Here.”

At the end of the corridor, a panel of scrap metal is bolted to the wall, with a rusted-out section visible behind it. Jack steps up and does something to one of the bolts, and the whole thing swings loose, leaving us looking into a dark space. It’s not quite a corridor—a long, solid-looking beam occupies the top half, so we have to stay crouched after we duck to pass through the hole. Jack leads the way, confidently making a couple of turns, until she stops in a narrow alcove where we can stand up. There’s a slitted grating just above my head, with light shining through.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

Jack lays a finger to her lips and speaks in a whisper. “The Council’s private chambers. They will begin their deliberations soon.”

My eyes narrow. “Zarun sent you, didn’t he?”

Jack shrugs, but she looks very pleased with herself.

“Why?” I ask. “What does he want me to hear?”

“Listen, and find out.”

It’s not long before voices filter back into the wall. It takes me a few moments to sort them out—Karakoa’s deep bass, Zarun’s pleasant tenor, the Butcher’s drawl, and Shiara’s crisp, unaccented Imperial. And, of course, the now-familiar voice of the Scholar. It was maddening not to be able to see, though. It felt like watching a stage play from behind the curtain.

BUTCHER: This isn’t like you, Scholar. I knew you were mad, but this is rotting reckless, too.

SCHOLAR: When catastrophe is imminent, inaction is reckless. I have to act because you all refuse to do so.

KARAKOA: We’ve heard your reports. But there is still plenty of time for Soliton to turn south before it reaches the Rot.

SCHOLAR: You have no idea how much time there is, and neither do I. No one knows how far beyond the shores of the island the influence of the Rot extends.

SHIARA: If, in fact, it extends at all. The ship may sail past in perfect safety.

BUTCHER: We’re not here to have this rotting argument again. We’re here because you did something stupid.