Page 45 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

Eventually, something huge looms out of the shadow, blotting out the stars as I come near. I approach slowly, wary for crabs, but nothing moves. It’s a metal tower, a dozen yards across at the base. I imagine it stretching upward to the Center, narrowing as it rises, supporting decks and platforms and bridges. A few shelf mushrooms grow around it, but there’s no sign of a ladder or stairs. It’s just possible I could climb it, but not for long enough to make a difference, and I’d never get Meroe up.

At the base, there are large chunks of fallen mushroom lying on the sand, dried and desiccated. I pick one up, curiously. It weighs almost nothing, but it’s far too crumbly and brittle to be of use building a sledge. The tower itself looks too solid to carve a piece off of.

Something moves, inside the pillar. The specks of gray light flow steadily upward, denser here. They seem to well up from under the sand, as though the pillar were a giant siphon drawing them skyward. When I touch it, I feel … something, a faint tug and a whisper that quickly fades away.

Looking over my shoulder, I see one of my two guide stars has started to move sideways, crawling slowly across the darkness. I pick up a couple of the larger chunks of shelf mushroom and head back along my footprints.

I relax a little when my pool comes into view, with Meroe a darker lump beside it. She sits up as I return, and I drop the bits of mushroom on the sand.

“Welcome back.” She’s huddled tightly in on herself. “Did you find anything?”

“Not much.” I indicate the mushroom. “I’ll try a different direction tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Meroe says, with a slight smile. “How will we know when that is?”

“After I get some sleep, then,” I tell her. “How are you feeling?”

“My leg hurts,” she says. “No worse than it did, though.” She hugs herself a little tighter. “I’m cold.”

“I thought of that.” It’s chilly down here in the dark, a wet, stygian cold that starts to creep in as soon as I stop moving. “Give me a minute.”

I snap one of the pieces of mushroom into a few smaller bits, and arrange them in a rough pile. Half an hour later, I’m still trying to get my makeshift campfire going, holding my Melos blade near enough to it that green lightning arcs and pops. Wisps of smoke rise, now and then, but it won’t catch, and eventually I slump back in defeat.

Meroe, sitting next to me, gives me a sad smile. “It was a good idea.”

She’s shivering. I take one of her hands, and she looks at me questioningly. Her fingers are like ice.

“Lie down,” I tell her.

She does. I prod her onto her side, and lie down next to her, pressing myself up against her back. I feel her stiffen slightly, then relax.

“Better?” I ask, after a while.

“Yeah.” She gives a little giggle. “Your breath is tickling my neck.”

“Sorry.”

Another silence. I think she’s fallen asleep, but then she says, “Will you tell me something about yourself, Isoka?”

I feel myself tense up. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything.” She yawns. “I talk about myself a lot. I just thought…”

Another pause.

“If you don’t want to…,” she says, worried.

“I have a sister.” I don’t realize I’m speaking aloud until the moment after I’ve done it. Pressed together, it feels like the two of us are alone in the universe, a tiny bubble of warmth and life in the middle of cold, unfeeling darkness. “Her name is Tori. She’s four years younger than me.” I pause for a moment. “We used to sleep like this, when it got cold and we were on the street, or squatting in some rattrap. Whenever it snowed, street kids would freeze to death. We’d find them in the mornings, just like they were asleep, only turned blue. They were always smiling, and I thought it wouldn’t be a bad way to die. But when I slept with Tori, I was always warm. I used to joke that she had a belly full of hot coals.”

I keep talking a while longer, and I feel Meroe’s breathing go slow and deep, her body relaxing. After a while I close my eyes, press a little tighter against her, and let myself drift away.

12

When I wake up, Meroe’s face is inches from mine. Her eyes are closed, her features calm, and in the strange moments after waking I feel an odd urge to kiss her. That’s enough to make me blink and come fully awake, and I prop myself up on one arm and brush sand out of my hair.

She opens her eyes as I sit up, and groans.

“And here I was hoping this had all been a dream,” she says. “Why is it only a dream when you really want it to be real?”